First Kiss, Last Kiss, Every Kiss
Copyright© 2026 by SpankLord40k
Chapter 5: Accepting
Day Three dawned with Emmy waking naturally at 5:45 AM, her internal clock now fully adjusted to this new rhythm. She lay in bed for a moment, Mr. Hoppers tucked under her arm, and felt something shift inside her chest - not painful, but profound, like a door closing gently on one room and opening onto another.
There had been someone else once. A person named Lars. She could still remember the name, could still access those distant memories if she tried hard enough, but they felt increasingly like a story she’d heard rather than a life she’d lived. Like a character she’d played in a school play, wearing a costume that had never quite fit right.
Lars had been tall. Lars had been mean. Lars had done something terrible to Sarah - what exactly, Emmy couldn’t quite remember anymore, but she knew it had been bad enough that she’d deserved what happened. Deserved to become who she truly was.
Because this - Emmy Morrison, age ten, fourth grader, artist, friend, little sister - this was real. This was who she actually was. The Lars thing had been ... what? A mistake? A role she’d been forced to play? It didn’t quite make sense anymore, and Emmy found she didn’t need it to make sense.
She was Emmy. She had always been Emmy.
The thought brought with it a sense of peace that surprised her. For the past two days, there had been this constant internal struggle, this war between who she’d been and who she was becoming. But this morning, the war was over. Not because Lars had won, and not even because Emmy had won, but because Emmy had simply ... accepted.
She got out of bed, her small feet touching the familiar pink rug, and looked at herself in the mirror mounted on her wall. A ten-year-old girl looked back - long chestnut hair tangled from sleep, big hazel eyes, a delicate face that was starting to lose the last roundness of early childhood. This was her face. Her real face. The other face, the adult male face, felt like prosthetic makeup from a movie, something artificial that had been stripped away to reveal the truth beneath.
Emmy touched her flat chest through her pajama top. This was her body. Female. Young. Small. It didn’t feel wrong anymore. It felt right in a way that the other body never had, though she was only now realizing it in retrospect.
She had been playing pretend for twenty-three years, and now the game was over.
Emmy got dressed for school - a pink sweater with a cat design, purple leggings, her favorite sneakers with the light-up stars. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and carefully combed through her long hair. The routine was soothing, familiar, correct.
Downstairs, her mother was making oatmeal with brown sugar and cinnamon, Emmy’s favorite. Sarah was already at the table, looking less guilty today but still subdued.
“Morning, Emmy,” Sarah said carefully, watching for Emmy’s reaction.
“Morning, Sarah!” Emmy climbed into her seat, swinging her legs that didn’t quite touch the floor. “Can you help me with my math homework after school? I’m still having trouble with division.”
Sarah’s eyes widened slightly. “Of course. I’d be happy to help.”
There was something in Sarah’s expression - relief? Hope? Emmy wasn’t quite sure, but it made her want to reassure her big sister somehow.
“Sarah?” Emmy said quietly, spooning oatmeal into her mouth. “I know I did something bad. Before. I don’t really remember what exactly, but I know I hurt you somehow, and I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”
Sarah’s spoon clattered against her bowl. “Emmy, you don’t have to -”
“I want to,” Emmy interrupted. “I was mean to you. I don’t remember all the details, but I know I was. And you didn’t deserve that. You’ve always been such a good big sister to me.” She paused, considering. “Or maybe you haven’t always been, but you are now, and that’s what matters.”
Tears were streaming down Sarah’s face now. Their mother looked confused, setting down the pot she’d been washing.
“Girls? What’s this about?”
“Nothing, Mom,” Sarah said quickly, wiping her eyes. “Just sister stuff. Emmy, I - “ Her voice broke. “I love you so much. You know that, right?”
“I know,” Emmy said simply. “I love you too.”
And she meant it. Not as Lars grudgingly acknowledging a family obligation, but as Emmy, genuinely loving her protective, caring, sometimes sad big sister who walked her to school every day and helped with homework and had saved her from bullies - Actually, had that really happened? The memory was fuzzy, dreamlike. But it felt true.
The walk to school was pleasant. Lola joined them again, bouncing with her usual energy, chattering about how her little brother Tommy had lost his first tooth and the tooth fairy had left him two whole dollars.
“Two dollars!” Lola repeated, scandalized. “When I lost my first tooth, the tooth fairy only left me one dollar! It’s not fair that Tommy got more!”
“Maybe it’s because he lost two teeth and the tooth fairy got confused?” Emmy said, trying not to smile, and Lola giggled. “You’re so funny, Emmy!”
Sarah walked slightly ahead, occasionally glancing back with that odd expression - not quite happy, not quite sad, something complicated that Emmy didn’t fully understand but accepted as just how Sarah looked these days.
At school, Emmy hung her backpack on her hook - the one labeled EMMY MORRISON with a star sticker she’d placed there herself on the first day of school back in September. Had she really been here since September? The memory was there, solid and real. First day of fourth grade, wearing her new purple dress, nervous and excited, Mrs. Patterson welcoming her warmly.
But there was also a shadow memory of not being here in September, of being somewhere else entirely. The contradiction didn’t bother Emmy as much as it once had. Both could be true in their own way. Time was funny like that.
Mrs. Patterson smiled at her as she entered the classroom. “Good morning, Emmy! Ready for another great day?”
“Yes, Mrs. Patterson!” Emmy took her seat, pulling out her homework to turn in.
Today’s schedule was back to normal: math, then English, then reading, then recess, then science, then lunch, then social studies, then art, then dismissal.
Math was still difficult. Emmy stared at the long division problems on the worksheet, trying to work through them step by step the way Mrs. Patterson had taught. The numbers didn’t come easily, required careful thought and sometimes counting on her fingers, but she persevered. This was her level. This was appropriate for her age and abilities. She wasn’t supposed to find this easy.
The thought that she should be able to do more complex math - calculus? trigonometry? those words felt familiar but distant - floated through her mind like a soap bubble and popped just as quickly. That had been someone else’s knowledge. Lars’s knowledge. And Lars was just a name now, a character from a story, not her.
English was spelling again. Emmy carefully wrote out each word three times as assigned: “beautiful,” “tomorrow,” “separate,” “definitely.” Some she got right on the first try. Others required checking the word list. This was normal. This was fine. She told her over and over.
During reading time, they continued the magical adventure book. Emmy’s turn to read came up, and she read with expression and enthusiasm, making her classmates laugh when she did a funny voice for the villain.
“Excellent as always, Emmy,” Mrs. Patterson praised. “You bring the story to life.”
Emmy glowed with pride. This was something she was good at. This was her strength - creativity, expression, art, imagination. Not everyone had to be good at everything.
Recess was a blessed release of energy. Emmy ran to the playground with Lola, Tiffany, and Erika. Today they played on the climbing structure, pretending it was a castle under siege.
“I’m the queen!” Tiffany declared, standing at the highest point. “You have to protect me from the dragons!”
“I’ll be a knight!” Emmy volunteered, grabbing a stick to use as a sword. “No dragon will get past me!”
They played with complete immersion, the castle becoming real in their imaginations, the siege desperate and thrilling. Emmy fought off invisible dragons with fierce determination, her small body agile on the climbing structure, her voice calling out battle cries.
This was joy. Pure, uncomplicated, childish joy. And Emmy let herself feel it completely, without reservation or self-consciousness.
When she was tagged during a game of freeze tag later, she froze in a dramatic pose, arms spread wide, face frozen in an exaggerated expression of surprise. Lola unfroze her with a tag, and they both dissolved into giggles.
“You’re so silly, Emmy!” Lola laughed.
“You too!” Emmy shot back, grinning.
They were both silly. They were ten. That was the point.
Science class involved learning about the phases of the moon. Emmy drew careful diagrams in her notebook, labeling each phase: new moon, waxing crescent, first quarter, waxing gibbous, full moon, waning gibbous, last quarter, waning crescent. The information was new and interesting, appropriate for her grade level.
There was a ghost of a memory - Lars’s memory - of already knowing this, of learning it years ago. But that felt wrong somehow. Emmy was learning it now, for the first time, and it was exciting and fresh.
Lunch was tacos, which Emmy loved. She sat with her friends, chatting between bites, trading the jalapeños from her taco to Erika in exchange for extra cheese.
“Did you guys see that new movie preview?” Tiffany asked. “The one about the magical school?”
“Yes!” Emmy bounced in her seat. “It looks so good! I want to see it so badly!”
“Maybe we can all go together once your grounding is over,” Lola suggested.
“That would be amazing!” Emmy agreed enthusiastically.
The conversation flowed easily - movies, TV shows, which boys in their class were annoying, whether the cafeteria pizza was better than the tacos, plans for Thanksgiving break which was coming up.
This was Emmy’s world. These were her concerns, her interests, her friends. And it all felt perfectly natural, perfectly right.
Social studies was about Native American history. Emmy listened attentively to Mrs. Patterson’s lesson about different tribes and their customs, raising her hand to answer questions when she knew them.
Art class was Emmy’s favorite part of the day. They continued working on their self-portraits, and Emmy added more detail to hers - brighter colors, more protective shapes around the central figure, stars that seemed to shine with hope.
Mrs. Morgan paused by her desk again. “This is really developing beautifully, Emmy. The way you’ve used color to express emotion is very sophisticated.”
“Thank you,” Emmy said, and meant it deeply. Art was where she felt most herself, most capable, most real.
When school ended, Emmy practically skipped to meet Sarah at the gate.
“How was your day?” Sarah asked, and there was genuine interest in her voice, not just polite questioning.
“Really good! We learned about moon phases in science, and I got all my spelling words right, and we played castle at recess, and Mrs. Morgan said my self-portrait is developing beautifully!” Emmy took Sarah’s hand as they walked. “How was your day?”
Sarah seemed surprised by the question. “It was ... okay. Kind of boring. Middle school stuff.”
“Tell me about it anyway,” Emmy urged. “I want to know.”
So Sarah talked about her day - about the algebra test she’d taken, about drama in her friend group, about the English essay she had to write. Emmy listened attentively, asking questions, offering sympathy when appropriate, being a good little sister.
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