Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters by Meredith Zeitlin

driver is onto us, but he doesn’t say anything.
    At the door to the club, we get the humiliating stamps that mark us as underage, and I text Keith, who comes out to find me. He looks nice, I guess, but he’s still no Jordan. Cass goes to find her brother, who is up in the nosebleed section somewhere, and Keith and I elbow our way to our unbelievable floor seats.
    Keith talks a mile a minute throughout the sucky opening band and I learn that he used to make model airplanes (weird), is allergic to melon (weirder), and wants to go to Yale (are people already thinking about college?). Sheesh. I didn’t know there was going to be quite so much sharing. So, what—am I supposed to show him the scar I got ice-skating and reveal my childhood fantasy of working at the McDonald’s drive-thru window?
    He hands me a little flask with his dad’s initials on it, and I take some and pass it back. Then there’s an earsplitting blast of feedback, all the lights go out, and a single spotlight hits the stage. The whole audience is silent, waiting, and when the Foreign Scarves finally come on, we all basically lose our minds. Everyone is bouncing around and dancing and mouthing the words to the first song, which is one of my all-time favorites.
    I take a second to glance around and see if I can spot Cass, but I don’t see her. Keith looks over at me and grins—oh, Lord. Did he think I was looking at him ? He starts dancing very close to me and sort of flinging his arms around in a bizarre way, then offers me some gum for about the sixth time.
    I suddenly realize that there is no getting around it: Keith Mayhew is going to try to kiss me.
    Craaaaaap. What do I do now? It’s not like this is totally unfamiliar territory—I could’ve hooked up in middle school, with Keith or someone else I wasn’t that interested in. I just … I wanted my first kiss to be special, so I never let it happen. I mean, I think it’s a big deal, even if everyone says it doesn’t matter. But how long am I supposed to wait for Jordan to get it together? And should I maybe get some practice in before he does? But if I do make out with Keith, will I be able to live with the knowledge that I abandoned my fantasy of the perfect first kiss just because I didn’t want to be branded some kind of fourteen-year-old prude? And is this going to be a prolonged, tonguing sort of affair or just a kind of pecking situation?
    And then, before I can finish reviewing the complete list of pros and cons, Keith goes for it. He lunges in, and suddenly his tongue is flopping around inside my mouth like a fish dying on a dock.
    I think I may be choking to death. He tastes like … rum and Coke and spearmint gum. And panic. If a tongue could sweat, I think his would be.
    I extricate myself from his clutches and manage to squeak, “Keith! What are you doing ?”
    “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help it, Kelsey—you just look so hot tonight, y’know?”
    Of course he has now said the perfect thing (note to self: wear smoky eyeliner every day from now on, even while sleeping) and I figure, Okay—I might as well give it another shot . So I kiss him, brimming with empowered-woman confidence.
    And it is still totally awful!
    What the hell? On TV it’s all delicate and nice-looking with the rare big slurpy-yet-sexy moment, but nothing like this mess. My chin is all wet and I think I’m going to barf if he doesn’t stop gagging me with his tongue. This can’t be right; he must be doing it wrong.
    I pull back, and he goes, “What’s wrong?”
    “Look, I don’t think you’re doing this right,” I tell him. “It’s way too much tongue or … something.” I attempt to wipe some of the spit off my cheek with my shoulder in a way that I hope isn’t too obvious. Blech.
    Keith glares at me and shouts over the band, “Well, it’s more like you’re not doing it right. Have you ever even made out before? My brother is in college, y’know, and he told me everything there is to know