A Year Straight by Elena Azzoni Page B

circle formed around them, and the host’s camera flashed continuously, creating a strobe light effect. Two other women replaced the first ones and after that two
more. It was a game of spin the bottle without the bother of the bottle (though there would have been plenty to choose from, based on the amount of champagne that had clearly been consumed).
    â€œKiss her, she’s Miss Lez!” the host yelled, pointing at me and shoving a woman in my direction. I nearly spit my drink onto the floor. I laughed nervously and refused the tempting offer, holding my hand up and shaking my head. But I had little choice, as I was outnumbered. I was pulled into the circle with force. The next thing I knew I was kissing somebody. I couldn’t see who it was in the craze of the worked-up crowd, but I knew it was a woman because her face was lusciously soft. After a few seconds, I tore myself away, giggling along with the rest of the girls, floating on their contagious high of rebellion. What the heck is happening? They fought over who got to kiss me next. As Miss Lez, I was a novelty. I retreated back to my place near Annika.
    â€œMiss Lez?” Annika said.
    I described the pageant and gave Annika the lowdown on my recent antics, but she was not very interested in my stories about men.
    â€œWhat is it like, being with a woman?” Annika asked, linking her arm in mine. I stood there stunned, overcome with shyness in her presence. My state of ease had gone poof with the new notion that straight girls can go gay when drunk, like gremlins when fed after midnight (only good). I
had watched that terrifying movie during a slumber party with friends in fourth grade, and come to think of it, that party had unfolded quite like this one.
    My friend Andie, an only child, was allowed to have eight girls over for the night. Her dad worked for a major record label and thus always had the newest in media technology, including, somehow, a copy of Gremlins on VHS the very year it came out. We’d all brought our coolest pajamas for the party: Flashdance T-shirts and flannel pants with strawberry or flower prints. We bounced around on the bed, screaming and grabbing each other during the scariest parts of the movie. As soon as the credits were rolling, Andie shut off the movie and put on Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” video, of which she also magically had a copy. We started dancing around the room, imitating Madonna’s dance moves, rewinding the tape at the end and replaying it repeatedly.
    â€œLet’s play married!” Andie said, grabbing another girl. They kissed with closed lips, as if in a film from the thirties. We howled and clapped. Andie’s party was the best of the year, and also the last. The following week, one of the nuns (did I mention I went to a Catholic school?) made a phone call to Andie’s mother. The school had received a complaint from a girl’s parents. Someone at the party had told on us. I will never know whether it was the dirty dancing or the gruesome movie that was deemed the more heinous offense. In either case, there were no more parties at Andie’s house.
“I KISSED MY friend in high school, but it was weird,” Annika said. Oh my God, she is flirting with me. She touched my shoulder while asking her questions and looked me straight in the eye. Uh oh. She was sexy and adorable at the same time, bearing the kind of natural beauty that looks almost alien when enhanced by makeup. And she seemed to know it, her big blue eyes framed only by her platinum blond hair and the slightest hint of mascara. She didn’t need lipstick. Her full lips were naturally rosy, so much so that I bet she got annoyed with how red they were all the time. I had a friend like that in college. Her nickname was Rosie because she always had pink cheeks and lips, though she never wore an ounce of makeup. It bothered her, but I’d always been envious of her supposed problem. Like my