Raisin Rodriguez & the Big-Time Smooch by Judy Goldschmidt

just have a straightforward, honest discussion about how much experience we’ve had? I’ll go first. I’ve made out with ten guys. How about you two?”
    â€œThree,” Fippy said.
    â€œFour,” Lynn said.
    Suddenly ten seemed ridiculously large. “Only four? But you already told me that you’ve made the first move lots of times!”
    â€œI guess I exaggerated a little. I was trying to encourage you.”
    â€œWell, I guess things just move a little faster on the West Coast. Are you including guys from seven minutes in heaven and spin the bottle?”
    â€œNo,” said Lynn. “That’s totally different.”
    â€œOh. Okay. You should have told me. In that case . . .” I started counting on my fingers. “I’ve only kissed—wait a second—five.” I waited to see their reaction. They seemed to buy it. So I threw out the next question.
    â€œAnd who was the best kisser?”
    â€œRoman,” said Fippy. “We went out for three weeks at the beginning of the year.”
    Lynn just sat quietly without answering. She looked a little like she was holding in a laugh.
    â€œLynn?” I asked.
    â€œUm . . . no one you know. Just this guy from my neighborhood,” she said as the giggles seeped through. That guy must have been quite the jokester. “How about you?”
    â€œOh, just this dude,” I said casually. “His name is Krishna Ginsberg,” I said. This time, I came prepared.
    Then we talked about bumping noses, open eyes versus closed, and how it’s weird when the boy is shorter than the girl, and I was pretty sure I was holding my own.
    â€œI have a question,” Lynn said. Which caught me by surprise. I thought I was the one asking the questions. “Is it just me, or when you guys are making out with someone, do your teeth ever grind against theirs?”
    â€œSure, all the time,” I said, not sure if that was the right answer or not.
    â€œThat’s definitely happened to me,” Fippy answered, filling me with relief. “It’s almost as embarrassing as when you drool,” she added.
    The teeth grinding wasn’t so surprising, but the drooling—that was just too disgusting to imagine.
    â€œForget embarrassing; for someone wearing braces, like you, it must get dangerous,” Fippy continued.
    â€œTotally,” said Lynn. “Bloody too.”
    Then Fippy asked if boys’ tongues ever tasted like vinegar. I never thought about the tongue’s taste. But until the moment before, I’d never thought about drooling either, so I figured anything was possible.
    â€œAnd I thought it was only me,” I said, letting out an enormous sigh for effect. At least I was learning the game. “Sometimes after making out for a few . . . ummm . . . a few . . . hours . . . the taste is so strong, I start craving pickles.”
    Fippy started laughing. Lynn looked like she was trying hard to hold herself back too.
    I was getting the feeling that yes had been the wrong answer.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” I asked.
    Both Fippy and Lynn looked down at the ground.
    â€œFippy was just kidding around about the vinegar, Rais,” Lynn said.
    I think Lynn saw how embarrassed I was because she quickly added, “Rais, it’s okay if you’ve never kissed a boy. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
    Easy for her to say.
    PS—I saw CJ during math. I was hoping he’d say, “Are you free on whenever to get together to write the speech?” or, “I’m still not finished with the strip, but as soon as I am, I’ll call you,” or, “You look beautiful today, you unprissy thing, you. Have you heard the news? Dylan’s moved. Somewhere really hot, I heard, so she can walk around in nothing but her underwear at all times. Venus, I think.” But he didn’t say a thing, and neither did I. Maybe it’s just getting too weird