Chapter 1
Every perfect first kiss has three key elements:
• The right place—the senior prom, the lookout of a fairy-tale castle, the bed of a pickup truck on a beautifully starry night.
• The right moment—just as the Fourth of July fireworks build to a crescendo, during a moonlit slow dance, right after that first emotional “I love you.”
• The right person—a young Leonardo DiCaprio (no exceptions).
If you’re lucky, you get all three. But if you’re me, you get a hole-in-the-wall gay club practically vibrating to “Let’s Hear It for the Boy” and a prima-donna drag queen named Goldie Prawn.
“What do y’all say? Should I give this cutie a birthday smooch?” Goldie asks the boisterous crowd gathered around the small, scuffed-up stage. Raised drinks dot the air in answer. I try to push them all down with the power of my mind. Now would be the perfect moment for surprise telekinetic powers to kick in.
Goldie turns toward me with clear intent. Her tall, blond wig of curls is dangerously close to toppling off her round, perfectly beat face. If I was a prankster who relished the spotlight, I might take this opportunity to tap it off and get a laugh, play it up as a bit we rehearsed beforehand, all to avoid the incoming kiss.
But, alas, I’m not a prankster. I’m something worse. I’m a scared, freshly twenty-two-year-old boy standing onstage in front of a bunch of strangers on his birthday, horrified at the thought of having a flippant first kiss.
This isn’t how it was supposed to happen.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” the horde chants as if kisses are nothing more than free samples given out at Costco.
Kisses, to me at least, are sacred. They have weight. Theymean something.
Anxiety-induced panic punches me in the gut. I don’t want to let everyone down or ruin the fun. Maybe I can pretend this one doesn’t count? I’ll wipe it from my record later.
I’m always waffling on this. The peer pressure to get my first kiss over with is at an all-time high right now, making me feel smaller than small.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The chants grow louder.
Just as I’m about to let those painted puckered lips collide with my own, I…
I…
I whip my head away. Miss Prawn catches my cheek, and the crowd of rowdy queers boos with wild abandon.
I flush hot, shrink down, and attempt to shrug it off.
The power of teleportation? No? Okay, fine. Being a mere mortal seriously sucks sometimes.
“Oh, honey, what, did you think my kiss was going to turn you into a frog?” Goldie asks. “That’sprincesses. I’m aqueen!” An Alice in Wonderland “Off with her head!” sound bite rings out, as if this had all been planned. “Oh my word, Paul in the DJ booth is at the top of his game tonight!”
“Always the best for you, Goldie.” Paul’s disembodied voice booms through the place.
Goldie showboats a second before swiveling back to me. “Anywho, since you’re an adorable little cupcake and it’s your birthday, I’m gonna let it slide!” She flashes me a vicious side-eye before turning all her attention back to the crowd. “All right, y’all, let’s hear it for the boy!”
As the dance floor morphs back into a sea of raging, writhing bodies, lights low and inhibitions lower, my best friends, Avery and Mateo, march me off the stage and into the nearby bathroom. It’s their fault I was up there in the first place. Well, them and the homemadeBirthday Babesash I’m wearing over my snug, sporty, going-out tank top.
“WTH! Why didn’t you kiss her?” Avery asks. Her glittery,Euphoria-inspired eye makeup glimmers in the flickering half-light over the sludgy sink.
“Shut up, Aves. You know why he didn’t kiss her,” Mateo says. “The reason is stupid, but even a stupid reason is a reason.”
“It’s not stupid,” I protest. “It’s romantic. There’s a difference.”
“Romanceandstupidityare synonymous,” says a bald man in a leather harness taking a leak at the nearby urinal. It’s hard to avoid the sudden overwhelming sound and unpleasant aroma of the steady stream of beer-produced piss.
“Thanks for your input,” I say.
“Happy birthday though,” Studded Harness says.
