Free Desire in Any Language by Anastasia Vitsky Page B

and then loop it into a loose coil around her head.  She hands me a sheaf of bobby pins to fasten her braid.
    We look at ourselves in the mirror, and Ah-ee’s grin is contagious.
    “Mira,” she says with a nudge.  “We’re smoking hot.  Let’s go get ‘em.”
    At her friend’s house, Ah-ee insists on introducing me to every single person.  “This is Yuriko’s brother, and this is his friend from high school, and this is his neighbor.”
    I lose track of names and faces until Ah-ee stops in front of a girl lounging on the couch.  She is drinking cheap beer, and in that moment drinking cheap beer seems the most elegant activity in the entire world.  Ah-ee tells me her name, but I don’t hear it.
    “How do you know Ah-ee?” she asks, but I can only watch those powerful fingers curl around the glass beer bottle, nails perfectly aligned and sparkling. 
    Ah-ee nudges me.  “Tell her we’re in the same class, dummy,” she says.  When I still don’t answer, she stares at me.  Stares at the other girl, then stares at me again.  As realization starts to set in, she begins to laugh.  Pushes me onto the couch right next to the girl and ignores my discombobulated squeaks.
    “We’re in the same class,” Ah-ee tells the girl.  Ah-ee leans to whisper in my ear.  “Aren’t you glad I made you get your sexy new dress?”
    I nearly choke on the beer the girl has handed to me, and I shoot Ah-ee the most dire glare I can manage while still trying to make a good impression on the new girl.  Ah-ee laughs again and leaves to continue making the rounds.
    “Hi,” I say intelligently. 
    The girl runs her hand through her gleaming black hair.  I watch, mesmerized. 
    “Hi,” she replies with a laugh.  I desperately try to think of something witty and brilliant, but I can only think of the television jingle for the beer we are drinking.
    “Hi,” I say again before I can stop myself.  The full, open bottle of beer in my hand tilts dangerously.
    She lets her hair fall to her shoulders again and reaches to take the bottle from me.  As her fingers brush against mine, I gasp and my leg twitches.
    “What’s wrong?” she says, setting the bottle on the coffee table and placing a hand on my thigh.  It’s the Fourth of July and the 1812 Overture all at once, and I can’t get out a single word over the relentless internal explosions. 
    “What was your name?  Mira?  Are you okay?”
    I subdue my gasps by sheer willpower, and I cover her hand with my own.  “Kiss me,” I say.
    I drop her hand and cover my face in horror.  I meant to ask her name.  I meant to just think it, not say it.  I didn’t even mean to think it!  The only reason I don’t run to the bathroom to hide is that I am afraid if I move the tiniest bit that someone will see me.  Maybe I will melt into a puddle right on this couch.  Yes, an invisible Mira-puddle. 
    Something soft brushes against my lips, and the fireworks soar in cascading brightness throughout my pelvis, my stomach, and every single inch of my skin.  I don’t dare open my eyes.  I don’t dare move.  That is, until I hear a low whisper.
    “Don’t you know it’s bad manners not to kiss back?”
    “I can’t kiss you back,” I murmur.  It’s difficult to talk.  “I don’t even know your name.”
    She reaches down to squeeze my bottom.  I yelp, and she gives it a gentle slap.  “It’s Hana.  Don’t make me make you scream it.”
    Then her arms are around me, and despite being in view of a houseful of strangers I choose to know nothing more.
    In the end it is Ah-ee who has to drag me away from the discreet bedroom where Hana has brought me, and Ah-ee reminds me that we have to go to class tomorrow to get our results.  I couldn’t care less, but Ah-ee takes down Hana’s phone number and gives her mine, then shoves me not very gently to the door.  “Night!” she calls, holding onto my arm.
    “Just how much did you have to drink this time?” she