Sophie

"Come on, just do it," they egg us, circling us, cell phones at the ready. "You're both single. You want to."
My face is close to hers; she won't meet my eyes. I'm holding her arms, crouching in front of her lap, repeating their words.
"Let's just do it."
She hesitates. "Fine..."
I dive in immediately, not hesitating, the cat calls and shouts pushing me forward. The kiss is bad; our teeth clack together; our tongues miss, but that doesn't deter our audience. Their excitement is tangible, sticky against my skin. I pull back and they applaud, patting me on the back. I feel successful, lick my lips, smirk.
Her name is Sophie, and she pulls me into the staircase, away from eyes.
"I'm really straight, you know." I smile but don't press the issue.
"Yeah, ok."
We're holding hands, she looks down.
"We should practice more."
"Yeah, ok."
We try again, and it's not as horrible, but we're still confused as to who should lead and who should follow. Our teeth don't clack, our tongues brush, our hands hold each others faces and her cheeks are hot, red.
"I'm really straight," she repeats, as we break apart. "But, um..." She's British, her accent begins to leak into her words. "Maybe I could call you sometime, and we could, you know. Hang out or something."
"Ok," I reply, but I'm already walking back towards the room.