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“Never?” says Galinda, eyes saucer-wide.
“Never,” says Elphaba. She toys with the frilled edge of one of her roommate’s many, many decorative pillows. It’s plush and precious and pink, just like its owner.
Galinda looks at her like she’s just confessed to being a serial puppy kicker. “I just can’t believe you’ve never even kissed a boy.”
Elphaba shrugs. “No boy has ever wanted to kiss me.” (Nevermind whether any boy has been worth kissing.)
“That is so sad,” Galinda murmurs, hand to her chest, as if she can’t imagine any worse hardship than not being kissed. Then, her face lights up: “Although,” she muses aloud, “maybe I could help you practice.”
Before Elphaba can inquire further, Galinda is upon her in a flurry of lace and curls — and a single, swift kiss to the lips.
She leans back, granting a magnanimous nod. “So? What did you think?”
Elphaba blinks rapidfire. (When did her face get this hot?) “I’m — not sure?”
Galinda giggles. “Well, nobody’s first kiss is perfect. Not even mine.”
Elphaba licks her lips. They taste of Galinda’s lip gloss: sweet, hinting towards spearmint. Cautiously, she suggests, “Maybe I need more practice.”
Galinda beams. “Now you’re getting it.”