Never Been Kissed

by Melody Carlson

  Anyway, I had actually hoped that this move—and having some space away from her mother—might encourage my mom to start dating again. Not that I want her to get married or anything too serious. At least not while I’m still living at home. But maybe someday. Because I really do hate to think of her being lonely after I leave.

  “I wish you had your license,” Mom tells me as we stand outside the apartment complex, waiting for the taxi to arrive to take her to the airport. “Then you could just drop me off.”

  “Hey, I’m totally willing to drive you—”

  “No way,” she says. “You know that’s illegal. But the sooner you get your license, the happier I’ll be.” Just then the taxi arrives and she kisses me on the cheek as the driver loads her luggage in the trunk. “Be good,” she tells me as she waves goodbye.

  Like I have any alternatives? But I just nod and smile. Then she’s gone and I’m home alone for a few hours. First I pack up my stuff for Grandma’s, then I use the remaining time to catch up on my sleep (by the pool) as well as my tan, which is looking pretty good. Stacie never shows up by the pool, but I suspect it’s because she’s mad at me today.

  “The last week of summer vacation and you have to go off to your grandma’s house,” she complained yesterday.

  “It’s not like I have a choice in the matter,” I told her.

  “You could’ve stayed at my place,” she said with a pout.

  I explained that I haven’t seen much of my grandma since moving here, and also that my grandpa died last winter and my grandma has been pretty lonely. But I could tell that Stacie’s nose was still out of joint. I chalk this up to immaturity and promise myself to find an older best friend when school starts.

  “There you are,” my grandma calls out as she enters the pool area. “All ready to go?”

  “Just let me put on some clothes,” I tell her as I grab my towel and my library book.

  She hugs me then looks me up and down. “Well, Elise, you’re looking prettier than ever. But watch out for that sun. I hear that skin cancer is on the rise.”

  “I use sunscreen,” I tell her as we go upstairs. Of course, I don’t tell her that it’s not a very good sunscreen, because when it comes to grandmas, ignorance is usually bliss.

  She chuckles. “I suppose I’m not one to talk when I think of how I used to get burned as a teen. Can you believe your old grandmother used to wear a bikini?”

  I laugh and then remind her, like I always do, that fifty-five is not terribly old for a grandmother. In fact, I’ve had friends with moms about that same age.

  We gather up my things and load them into her old Cadillac, and she hands me the car keys. “I’ve decided that you’ll be the driver this week,” she tells me as we get in the car. “I’m on vacation.”

  I smile as I start the car. “That’s fine with me. I need to log some more hours to get my driver’s license anyway.”

  “I’ve also decided to give you your birthday present early,” she tells me as I slow down for a light.

  “Cool. What is it?”

  “Back-to-school shopping.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. Your mom mentioned that you haven’t gotten much yet, and I know that money’s tighter than usual. I was thinking about how you’ll be going to a new school, and I think you should put your best foot forward. So we’re going all out, Elise. Tomorrow we’ll hit the mall and we’ll shop till we drop.”

  “Way cool,” I tell her. Suddenly I’m very glad I didn’t stay home alone after all.

  It’s fun to be back on my old stomping ground too. Although I do find myself wishing we’d never moved and that I could return to life as I knew it. Back when I had a life.

  Still, I decide to make the best of it and even offer to walk my grandma’s schnauzer, Millie. Dog and I slowly cruise the old neighborhood, finally stopping in the park, where I run into my old friend Hilary Linder. She has a dog with her too, her mom’s new and slightly neurotic poodle, Fifi.

  “Elise,” she cries when she sees me. “What are you doing here?” I explain about visiting Grandma, then we hug like we were better friends than we actually were. We let the dogs off their leashes, and she immediately tells me she has a new boyfriend.

  “Really?” I ask in surprise, since Hilary, like me, wasn’t exactly date bait last year.

  “Do you remember Monroe Gordon?” she asks.

  “Not exactly,” I admit.

  “Well, he’s kind of a quiet guy,” she says. “He was my lab partner in Chemistry and—”

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “I do remember him. He seemed nice.”

  She smiles and nods. “He is nice.”

  “Anyway, he has a cousin who goes to Garfield High.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” She frowns as if thinking. “I think his name is Ashton . . . No, that’s not right. But it’s close. And his last name is Gordon like Monroe’s because their dads are brothers.”

  “Oh.” I nod like this is of interest to me, but the truth is I don’t really care. I mean, what are the chances I’ll actually meet this Ashton-whatever-his-name-is or, even if I did, that he’d be someone I’d want to know? Especially if he’s anything like his cousin, because as I recall, Monroe is kind of nerdy.

  “Wouldn’t that be cool if you got together with him?”

  I smile like I think it’d be cool, although I know it’s pretty unlikely.

  “We could go out together sometime,” she continues. “You know, on a double date.”

  We chat some more and then Hilary looks at her watch and announces that she’s got to hurry home to get ready for a big date tonight. “How long are you staying at your grandmother’s?” she calls out as we’re heading our separate ways.

  “Until Friday.”

  “I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Okay,” I shout back. But as I walk Millie back to Grandma’s, I’m betting that Hilary won’t call. I have a feeling she’s pretty wrapped up in her new boyfriend. And really, I’m happy for her. Yet I do wonder . . . would I possibly have had a boyfriend too—that is, if I hadn’t been uprooted and moved away from here?

  Shopping ends up being pretty fun, and Grandma, as always, is a lot easier to shop with than my mom. Not that she just hands me over her credit cards or anything like that, but she’s a lot more generous than Mom. I’m sure it’s because she can afford to be. Not that she’s rich. But compared to us, well, she’s pretty comfortable.

  By Wednesday I not only have some cool new clothes and shoes and things, but Grandma took me to Nordstrom to get a makeover and then bought me makeup. The good stuff. And I actually know how to use it.

  On Thursday afternoon, to my surprise, Hilary calls. “Monroe’s cousin stopped by and we’re going out for ice cream,” she tells me. “Want to come along?”

  I’m pretty stunned, but I agree. Before they get here to pick me up, I quickly change into a cooler outfit and touch up my makeup.

  “Don’t you look lovely,” Grandma says when I tell her about my plans. “And that’s nice that Hilary is introducing you to a boy at your new school.”

  I try not to show how nervous I am as I watch for a car—what kind of car, I have no idea. I want to ask Grandma if she thinks this is a real date or what. But she’s caught up in watching a rerun of Dancing with the Stars and I don’t want to disturb her, plus I don’t want to appear too naive.

  Suddenly they’re here and I pop out to join them, and the next thing I know I’m sitting in the backseat of Monroe’s car—next to a perfectly gorgeous guy. His name is Asher (not Ashton), and although he’s polite to me, I can tell he’s not comfortable with this situation.

  As we wait for the guys to get our ice cream, I discover why.

  “Asher has a girlfriend,” Hilary tells me.

  “Oh.” I try not to show my disappointment.

  “Yeah, I didn’t realize that at first. But he mentioned it on our way to pick you up. He didn’t want you to think you were on a date.”
>
  “I didn’t think it was a date,” I say quickly. “Just friends getting ice cream.”

  Hilary seems relieved. “Oh, good. Apparently his girlfriend’s been working at some youth camp for most of August and he’s been kind of lonely.”

  “Right,” I say, forcing a casual smile to my lips as the guys rejoin us with the ice cream.

  “Just so you know,” she says quietly.

  “No problem.”

  I play the good sport as we talk and eat our ice cream, and Asher fills me in about Garfield High and how kids can be kind of snooty there. Then I make this really lame excuse about needing to get home early, and just like that it’s over with. Big deal. Yet I feel deflated as I go back into Grandma’s house. I flop myself onto her sofa as she sits in her recliner with Millie, watching an old Turner Classic movie, which is a black-and-white musical that’s pretty lame.

  As I sit there watching a pair of young lovers singing to each other in the garden, I wonder when I’ll have my turn—when will I ever get to go out on a real date? If that somehow miraculously happens, will it be with a guy as cool as Asher Gordon? Or someone more nerdy, like his cousin Monroe? And will I ever get my first kiss?

  Good grief, my birthday is less than three weeks away now and it seems more than likely that I’ll totally nail this one—I’ll be that pathetic girl who really did hit sweet sixteen without being kissed.

  3

  ______

  It’s Labor Day weekend, but as usual, my mom has to work. To make matters worse, Stacie is still in a snit because I abandoned her last week. And it doesn’t help that I got a bunch of new clothes. I thought she was going to punch me in the nose when I let that little cat out of the bag.

  “You’re so lucky,” she says to me as we sit by the pool together on Sunday. I’ve been working hard to win her favor back, and I’m not even sure it’s worth the effort.

  “I’m lucky?” I repeat. “I get to start a new school where I know only one person and—”

  “Two,” she points out. “Don’t forget your big date with Asher Gordon.” She slams the peach smoothie I made for her onto the cement so hard that I’m worried the plastic cup might crack.

  “I told you,” I say, “that wasn’t a date. Asher already has—”

  “I know,” she says in a snooty voice. “Everyone knows. Asher has been going with Brianna for ages. But that doesn’t mean they might not break up. I mean if Asher is into you. And then you’ll probably just forget you ever knew me because you’ll be Miss Popularity.”

  “That’s so not going to happen,” I tell her as I finish the last of my peach smoothie.

  “Sure, you can say what you like, but—”

  “I have an idea,” I say as I suddenly jump to my feet.

  She frowns up at me. “What?”

  I reach down and grab her hand. “Come on.”

  “What?” she whines as I pull her up.

  “A makeover. We’ll give you a back-to-school makeover.”

  She tries to look skeptical, but I can tell I’ve got her interested.

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “You’ll see.” I point upstairs. “That is, if you’re willing. This is a onetime offer that expires in ten seconds.”

  “Okay, I’m in.”

  Before she can rethink this agreement, I dash upstairs, and I can hear her trudging up the steps behind me. Of course, I’m not totally sure how I’ll pull this magical makeover off. But I suddenly feel quite driven. There are two reasons I’m determined to help Stacie improve her appearance: (1) I want her to get over being mad at me, and (2) perhaps more importantly, I want her to look her best since she’s the only friend I’ll have when I go to school on Tuesday.

  First I make Stacie take a shower and wash and thoroughly condition her hair. If I had a spare toothbrush, I’d force her to brush her teeth. But maybe I can make her run home to do that when we’re done. The conditioner alone is a great help to her hair. As I show her how to blow it dry, removing the kinky waves, it’s actually rather shiny and pretty. “Now, is there any reason you can’t do this for yourself?” I

  ask her.

  She shrugs. “I never knew how.”

  “Didn’t your mom or sister ever—”

  “They think I’m hopeless,” she admits. “They call me Baby Pig sometimes.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  She nods sadly. “Leslie tells me that my nose is too big for my face and that my skin will never clear up unless I quit drinking soda, which is not even possible. She says that if I keep going outside with no sunscreen, I’m going to look like I’m eighty by the time I’m twenty. And she says my hair looks like a witch’s broom.”

  “Well, how about if we trim your hair a little,” I suggest as I show her how uneven the ends are.

  “Do you know how to do that?”

  I hold out my long hair as a sample. “I cut my own hair, which is why you don’t see any split ends.”

  She nods eagerly now. “Sure, go ahead.”

  I trim her hair and the use the curling iron to turn the ends under. But instead of letting her look at it in the mirror, I make her look at me as I decide what to do for her face. “You know, your complexion isn’t really that bad,” I tell her.

  She just laughs.

  “I actually think a little foundation and concealer, combined with better skin care, could make a big difference.”

  “Go for it,” she says in an unconvinced tone. So I do.

  Now, I’ve been told that an only child tends to be more selfish than one with siblings, and I think I can attest to the truth in that statement. For that reason, as I continue with the facial portion of this Stacie makeover, I don’t use the nice new products that Grandma bought me at Nordstrom. No, for Stacie, I use my old stuff—relatively cheap drugstore items that Mom let me buy after I turned fifteen and was finally allowed to wear makeup. I’m guessing that Stacie won’t know the difference.

  But I do take time and care to do my best. I even explain to her what I’m doing so she can do it herself at home. “This concealer is to cover blemishes,” I say, pretending I’m the gorgeous redhead that worked me over at Nordstrom last week. “Go lightly with it so it’s not obvious you’re trying to cover something up. Then dab it with your finger a bit to soften the edges. And when you apply the foundation, keep it light too, and make sure you blend the edges along your jaw so there’s not a distinct line there.” Then I teach her how to use blush. “Just a bit in the apple of your cheek and then feather it out toward your ears so you don’t look like a clown.”

  It seems the only products she actually knows how to use are mascara and lip gloss. “I swiped the mascara from Leslie,” she admits after I’ve finally managed to remove the clumps from her lashes. “It’s waterproof, so I can swim and everything, and I only have to put it on every few days.”

  “And you never take the old mascara off?”

  “It’s too hard to get it off.”

  “Tell me about it.” I toss the last blackened tissue away. “Why don’t you throw that waterproof junk away and stick to this kind? It might not hold up in a swimming pool, but it does come off nicely at the end of the day.”

  Next I show her how to put on eyeliner and how to soften it with a Q-tip so it doesn’t look like Cleopatra. “Voila,” I say when I’m done. “Vive la différence!”

  And what a difference there is. When she looks at herself in the mirror, she’s as astonished as I am. “Wow, Elise,” she says to me. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”

  I kind of shrug.

  “How did you learn this anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “But I do like art, and makeup is kind of like art. Last year when I took drama, I offered to do makeup to escape being cast in the play.”

  She’s smiling now, which actually makes her look even prettier. Then she turns and hugs me. “You might look a lot like my big sister, but you are way nicer.”

  Well, that really to
uches me, so I decide to take my unexpected generosity to the next level. “Now, how about clothes?”

  “Clothes?” She just frowns. “My, uh, wardrobe isn’t exactly—”

  “No, I mean maybe I have some clothes that might—”

  “Uh, if you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly the same size. I mean you’re like three inches taller and way more curvy and—”

  “But I haven’t always looked like this,” I remind her. “And I happen to be one of those people who has a hard time letting go of things—even when those things are too small.”

  “Seriously?”

  I go to the back of my closet and retrieve some of my old favorites—some that I saved and bought myself, others that I talked Mom or Grandma into getting. But I have a nice little collection—with the emphasis on “little.”

  “Wow, you really did used to be smaller.” Stacie grins as she zips a pair of what used to be my favorite jeans. “Lucky me!”

  “No, Lucky jeans. Those are real Lucky’s, you know.”

  “No way!”

  I nod and try not to feel envious as I remember how great I used to feel in those jeans. I mean it’s not like they’ll ever fit me again anyway.

  “Are you really okay with this?” she asks hesitantly.

  I force a smile. “Well, I guess I kind of wish I could still squeeze into them.”

  She looks shocked. “You’re crazy, Elise. I would totally kill to have your body.”

  “Just wait, you probably will someday.”

  “Kill for your body?”

  I laugh. “No, I mean you’ll probably get your own body—curves and all.”

  “I told my mom that I wanted a boob job for my next birthday.”

  Now this makes me really laugh. “And what did she say?”

  Stacie rolls her eyes. “She said in my dreams.”

  It seems that Stacie’s dreams have come true today. Or nearly. She’s still stuck with no curves. But by the time she leaves my apartment, looking better than ever and loaded down with two grocery bags of used clothes and one plastic bag of old makeup, she’s grinning like she just won the lottery.