Never Been Kissed

by Melody Carlson

  As I slip into my seat in English Comp, I feel eyes on me and hear snickers. My plan is to ignore them as I remind myself that not only am I innocent, I am on a mission. I’m a reconnaissance spy who’s willing to endure hurt and humiliation toward a specific goal—to unravel this little mystery.

  My plan is to confront Asher and Brianna—and not privately either. I intend to find them in the midst of their friends at their favorite table in the cafeteria. There, with God and the whole world watching, I will question them. My strategy is to catch the diabolical pair totally off guard—an ambush of sorts, and possibly my best chance to get to the truth. Or so I hope . . . and pray.

  In the meantime, I will keep a low profile. I will act the way everyone expects me to . . . like a cowering, whipped puppy, eyes cast downward, basically a wimp. Then, when the timing is right, I’ll hold my head high as I look Asher and Brianna straight in the eye and demand to know the truth. It could work.

  Avoiding eye contact, I make my way into Spanish. Like a frightened mouse, I slip into my seat, open my book, and just stare blankly at the pages in front of me. It’s been a long, hard morning and I’m already questioning my plan—as well as my own strength. I’ve discovered it’s not easy to be a reconnaissance spy. It’s like I’m playing the role of whipped puppy-girl and actually starting to feel like it. Like I really should tuck my tail between my legs and go whimpering back to Grandma’s house.

  Then I remind myself of the Bible verse (in my own version), “As a girl thinks of herself, so she becomes.” So instead of thinking poor, sad, beaten-down loser girl, I imagine myself as Joan of Arc. Yes, they might burn me at the stake, but at least I will go down with my head held high—nobly—and with God at my side.

  When the bell rings, I remain at my seat, pretending to finish up my grammar assignment, but really waiting to exit by myself once the room is emptied. When I get up to leave, I see that Ms. Sorenson is watching me with curious eyes.

  “How are you doing, Elise?” she asks in an unexpectedly kind voice.

  I try not to look too shocked. “Okay, considering everything.”

  She nods. “Yes, I heard about what happened. I must admit I was surprised. You don’t seem like that—”

  “I didn’t send that skanky photo,” I say with conviction. “It’s not even me in the picture. Someone did it to get me. But I plan to find out who’s responsible and then inform the police.”

  She blinks. “Really?”

  I nod. “It won’t be easy, but that’s my plan.”

  She smiles now. “Well, good luck with it.”

  I let out a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll need it.” With my head held high, I head for the cafeteria. But the closer I get to it, the more it feels like I’m Joan of Arc heading to my own execution.

  You can do this, I tell myself. You are strong. You are innocent. God is on your side. You CAN do this!

  It’s high noon and time for the showdown. I march over to where Asher and Brianna are holding court at their elite table, and with my hands on my hips, I stare at them. “I want to know who sent that photo,” I say loudly.

  They look at me with their phony blank expressions and slight air of boredom, their typical response to most things. Like they’re too cool to care about anything besides their little clique of stuck-up snobs.

  “Get over yourself,” Lindsey says with exasperation. “Because we are.” This is followed by snickers and giggles.

  “I know that one of you is responsible,” I continue. “I just want to know who did it . . . and why.”

  “We all know you sent the skanky photo,” Brianna tells me with narrowed eyes. “Everyone in this whole school knows it came from your phone, which only shows how totally stupid you are. And that’s why you were arrested, loser girl.”

  “I did not send it,” I say loudly. “Someone stole my phone and sent the photograph to frame me, and I want to know who is responsible.”

  “Someone stole your phone?” Bristol repeats dramatically. “You seriously expect us to believe that someone stole your phone?”

  “Yeah,” Brianna continues. “And perhaps that same someone carried your phone off to a secret location and snapped a photo of a naked girl with it—a naked girl who happens to look strangely like you—and then that someone sent the photo to Asher’s phone. And then that same someone slipped the previously stolen phone back into your purse without you noticing.” She shakes her head. “Not only are you stupid, loser girl, you’re insane.”

  I point to Asher now. “You know who sent that photo to you, don’t you? Not only that, but you know why.”

  He just shakes his head, but in a way that says he thinks I’m a pathetic nuisance and he wishes I’d just disappear.

  “And you forwarded it too,” I continue. “Right?”

  “I did not,” he states. “That’s a lie.”

  “Then who forwarded it?” I demand. “It’s your phone, Asher, you should know. Who forwarded it to the whole school?”

  He just shrugs.

  I point to Brianna. “You forwarded it, didn’t you?”

  She just shrugs too. Like monkey see, monkey do.

  “Well, that was a crime too,” I tell them. “Because whoever forwarded that is criminally responsible for dispersing child pornography—guilty on even more counts than I’ve been charged for because you sent it to so many phones and websites. And I plan to make sure the police investigate both of you equally to find out which of you is responsible.”

  “Maybe Asher’s phone was stolen too,” Brianna says in a taunting voice. “Maybe that same mysterious someone who stole your phone got ahold of Asher’s phone. Maybe there’s a mysterious phone thief at our school—the little phone bandito with the black mask, lurking down some dark hallway. Why don’t you go try to find out where the phone bandito is?”

  Everyone laughs as if this is terribly funny.

  “Leave us alone,” Brianna tells me coldly. “Don’t you get that we don’t want to be seen with a slut like you? You’re embarrassing, loser girl.”

  “And if you think that photo of you was hot, you’re totally delusional,” Bristol adds. “Your body is as lame as you are, loser girl.”

  “Get lost, loser,” Lindsey adds.

  “This isn’t over,” I tell them. “The truth will come to light.”

  “The truth is you’re pathetic,” Brianna says in that same bored tone that she started out with. “And boring.” She turns away and they all laugh.

  Okay, I tell myself as I turn and walk away, maybe I did lose round one. But I am not giving up. I am so not giving in. I will see this thing through to completion. But I have no appetite for lunch now.

  I feel the heat in my cheeks and my stomach is tied into a knot, so I go for a walk and pray, feeling like God is my only friend. And I ask myself, why is that not enough?

  13

  ______

  “You’re not wanted here,” Bristol tells me when I try to take my seat at my old table in Art class.

  “This is where I’m sitting,” I announce as I set my bag down on the table with a plop. “Thanks anyway.”

  She gives me a look that I’m sure is meant to wither me to nothing, but I’m not going there. I look straight back at her. “You know, you’d be really pretty if you didn’t go around with that look on your face all the time.”

  I hear Phillip chuckling as he comes up behind me.

  “And you’d be really smart if you knew how to keep your clothes on,” she tosses back at me. “Especially with a body like that.”

  “Hey, I thought her body was hot,” says a guy across the room. “I wanted to ask her to pose for us when we start doing figure drawing.”

  Mr. Hanson clears his throat from the work table at the front of the room where he’s helping someone cut a mat. “Please turn your attention to your projects, class.”

  As I work on the pen and ink, I try to strategize my next move. But I’m afraid I don’t really have one. Well, except to encourage the police to trac
k down the jerk who forwarded the naked photo to everyone. I’ll ask Wally to follow that up for me.

  Class is just about over when I sense someone watching me. I look up to see Phillip staring.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

  “Just thinking about something.”

  I kind of shrug then return to my picture.

  “Elise?” he says quietly.

  I look up again. “What?” I ask with a little irritation.

  “You have a pretty good tan, don’t you?”

  I frown at him. “What are you talking about?”

  He reaches over now and pushes up the sleeve of my shirt to my upper arm. “See how tan you are?”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re going to lecture me about skin cancer, because I have about all the stress I can take in my life right now.”

  “No, this isn’t about skin cancer. I’m just pointing out that you appear to have a really good tan.”

  “So?”

  “So, how long have you had it?”

  “How long?” I stare at him like he’s losing his mind. I notice that both Katie and Bristol are looking on with curiosity. “I don’t know,” I say. “I mean I spent a lot of time by the pool this summer. I guess I’ve had it for several months. But it’s starting to fade some. What’s your point?”

  He leans down and peers straight into my face. “My point is the photo of the naked girl didn’t look tan. She looked kind of pale—”

  “It sounds like you really studied that photo,” Bristol teases him. “And here I thought you were such a principled guy, a Christian too, right?”

  “Christians have eyes, Bristol.” He smirks at her. “We are human, you know.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet you are,” she taunts him in a flirtatious way. “Really, really human.”

  “So, Phillip,” I persist, “what is your point?”

  “My point is that girl in the sleazy photo didn’t have a tan. She didn’t have tan lines either. She was really pale.”

  Katie kind of nods now. “He’s right.”

  “You saw that photo too?” I ask her.

  She makes an uncomfortable smile then nods.

  “Do you get what I’m saying, Elise?” Phillip presses.

  “Yes,” I say eagerly. “And you’re absolutely right—and totally brilliant!”

  “Wait a minute,” Bristol jumps in. “Just because you don’t have tan lines in the photo doesn’t mean it’s not of you.”

  “Then how do you explain my tan?”

  “Maybe you’ve been to a tanning booth.”

  “No way!” I shake my head. “That’s freaky.”

  “Or maybe you use self-tanning lotion.”

  “That stuff stinks.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Or maybe you took that photo last winter when you were white as a ghost.”

  “That’s easy enough to prove,” Phillip tells me. “It was your camera that took the photo, right?”

  I frown. “So they say.”

  “Well, it’s not hard to prove that. The date the photo was taken will be recorded. The police probably know exactly when the photo was taken by now. If it was recently, you can prove your innocence by your tan.” He chuckles. “Innocent by way of melanoma.”

  “That’s a sweet thought.” I roll my eyes at him, but at the same time I seriously want to hug this guy. Yet I don’t want to overwhelm him when we’re just barely friends again. “I really can prove I’m innocent now. This is fantastic. Maybe you should consider detective work as a career option.”

  “You can only prove your innocence if the photo’s recent. I’ll bet that it’s not,” Bristol says. “I’m guessing it’s something you did for some other unsuspecting guy you were crushing on last year. Someone from your old school. Asher told us he’s got his cousin checking up on you, finding out just what kind of girl you really were before you moved here and started acting like Little Miss Goody-Goody.”

  “I’m not a goody-goody,” I protest.

  She nods. “I must agree with you on that account, Elise. So you might as well give up your little innocent act. Because no one’s falling for it.”

  Phillip gives me a slightly empathetic look as the bell rings. I thank him again for making his observation. He smiles. “You know, Elise, I’m actually starting to believe that photo really wasn’t you.”

  “Hopefully I can convince everyone of the truth,” I say as we leave the art room.

  Bristol laughs. “And if you pull that off, I recommend you take up drama, Elise, because we’re always on the lookout for talented actresses.”

  I’m totally antsy to get out of here now. I want to call Grandma and probably Wally too. Maybe even my mom if she’s willing to speak to me. But my next two classes seem to last for eternity. Even so, I can’t afford to skip them. I’ve already gotten behind by missing a few days. And with all my other problems, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to add failing grades or truancy to the list.

  Eventually the final bell rings. I blast out of school, rush to my car, and try not to speed as I drive back to Renaldo. If only I had my phone, I would gladly pull over and just call everyone. As it is, I feel like I’m living in the seventies . . . or whenever it was PCP (pre–cell phone).

  Unfortunately, Grandma’s not home when I get there. Millie happily barks and greets me, which means Grandma probably went somewhere besides the store or post office, since she usually takes Millie on these trips. Suddenly I realize I’m starving, so I consume a hefty chunk of leftover lasagna and an apple. Then I just frantically pace back and forth in the kitchen, wishing my grandma would hurry.

  Finally, I can’t stand it. I go into the den and turn on the old computer, waiting for it to warm up so I can pull up the MySpace page where that horrible photo is still posted. I study it closely and realize Phillip was absolutely right. The girl is ghost white with absolutely no tan lines. Even if strange lighting was used, I would never look that pale. Not since last winter anyway.

  Just to prove this to myself, I close the door to the den, remove my shirt and bra, and look down at myself, then compare what I see to the photo. I had never really thought the photo was me—except for the brief fear that someone caught me getting in or out of the shower—but it’s such an enormous relief to see the difference in skin tone. I notice that there are some other minor discrepancies as well.

  “What are you doing?” Grandma demands when she walks into her den to find me topless.

  “I can explain,” I tell her as I grab my shirt and hold it over myself.

  “Elise?” Her eyes are wide, and she stares at the computer screen and then at me. “What on earth are you doing?” Her tone is alarmed, and I can only imagine what’s going through her head.

  “Grandma,” I say calmly, “I’m just trying to prove my innocence.”

  “You have a very strange way of doing that,” she says.

  “Look.” I peel a part of my shirt away to reveal my tan lines from the top part of where my suit would cover me. “I have a tan.” Then I point to the computer. “That person does not.”

  She blinks and looks more closely at the photo. “You know, I believe you’re right.”

  “This could be my proof,” I tell her.

  “What should we do?” she asks. “Take a naked photo of you?”

  I consider this. “That might be considered child porn too.”

  She nods. “Let me call Wally and get his opinion.”

  While she does this, I get dressed.

  “Wally is going to call the police. He thinks that, if you’re willing, he will recommend that a female officer along with a dermatologist expert examine you and perhaps even take photos—but not pornographic ones, of course. He thinks with that evidence as well as the dermatologist’s expert opinion, it might be useful in court.” She smiles now. “If it goes to court. Wally is feeling hopeful that your charges will be dropped.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard in days,” I tell her. “Well, beside Phillip p
ointing out my tan in Art class.”

  “Who is Phillip?”

  I tell her a little bit about him. “He’s actually a really great guy. We’d gone to church together and we were even going to go to the homecoming dance together . . . before all this happened.”

  “You can’t still go to homecoming?” she asks sadly. “When is it anyway?”

  “Tomorrow night,” I tell her.

  “Too bad. This Phillip sounds like a very nice boy.”

  About an hour later, Wally calls back and wants to talk to me. “The police are willing to take your suntan situation into consideration,” he tells me. “I’m trying to get an appointment set up for Monday at the precinct.”

  “That long?”

  “Is your tan fading fast?” he asks with concern.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I should go sit by the pool this weekend and beef it up a little.”

  “No, don’t do that, Elise. They might think you were working on it just to prove yourself innocent.”

  “Okay.” I bite my lip. Every day that this thing drags on feels like a year to me. I so want it to be over and done. But I know I need to be patient.

  “Anything else I need to know?” he asks. “How did your undercover investigation go?”

  “Not as well as I’d hoped. Although it does seem obvious that either Asher or Brianna was responsible for forwarding that photo. They didn’t admit it, but I could tell by their expressions that they knew. My guess is that Brianna did it when she grabbed Asher’s phone from him. But wouldn’t the proof show up on their phones?”

  “Yes, and this is a point I already made to the DA. But I’ll follow it up. Asher’s phone and maybe Brianna’s should be seized for evidence too.”

  “That seems fair.”

  “Well, you hang in there, kiddo. I promise you, we will get to the bottom of this.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”