Torch Red: Color Me Torn with Bonus Content

color me torn

melody carlson

NavPress is the publishing ministry of The Navigators, an international Christian organization and leader in personal spiritual development. NavPress is committed to helping people grow spiritually and enjoy lives of meaning and hope through personal and group resources that are biblically rooted, culturally relevant, and highly practical.

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© 2004 by Melody Carlson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without written permission from NavPress, P.O. Box 35001, Colorado Springs, CO 80935.

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ISBN 978-1-57683-531-9

Cover design by David Carlson Design

Cover image: Banana Stock

Creative Team: Gabe Filkey, Arvid Wallen, Erin Healy, Darla Hightower, Pat Reinheimer

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in association with the literary agency of Sara A. Fortenberry.

Carlson, Melody.

Torch red : color me torn / a novel by Melody Carlson.

      p. cm. -- (True colors ; bk. 3)

Summary: Feeling like she is the only virgin on the planet, a high school junior wrestles with questions about love and sex before ultimately choosing to give herself to God instead of her boyfriend.

ISBN 1-57683-531-6

[1. Dating (Social customs)--Fiction. 2. High schools--Fiction. 3. Schools--Fiction. 4. Christian life--Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.C216637To 2004

[Fic]--dc22

2004008125

Printed in the United States of America

6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 / 14 13 12 11 10 09

Other Books by Melody Carlson

Harsh Pink
(NavPress)

Moon White
(NavPress)

Bright Purple
(NavPress)

Faded Denim
(NavPress)

Bitter Rose
(NavPress)

Blade Silver
(NavPress)

Fool’s Gold
(NavPress)

Burnt Orange
(NavPress)

Pitch Black
(NavPress)

Deep Green
(NavPress)

Dark Blue
(NavPress)

D
IARY OF A
T
EENAGE
G
IRL
series (Multnomah)

D
EGREES
series (Tyndale)

Crystal Lies
(WaterBrook)

Finding Alice
(WaterBrook)

Three Days
(Baker)

On This Day
(WaterBrook)

M
Y LIFE IS PATHETIC
.
R
EALLY
. I
T’S EMBARRASSING
,
HUMILIATING
,
TOTALLY
Loserville. I mean I can’t even admit this to anyone—outside of my family, that is—but I actually spent this New Year’s Eve babysitting.
Babysitting!
Now how lame is that? I mean it was okay when I was thirteen or fourteen and needed to make a few extra bucks. But I am
sixteen,
for Pete’s sake. Sixteen and three-quarters to be precise, and I didn’t even have a date for New Year’s Eve.

And as long as it’s time for true confessions, the sorry truth is that I’ve never even had a
real
honest-to-goodness boyfriend. Oh, a couple of guys have asked me out in the past year, and I actually went out with Clark Harris for a while back in middle school, but then we never even kissed. Now here I am, a junior in high school, soon to be seventeen, and I don’t even have a boyfriend. So I ask you, what is wrong with me?

Oh, yeah, I
know
I’m not drop-dead gorgeous like Andrea Boswell (she could be a professional model) or that airhead cheerleader Kirsti Quackenbush, but I’m not exactly chopped liver either. And compared to some girls who date regularly, I’m really not
that
bad-looking. Getting my braces off last fall helped, and I haven’t even had that many zits this year. My friend Emily Schuler says I look like Winona Ryder, and I’m thinking she may be on to something since I’ve got
those same kind of dark brown eyes and straight brunette hair—although I’m not into shoplifting.

And I have to admit, there are boys who do give me a second look and have even come on to me at times. But unfortunately they’re usually the kinds of boys I wouldn’t give a second glance anyway, guys like Spence Harding and Aaron Place. It’s not that they’re losers, exactly, but they don’t really strike me as “boyfriend material.” Not that I have a right to be too picky. But I really don’t want to go out with a guy who is, shall we say, “second rate.” I know that’s totally shallow, considering I just spent New Year’s Eve babysitting, but I suppose I have higher hopes.

What gives me the right to keep these hopes so high? Well, I suppose that’s the problem with being “marginally popular.” You see, I kind of hang with a pretty cool bunch of kids. This is mostly due to my best friend, Emily (who is a cheerleader, although I am not). And so I suppose I get this idea that
if
(and that’s turning into a pretty big
if
these days) I ever date anyone, it should be someone from within that same circle of friends.

Now, I know this is pretty stupid (did I mention shallow?), but it’s like I’m in this trap and I don’t really see any way out of it. And you know what really makes it seem totally absurd and crazy, or like I’m on some sort of beat-myself-up trip? Well, there’s this one particular guy that I’ve had this sort of secret crush on for years. His name is Nate Stein, but he’s really an outsider. The problem has nothing to do with his looks. In fact, he could possibly pass for Orlando Bloom—not with the blond braids as Legolas in
The Lord of the Rings
, but the way he normally looks with his brown hair and sultry eyes. The problem is that he’s really into religion, or so I hear. And for whatever reason, that’s just not cool with my crowd.

As a result, girls like Kirsti, or even Andrea and Emily, who
actually are pretty nice, would never in a million years give a guy like Nate the time of day. But ever since he and I were in band together back in middle school, I’ve always thought he was kind of cool (and that was before Orlando became hot). But would I go out with Nate now that I’m in high school? Probably not. Now really, how pathetic is that? I suppose I really am a shallow person. And I probably deserve exactly the kind of life I’m living.

It’s just that I’ve had this brief reprieve during winter break. My dad decided to take our family on a ski trip to Colorado during Christmas, and it was so amazing to be away from all the crud and pressure at school. But now it’s time to go back, and the prospect seriously has me down. I get so bummed when I think about the disgusting things that are said in the girls’ locker room every single day of the school year. And, as if that’s not bad enough, I feel ashamed about how I’ve turned into such a big fat liar this year.

Now, you must understand that my lies were simply a means of survival, and they were of the variety that should just blow over in time. Instead, they’ve turned into this thing I just can’t seem to shake. I mean it all started out innocently enough. It was early September. We were in the locker room getting dressed after fourth-period PE, and it seemed like every girl had to show off her new Victoria’s Secret underwear, or Gap or whatever (although some girls actually clip off the labels, like if their moms bought their “unmentionables” at JCPenney or Wal-Mart). And, as usual, this underwear talk quickly led to other kinds of talk. Okay, sex talk, to be precise.

Now when it comes to sex talk, some girls are subtle and rely more on innuendo (meaning they act like they’re saying something big, but you could never really prosecute them based on their actual words). Andrea is an expert at this, as is Emily. But that is only since
late last summer, when she actually lost her virginity to her current boyfriend, Todd Barker. Before that, she didn’t get involved in this kind of talk at all.

But then there are girls like Kirsti and her best friend, Thea Weller, who don’t mind telling all (and I mean
every
skanky detail) to anyone who will listen. And let me tell you, it can get pretty disgusting.

“I just don’t see what the big deal is,” said Kirsti, who in my opinion has been a tramp since middle school. “It’s just like kissing,” then she giggled, “only using different body parts.”

“Eww!” said Emily as she threw her wet towel at Kirsti. “Too much information!” I tossed Emily an appreciative glance meant to convey, “Thanks for voicing my opinion exactly,” as I shimmied into my jeans and quickly buttoned them before anyone noticed that I wasn’t wearing a thong. (I happen to think they’re uncomfortable.)