I Never

“I never smoked pot,” Alyssa stated as a few fingers around the circle went down (but not mine). Not a very exciting disclosure. Marijuana wasn’t a big deal at Andover High School. Some people did it, some didn’t. Shrugged shoulders all around. On to the next revelation.

“Sarah, you’re next,” Ashali said, nodding to the other Sarah, the more important one. I was Sarah Steadland, she was just Sarah. I couldn’t wait until I was the cheerleading captain and everyone called me by just my first name. But for now I was just an insignificant freshman, lucky to be on the varsity squad but still a freshman nonetheless.

In case you’re not familiar with this ritualistic coming-of-age game that the nine of us girls could be seen playing on that afternoon of 2003, I’ll briefly explain “I Never” to you. These days, it is considered one of many options for college students in need of a game to play when they have a case of beer and not much to talk about. But back then, when we were still on the younger side of our adolescent years, “I Never” was basically a slumber-party game. It wasn’t quite as widely known as “Truth or Dare” but way more interesting, due to its lack of the “I’ll take...Dare” cop-out option. In “I Never,” you sit cross-legged in a circle and hold up your ten fingers. You go around the circle and each person says something they have never done. Whoever has done it puts one finger down. The first person to lose all ten fingers loses. Or wins, if that’s how you see it.

So it was Captain Sarah’s turn. She made an “Ummm.…” sound as she mysteriously glanced about the circle in thought. I couldn’t imagine there was much Sarah hadn’t done. “I never had sex in a car.”

“Oh, good one!” Erica gushed as she slowly put a finger down, demonstrating for all to see that she had totally done that. “You should try it. Me and Ry do it all the time in his truck.”

I tried to look impressed by the other captain of our squad. That’s half the game, you know, reacting to each statement through body language. It’s a tough skill to master, the “Well I haven’t done that yet, but maybe I’ll consider trying it in the future” look. It doesn’t matter if the person’s talking about screwing in a car or purposely cutting off a chunk of their tongue. You absolutely have to look cool with it.

“I never went on a date with Ross King,” said Ashali, clearly targeting Sarah, who smiled smugly as she put yet another finger down. Sarah was quickly losing.

After Erica’s turn, it was going to be me. I went through a mental list of all the crazy things I hadn’t done and panicked a little. A lot rested on this. A newbie on the varsity hockey cheer squad has to seem cool to her superiors, which my pale wallfloweriness didn’t do for me. I thought of the things I was proud not to have done by the age of thirteen (broken my 4.0 GPA, gotten drunk, been grounded) and tossed those out. Yawn. I knew sex was all they wanted to talk about, but I wasn’t about to tell them I hadn’t even kissed a guy yet. God, I can still feel the pain of that moment, the judgement I knew was going to be unleashed upon me no matter what I said.

After Erica’s turn, I still hadn’t come up with a good “I never” and they were waiting for me. “I never went to second base,” I blurted, trying to make it sound like I had at least done something, but not too much.

“What do you consider second base?” Sarah asked pointedly. I probably looked pretty bewildered. There’s more than one definition of the bases? I still feel bad for my 13-year-old-self in that moment. A heat that was the result of some combination of panic and humiliation was creeping up my face. What the hell kind of team-building activity was this? The older girls all gave me their opinions of what second base means at the same time. All I remember hearing is a lot of really sexual terms that my sheltered thirteen-year-old ears didn’t quite understand. What a way to spend our practice time. No wonder no one likes cheerleaders.

I sighed, then decided it would be easier, and less embarrassing, to change my statement. “Maybe I’ll just go with...I never had sex.” Their chattering stopped and their fingers went down. I was glad my turn was over. Looking back, I know I shouldn’t have stressed so much about the situation. I should have shrugged them off. “I’ve never kissed a boy. Big frickin’ deal. Put all yo fingas down, bitches.” Or I should have used the phrase “I never went to fifth grade.” It wasn’t until much later that I realized that my skipping of two grades was the best artillery I had in that game. But this was the peak of my vulnerability to peer pressure. Those tween years are a dark time, and no matter how much I wish I could tell a story about my triumphant casting-off of mean girl influences, this was a time when I bent my will to the influence of my superiors. No, I didn’t turn into a 13-year-old slut. This is just a story about ten minutes. Ten minutes that were so crucial to my adolescence, I still feel uneasy when I think about them.

As I listened to the next few girls brag about the things they’d done in their illustrious cheerleading lives, I realized that I was going about this game the wrong way. Those girls didn’t want to hear about the things I hadn’t done, they wanted to hear about the things I hadn’t done that they had. This game was more about fingers going down triumphantly than the weeding out of inexperienced players. This was one of those situations where “just be yourself and everyone will like you” probably wasn’t the greatest advice. I could feel my mentality changing as I sat there.

I looked down at the nine fingers I still had showing. As discreetly as possible, I tucked two more fingers into my fist. I laughed to myself when I realized if someone said “I never cheated at ‘I never,’” I would have to put another finger down. Thankfully, no one noticed, or at least said anything about noticing, me cheating until my next turn.

“Dude, Sarah, when did your fingers go down?” Ashali asked.

“I dunno, when did yours?” I replied nonchalantly. I swear those girls got easier to talk to after that.

For the next few years, I lied and I lied and I avoided topics until I, too, had my own stories to tell. It troubles me now that those quiet moments with high school boys were often done more for the sake of a story than for what they meant to me.