Operation Christmas Kiss: what's it like to be the only girl who's never been kissed? Olivia--and only Olivia--knows.

I have never been kissed.

And I am 15 years old.

And this is embarrassing.

Instead of complaining, I'm being proactive. I'm flirting with the all-time best-looking guy in my high school. And it s working. Jake--ahhh, Jake--passed me a note in Spanish class. It is the first day of holiday break and, this Sunday, there s a party at Rebecca Cleopold's, this girl in English who wears low-cut tops and way-short skirts. Jake will be there, and you'd better believe I'm bringing mistletoe.

I started liking him in first grade when he put a ladybug on my back. At recess, Bobby Blakely told our whole class that if you put a ladybug on a girl, she'll want to kiss you. (Seven-year-olds believe just about anything.) I couldn't sleep that night, wondering if I should kiss Jake at the playground. The next day, though, I heard he lady-bugged a fourth-grader.

Eight years later, Jake is pretty much the same, except his jawbone is more chiseled, blue eyes more sparkly and forearms more cut. I've finally gone public with this crush, launching my full-on flirtation two weeks before the party so I'll be fresh on his mind. As I put on my mittens, puffy coat, scarf, double socks, snow boots, undershirt, turtleneck, and face mask that makes me look wanted by the FBI, I imagine touching his lips.

I am heading over to my best friend Garrett's. For this, I must travel through ice, wind and snow. Before Garrett, Emmie lived there. She was my best friend since first grade. She moved to Alaska--I'm not making that up--and I don't hear from her much. I was crushed and disappointed when a boy moved in just before sixth grade. But, surprisingly, Garrett and I became closer than Emmie and I ever were.

"You are such a drama queen," Garrett says as I walk through the kitchen door. With Garrett and me, it's protocol not to knock. If I did, he'd think I were some love-hungry freshman stopping by to "borrow homework" or because she's "visiting a friend down the street." He acts like the attention is a pain in his butt, but I know he secretly likes it.

"Olivia, are you in there?" he asks as he helps with my coat. "Take that mask off before my dad thinks you're a burglar."

"Shut up. I'm cold," I mutter through rattling teeth.

He opens the door, thrusting his face into the wind.

"Be careful!" I yell at him. "Brrr! Close the door!"

"This is Cincinnati, and it's 45 degrees out," he says, shaking his head. "You only live four doors down. Gimme a break."

He grabs a bottle of Hershey's syrup and a couple packets of Sanka from the cabinet. He and I are boycotting Starbucks because it's too expensive. We haven't admitted it yet, but I'm sure our strike will be over within the week. Instant coffee with Hershey's isn't good; a grande mocha latte is.

It's his turn to come to my house, and I'm testy because I had to trudge over. Ever since he moved in, we've alternated. Our system works but, today, he said if I'm going to talk about Jake, he won't come over. So I took the initiative--like I'm doing for my first kiss. "Try to understand," I say to him. "I go to bed every night knowing I'm the school's biggest loser. You know my eighth-grade boyfriend told the world I wouldn't kiss him," I say. "I haven't had a BF since. I'm a laughingstock!"

"You didn't kiss Wesley because you didn't like him," Garrett says, looking through his Caller ID log. "You were only with him to have a boyfriend."

"That didn't go so well," I admit. "That's why I need your help with Operation Christmas Kiss."

"You did not just say that," he says. "I have to call Kayla back." He dials.

I think about how Kayla, a girl who never said diddly to me, has been all nutty-buddy recently because of my best friend. She's all, "Garrett is sooo nice!"

I'm not sure I like that girls are discovering my best friend. It's fine that he flirts. It's just that I require a lot of attention, and I've had him to myself since I've known him. I make a face and say to him, "Are you done yet?"

He hangs up the phone and says, "I don't know why I like you."

"Because I'm intellectually stimulating. Can we watch Jerry Springer now?"

We sit at the table, and I talk about Jake the Junior. The love of my life. The guy who's going to bless me with my first kiss. The boy who will take me to the prom. In a limo. Jake.

Garrett says he thinks Kayla is hot.

"Yeah," I say, wanting to get back to the essential subject I'd brought up.

"We don't have to talk about you the whole time, you know," he says gently.

He's right. I make motions with my hand like I'm zipping up my lips.

"It'll happen for you," he says.

"It better. Or else it might take me years to find someone else."

"Just so you know, though," Garrett says, "Jake has about 50 girlfriends."

"But he passed me a note in Spanish class. He wrote, 'Let me treat you like a queen.'" My eyes get watery.

"I know. He uses that line on every freshman. He treats all girls like queens, Olivia. Do you know how? By making out with them, and then telling his friends all about it."

"Silly rumors. I can't believe you believe that stuff. Anyway, Jake made sure to tell me he's going to the party." I tingle all over, and my eyes meet Garrett's. "I have to get kissed by Christmas," I mumble. "Please just understand. I'm in the ninth grade--"

"No way! Me too!" Garrett says.

"You know what I mean."

"Well, just so you know, I'm going to kiss Kayla." I don't know how to respond, so I stick my tongue out, which is childish and lame. I can't help it.

"You and every other guy with a pulse," I say. Kayla is a mega flirt who has dated a bunch of seniors.

"Whatever."

I bundle up and head back out into the freeze. As I trudge home, Garrett calls out that we forgot to watch Jerry.

"Great news! Aunt Lucy traded some frequent flyer miles, so we're heading to Oklahoma in the morning!" my mom informs me when I get home.

"What are you talking about?" I ask. "We're having Christmas right here in good old Cincinnati like we always do."

"Huh?" Mom says from the family room, where she's folding laundry in front of Oprah. "I thought you'd be thrilled. Trudy really wants us to come out. You know, so we won't be alone."

Ah, yes. Alone. My father died 10 months ago. Not to be blase about it, but his cancer really messed up our lives. I think about him every day and miss him so much I want to cry. But now, I have a party invite and, darn it, I need to go.

"You'll get to hang with your cousins, and they just got a new puppy!" Mom says. "We leave at 9 a.m. tomorrow."

A puppy? Does she think I'm 4? My only chance to get kissed is slipping away. "I will be the biggest loser at school if I can't go to that party! You are so mean. You have to let me stay!" I yell. I whine. I beg. I lie on the floor and throw my arm over my forehead. "Check my temperature," I demand.

"Are you talking to me?" Mom asks, focusing on Oprah and ignoring me.

I pull myself together as my "ah-ha" moment unfolds before me. I grab a handful of socks, bras and a white turtleneck so I look helpful. "I'll stay here and hold the fort down. I'll feed the cat."

"We don't have a cat."

"Well," I say, launching a wadded-up sock at a close-up of Oprah's head, "Hell will freeze over before I'll go!"

We're in a rental car, leaving the airport and headed to my aunt's house. We are in Tulsa, almost 1,000 miles southwest of Jake. I blast Nelly since Mom hates hip-hop. I drink three Cokes and tell her I have to pee. I say I forgot to pack undies and she'll have to buy more.

My mom stays calm. I have never in my life seen a woman so good at ignoring a teenager. She just drives, smiles and tells happy stories about her sister. When she talks she has to yell because I'm blasting "My Place."

No one gets my misery. Garrett is going to Rebecca's party without me, and he has promised a full report. I asked him to keep the girls away from Jake. I told him to offer Jake a pickle or nacho or anything that causes horrendous breath. When he told me to cut the drama, I suggested that he eat lots of onion dip at the party.

"Are you hoping I don't kiss Kayla?"

"Yes, because if I don't get kissed, I don't want you to, either. Fair is fair."

"Or not. Don't worry, I'll tell you all about it," he said.

"You know, I heard she just had mono." He knew I made it up. But why should he get mistletoe action if I'm only going to kiss a stupid puppy?

Oklahoma sucks. It's all brown and dry and cold. If it weren't for Operation Christmas Kiss, I'd have been excited to see my cousins. Mom is having way too much fun, and I don't approve. She's so happy to see my aunt. Those two act like they're on catnip.

I'm alone in my pain. I cannot share my sorrow with my cousins Jeremy and Janine. They're upperclassmen, and surely they've been kissed before. I'm alone in Loserville, Oklahoma.

When I reach the depths of sadness Sunday night, Janine catches me crying. She hugs me and tells me boys suck. She thinks I'm heartbroken. I wish! You can only be heartbroken if you had something, then lost it. Jeremy walks over and yells, "Miss Drama Queen has perfected her on-cue crying. Maybe she'll win an Oscar this year."

I take off my dirty socks and throw them at his head. Then my feet get cold.

I get home Tuesday evening, and I'm depressed. I talk to Garrett and find out Jake kissed some girl at the party. Garrett didn't get his smooch from Kayla, but he won't give me details. He sounds a little upset, so I decide to take him a real mocha latte.

"Hey," he says as I walk in.

"So, I've been thinking," I say as I remove my mittens, puffy coat, scarf, double socks, snow boots and face mask.

"I don't like it when you think."

"Why are we suffering like this?"

"That, I don't know," he says.

I tell him it's unfair and that I wish I could hook up with someone nice. "I wish I could find one like you," I blurt.

Yikes. I have no idea why I said that. "I mean--you know what I mean."

"Do I?" Garrett asks.

Then I feel weird. The back of my neck heats up. I want to go home because I'm about to cry, and I don't know why. If that makes sense.

"I'll catch you later," I say, getting up.

"Come on, Olivia," he says, grabbing my hand. "Sit down a sec." The crying feeling, at least, starts to go away. "OK, I have something to tell you," he says. "Jake kissed Kayla at Rebecca's party."

"She what? She was totally into you!"

"I ... don't care," Garrett says, slowly.

"Me neither," I agree. We often agree.

"I like you," he blurts out. "And don't ask me if I like like you, because that's exactly what I mean." He turns beet red.

"You what?!" I shout. I am shocked. I don't know how to respond. I did have a dream about him, but I blamed my obsession with Operation Christmas Kiss and eating moo shu pork before bed. Did I have secret hidden feelings for him? I honestly didn't know.

"I'm sorry. Forget I said it," he says.

I was, for the first time, at a loss for words. "Let's watch Jerry Springer," I say.

We go to his basement and turn on the TV. We've been hanging out down there since we were 11, but all of a sudden, it is exciting--exciting?!!!--to sit on the same couch. I notice a poster on the wall, the one with the dove: "Unless we lose ourselves, there is no hope of finding ourselves--Henry Miller."

"Do you think that's true?" I say, pointing to the poster. "'Cause my mom says if you're looking for an answer, the meaning is right in front of you."

"Huh? My dad's dumb inspirational poster? Your mom watches too much Oprah." But behind his harsh words, he's soft. I know because I see the golden flecks in his brown eyes.

"I think it's true," I say. I reach for his hand but stop myself.

"I'll get you some water," he says, getting up from the couch.

"No, don't," I say. "Let's sit here. Please?" Garrett smiles at me, then watches the conjoined sisters fighting on TV. His fingers rub mine, and--wow--we're holding hands. A nice guy? A real BF? How could this happen? I open my mouth to tell him this, but he shushes me. For the first time, I understand that silence has meaning.

I take a deep breath and I can't help smiling. I have such a great feeling about New Year's Eve.