Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages) (4 page)

JILLY AND I SAT ON the bus together on Tuesday, taking one of the seats in the back. There wasn’t a sign, there wasn’t an
official rule—everyone just knew the eighth graders had dibs on the last four rows. I noticed the seventh graders sunk low
in their seats, eyes shifting back and forth, never looking back at us—the eighth graders.

“Your hair looks great,” Jilly said as the bus lurched down the street.

“No thanks to you,” I laughed. Back in July she’d tried to put red highlights in my hair and turned parts of it orange. Not
attractive. Now it was back to plain brown. But the sun had brought out some natural red and I’d gotten it cut so it fell
softly around my face.

“Yeah, well, I
thought
I knew what I was doing.” She laughed and brushed her own blondish-brown hair over her shoulder. She had it pulled back in
a barrette with two tiny braids hanging beneath it, tied off with beads. Her light eyeshadow brought out the gold flecks in
her eyes and her blush and mascara were just right. Of course, she started wearing makeup at the beginning of seventh grade
so she had lots of practice, plus two older sisters who gave her tips. I was pretty new at the makeup game and didn’t wear
much. Jilly tried to get me to wear more, but it felt weird, so I didn’t. And I never wore any when I played sports, though
lots of girls did. I mean, it was
sports.
Get a grip.

“So,” Jilly said, bringing me back to the bus. “Is Mark in any of your classes?”

Oh, here we go. She thought I still
like
liked him.

The bus screeched to a stop and Kara got on, sitting two rows ahead of us with some of her friends. She hadn’t ridden our
bus last year because her mom drove her. But now her mom was working so she had to take the bus.

Jilly watched Kara. “It’s very rare that girls and boys can just be friends, you know. There has to be the exact right mix
of things.”

I sighed. I knew she wouldn’t give it up.

“I guess Mark and I have the right mix,” I said.

Tapping a polished nail on the seat in front of her, Jilly shook her head. “There has to be absolutely no physical attraction,
you should have things in common but not things that might bring you together romantically, and it helps if you’re both involved
with someone else.”

“We’re friends,” I said.

“Because he has a girlfriend.” She applied lip gloss using a small mirror.

“We’d be friends even if he didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Not for long,” Jilly said. “It’s the
When Harry Met Sally
syndrome.”

“The what?”

“It’s an old movie my mom told me about.” Jilly pulled out a mirror and lip gloss. “It’s about how men and women can’t ever
really be just friends.”

“That’s crazy,” I said.

Jilly raised an eyebrow. “If you try to be real friends with a boy, friends like you and I are, it won’t stay just friends.
It will always turn into something more.”

“Do you have proof of this?” I asked. “In real life?”

“Well, no,” Jilly admitted. “But I bet if we thought about it, we could come up with some.” She rubbed her lips together before
shoving the tube and mirror into her makeup bag.

“You can look me right in the eye and tell me you have absolutely no feelings at all for Mark ‘Cute Boy’ Sacks?”

I cringed at the nickname I had used for him in my blog last year. “Don’t call him that,” I whispered.

“No one’s listening,” she said, leaning closer. “So?”

“He’s my friend, Jilly. Geez. Not everything is about romance, you know.”

She sighed. “Okay, so I’m a little bit jealous.” She grinned her look-at-my-mouth grin. “Do I have anything in my braces?”
She’d gotten them right after the spring dance last year.

“All clear,” I said. Then, “Jealous?”

Jilly ran her tongue over her teeth. “I wish Mark and I could have stayed friends. He’s really nice and he was easy to talk
to.” She sighed. “But it just felt weird afterward, though it’s easier now that so much time has passed and we’re both going
out with other people.”

I nodded, grateful to see Rosie getting on the bus. Even though Rosie had her share of crushes, she wasn’t into talking about
it all the time so I could count on her to change the subject.

“Rosie!” I waved her down.

She pushed her way to the back of the bus and sat down in the seat behind us. No braids this year—just a short cut that curled
nicely around her ears and made her look sophisticated.

“Hey, guys,” she said as we exchanged high fives.

“I was just telling Erin there’s no way girls and boys can stay friends,” Jilly said to Rosie. I groaned. “There will always
be one or the other or both who will start to like the other one more than a friend. Right?”

Before Rosie could answer, I fired my own question at her. “You and Mark have been friends since kindergarten or something.
No attraction, right?”

Rosie furrowed her brow. “I think I kind of liked him in third grade and he liked me in fourth but he’s more like my brother
now, you know?”

“Exactly!” Jilly said triumphantly. “They totally don’t count, Erin. My theory still holds.”

“No it doesn’t,” I said, shaking my head. “They’ve been just friends for years.”

“You two should just agree to disagree on this one,” Rosie said before turning to Jilly. “So, how’s Mr. Lanner?”

“Don’t get her started on Bus Boy,” I said, though I was grateful for the change of topic.

Jilly stuck her tongue out at me before looking at Rosie. “I miss him a lot. And this,” she said, waving her hand around the
bus, “is so—what’s that word we learned in English last year?
Anticlimactic.
” She turned to me. “Remember how nervous and excited we were last year? How it was all a big adventure?”

I remembered the nervous part, all right, but it wasn’t a big adventure—more like a nightmare. I was thrilled to be sitting
on the bus right now with no one calling me names or asking about my totally secret, private blog.

“I’m sure you’ll find an adventure somewhere, Hennessey.” Rosie smiled. Then she turned to talk to a girl who had been trying
to get her attention.

“I don’t want adventure,” Jilly said. “I just want Jon.” She sat up suddenly and looked at me. “Do you think he’ll meet someone
in high school?”

“Well, I—”

“Maybe he already has,” she said, gripping my arm. “Maybe he met a girl on the bus, just like he met me last year, and he’s
teasing her right now and she’s giving him big eyes and he’s asking her to sit with him and she’s saying yes and then they’re
comparing class schedules and they find out they have lunch together and three other classes and then they run into each other
in the hall and—” She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t stand it! He’s cheating on me already.”

I sighed. “He isn’t cheating on you, Jilly.” Sticking my hand in the front pocket of my backpack, I felt around to make sure
I’d packed a stash of Snickers. “He doesn’t even take the bus, remember? He’s in a carpool.”

Jilly pulled her hands away from her face. “Oh, right. I forgot.” She bit her lip and looked out the window again. “And there
weren’t any girls in the carpool.”

“There, you see? No girls in the carpool. You’re safe.”

Jilly moaned. “Hardly. What about all the girls in his classes? And at lunch?” She shook her head. “I’m doomed.”

“Jilly,” I said, “don’t worry about it until there’s something to worry about.”

She turned to me, eyes wide. “Do you think there’s going to be something to worry about? Did he say something to you?”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. He told me he was planning to do something evil behind your back while he was in high school. And of
course he wanted to share it with me because I would never say anything to his girlfriend who happens to be my best friend.”

Jilly relaxed against the seat. “Okay, so I’m being stupid.”

I nodded. “That’s the first smart thing you’ve said.”

LOCKER COMBINATION? CHECK. OPENED ON first try? Check. Locker partner? Unknown, but I was in eighth grade now; I didn’t worry
about locker partners or who I sat with at lunch.

After putting my backpack away, I hung up two photos; one was of Jilly and me and the other was of the I-Club gang—me, Mark,
Rosie, Tyler, and Steve. I closed the door, leaning against it as I looked down the familiar hall. Jilly’s locker was down
at the other end so she was making her way there. We weren’t in the same homeroom but we had language arts and Spanish together.

I could see Mark down the hall too, talking to some guys. After cutting his hair last year, I was glad to see he’d grown it
long again so it covered one eye. Kara stood next to him, her hand in his back pocket. She looked only at Mark, even when
he wasn’t talking, as if he was the only person in the hall.

Mark Sacks had a way of doing that to you.

I turned away before memories of old feelings came up, because sometimes the memory of a feeling could feel like a real feeling
and I didn’t need that. Surveying the hall in the other direction, I noticed the freshly painted walls, how the floors gleamed
and the smell of disinfectant wafted through the air. The custodian, Mr. Foslowski, had been busy this summer.

“What trouble are you planning to start this year, young lady?”

Speaking of—

“Hi, Mr. F,” I said as we knocked fists. He looked older this year, thinner, and he seemed to have even less of his gray hair,
if that was possible. But he still had his goatee, and that same mischievous look in his eyes, the same broad smile. “The
school looks great.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “And to answer your question: none. I will be starting no trouble this year.
And I won’t be getting into any that I didn’t start either.”

“Never say never, Erin Swift.” Mr. F winked at me. “Got your supply?”

I tapped the locker where my backpack hung on its hook. “Snickers and Tootsie Pops accounted for.” Last year Mr. F and I found
we shared a love of Tootsie Pops after I spilled my guts to him about Mark and Jilly liking each other and some other stuff.
Over the summer I’d done some yard work for him and his wife and helped them with a garage sale to earn some extra money.
And when our water heater flooded the basement, Mr. F had come to the rescue with a wet vac and lots of fans. We’d had them
over for dinner a few times and they’d had us over too. We were now officially friends.

“Excellent,” he said. “You know where to find me if you run out.” He nodded again. “It’s good to see you, Erin.”

“You too, Mr. F.”

We knocked fists again, then he tipped his spray bottle at me and walked away.

“Excuse me,” a voice behind me said. “I think this is my locker.”

I turned around and nearly collided with the biggest pair of breasts I’d ever seen. Not that I’ve encountered that many, especially
up close and personal, but I’d seen a few.

“Uh, sorry.” I was frozen to my spot, still a bit shocked.

“Can you quit staring at my chest and move so I can open the locker?”

My face shot through with heat and I raised my eyes to her face. Her eyeliner dramatically outlined her eyes and her eyeshadow
was a deep bronze, capped with a darker brown. She looked about sixteen. She was a couple of inches shorter than me, even
in her black boots, and wore a tight black skirt and a yellow t-shirt with sleeves as short as you could get without calling
it a tank top, which was against the school dress code. A black belt with metal studs and metal bracelets jangling from her
wrists completed the outfit. I’d bet my Nano she got to go to any concert she wanted to and didn’t have to get permission
for a PG-13 movie.

“I’m sorry,” I said, stepping back.

She didn’t say anything, just flipped her long, curly blond hair over her shoulder. It was clearly out of a bottle because
I could see dark roots and her eyebrows were brown. She also had two pretty serious zits on her chin and one on her cheek,
not very well hidden underneath her base makeup. I touched my own chin, feeling the pimple that had erupted, despite my best
efforts to destroy it.