Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages) (45 page)

“You sound just like Mr. F,” I said, and we both laughed again, before tears pricked my eyes. “I miss him so much.” The words
tightened my throat.

“Me, too,” Mrs. F said, squeezing my hand.

We sat for a few moments, crying and sniffling, and then we were quiet, watching as a breeze fluttered the leaves on the aspens
next to the deck.

“You know,” I said, breaking the silence, “last year he said a good friend can be better than a boyfriend.”

“Mr. F said a lot of wise things,” Mrs. F said. “But he always left it up to us to make the choices, didn’t he?”

I nodded.

“People change,” Mrs. F said, looking out on the lawn at Mark again. “Circumstances change.” She reached into her pocket and
pulled out a Tootsie Pop. “I’m sure you’ll handle these circumstances with your usual good sense, Erin P. Swift.”

I spun the basketball on my finger as Mark and I headed down the street toward the court at our neighborhood park. We walked
in silence, the only sound the basketball’s steady rhythm against the sidewalk as we bounce-passed it back and forth to each
other in the yellow glow of the streetlights.

He nudged me before snatching the ball and twirling it high, out of my reach. We got to the park and started shooting to warm
up. Then we played a game of one-on-one. He won the first game easily, reaching above me to get just about every rebound.
When had he gotten so much taller than me?

“No fair,” I muttered, but he just laughed.

We took a break after the second game, hands on our knees, breathing hard. I glanced at him, then away, swallowing.

“Hey, Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember on the phone, when we promised each other we’d tell the other person if we were going to start going out with someone?”

Mark’s expression was unreadable. “Yeah.”

“I think you’ve been wanting to tell me something, but haven’t because of Mr. F and all.”

Mark dropped his eyes.

“Carla’s great, Mark. Really. I think—”

“Carla?” He laughed. “You think I want to go out with Carla?” He shook his head. “She likes Steve.”

“But you’ve been with her so much,” I said. “I thought…”

“I did ask her to play basketball that one time to make you jealous,” Mark admitted. “But then I told her and we laughed about
it. We’re friends. She wanted me to help her get with Steve.”

Geez, Reede was like psychic.

“Oh.” It did explain why it was taking so long for them to go public.

I snatched the ball and went around him for a layup. He went up for the block and when we came down, our arms tangled and
we fell behind the basket into the grass. I landed on top of him, my face inches from his.

“Haven’t we been here before?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said, a question in his eyes.

“This time,” I said, “it ends differently.” And then I kissed Mark Sacks.
Really
kissed him. His lips were soft and warm and it was like we’d always been kissing, it was so comfortable and familiar.

When we pulled apart, we looked at each other and smiled.

“Hi, Harry,” I said.

“Hi, Sally.”

I sighed. “So much for proving that theory wrong.”

“Who cares?” Mark said, squeezing my hand. I squeezed back and we sat in the grass, enjoying the night air.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “You aren’t afraid this will ruin our friendship?”

Mark shook his head. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this. I’m willing to risk it.”

I smiled before pulling my hand out from under his and jumping to my feet. “That block you made was such a foul.”

“What?” Mark leapt to his feet. “No way.”

“Totally.”

“Not even.”

I grinned and lined up on the free throw line. “It’s my birthday, remember?”

“Only because it’s your birthday,” he grumbled, trying to hide his smile.

I bounced the ball twice, bent my knees, then bounced again before shooting the ball. It arced into the sky, then dropped
neatly through the metal net with a satisfying clang.

“Yes!” I pumped my fist in the air and Mark laughed and grabbed me and we kissed again.

When we came up for air, Mark raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re not going to put all this in your blog, are you?”

His question made me pause. I realized how little I’d been on the computer, except for I-Club. Between school and sports,
and going to the Helping Hands Center and hanging out with Mrs. F, I really hadn’t had time to be online or even write in
my blog.

Funny, but I hadn’t really missed it.

“No,” I said to Mark, smiling.

Some things just weren’t meant to be written down, to be catalogued and listed, to be analyzed and quizzed about.

I took Mark’s hand.

Some things were just meant to be.

And that was pretty great.