Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages) (10 page)

WHEN I ARRIVED AT JILLY’S the Saturday of the unparty, she was vacuuming the carpet in the basement. She waved when she saw
me, then did a double-take and turned off the vacuum.

“Wow, you look great!” she said. “I love that top. Where did you get it?”

“My dad gave it to me last year but I never wore it,” I said, looking down at the white button-down blouse with just a hint
of lace down the front, the short sleeves tied up on either side. I had unbuttoned the top two buttons and added a string
of fake pearls and matching earrings. I’d also worn more eyeliner, per Becca’s suggestion a few days ago. I wasn’t sure I
had gotten to hot… but I thought I was pretty warm. “You don’t think it’s too girlie for me?”

Jilly shook her head. “It really flatters your shape. Blake’s going to go wild for you.”

I grinned. Maybe I’d go wild for him, too.

Bus Boy and Blake arrived first, just after five. Bus Boy made polite conversation with Jilly’s parents and then introduced
Blake to all of us. He was
definitely
someone I could go wild for with his streaked blond hair, blue eyes, and an earring. He looked like a California surfer without
the surf (I found out later he snowboarded—the mountain equivalent of surfing). He had a few zits on his chin but who didn’t?
(Well, actually I didn’t at the moment, which was pretty sweet). Even with the zits, Blake was definitely Hot-o-Meter material.

As soon as we were downstairs and out of sight of the adults, Bus Boy grabbed Jilly and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around
his neck and kissed him back—long and slow. Blake rolled his eyes at me. I smiled. He was
so
cute.
Don’t make a fool of yourself, Erin.

“Want something to drink?” I asked, walking over to the cooler.

Blake helped himself to a Coke and started munching on the chips. Then he eyed the foosball table. “You play?”

I tried to hide my grin. Jilly and I had been playing foosball since we were tall enough to reach the handles. “A little,”
I said casually. “You up for a game?”

We faced off while Jilly and Bus Boy grabbed some drinks and turned on the music. I dropped the ball and scored five points
right off the bat.

“Man, you’re good,” Blake said, laughing. “I’m not used to playing singles. I keep forgetting to switch over to block your
shot.”

I liked that he could laugh about it. “It takes practice,” I said. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

I beat him soundly three times before he fell to his knees, prostrate. “You are the Foosball Master, Erin Swift. I bow to
your amazing skills.”

I liked hearing him say my name. I placed my hand on his head, a jolt going through me as I touched his hair. Now
that
was an energy surge. “It is good you recognize my superior powers, young one.”

He grabbed my hand and looked up at me. “Can you teach me, oh master?”

“It will be a long, hard journey but yes, I think I can.”

He stood up, still gripping my hand, then let go as we both laughed.

When Lauren and Dylan arrived, we played more foosball, with Blake and me on the same team. We won against Lauren and Dylan
but lost against Jilly and Bus Boy.

“We’ll get ’em next time,” Blake said as we leaned against the wall, watching Jilly and Bus Boy quickly rack up points against
Lauren and Dylan.

“I’m plotting our strategy as we speak,” I said, glad that he thought there’d be a next time.

Blake grinned at me and I grinned back, just as Jilly’s mom came down.

“Need any more snacks or drinks?” Mrs. Hennessey said, checking the cooler.

“Maybe some more chips,” Jilly said.

Jilly rolled her eyes after her mom left, muttering “spy” as she pulled the coffee table away from the couch. I smiled. Mrs.
Hennessey had given Jilly strict rules for the unparty—daylight only, lights on at all times, no “messing around.” It sounded
like my mom; it was nice to know I wasn’t the only one.

Bus Boy pulled out a deck of cards and we sat on the floor around the coffee table, playing Texas hold ’em until the pizza
arrived. After we ate, the boys played foosball and Jilly, Lauren, and I sat on the couch and talked.

“Blake keeps looking over at you,” Lauren whispered to me. “I think he likes you.”

“It’s only because I’m the only available girl here,” I said modestly. But I’d noticed him looking, too, and it gave me a
tingly feeling all over.

Lauren and Dylan’s ride showed up at 7:45. Bus Boy and Jilly went for a walk so Blake and I were left by ourselves on the
front porch while he waited for his dad to pick him and Bus Boy up. We talked about MBMS and how he liked high school okay
but it was hard starting over, especially with sports.

“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to being at the bottom again,” I said.

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” Blake said, rapping my knee with his knuckle. Man, he was
hot.
He might make my Hot-o-Meter explode. I couldn’t believe I was sitting outside on a cool August evening chatting easily with
this freshman in high school who actually seemed to like being with me and would make sure I was taken care of.

Bus Boy and Jilly came back just as a car pulled up in front of the house.

“There’s our ride,” Blake said, standing up. He said good-bye to Jilly, then motioned me to follow him down the sidewalk.
“So,” he said, his gaze faltering, “you want to hang out sometime?”

Was he asking me out? My heart did a little skip. “Um, sure.”

“You got a cell?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll get your e-mail from Hennessey.” He punched my arm. “I’ll beat you next time.”

“In your dreams,” I said, poking him back.

“Maybe,” he said, looking at me briefly before heading down the walk, Bus Boy following behind.

I watched him go, my eyes drawn to the way his jeans hung loose on his butt, his shirt hanging out, untucked. What did he
mean? Was he planning on dreaming about me? Or was he admitting that I actually would beat him again at foosball?

The thought of Blake Thornton or any other boy dreaming about me was so bizarre that I shook my head to get rid of the idea.
Of course that’s not what he meant. People like Blake Thornton didn’t daydream about girls like me.

Did they?