Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages) (32 page)

JILLY DIDN’T WANT TO GO to a Wash High basketball game when I asked—okay
begged
—her to go with me. It had been over a week since I’d seen Jeff and the nose touch had just about worn off. Rosie was going
to the game but I also needed a best friend boy expert to back me up. I knew Jilly was worried about seeing Bus Boy, who would
probably be there. She was now trying to get over him, rather than get him back.

“Aren’t you worried that Blake might be there?” she asked.

“Who cares?” I said. I had Jeff Massey. “You know, this is your chance to show Bus Boy you aren’t sitting around crying about
him.”

“True.” Jilly furrowed her brow, considering. “Okay, I’ll go. But if this turns into a disaster, you’ll pay big time.”

We ended up sitting way up high, away from my mom and dad, who were chatting it up with some of the other parents. Jilly spent
most of her time updating me on the fact that she didn’t see Blake anywhere and pretending she wasn’t scanning the crowd for
Bus Boy.

“I guess I should be glad he isn’t here,” she said. “But I feel like torturing myself so I wish he was.”

Rosie patted her knee, then looked at the court. “That’s Eddie Abeyta,” she said, pointing to one of the shorter guys on the
opposing team. “He’s wicked fast and an incredible ball handler. They’re going to need to watch him.”

I smiled. I could always count on Rosie to talk about other things besides boys. I turned my attention to the court and soon
was caught up in the pregame action, especially when Jeff appeared.

The team was running layup drills and Jeff was making his easily. I loved the fluid way he sprinted to the basket, all one
movement, as if the basketball was a part of his body until he released it, letting it bounce off the backboard and drop through
the basket. He was even more exciting to watch when the game started, and I found myself moving back and forth between admiring
how he played and just admiring
him.

At halftime, we headed for the snack bar. Juggling our food in our hands, we wove through the crowd. As we got near the door
of the gym, Jilly froze and grabbed my arm. Blake was walking toward us with his arm around some girl. His face registered
surprise when he saw me. Then he looked pleased with himself.

“Hey, Blake,” I said, playing it cool. Inside my stomach did a little dance.

“You know her?” the girl asked him.

“Not really,” Blake said as he steered her to the snack bar line. He looked over her shoulder to sneer at me. I just shook
my head.

“Oh, puh-leez,” Jilly said as we stepped back inside the gym. “He’s so not over you.”

“Not even close,” Rosie said.

“
You’re
saying that?” I asked Rosie, surprised. I didn’t think she noticed things like that.

“I’m not blind,” she said, shrugging.

When we got back to the bleachers, I scanned the bench. Jeff was looking right at me, grinning and toasting me with his water
bottle. He waved and I waved back. Then he elbowed Chris, who turned around and shook his head at me.

“He waved at you!” Jilly squealed. “In front of everyone.”

I just sat there, grinning like a fool.

Washington won in overtime so the crowd was pretty pumped after the game. Rosie had seen a friend and went to talk to her.
Jilly and I hung out near the bench looking for people we knew. I had tried to get Reede’s attention after the game but she
was taking the long way around from the top bleachers and didn’t see me.

“Have you seen Jon?” Jilly asked for the tenth time. “I haven’t seen him and I’m glad.”

“You’re miserable,” I said. “And you’ll be even more miserable if you see him.”

Just then the team trickled out of the locker room. Jeff sauntered out, freshly showered, hair slightly damp against his skin.
He was surrounded by people—mostly girls but some boys.

I turned away so he wouldn’t see me staring.

“This is crazy,” I said. “What am I doing?”

“Just have fun with it.”

“Says the girl who is suffering from the effects of having fun,” I said to Jilly.

“I plan to have fun again,” she said. “It’ll just take time.” She squinted across the gym in Jeff’s direction. “He’s walking
toward us,” she said, smiling as if she was saying something completely different. “Okay, now he stopped to talk to some girl.
Uh oh. I think she might—she might—no, it’s friend only.”

“He’s coming around the bend,” I said, “along the fence, leading by a length—” I spoke in a fake announcer voice, and we both
started laughing.

“He’s—he’s—” Jilly gasped but she was still laughing too much to get the words out.

“Must be a great joke.” Jeff Massey stood behind us, smiling that lopsided smile.

You mean nothing to me,
my brain said, while my heart did the thumpity-thump.

He put one arm around me and one around Jilly. “Thanks for coming to the game, girls.”

I feel nothing
—except the solid weight of his arm on my shoulders, the closeness of his face to my own, the warmth of his body against my
side.

I swallowed hard. “It was really exciting,” I said with a squeak. “You did great.”

Jeff laughed, squeezing my shoulder before letting go. “I can get around the defense when I need to.” His friends chuckled.
“I understand you’re a pretty decent player, Swift the Younger. Maybe you can teach me some of your moves.” He faked a pass
to me and I pretended to catch it before the crowd sucked him into their midst and he was gone.

“He was so flirting with you,” Jilly said. “That whole ‘moves’ thing. He
likes
you.”

“He does not,” I said. “He’s just a big flirt.” But I loved that he was flirting with
me.
I sighed. “We’d better go find my parents.”

As we turned toward the bleachers, I nearly collided with someone.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, then nearly had a heart attack as I looked into a familiar face. “Sacks! Hey!”

Mark glanced at me before looking past me at the crowd leaving the gym. “Who was that guy you were talking to?”

“Just a friend of Chris’s,” I said.

Jilly looked over my shoulder and her eyes got wide. “He’s here.”

I glanced back. Bus Boy stood near the opposite set of bleachers, talking to some guys.

“Don’t go, Jilly,” I said. “Stay here.” I hoped it sounded like I was trying to help her get over Bus Boy, to be strong. But
I was really saying:
Please don’t leave me alone with Mark.

“I just want to say hi,” she said. “That’s all. Show him I’m mature and handling things, just like you said.”

“Jilly.”

She squeezed my arm. “I’ll be right back.”

Traitor.

I shifted uncomfortably next to Mark. “So, what a nail biter, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Man, I couldn’t believe it when Standiford made that three-pointer to tie. That was awesome.”

I relaxed as we talked about the game, the best plays, who was on or off their game. By the time Jilly came back, we were
laughing about last year at MBMS when I tripped in a game, fell flat on my face, and Steve got a picture of it and put it
on the MBMS Intranet.

Jilly didn’t look so happy, though.

“So?” I asked.

“So he was happy to see me but he was in total friend mode. No BF vibe at all.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is he
walking out with anyone?”

I glanced over her shoulder. “He’s with a bunch of people.”

“Boys and girls?”

“Yeah.”

“But not any one girl,” said another voice.

I whipped my head around. Reede stood behind us, sipping a Coke.

I furrowed my brow. “How can you tell?”

“Just the way he’s walking and talking. See the distance between him and that blonde girl? And how she’s holding her purse
in the hand that’s closest to him? She doesn’t want him to touch her.”

“Interesting,” Mark said.

Something about his tone made me look at him. Reede seemed about to say something when her eyes widened. “Uh oh. Here comes
the ’rent who doesn’t approve of me. Later.”

I looked up to see my mom walking towards us.

“Mark! It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Mrs. Swift.”

“What a game,” my dad said to Mark. “That three-pointer was amazing.” He and Mark talked for a few minutes while Jilly and
I exchanged looks.

“Um, Dad?” I asked. “Jilly has to get home to help her mom.”

“Oh, right,” my dad said. “Good talking to you, Mark.”

“You, too, Mr. Swift.” But Mark was looking at me. I dropped my eyes and he turned and walked away, shoulders scrunched, his
pants dragging the floor.

“Okay,” Jilly said, grabbing my arm. “That was a little too much excitement for one night.”

My dad looked at us but didn’t say anything. I had a feeling he and my mom both knew Jilly wasn’t just talking about the game.