Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages) (42 page)

“I know you’ve been dealing with a lot, Erin. If you don’t get a passing grade, we’ll talk about a makeup.”

I gave him a grateful look. “Thanks.”

After I turned in my test, I stood for a moment next to Reede’s desk. Part of me wished she was sitting there so I could hit
her or wrap her earbud cords around her neck.

As I trudged through the day, I ignored all the party and underwear comments. After the YOHE, I had a lot of practice with
this kind of ignoring. I headed for the bathroom before my last class. I needed a quiet place for a few minutes and hoped
the bathroom would be empty.

It wasn’t.

“I wouldn’t have believed it if Serena’s sister hadn’t seen you with her own eyes.” Two of Serena’s friends stood at the sink
at the far end, looking at me.

The other one raised her eyebrows. “She said you were so magazine cover, she hardly recognized you.” The girl laughed. “Of
course, that was before you flashed everyone your cute little heart undies and then—”

“Shut up, Jo.” Serena banged out of one of the stalls, striding straight towards both girls. “Just shut up, okay? My sister’s
a jerk.”

I looked at Serena, surprise making me forget how I felt for a moment. But she didn’t look at me; her eyes were trained on
her friends.

Jo smiled uncertainly, giving Serena a little shove. “You’ve got to admit it was funny. Don’t you wish you could have been
there? Don’t you wish—”

“Mr. Foslowski died,” Serena said evenly. “Does anyone care about that?”

The girls’ expressions changed. “Well, yeah. Of course. We were just—”

“Leaving?” Serena asked. “Good.”

The girls hurried out the door, tossing dirty looks at Serena. Serena turned to me, her voice soft. “You okay?”

I shrugged.

“You want to be alone?”

I nodded.

“You got it.”

She pulled the door open and stepped out, planting herself in front of the doorway with her arms across her chest, daring
anyone to cross her path. As the door closed behind her, my eyes filled with tears of gratitude.

“Thank you,” I whispered, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me.

Wednesday, March 24

Dad gave me this notebook. “Sometimes it helps to write things down,” he said. “With your hand and not a keyboard.” I guess
that was nice of him, even though he was the one who banned me from the keyboard he was talking about.

It’s funny, but when I type in my blog I use shortcuts and stuff, but in this notebook I write everything out. You’d think
it would be the opposite since I type faster than I write. Weird.

Even though I’m grounded, Jilly is allowed to come over because of Mr. F but no one else and I can’t go to anyone’s house.
Today she came over and told me she tried to e-mail Reede and the message bounced back. When she tried to call, the phone
was disconnected. I don’t know why Jilly is trying so hard when she never even liked Reede in the first place. When I asked
her she just said she couldn’t explain it. “I know you’re mad at her but something isn’t adding up,” she said. “Besides, you
told me Mr. F kept saying she was worth knowing.” I guess she’s a detective in addition to being a spy.

I told her Mr. F was wrong. That Reede was probably his biggest mistake ever.

I thought yelling at Reede and telling her how I felt would make me feel better.

But I feel worse. Even though she replied to my nasty e-mail with one of her own and said those mean things to me on the phone,
I only want to strangle her sometimes. Other times I just feel crazy sad.

I don’t understand that. And I don’t really feel like writing about it either.

I COULDN’T BELIEVE ALL OF the people at the funeral. Old people. Young people. People in between. The whole church was filled
with people who cared about Mr. F and right away I noticed a whole row of kids directly behind the row for the family—the
kids in the photos in his closet. I had found out they were kids he knew from a place called the Helping Hands Center. He
volunteered twice a week, tutoring kids, listening to them, and just being there for them. I recognized Olivia and some of
the others from the photos. It made me smile to remember Olivia as the “best hugger.”

Everyone who came received an Order of Service program and a Tootsie Pop with a message attached. Messages like, “Smile at
someone who is rude to you today” or “Send a thank you to someone who helped you.”

My message read:
Make a connection with someone you haven’t seen in awhile or with whom you’ve had a falling out.

Wrong. Today was a Strangle Reede day.
I’m not making any connection with Reede unless it’s my fi st to her face, do you hear me, Mr. F? Okay, maybe I wouldn’t really
hit her but you were totally wrong about her. She didn’t need a friend like me and no way did I need someone like her in my
life. I don’t need people who abandon me and move away.

I stuffed the Tootsie and message into my purse and followed my parents to a pew.

My mom sat on one side of me, with Jilly and her family on the other. Mark, Tyler, Carla, Steve, and Rosie were in the row
behind me, along with tons of people from Molly Brown.

Jilly reached out and squeezed my hand. The service began and I cried through the whole thing. People kept getting up and
saying how great Mr. F was and talking about all the stuff he did. Not only did he tutor at Helping Hands, Mr. F also bowled
on Friday nights and his team had shown up in their Nicky’s Pizzeria shirts. He was also involved in his church and he and
Mrs. F liked to fish. The more I listened, the more I realized how little I knew about him. In all our conversations, I’d
rarely asked him about his life.

My heart was heavy and I felt a desperate desire to run. But as much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t. This was Mr. F’s service.
I had to stay.

After it was over, we went to a reception in a big room off the chapel. We stood in line, waiting our turn to talk to Mrs.
F. There were five grandkids standing next to each other. I saw one boy pinch the girl beside him. She smacked him. I looked
at Chris.

“Brother and sister,” we said at the same time, smiling. Then we frowned because the smiles felt like a betrayal.

A few minutes later, Mark walked over. Carla hovered nearby, looking uncomfortable, with Steve just behind her. Mark gave
me a hug. I held on tight, sinking into his arms, smelling his familiar Mark smell. I didn’t care what Carla thought; I just
wanted him to hold me. “I’ll call you later,” he said, squeezing my shoulders as he slipped out of my grasp.

As we got closer to Mrs. F, my stomach clenched and I felt light-headed. “I can’t face her,” I said to my mom.

“You need to,” my mom said, squeezing my elbow.

When it was our turn with the family I hung back, but then Mrs. F opened her arms and I stepped into them before bursting
into tears.

“I should have come that night,” I whispered over her head, not sure she could hear me. “I’m sorry.”

“Not to worry, Erin,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “No one could have known.”
Don’t be nice to me,
I wanted to scream.
You don’t know what I did. If you knew, your eyes would turn dark like my mom’s and you’d hate me.

Mrs. F smiled, unaware of the emotions rolling around inside me. “You were a special friend to Jacob.”

“He was
my
friend,” I said, my voice clogged with tears. “But I never did anything for
him.
” Saying it relieved some of the pressure in my chest. Mrs. F pulled back so she could look at me. She handed me a tissue
and I blew my nose. “Oh, Erin. That’s not true at all. You gave him such a gift.” Her eyes glistened, but she held my gaze
steadily. “Our grandchildren,” she said, nodding toward the five kids now in line at the food table, “live in New Jersey so
we don’t get to see them as often as we’d like. Jacob loved talking to you and feeling like he was making a difference in
your life.” She squeezed my shoulder. “He was so proud of you. He always talked about how smart you were, how capable. He
was so impressed at the way you handled things last year, and this year you were doing even better.”

I hung my head. “But I—”

“People are waiting,” my mom whispered in my ear.

“No matter what,” Mrs. F said, looking me right in the eye, “he loved you and I love you.” She reached into her pocket. “And
he wanted you to have this.” She held out a small white envelope. On the front was my name, written in shaky handwriting.
I bit my lip, willing myself not to cry. Had he written this the night I was at the party and hadn’t visited? Oh, God, I was
suffocating again.

I hugged Mrs. F and hurried outside, sucking in big gulps of air.

A few minutes later my parents came out. We all climbed into the car for the ride home. I rolled the window down and shoved
my head out like a dog catching a scent. But I still felt claustrophobic.

“Can you pull over?”

My mom turned around, concern on her face. “Are you sick?”

I shook my head. “I need to get out. I need to walk.”

“But it’s almost two miles to our house,” my dad said.

“Please,” I whispered, my hand on the door handle.

My parents exchanged looks.

“Let her walk,” Chris said. Then he held out his cell. “Call us if you need a ride.”

I gripped the phone like a life raft, mouthing “thank you” to Chris.

My mom nodded to my dad, who pulled the car over to the corner. “Don’t forget to call if you need us,” my dad said. I raised
a hand in response before putting one foot quickly in front of the other. It felt so good to move, to feel my muscles working,
my breath pulling in and pushing out as my heart pumped. I started to run. Maybe if I ran I would be able to fly, and maybe
if I could fly, I would finally get away from the weight of the guilt.

I ran, but I couldn’t fly. By the time I reached my house, my legs were rubbery and I was exhausted. I could barely climb
the stairs to my room but when I got there I collapsed on my bed, begging sleep to give me a brief escape.

MR. F’S FUNERAL ON FRIDAY was the start of spring break. On Saturday I walked into the family room where my parents were reading.
They looked up at the same time, concern and questions in their eyes.

“Is everything okay?” my dad asked.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” I said. “Is this a good time?”

“Of course.” My mom put her book down and sat up. I perched on the edge of the chair opposite them and gripped my knees.

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry for everything. I know I went a little crazy and did some really
stupid things.” I shook my head. “Sometimes I can’t believe it was
me.
”

My mom nodded.

“And I know it will take a long time to earn back your trust but I hope I can.” I took a breath and let it out. “I’m just
really sorry.”

“Thanks, Erin,” my dad said.

My mom stood up and knelt next to my chair, her hand on my knee. “I’m sorry, too, honey,” she said. “Sometimes I forget what
it was like; wanting to fit in, try new things, grow up overnight. Parents get scared. There are so many things we can’t protect
you from, we try to at least protect you from the things we can.” She sighed. “We’ve always been so close, Erin, and then
to see you pushing me away, treating me like I’d seen other daughters treat their mothers—it was more than I could stand.”
She sighed. “And then Mr. Foslowski—”

“I know.”

“There are a lot of things your dad and I have been discussing,” Mom said, “and I think you were right to an extent. I was
still treating you the way I had since you were about ten, not really changing the rules to account for how you’d grown and
matured.” She sighed, smiling ruefully. “And maybe I didn’t want to face it, you growing up, not needing me as much anymore.”

I knelt on the floor next to her and wrapped my arms around her. “I’ll always need you, Mom.” She hugged me tight and I sunk
into her. It had been a long time since we’d hugged. I had no idea how much I’d missed it.

“Hey,” my dad said. “What am I, chopped liver?”

I laughed as I got up to give him a hug. “I’d say you’re at least hamburger. Maybe even steak.”

“Thanks a lot,” he grumbled, but his smile gave him away. “You’re making me hungry with all this talk of meat,” he said. “How
about a cookout?”

“That would be great,” I said. Dad stood up and squeezed my shoulder before heading out.

Mom put her arm around me. “I’m glad you came to talk to us. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Part of the whole maturity, getting trust back thing.”

Mom smiled and we sat for a moment in silence. I looked down at my hands. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I had my period,” I said quietly. “Back in September.”

“I know.”

I looked up. “You do?”

She nodded. “I saw the signs. Laundry, trash, you know.”

That explained why there were always supplies around when I needed them.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Mom shrugged. “I figured you had a good reason for keeping it to yourself and you’d tell me when you were ready.”

I glanced away. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Me, too.” Her eyes were bright. “But you know something? We’re in sync now.”

I smiled. I knew she wasn’t just talking about our cycles.

“So, I was wondering,” I said. “Is it too late for lunch and chocolate?”

Mom smiled. “It’s never too late for lunch and chocolate.”