Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages) (6 page)

I SAT BETWEEN ROSIE AND Tyler in U.S. history the next day, with Mark behind me. Serena sat on the other side of the room.
We waved at each other before she turned to chat with friends. Jilly told me Serena was going out with someone from another
track. “And he’s cute,” she had said, as if only someone ugly would like Serena, who was actually pretty and could be nice
when she wanted to, which I hoped would be a little more often this year.

“You’re not going to blow us off now that Jilly’s on our track too, are you?” Mark snapped a pencil at me and I caught it
with one hand.

“No way,” I said, tossing it back. “Besides, we’ve got I-Club.”

“I-Club’s going to be great this year,” Tyler said. “Let’s do streaming video.” He still wore baggy pants and spiked his hair
with the same gel that smelled slightly of pine. It was good to know some things didn’t change.

I pulled out my notebook as our teacher stepped in. Mr. Perkins was tall and thin, with a cute goatee that matched his brown
hair. Rosie and I looked at each other and grinned. History just got a lot more interesting.

The bell rang and Mr. Perkins called us to attention, then started taking attendance. A minute later, Reede Harper arrived,
stopping just inside the door. She smiled and ducked her head, her long hair falling over her face like she was embarrassed,
but it seemed like an act. Everyone’s eyes shifted towards her and I knew if I looked around, tongues would be hanging out
of mouths.

“Stop drooling,” I said to Tyler. He scowled at me.

“And you are… ?” Mr. Perkins asked.

“Reede Harper,” she said. “I’m new. Sorry I’m late.” She didn’t look sorry and didn’t offer an explanation or a tardy pass.
Mr. Perkins didn’t ask for either but I wondered. Her hair was messed up around her face like she’d tried to fix it without
a brush or mirror. Maybe she was already making out with someone in one of the custodian closets. Maybe Mr. F had already
caught her. The thought gave me a ripple of satisfaction.

“Welcome, Reede,” Mr. Perkins said, making a mark in his attendance book. “Since you’re late, you’ll have to take a seat in
the dreaded front row.” He motioned to an empty desk right in front of his, next to two other empty desks. Then he continued
with attendance. “Michael Royston?”

“Here.”

“Erin Swift?”

“Here.” I raised my hand and Mr. Perkins nodded. Reede swung around in her seat and stared at me for a moment, then turned
back around.

Tyler leaned over, whispering. “You know her?”

“She’s my locker partner.” I suddenly felt important, then stupid for feeling that way.

“Cool,” Tyler said. “Maybe you could introduce me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Introduce yourself.”

“Fine,” Tyler said. He turned and faced front, tapping his pencil on top of his textbook.

I sighed. “Tyler, if you want to meet her, you should just—”

“I said it was fine.”

“But you’re mad, and you shouldn’t be. I think—”

“Miss Swift, is it?” My head shot up. Mr. Perkins was looking right at me, along with the rest of the class. “I know the first
few days back are exciting and you want to catch up with your friends, but we’ve got a lot to accomplish as we travel back
in time through U.S. history. Let’s save the chitchat for your breaks.”

“Sorry.” I glanced at Tyler, who was looking straight ahead as if Mr. Perkins and his class were the most interesting thing
in the world and he hadn’t just been whispering to me so I had to whisper back.

“Okay, class,” Mr. Perkins said, “I’m going to go over our course schedule.”

Papers shuffled as we listened. Reede was nodding her head. And nodding her head some more. Ah ha. She was listening to her
iPod. No wonder she was wearing her hair down around her face—it was hiding the cord that was no doubt snaking up the back
of her shirt, the earbuds tucked inside her ears. We weren’t allowed to have any kind of “listening or electronic device”
in the classroom, and I couldn’t believe she’d risk that right in front of Mr. Perkins, who stood just a few feet away.

I had a feeling Reede Harper did a lot of things against the rules.

After class, Reede walked out the door, surrounded by several boys. Mark, Rosie, and I weren’t far behind.

“Gotta go,” Mark said as we reached the hall intersection.

“Say hi to Kara for us,” I said. Too bad Jilly wasn’t here to see Mature Erin as she showed she no longer had feelings for
Mark and wished him well with his little girlfriend.

“Right,” Mark said, turning down the other hall without looking back.

“Are they all good?” Rosie asked when he left.

“Why are you asking me?” I said. “You’re the one who’s known him forever.”

“But you’re the one he talks to,” Rosie said. Most girls would sound jealous. Rosie was just stating a fact.

“He hasn’t said anything to me,” I said. “They seem fine.”

“Okay,” Rosie said as she dropped me off at my locker, “see you on the bus later.”

Reede showed up a minute later, smiling at her followers and waving them on. Then she turned to our locker. “Infants,” she
muttered as she pulled a pack of gum from her backpack. “Like I would ever go out with any of them.”

“Yeah,” I said, “a lot of them are really immature.”

Reede leaned against the locker next to ours, blowing a bubble. It grew large in front of her face before she sucked in, popping
it with a satisfying smack. “This school blows.”

I stiffened. “It’s not all bad,” I said. “There are some pretty cool people here.” I exchanged my history notebook for language
arts and Spanish.

“I’ve just got to get through this year.” She blew another bubble as her eyes roamed my body like some kind of airport scanning
device. “You know, you’re really cute but you don’t know how to take it to hot.”

I scowled at her. I hardly registered that she’d said I was “really cute.” Where did she get off dissing my appearance the
second day of school? “I’m an athlete,” I said. Brilliant. I was basically agreeing that I wasn’t hot and this was why.

“Athletes can be hot,” Reede said, her eyes still skimming me. It felt like she was trying to mentally transform Erin the
Ugly into Erin the Gorgeous. “What sports?”

“Mostly basketball but some soccer.” Why was I talking to her? “So, did you get everything you needed out of the locker or
what?”

“Don’t need anything the first week. You just have to show up.” She pulled her schedule out of her back pocket. “Where’s Room
248?”

“I’m going that way,” I said. “I could—”

“Never mind,” she said, “I’ll find it.” She strode down the hall, her hips moving in a way I didn’t think mine ever could,
even with a lot of practice.

What was
her
problem? Was she too cool to be seen with me? It wasn’t like I was a total loser at MBMS. At least, not anymore.

I slammed the locker door and a few people jumped. I didn’t know what bothered me more—that she didn’t want to walk with me
or that I cared so much that she didn’t.