Click Here (to find out how i survived seventh grade) (12 page)

“I just wish he’d stop being mad,” I said. “Ever since he got into high school, he treats me like I’m this little immature kid or something.”

Mark smiled. “Compared to sixteen, we are immature.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said, taking a shot from the top of the key.
Swish.

“At least you don’t have a sister who thinks you’re cute like a puppy dog and introduces you to all her college friends like you’re her pet.” Mark made a face. “She thinks she’s this big adult and I’m a little kid she needs to take care of.”

“Ugh.” I wasn’t sure which was worse.

We kept playing, sharing tidbits of information with each other. Then Mark went for a layup. I jumped to block it, but my arm got tangled in his. We dropped down together in a heap and when we looked at each other, our faces were super close. I was looking right into his eyes, our noses practically touching, his lips about two inches from mine. My heart pounded crazily in my chest and I held my breath. Could this be it?

Our eyes held for a moment and then Mark untangled his arm and rolled away, bouncing to his feet.

“Foul,” he said. “I get two shots.”

“No way!” I scrambled to get up, trying to hide my face, which was getting warmer by the second. I wiped my hands on my shorts and squared my shoulders. He could never know I thought we were about to kiss. Never. “I didn’t touch you on the way up.”

“Foul,” he said again, grinning.

“Cheater,” I muttered. But I stood on the foul lane, ready for the rebound. Neither of us said anything about being face-to-face, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. He beat me easily, 20 to 15. In the end, he won three games and I won two.

“Okay,” Mark said. “Where will I kick your butt next? Baseball field? Football?”

“The soccer field,” I said. “Where else?”

“No way,” Mark said. “You’d kick my butt.”

“I know.” I picked up my basketball as we headed across the gym toward the water fountains. Placing it on top of my index finger, I spun it, smacking it to keep it going.

“You’re the first girl I’ve ever seen do that,” Mark said. He started spinning his, and pretty soon we had dueling spinning basketballs.

“My brother taught me,” I said, glancing at the clock. “We can time ourselves. Best two out of three?”

“You’re on,” Mark said.

Saturday, October 12

Things That Make Me Think Mark Is My Friend

• He talks to me 1st. I’m not always going up to him.

• He plays basketball with me.

• He makes fun of me in a good way.

Things That Make Me Think Mark Is Using Me

• Boys have used me B4 to get to Jilly.

• Not so long ago, I was a puppet.

• Not so long ago, Mark saw me almost pull a table down on top of myself.

• Not so long ago, Mark gawked at my best friend at play practice.

I can’t help it. I keep thinking he’s trying to get to Jilly. I’ve never had a friend that’s a boy B4, just boys I play sports with, not talk to about stuff.

Today I went really crazy. Mark said he wanted to ask me something and suddenly I was convinced that there was a hidden camera nearby and any minute some hyper announcer with a banana-wide smile would jump out of 1 of the Y restrooms and shout, “Erin P. Swift, You Fell for It!” I would find out that I was the subject of a new TV show where losers were approached by people who would never talk to them in their wildest dreams and act like they were friends. Just when the Losers were about to fall down and kiss the feet of the person who was talking to them, the announcer would break their cover and shout, “You Fell for It!”

I could see it now, like the opening of the show was being played out in front of me.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to ‘You Fell for It,’ where we track gullible losers with a hidden camera, watching them make fools of themselves as they believe someone cool would actually talk to them! Today’s unsuspecting contestant is Miss Erin P. Swift, also known as Pinocchio, who will be approached by Cute Boy himself, Mark Sacks!” Applause, applause, applause as they project a 6-foot copy of the Erin-Pinoccho-Ped picture up on the screen behind the announcer. Then they cut to a shot of the YMCA hallway, where an unsuspecting Erin Swift (that’s me) is walking down the hall with the Cool Person (Mark Sacks). He’s there in all his cuteness, lulling her with that 1-eyed gaze, making her swoon, and just B4 she drops to her knees, ready to kiss his feet—

But then he just wanted to know my opinion on using software that creates web pages or just using HTML.

I think I’m being paranoid. I hope I am. PLEASE let it just be paranoia.

I may or may not kiss his feet, it would depend on whether they were clean or not…wouldn’t mind kissing his lips…never kissed a boy I liked B4, only boys I didn’t like when we played spin the bottle. 1 guy stuffed his tongue down my throat like he was trying to lick my tonsils …GROSS OUT. But Mark and I were THIS close to kissing on the basketball court. I know we were…and it would not have been disgusting.

I hope we get another chance.

In the meantime, I think I’ll practice kissing my pillow.

chapter 11

Erin Swift, Scout

“So who did you play basketball with yesterday?”

We were lying across Jilly’s bed, flipping through her latest issue of
CosmoGIRL!
while we waited for her mom to get off the phone so she could take us to the mall. Jilly wanted (she said “needed”) a new shirt. More competition with that blonde.

I squinted at the page in front of me, pretending not to hear. “Was it Rosie?”

“Huh?” I closed the magazine. Looking at those glossy girls made me feel like a total loser. I pulled out my copy of
Sports Illustrated
and opened it up.

“Did you play basketball with Rosie on Saturday? I called your house and your dad said you’d gone to play basketball with a friend.” She pulled the magazine out from under my nose. “Who’s your friend? I hope it wasn’t Rosie.”

It almost sounded as if Jilly was a wee bit jealous. But she’d already made a ton of friends at MBMS, and if I’d made only one, she couldn’t be mad about that.

“No, it wasn’t Rosie. Just … someone I met at school.”

“Do I know her? Did she go to Jordan last year?”

I frowned. Of course she assumed it was a girl. But I wasn’t going to tell her about Mark.

“Okay, girls! I’m ready.” Mrs. Hennessey stood in the doorway, smiling. “Sorry about that but now we’ve got to hustle. My hair appointment is in twenty minutes.”

“I want to get my hair done for the Spring Dance,” Jilly said, sliding off the bed. “We should go all out.”

The Spring Dance was almost five months away, but that didn’t stop Jilly from planning. I was grateful for the change of subject, even though I knew I wouldn’t be going “all out.” I wouldn’t be going at all.

“Definitely,” I said.

Jilly sighed. “I hope someone asks me.”

“Of course someone will ask you,” I said, smacking her arm. “Are you crazy?”

When we got to the mall, Mrs. Hennessey gave us strict instructions to meet her back at the hair salon in an hour. “No dawdling.”

Jilly saluted and we both laughed as we hurried across to PacSun. She rummaged through the jeans racks, pulling out pair after pair to try on.

“Do you even have any money?” I asked.

“Just enough for two smoothies,” she said. “But I’ll put these on my Christmas list. Dad’s leaving for New York Thursday so I should have them by Sunday.” Jilly’s dad traveled a lot so she would sometimes leave a magazine open with something circled, or a list lying around with things she wanted. The next time he got home, he usually had a “surprise” for her.

As she turned a carousel of blouses, she gasped. “It’s that boy from the bus,” she said, ducking down to the floor. I turned to look. It was the boy who had said, “Jillian-not-Geppetto” on the second day of school.

“Why are you down there?”

She yanked me down next to her. “I don’t want him to see me.”

“Why not?”

“He might think we’re following him. That would be lame.”

“Jilly, we’re inside a store. He’s in the middle of the mall by a fountain. How could we be following him?”

“He might think we’re spying. You know, ducking into stores as we go.” She scooted under the rack and peered out between two blouses.