Click Here (to find out how i survived seventh grade) (25 page)

Chris punched my arm lightly. “You’ll get through it.”

I sighed heavily. I could picture myself walking down the hallways of MBMS tomorrow, every set of eyes on me … AGAIN. For being mean and baring my lovesick soul. I would rather walk on hot coals in bare feet. Or be banned from the computer forever, as hard as that would be. Or even stop eating Snickers for the rest of my life.

“Can’t I stay home one more day?” I pleaded. “Just one more?” My parents exchanged looks. I could see the pain in their eyes. Maybe they did remember what it was like to be twelve. “I have to say there’s a part of me that wants to let you,” Mom said. “When I was in fifth grade, Tommy Gerardi poured blue paint over my head. It didn’t come out for a week. They called me Little Girl Blue every day.”

“That’s why we weren’t allowed to paint the family room blue,” my dad added. Mom smacked him playfully.

“Anyway, I can’t know exactly how you’re feeling, Erin,” Mom continued. “But I can imagine how difficult it will be at school. And I wish I could protect you from it. But I know that isn’t the right answer. You can’t hide from your problems forever.”

“I don’t want to hide forever,” I said. “Just tomorrow. And maybe the next day.”

My dad smiled. “You’ll get through this, Erin,” he said. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Deluded parents were worse than not understanding parents. What would they do when they found out I was the biggest weakling to walk on two large feet?

chapter 25

Erin Swift and the Chamber of Horrors

I timed my arrival at the bus stop so it would coincide with the arrival of the bus, holding back until the boys from our stop were already on. Jilly wasn’t there. No doubt she had gotten a ride to school so she wouldn’t have to deal with me. I took the first available seat and kept my eyes straight ahead. Several kids said things about my blog, then said things about Jilly. At the next stop, Rosie got on and sat with me. That gave me courage. I stood up and turned around. “I’m the one who wrote the stuff, not her,” I said. “I was mad at her, okay? Just leave her out of it.” I plopped back down in my seat. Rosie smiled and squeezed my wrist. There were a few moments of silence, and then they all started asking about Cute Boy and when would they get their Snickers because they’d clicked on
SNICKERS
.

I looked at my watch. Seven fifty-five. Only seven hours and twenty-five minutes to go.

8:35
A.M.
Homeroom. Serena gave me a look that burned a hole through my head. I took two steps toward her, but she got up and moved to the other side of the room. “Don’t even think about coming anywhere near me, Erin Swift.” All the kids stared at me and I couldn’t breathe. Ms. Archer motioned me to the front of the room.

“This whole thing is quite … tragic,” she said.

I nodded. I hoped she wouldn’t compare it to one of the Shakespeare plays she was threatening to make us read.

“It’ll work out, Erin. Don’t you worry.”

All the grown-ups in my life seemed to be living in some kind of “everything works out” fantasy world. They had no idea what it was like on the other side, the reality side.

“Thanks, Ms. Archer. I hope so.”

I sat in my seat behind Mark and tried to ignore the eyes on me, the ones that always looked quickly away the minute I tried to make eye contact.

I couldn’t even look at Mark’s head in front of me. My cheeks felt like they were on fire. Mark had read all that stuff I wrote about him. I knew I might die of embarrassment right in my seat. I begged the chair to collapse, for a hole to open up in the floor and me to sink into it, never to be seen again. Rosie smiled encouragingly at me, the only one who would actually return my gaze, but it didn’t help. The world had shut the door on me. I was on the outside.

9:18
A.M.
English. I managed to survive the halls. Everyone was talking about the blog and my site. I saw Carla and she gave me a sad smile, which was almost worse than no smile. I kept my head down and wished myself invisible, which is hard when your feet are so very visible.

10:25
A.M.
Word processing class. Ms. Moreno pulled me aside. “I’m so sorry this happened, Erin,” she said. “I meant to look, I really did. But then … well, things got crazy.” She squeezed my shoulders. “I really wished I pushed harder to wait until after Thanksgiving break to launch, because you were so much a part of this. But the students were so eager to see it and the kids in the Club had everything ready …” Her voice trailed off and I could see real pain in her eyes. “If only we’d waited.”

“It’s okay,” I said, even though it most obviously wasn’t. I took my seat.

When the bell rang, I got up and pulled my backpack off my chair, nearly bumping into Mark trying to get down the aisle.

“Sorry,” we both said. He looked at me and quickly looked away. It was so awkward I thought I would burst into tears. As if he had seen me naked and was trying not to look at my private parts. I had an urge to cover my chest or put a big leaf over the front of my jeans like I’d seen in a picture of Adam and Eve. But I knew it wouldn’t help. He turned and practically ran from the room.

As I headed down the hall, someone tugged on my sleeve. “Um, Erin?” A girl’s voice. “Erin, I just wanted to thank you for writing some of those things.”

Huh? I turned around to see if she was making fun of me, about to come in for the kill. But her expression was sincere.

“I guess that sounds kind of weird, but I’ve had a lot of the same feelings about boys.” She leaned over and whispered, “I’ve kissed my pillow, too.”

I looked at her, surprised. “You’re the one?”

The girl nodded. “I’m sorry I hung up. I was just, well, embarrassed.” She smiled shyly. “But I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

“Maybe we’ll start a club,” I said. “The Pillow Kissers Club.”

She giggled and I smiled. Maybe this wouldn’t be so horrible after all.

11:45
A.M.
I made it to lunch. Rosie sat with me, a gesture that assures her a top seat in heaven if I have anything to say about it, which I don’t. People were still making comments. Most of them were making fun of me and my “tell-all blog,” or told me I was mean and spiteful for writing things about Serena and Jilly. But a few came up and said surprising things.

“You have a way of saying things,” one boy said. “You made me laugh.” Then he looked serious. “When are you going to put up Serena’s virtual dartboard?”

Another girl said that her sister had a crush on my brother and had gone out and bought a pair of froggy boxers.

“She doesn’t think he’s weird?”

The girl shook her head. “After what you wrote, she thinks he’s smart and sensitive.”

Rosie smiled at me. “See? It’s not all bad.”

But most of it was. I had to hold on to these small life-preserver comments in a sea of smart remarks about pillow kissing, hot tamales, and sniffing BO.

3:10 p.m. Last bell. I ran down the hall, nearly crashing into Mr. Foslowski.

“Whoa, there, girl. What’s your hurry?” He stepped back and his face changed. “Ah. My little stowaway.” He nodded his head. “Looks like you got yourself into a little more trouble, eh?”

“A little?”

Mr. Foslowski smiled. “Got any Tootsie Pops?”

“What?” I could not think about candy at a time like this. “Tootsie Pops? Do you have any?”

I furrowed my brow but reached in my backpack. “I’ve got one. But it’s kind of old.” Mr. Foslowski held up his hand to stop me.

“I’m glad you’ve got one,” he said. “Here’s another.” He held out a grape Tootsie. “Now you have two.”

I looked at him, thinking he might need professional help. Like candy was going to help me with the BN. “Thanks,” I said, sliding it into my pocket. “I’ve got to go to the lab.”

“Don’t bite it,” Mr. Foslowski called after me.

“This was, by far, the worst day of my life,” I said to Rosie when she met me in the hall on the way to the computer lab. “Mark runs away whenever I’m around and Jilly won’t return my calls. She doesn’t even answer the phone anymore. It’s always her mom or dad or voice mail.” I felt bad about that. Jilly loved to answer the phone because it was almost always for her. But because of me she didn’t get to do that anymore.

“Give her time,” Rosie said.

“She won’t even look at me,” I said. “It’s like I’m invisible.”

Rosie sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’m glad you’re coming to the lab.”

“I’m not touching a keyboard or mouse,” I said. “I’ve given up the computer for good. I’m only going to see if Tyler will talk to me.” Jilly and Serena wouldn’t let me apologize, but I was hoping Tyler would. When we got to the lab, I peered inside. Good. Mark wasn’t there yet. I started toward Tyler, but he gave me the meanest Death Stare I’d ever seen. And when I tried to talk to him, he kept his eyes on his monitor. “Dorks don’t talk to fake friends,” he said.

Strike three.

chapter 26

Out of Fashion

I stood in front of my closet on Sunday afternoon, staring at the clothes hanging in a neat row. There weren’t that many. Just a few fancy shirts Jilly had insisted I buy and some nice pants that couldn’t be stuffed in a drawer without near-permanent damage. The rest were in my dresser.

In my other life, Jilly would be standing next to me, moving from closet to dresser as she selected and wrote down my wardrobe for the week.

In this life, I was alone.

“Need some help?” My mother stood at the doorway, watching me. I was getting tired of my family’s looks of pity and compassion. It was hard enough losing my best friends; I didn’t need my family feeling sorry for me.

“She’s still mad,” I said.

Mom stepped into the room. “Jilly has a good eye for fashion.” She fingered a blue blouse Jilly had gotten me at the Limited. “She really knows what you look good in.”

I glanced at Mom. I had started to think that maybe Jilly dressed me so I wouldn’t embarrass her with my choice of clothes. But the minute Mom said that, I knew it was true. Jilly liked to look her best and liked to see me looking my best.

It was funny how many times I had wished she wouldn’t be so pushy, telling me how to walk in mega spike heels, even how to laugh when you wanted someone to think you were having a great time when you really weren’t. But right now I would have given anything for Jilly to be here, telling me what to wear.

“What do you want to wear?” Mom said softly. “What do you choose?”

I choose to turn back the clock, I wanted to say. To start all over. To never write in a blog or think any thoughts at all about anyone.

“It doesn’t matter what I choose,” I said. “Jilly’s still not my friend.”

As Christmas break loomed, the thought of spending it by myself (Rosie was going to Mexico to visit relatives) was overwhelmingly depressing. I knew I couldn’t keep moping around. I had made a big, big mistake and I needed to do something to try to fix it.

I decided to launch Operation Apology Letter. I wrote each of my four victims a letter, apologizing and asking for forgiveness. I started with Serena’s and ended with Jilly’s, which was, by far, the hardest one to write. As I dropped each one in the mailbox at the end of our block, my heart beat a little faster. I held onto Jilly’s the longest, wondering if I’d said everything I should have, left out things I didn’t need to say. Finally, I let it slip through my fingers, closing the mailbox door so it slid down inside.

“It’s a good start,” my mother said when I got back. “I’m proud of you.”

I tried to smile, but instead I started crying. Mom wrapped her arms around me.

“Don’t say it’s going to be okay,” I sniffled. “Because it isn’t.”

“It might be,” Mom said. She pulled a tissue from her purse and handed it to me. As I blew my nose, she held me close. “You’re doing everything you can, Erin. The rest is up to them.” She gave me a little squeeze. “People can surprise you,” she said. “Let them.”

I knew everyone would get their letter the next day. So I had to wait until Friday, the last day of school before the winter break, to see what they would do. When I arrived at my locker, three unopened envelopes were stuffed in the slats — the ones I’d sent Tyler, Serena, and Jilly. Mark’s wasn’t in my locker, but he did smile at me in home-room this morning and asked me a question about formatting in word processing. I guess that was something.