Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages)

by Denise Vega

  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.

  CHAPTER 46

  CONNECTIONS

  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.�
�

  Monday, March 29

  I’m back to writing in my blog. I’m not sure I’ll keep it up but we’ll see.

  HOT——METER

  Out of service.

  & yes, it’s official. The Hot-o-Meter is out of service. Possibly permanently but never say never. It just seemed so middle school 2 keep a list of guys I think r hot when I’m so close 2 going 2 high school.

  THINGS THAT CONFUSE ME

  Mark’s being nice but also keeping some distance… (I think he’s close 2 announcing that Carla is his girlfriend but isn’t sure how 2 tell me).

  I feel sad when I think abt that.

  THINGS THAT ARE VERY INTERESTING

  Kara & Tyler made out in the custodian closet.

  They didn’t get caught—except by me—& I think Mr. F would be okay w/ that.

  Jilly, who always had 2 like some1 or have a bf, is now totally happy just hanging out w/ me & her other friends.

  Jilly hasn’t mentioned any guy since she & Bus Boy split & hasn’t done any GF/BF quizzes in her mags.

  OTHER STUFF

  I’ve been going over 2 c Mrs. F, helping her around the house & just talking about Mr. F. It makes me feel closer 2 him 2 be w/ her.

  I’ve got Rosie, Tyler, Carla, Mark, Jilly, & even Serena going 2 the Helping Hands Center w/ me once a week. It’s really fun. Olivia runs out 2 meet me every time, giving me the best hugs in the entire world. I live 4 those hugs & I can’t wait 2 go every week.

  I would like 2 have gone there w/ Mr. F. I wonder if he ever would have invited me or if I ever would have asked 2 go.

  I like 2 think he would have or I would have.

  (sigh)

  CHAPTER 47

  UNDERCURRENTS AND OVERFLOWS

  TYLER CALLED MARK AND ASKED him if it was okay if he went out with Kara. Mark called me right after.

  “I started laughing,” Mark said to me. “I mean, it was so weird.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That he didn’t need my permission and it had been a zillion weeks since we broke up.”

  “Good answer,” I said, thinking about how broken up Kara had been; how I’d caught her kissing Tyler. I’d never told anyone. I figured it was their business.

  “Well, I guess this means I’m definitely free to ask out other girls.” Ah ha. He had just been waiting for Kara to be with someone else so he could go out with Carla.

  “Definitely,” I said, surprised at how easily Mature Erin came out, almost like it was natural.

  “Really?” Did he have to sound so excited to ask Carla to go out with him? But what right did I have to be bummed? I should be happy we were back to being good friends. We were proving that Harry and Sally thing wrong. That was a good thing, right?

  “Sure.” I rolled my basketball on the floor with my foot.

  “What about you?” he asked. “You got your eye on anyone?”

  “Maybe,” I said, lying through my teeth.

  “But not the guy with the car? The one you went to see at the party?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s someone else.” Someone I used to like, then didn’t anymore, but now I think I do again. An undercurrent of liking.

  There was a pause. I could hear him breathing through the phone. I had a memory of his Goldfish breath. I wondered if he had eaten any today.

  “Will you tell me first?” he asked finally. “Before you start, you know, going out in public?”

  “Sure. Will you tell me about yours?” Even though I already know?

  “Deal.”

  My Mature Erin Smile couldn’t have been any bigger, even though he couldn’t see it.

  And my heart couldn’t have felt any heavier.

  Monday, April 5

  ONE THING THAT FREAKED ME OUT BUT I GOT OVER IT

  I ran in2 Jeff Massey. My mom & I were in the store buying toothpaste & shampoo (thank goodness there were no feminine hygiene products in the cart). He was w/ 1 of the girls from the party—not Parrot Head. They had their arms around each other. I tried 2 sneak down another aisle but he saw me. They both smiled @ me. Please. But I did apologize again abt spitting on him & he goes no worries & WINKS @ me. Can I puke now? I am not 2 be winked @—I’m almost 14! He goes c u next year… yikes… forgot we’ll be @ the same school… & not just him but a lot of people from that party. Hope they all have short memories.

  In Memory of Jacob Foslowski

  * * *

  Excellent cleaner, great listener, dispenser of good advice & delicious Tootsie Pops.

  Friend extraordinaire.

  I love you & I miss you.

  I got rid of the heart undies… maybe that will help.

  So life goes on. I don’t know how, but it does. Mr. F is dead but people r crushing on other people & making out in closets & not getting caught & I’m actually paying attn 2 it again. Not like I used 2. It just doesn’t seem 2 matter as much now. But it makes me laugh & it’s something 2 talk about.

  ONE THING THAT BUMS ME OUT WHEN I KNOW IT SHOULDN’T

  Mark seems really happy abt being able 2 go out w/ Carla… didn’t seem bummed @ all that I might like some1 else… need 2 get over him—AGAIN—& be happy that he’s happy.

  Okay, visualization time, like Jilly taught me. If I’m ready for it, it won’t hurt so much when I c it in real life… I’m picturing Mark & Carla holding hands in the hallway. Mark w/ his arm around Carla. Mark kissing—Not helping. Hurting. & I’ve had enough of that 4 awhile. Maybe I’d be better off living right here, right now… not preparing 4 things that might never happen, like Mr. F said… you can never really be prepared.

  4 anything.

  CHAPTER 48

  RUDE AWAKENINGS

  MAKE A CONNECTION WITH SOMEONE you haven’t seen in awhile or with whom you’ve had a falling out.

  I stared at the crumpled Tootsie Pop message from Mr. F’s service.

  “Fine,” I said aloud. “But don’t blame me if it doesn’t go well.”

  Reede had always been sort of vague about where she lived and every time I suggested we go to her house, she always had an excuse.

  Now I knew why.

  I sat in our car on Wednesday, staring up at an apartment complex, the brick cracking in spots, the paint peeling. This wasn’t the big house I’d pictured her living in with her genius computer dad and perfect, beautiful mother. The bus stop was across the parking lot and I saw why she knew the bus system so well. That’s how she got around. To school, to the mall, to my house—everywhere.

  “Do you want me to go up with you?” my mom asked, but I shook my head. She patted my arm. “Well, then wave to me so I know she’s home,” she said. “I’ll run across to the grocery store for a few things and come back for you.”

  I walked up the two flights of stairs to Apartment 340 and stood in front of a door in need of paint as badly as the rest of the building. I reached out and pulled off a piece of paint, staring at the faded blue in my fingers before dropping it. Then I took a deep breath and rang the bell.

  One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. Nothing. They must be out. If their phone hadn’t been disconnected, I could have called first. But now I’d wasted time coming here and—

  Footsteps behind the door—fast, angry. The door swung open and a tired, annoyed woman stared at me. She was wearing black pants and a stained white shirt with a “Hi! My name is Cammie!” nametag pinned to it. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and her makeup was heavy. I could see hints of Reede in her, though, and knew this was her mother.

  “Yeah?” Mrs. Harper narrowed her eyes and clutched the door tightly against her side, as if I might barge in at any moment. She smelled like the party had—stale beer, cigarettes, and leftover pizza—with a heavy dose of perfume to try to cover it up.

  “Is Reede here?” I asked. “I’m Erin Swift. A friend from school.”

  Mrs. Harper raised an eyebrow. “She’s around here somewhere, except when she isn’t.” She looked over her shoulder. “Reede!”r />
  I cringed. Part of me wanted to vault over the side wall, falling the three stories down and taking my chances with broken bones so I could be back in our safe, familiar car. But I didn’t. I turned to wave over the wall at my mom, then faced Mrs. Harper.

  “You a friend from last year’s school, this year’s first school or this year’s second school?”

  I frowned. “This year’s first school, I guess.” I looked past her. “So, you’re not moving back to San Jose?”

  Mrs. Harper snorted. “I don’t know why she keeps telling people that every time she screws up and has to change schools. We haven’t lived there for years. Not since I divorced her sorry excuse for a dad when she was six.” She cocked her head. “She also told you he worked with Bill Gates, right?”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly.”

  “He fixed computers,” she said. “Repaired them. Swapped out parts, replaced hard drives, that kind of thing. That was the extent of his computer knowledge.” She jerked her head over her shoulder. “Reede!” Mrs. Harper didn’t move to let me in so I stood on the landing, my arms wrapped around me against the cool April afternoon.

  “What!” Reede’s voice rose from somewhere behind Mrs. Harper, sharp with annoyance.

  Mrs. Harper opened the door just wide enough to show Reede that I was standing outside. I was struck by how pale she looked. Her face seemed sunken and bland without her makeup, though her eyes blazed at me.

  “Get out of here!” she shouted, before turning on her heel, practically running from the room.

  I stared after her, shocked. “I’m s-s-sorry,” I stammered to Mrs. Harper. “I would have called first but—” I looked away, embarrassed. “—your phone is disconnected.”