Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages) (16 page)

“You mean
you
don’t want to get in trouble,” she said. “For having a smoker for a friend. Bad influence and all that.” She slipped her
jacket back on.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’ll walk down the block,” she said. “That way no one gets in trouble.” She paused, holding up the cigarette. “Want to share
one?”

“No, thanks.”

She looked at me for a second, then turned and headed out the front door. I’d spoken up. So why did I feel stupid? Like I
was some wimp who couldn’t even let someone smoke in the backyard when no one was around. Too scared of what my parents might
say.

I sighed, getting out paper, rulers, and several pens and sharpened pencils. I brought out water and juice and some donuts,
then wondered if I would look like some old lady serving tea or something. I took them back to the counter, then walked to
the living room window where I could see the street. Reede was just a few houses down, sucking on her cigarette.

“Who’s that?”

I started at Chris’s voice, turning to look at him. He had on a ratty pair of sweats with rips in the knees, and a T-shirt
with a huge hole in the back of the neck where he grabbed it to pull it over his head. His hair flew out to one side, like
a diving platform.

“A girl from school,” I said. “We’re working on the new website together.”

“She smokes.”

“Duh.” I looked back at Reede. She dropped her cigarette on the sidewalk, crushing it with the toe of her boot. I tugged at
Chris’s arm. “Get away from the window.”

Chris followed me back into the kitchen. “I’d never go out with a girl who smokes.” He hacked and spit into the sink.

“Gross,” I said automatically. “I’d never go out with a guy who hacks loogies.”

Chris snorted. “All guys hack loogies.”

An image of Blake—then Mark—bringing up some big ol’ booger spit flashed through my mind and I cringed. “Rinse it down,” I
said, pointing to the disgusting blob in the sink. Chris ignored me and pulled out a box of Cheerios from the cupboard. I
turned on the sprayer at the sink and used about five gallons of water getting his loogie to finally slide down the drain.

A few seconds later the front door opened and Reede stepped in. “Should I have rung the doorbell again?” she called. “I never
know about all that etiquette stuff.” She stepped into the kitchen. “It’s kind of chilly out. Do you have any—” She stopped
talking when she saw Chris. “Crap.” She ran her hand over her hair. “Hi.”

“We actually do have crap but I’m not sure you’d be interested in it,” Chris said.

Reede laughed. “I’m Reede.”

“I’m Chris, the evil older brother.”

She giggled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. I’d never heard Reede giggle before. It made her seem different, younger.
“I don’t always look like this. Saturday morning, you know.”

I laughed. She must have spent at least two hours getting ready.

“He always looks like that,” I said, pointing to Chris’s hair.

Chris patted his hair down, but it sprang right back up. “And proud of it.” He grabbed the milk from the fridge and carried
everything into the family room.

Reede stared after him. Then she turned back to me. “God, he’s hot.”

I burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? He’s a total slob. He’s disgusting, trust me.”

“He’s your brother,” Reede said. “He’s supposed to be disgusting to you.” She glanced around the kitchen. “Got any coffee?”

“Not made,” I said. “And I don’t know how to make it.” I pulled a basket down from the top of the fridge. “How about hot chocolate?”
I held up a packet.

“With or without marshmallows?”

I grimaced. Why didn’t I just wear a sign that said,
Totally uncool
?

“I’m kidding, Erin,” Reede said. “I like hot chocolate. I can get my big caffeine fix later.”

We settled down at the kitchen table, mugs of hot chocolate in one hand, pencils in the other. I showed her my ideas and she
liked them all.

“What were some of your ideas?” I asked. “Did you bring some stuff on a flash drive?”

Reede shook her head. “I feel like it’s your show,” she said. “I don’t want to butt in.”

“Ms. Moreno said you probably had some good ideas,” I said. “I’m open.”

“That’s okay.” Reede flipped through my pages. “I really like what you’ve got.” We headed down to my mom’s office and I got
her laughing when I showed her how to throw virtual darts at Serena on the computer before bringing up some sample pages for
the website.

“These are great, Swift. You really know what you’re doing.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Do you think once we get going you could show some pages to your dad? I’m sure he’s really busy and everything
but it would be great to get his advice.”

Reede’s eyes shifted away from mine. “He doesn’t really do web design,” she said. “You know. Too busy with some of the bigger
stuff.” She stepped out of my mom’s office.

“Right.” Disappointed, I followed her. “So do you think we should do any animation on the home page? Or other fancy stuff?
Do you know JavaScript?”

Reede didn’t answer, just walked up the stairs. I followed her as she headed through the kitchen and stood near the entry
to the family room. The TV blared as Chris sat on the couch, shoveling mounds of Cheerios into his mouth.

Reede turned around and walked back to the island where I was standing. “So, how serious are he and his little girlfriend?”

“They’ve been going out for a while,” I said. “And no offense, but there’s no way he’d go out with an eighth grader. He’s
a junior.”

“Well, I’m not really—” She stopped and smiled. “A girl can dream, can’t she?”

I frowned. Chris would totally dis her if she flirted with him. “So do you want to go over some color schemes?”

“Nah, I trust whatever you decide,” she said. Huh. This wasn’t how I had expected this to go at all. I thought I’d have to
defend my lame ideas against her brilliant ones. But she either didn’t have any or was being nice.

While she was using the guest bathroom, I helped my parents, who had stumbled in the back door with several bags.

“New doorknob and finally a lightbulb for the closet downstairs,” my dad said.

Reede came in just then and I introduced her to my parents.

“It’s nice to meet you,” my mom said, her eyes taking in everything from Reede’s bottled blond hair to the heavy eyeliner,
to the tight shirt, to the belly ring.

“Erin said your dad has been a big force in the Internet,” my dad said. “That’s exciting.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” Reede looked back down the hall. She seemed nervous and I wondered if she was worried about my parents
smelling cigarette smoke on her. She turned to me. “Come on, Erin. We’d better get back to work before I have to go.”

“Nice to meet you, Reede,” my parents said at the same time. I saw them exchange a look before I turned to follow Reede back
to my mom’s basement office.

When it was time for her to leave, Reede wandered back toward the family room. “See you, Chris, the evil older brother.”

Chris waved. “See you, Reede, Erin’s interesting friend.”

Reede grinned as we headed for the front door. “He thinks I’m interesting.” She sighed. “Didn’t I tell you high school boys
are where it’s at? The guys in middle school are so lame.”

I wasn’t sure how Chris calling her interesting and looking like a slob was proof that high school guys were a big thumbs
up, but whatever. I did have some proof in Blake.

“Next time we can work at your house,” I said.

“I don’t mind coming here,” Reede said, raising her eyebrows. “He’s got a—”

“—girlfriend,” Reede finished. “I know.”

My mom met us at the front door, holding Reede’s jacket.

“Thanks, Mrs. Swift.” Reede shrugged it on and was out the door before either of us could say anything else.

“Her jacket smells like smoke.” My mom stared out the window toward the place where Reede had been smoking on the sidewalk.

“Maybe her parents smoke,” I said. “Thanks for letting us use your computer. We got a lot done.”

“Good,” my mom said. She touched me lightly on the arm. “You know where we stand on smoking.”

“Mom, I’m not smoking. God.” I could hear Reede’s voice:
… having a smoker for a friend. Bad influence and all that.

“Watch your language.” Mom’s voice was sharp, then her face softened as she looked at me. “But I’m glad you’re not.”

“She’s new this year,” I said, reminding her of my Good Samaritan– like ways. “And she’s nice.”

“I’m sure she is,” my mom said. “But that doesn’t mean she isn’t doing things she shouldn’t be doing.”

Sometimes my mom was fine and sometimes she seemed like one big lecture.

“I’m not going to do anything bad, Mom, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

My mom stepped back and squeezed the back of my head. “I’m not worried,” she said. “But it doesn’t hurt to be aware.”

“I’m aware, I’m aware,” I said, ducking out from under her grasp. I hurried up to my room before she could say anything else.