Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages) (22 page)

BLAKE WAS ALREADY AT THE trees when I got there. He was leaning against one of them, his arms crossed over his chest, giving
me a lazy smile. I set my bike against the nearest tree trunk and stood awkwardly next to it, giving a little wave.

“You’re so far away,” he said, but he didn’t make a move toward me. That kind of bugged me, like he expected me to come to
him.

“Not so far,” I said, crossing my own arms over my chest and giving him what I hoped was a smile to match his.

“You’re right,” he said, pushing himself off the tree trunk and striding toward me. An instant later his arms were around
me, his lips pressing against mine.

“Whoa,” I said, pushing him away. His breath was okay. Minty, like he’d just brushed his teeth. But I still didn’t feel like
kissing him.

“What?”

“Maybe we could talk a little,” I said. “You know, have a conversation.”

Irritation flashed in his eyes, then disappeared. “Sure,” he said, “what do you want to talk about?”

I sighed. What happened to the easy conversations we’d had at Jilly’s unparty, at the bowling alley, and DQ?

“It doesn’t have to be a specific topic,” I said. “I just thought we could hang out.”

“Fine.” He shrugged and sat down on the ground. “Let’s hang.”

I sat down next to him as he picked at the grass blades, his shoulders hunched.

“What are you playing on the Wii these days?” I asked.

Blake sat up straight, his face suddenly animated. “
Battalion Wars,
man. It’s awesome.” He launched into a long description of the characters and storyline, tactics, and how he played. I asked
questions every so often and then he asked me what I was playing on Playstation and pretty soon almost an hour had gone by.
We were laughing and talking and we didn’t kiss until we were getting ready to go. I gave him one kiss on the lips and before
he could try for more, I had climbed on my bike.

“I’ll e-mail you,” he said as we rode our separate ways.

When I got back, Mr. F was in the garage, fixing our leaf blower.

“How’s Jilly?” he asked as I sat down on the cement steps that led into our kitchen from the garage.

“Who knows?” I said.

“But weren’t you just over at her house?”

Oops. I’d forgotten about my cover.

“Yeah, well, I tried to talk to her but she wouldn’t talk to me so I just rode around for awhile.”

Mr. F glanced at me, then back down at his work. “I see. Well, I’m sure it will work out.”

“I hope so.”

“And how’s your young man?”

An image of Mark flashed through my mind, but I blinked it away, bringing Blake’s face into focus. “Okay.”

“Just okay?” He picked up a screwdriver.

“Yeah.”

“Feelings fading?”

I looked at him, startled. “How did you know?”

“It happens to the best of us,” Mr. F said, chuckling. “Even back in the old days we had that kind of thing.”

“You did?”

“Sure,” Mr. F said. “I remember in high school liking lots of different girls.”

I furrowed my brow, trying to picture Mr. F young, liking girls who weren’t Mrs. F. “Did you break a lot of hearts?”

“And had mine broken several times,” Mr. F said. “But it’s part of life.”

“I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“If he likes you, there’s no getting around that, Erin.”

Sighing, I stood up to hold part of the blower so he could put it back together.

“ ‘Sometimes a friend is better than a boyfriend,’ ” I said. “Remember how you said that last year?” I had a feeling Blake
wouldn’t go for the “friends are better than a boyfriend/girlfriend” thing.

“No, but it sounds like something a wise man like me would say.” He winked at me.

“More like a wise guy,” I said, and we both smiled.

I gave him a big hug before he left, holding on a few seconds longer than necessary, hoping some of that wise man, wise guy
stuff might rub off on me.