Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages) (30 page)

“Jon broke up with me.”

“WHAT?” I dropped my duffel and ran to her.

She blew her nose into an already-damp tissue and took a breath. “I told you he’d been acting weird.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really thought—”

“I know,” Jilly said, interrupting me. “And you were always right about me being paranoid before. But not this time.” She
explained how he’d called and asked to come over.

“He told me he really liked me but felt it wasn’t fair to either of us to be with just one person. I asked him if he liked
someone else and he said no but I don’t know if I believe him.”

“Well, he’s always been honest with you,” I said. “If there was someone else, I think he would tell you.”

Jilly looked at her hands. “I don’t know which would be worse. Having him break up with me for someone else or because I’m
not enough.”

“I don’t think that’s it, Jilly,” I said. “He said he still likes you.”

“But not
that
way.” She shook her head. “How does that happen? One day he likes me and the next day he doesn’t? It doesn’t make any sense.”

How exactly does that happen?
Blake’s voice echoed in my head.

“Sometimes feelings just–change. I’m so sorry, Jilly.”

She started crying and I ran to get her some more tissues, trying not to think about Blake and how he must have felt when
I broke up with him, even though we didn’t go out very long.

Jilly blew her nose again and I squeezed her hand. We sat for a while in silence. Then she straightened up.

“We’d just made it to our one year anniversary. How could he?”

“The dog,” I agreed.

Jilly tried to smile but it was more like a grimace. “And he gave the present back. He said he didn’t feel right keeping it.”
She shook her head. “I gave it to him. He should have kept it.” Blowing her nose again, she looked at me. “Why does he have
to be so nice? I can’t hate him when he’s so nice.”

I didn’t know what to say to that so I just put my arm around her and squeezed. We sat for a few minutes, with Jilly’s head
on my shoulder, listening to the clock tick above the mantle. When I looked up, my mom was standing quietly in the doorway,
watching. I raised my eyebrows in question.

“I was just wondering,” she said quietly. “If anyone would be interested in a DQ Blizzard in spite of the cold weather.”

I looked at Jilly. She looked at me. “I’m in pain,” she said, “but I’m not dead.”