Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages) (31 page)

I HAD JUST FINISHED MY homework on Wednesday and was getting a snack when the front door banged open. I heard voices; Chris
and—

Jeff Massey. Man of my dreams. Coming into my house the day after I’d written about him in my blog (okay, any day he came
would probably be a day after I’d written about him in my blog but this felt especially meaningful).

I was having gymnastics heart again. I placed my hands on the fridge to steady myself.
Easy, Erin. You can do this.
I ran my fingers through my hair and rubbed my lips together. I hadn’t put on much makeup today and I’d changed into a really
old pair of jeans because I’d started my period. But I couldn’t run up and change or he’d see me.

I pulled my Nano out of my pocket and popped the earbuds in my ears. That way I could look like I was here without knowing
they were. I’m so brilliant.

“Hey, Erin,” Jeff said, smiling as he entered the kitchen.

“Hey!” I hoped I sounded surprised to see him. “Where’s Chris?”

“Bathroom,” he said. He walked closer to me. He was so close I could see the dark stubble on his chin, could smell sweat and
the sweet scent of detergent wafting up from his body.

“What are you listening to?” He tugged at my headphone wire.

I blinked, pulling out my right earbud. Cleaning it off, I handed it to him and he stuck it in his ear, nodding his head to
the beat. I nodded along with him. We were sharing the same musical experience, our ears connected by a thin wire running
between us. Electricity shot through me.

“Very cool,” Jeff said. “Mind if I check out your playlist?”

“Sure.” I pulled the Nano out of my pocket, then cleaned off the left earbud and handed them over. He listened for several
minutes, walking around the kitchen, flipping to different songs. Then he gave it back.

“Very nice, Erin Swift. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” I said, surprised at how comfortable I felt. I wasn’t stuttering or flipping out or worried about what to say.

“So, what do you know about Winter Park?” Jeff asked.

“It rocks,” I said. “It has lots of different runs for different levels. So does the other mountain—Mary Jane—but Mary Jane
also has a lot of extreme black runs. For the crazy people.”

He laughed. “I don’t think I’ll be doing any of those. I’m going up with a bunch of people on the Winter Park ski train,”
he said. “I’ll need to find someone to ski the baby hills with me.”

My heart skipped a beat. “I’m going on the ski train, too,” I said. “February fourteenth.”

“No kidding?” Jeff said. “That’s when we’re going.”

Oh. My. God. The ski train with Jeff Massey on Valentine’s Day.

“Cool,” I said weakly. “Maybe I’ll see you.”

“Maybe you can tell me which runs won’t make me look like a fool,” Jeff said as Chris came in. “We don’t exactly have real
mountains where I come from.”

I’d rather show you.
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“You probably tear up the mountain,” Jeff said as Chris handed him a Coke.

“Chris is a much better skier than I am,” I said. “But I like it.”

“She’s a good skier.” Chris rubbed my head.

“Stop,” I said, ducking away. What was I, three years old? Sheesh. “Gotta go,” I said, remembering Jilly’s advice about leaving
first.

“Hey, Erin.”

I turned at his voice. He stepped toward me so we were just inches from each other, then tapped me on the nose. “See you around.”