Access Denied (and other eighth grade error messages) (44 page)

I shook my head. “I’m sorry I said what I said. I don’t think you’re a horrible person. I just—”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and I caught sight of something familiar.

“Omigod!” I said. “My mom’s earrings!” The Celtic knots dangled from Reede’s ears. “I can’t believe it. Give those back!”
I reached for them but Reede turned her head away, elbowing me in the cheek.

“Ow!”

She took the earrings out of her ears and threw them at me before slamming the door in my face. I stood frozen for a moment,
heart bouncing crazily in my chest. Then I bent down and picked up the earrings, gripping them in my fist. “I could call the
police, you know!” My breath came fast, tears of anger and frustration pricking my eyes. “I could tell them you stole them!”

“Go ahead!” Reede shouted through the door. “I dare you!”

I pounded on the door. “Mr. Foslowski died!” I screamed. “He died and I was supposed to visit him but instead I was on a bus
going to a stupid party that YOU MADE ME GO TO. Then you abandoned me and he died! I hate you, Reede Harper! I hate you!”
I banged the palm of my hand against the door, hardly aware of the sting shooting through it.

Bolting out of the apartment and down the stairs, I wiped my hand across my nose before pulling the Tootsie Pop message out
of my pocket. I ripped it up into tiny pieces, letting them flutter behind me as I hurried across the parking lot. When I
slid into the front seat of our car, I pulled the door shut and yanked at my seatbelt. I was shaking so much, my fingers fumbled
to click the buckle into place. I sucked in a quivery breath before dropping the earrings on the console between us.

“Happy?”

My mom picked up the earrings gently; they glinted in the sunlight. She sighed deeply. “No,” she said. “I’m not.”

I leaned my head against the window, my anger seeping out of me. “Let’s just go home.”

It wasn’t until we had turned down our familiar street that I noticed my mom’s hand wrapped around my own. She pulled it away
to steer into the garage.

“Sometimes what you see on the outside is trying to hide what’s on the inside,” she said as we got out. “I’m proud of you
for trying.”

“Please, Mom,” I said, opening my car door. “I’ve had enough fortune cookie sayings for a while.”

But her words stayed with me as I lay in bed that night. I kept picturing Reede in that apartment with her mother, without
her dad, without a lot of things. Thinking of her trying to be cool, to have fun, to be someone, anyone, and maybe not being
herself.

Of being someone on the outside who hid someone else on the inside.

THURSDAY I SAT AT MY desk in my room, staring at the jar of Tootsie Pops. Sun streamed through my window, illuminating the
jar, making the wrappers look brighter. I traced my finger across the glass, images of Mr. F at school flashing through my
mind: Tipping his Windex bottle at me, handing me a dustrag, knocking fists, the messages at his memorial service—

—the lies I’d told, the party I’d gone to, my parents waking me up in the middle of the night. I stood up, shaking my hands,
like I could shake the guilt right off my fingers.

But I couldn’t.

I sighed and stood up, pacing around my room. I’d thought trying to talk to Reede would help. Of course, that ended in a shouting
match so instead of feeling good, I felt horrible. Then I had sent her an invitation to my birthday party with a note saying
I was sorry for getting so mad. I thought sending the invitation and the note would make me feel better. It did, but only
part way. There was still more yucky feelings down inside me.

And I knew there was probably only one way to get rid of them.

*   *   *

A cool breeze blew at the cemetery Saturday morning. Mrs. F and I stood in front of Mr. F’s gravestone, which read:
Beloved father, devoted husband, friend of many.

“Mrs. F?”

“Yes, Erin?”

I shifted on the uneven grass. “That Friday, when we were supposed to come visit him? The day before he—” I stopped. I still
couldn’t say the D word around Mrs. F.

She didn’t say anything, just rearranged the flowers at the base of the gravestone.

“I—I lied to you.” My shoulders sagged. “Instead of visiting him that night, I—”

Mrs. F held her hand up, silencing me. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Tell him.” She pointed to the mound of dirt in front of
us. I bit my lip as she stood up. She reached over and squeezed my arm, her eyes full of warmth. “Tell
him.
”

I watched her walk slowly down the road away from me, her yellow shirt bright against the green grass rolling out all around
us. Kneeling down next to the dirt mound, I pressed my fist into the hard soil, blinking back a tear. Then I pulled Mr. F’s
envelope out of my back pocket. Two weeks had passed since the funeral and I still hadn’t been able to open it. I stared at
the wobbly writing:
Erin P Swift.

Slowly, I slid my finger under the flap, tugging it open.

Dear Erin,

You have been a bright red Tootsie Pop in my life. I have enjoyed our talks at school and our friendship. Like Margo probably
told you, our grandkids are far away and you have been kind enough to make an old man feel needed.

You are meant to do great things, Erin. I look forward to seeing what those great things are going to be. I feel privileged
to be part of your journey, wherever it takes you and wherever I am.

Fondly, your friend,

Mr. F

My shoulders shook as I cried. Did he know? Is that why he wrote the note? Did he know he wouldn’t see me again?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said out loud. “You should have called me.”

But that was wrong. And I knew it. The truth had a way of wiggling out from under excuses and blame, waving at you like a
little kid begging for attention.

“So I went to this party,” I whispered. “I was supposed to visit you and I would have if you hadn’t had to have that test
and we couldn’t come till later. But see, I was supposed to meet Reede at eight which meant catching the bus at six forty-five
which I couldn’t have done if we’d come to see you.” I paused, sucking in a breath. I let out a long, ragged sigh. “I’m sorry
I didn’t come. I should have come. The party was stupid and horrible but even if it wasn’t I should have come. I can’t stand
that I didn’t come. Please don’t hate me for not coming. I’m so sorry.”

I drew my knees up and sobbed into them, wrapping my arms tightly around myself. I wasn’t meant to do great things. I was
just meant to screw things up, then apologize for them afterward. That was the story of my life.

I don’t know how long I sat there, rocking and sobbing, wiping my arm across my nose, but then there was a shadow and a hand
holding a tissue and Mrs. F kneeling next to me with her arms around me, saying, “It’s okay, everything’s okay, everything
will be okay.” I couldn’t tell if she was comforting me or herself or both of us and it didn’t matter. It just felt good to
be in her arms.

Before we left, I stuck a cherry Tootsie Pop in the dirt. “Remember the wisdom of the Pop,” I said, my voice hoarse but stronger.
“I know I will, thanks to you.” I patted the dirt before standing up.

I walked slowly across the grass beside Mrs. F, the blue sky stretching endlessly beyond the trees, a few wispy clouds brushing
across like a painter’s afterthought. I breathed in deeply, aware of the freshness of the air, the soft beat of my heart and
how the weight around my shoulders had slipped a little.

I turned and knocked my fist toward Mr F.

I’m pretty sure he knocked back.

REEDE CAME TO MY BIRTHDAY party. I was stunned. I really hadn’t expected her to. She showed up about half an hour into it,
with some of us playing badminton and my parents and Mrs. F flipping burgers and dogs.

“Reede!” I ran to meet her, throwing my arms around her. The hug took her by surprise and she stood stiffly for a moment,
before hugging me back awkwardly. “I’m so glad you came,” I said.

“Hey, Erin.” She pulled back and smiled shyly. “I figured you could use my cool factor.”

I laughed. “You look great.” And she did. Younger, fresher… happier. Her hair was a light brown—no evidence of bottled blond
anywhere—and her makeup was light, summery. She wore jeans and a loose shirt.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been to this kind of a party,” she said, nodding toward the badminton net, where my friends were
trying to pretend they weren’t watching us. She waved tentatively and they all waved back. “So, thanks for the invitation.
I didn’t expect it after…”

“… you slammed the door in my face and I told you I hated you?”

Reede smiled ruefully. “Yeah. That.” She looked away. “Sorry I freaked when you came to the apartment. It was like—I don’t
know. Like you didn’t belong in that picture. You’re such a nice person with a perfect family and a great house and—” She
shrugged. “That apartment was a dump.” Her shoulders slumped slightly, but then she straightened them. “But we’re in a really
nice place now. Across town. Sorry Excuse Dad finally came through. Big time. I’m going to West Highland.” She gave me a shove.
“More middle school babies. You know.”

I smiled.

She looked out across the yard for a moment, then turned back to me, eyes bright. “And I’m sorry about dissing you at the
party. That guy I was with? He went to my old school and I was afraid he would blow my cover.” She looked me right in the
eye. “You figured out that I’m a year older than you and that I didn’t just move here from Silicon Valley, right?”

I shrugged.

“I got held back,” Reede said. “Not applying myself and all that. Hated seeing all my buds ahead of me. It sucks but that’s
the way it is.”

“Who cares?” I said. “I know I don’t.”

“You’re all right, Erin P. Swift,” she said, cocking her head. “By the way, what does the P stand for? Perfect? Pretty? Popular?”

“Pariah,” I said. “Didn’t you hear about the whole underwear thing at the party?”

She laughed. “If anyone can survive that, you can.”

I pointed toward the deck. “Want some food?”

“After I talk to your mom about her earrings.” Without waiting for a response, she strode right over to my mom, who was helping
my dad get burgers and dogs onto plates. My mom stepped away and Reede started talking, dropping her head a few times. Then
my mom said something, and Reede looked right at her. Mom reached out and squeezed Reede’s arm and she grinned. She practically
bounced over to me, something I would not have expected from the sophisticated Reede Harper.

“Your mom’s cool,” Reede said. “You’re really lucky.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling over at my mom, who waved at me. “I am lucky.” We stood for a moment, listening to the drone of a
lawn mower in the distance.

“I’m really sorry about Mr. Foslowski,” Reede said quietly. “I really liked talking to him, you know? Poor guy heard a lot
about me and the stuff I didn’t tell him, he figured out on his own.” She smiled ruefully. “He was on to me from the beginning
but he never said anything to anyone. Just let me screw up and eventually find my way.”

I smiled. “Yeah, he was good at that.” We started toward the steps of the deck.

“Hey, did I tell you I quit smoking?” Reede said. “Our apartment is brand new and I told my mom I didn’t want to stink it
up, you know? So she’s trying to quit, too. It’s pretty sad. We stand around chewing gum, snapping at each other all day.”

I laughed. “Well, that’s good. I think.” I motioned her up on the deck. We leaned against the railing, watching the badminton
game.

“So,” Reede said finally, “Serena is now officially a part of your posse?”

“Serena has turned out to be a good friend,” I said, thinking about how she’d defended me in the bathroom against her so-called
friends. “I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true.” I looked at her. “My mom always says people can surprise you.”

“Your mom’s a smart lady.” Reede cocked her head, her eyes still on the players. “And I’m glad to see you finally hooked up
with the Hottie with the Hair. It took you long enough.”

I shook my head. “He’s with her,” I said, nodding to Carla.

Reede laughed. “You know, for someone named Swift, you aren’t very.”

I narrowed my eyes at her.

“Open your eyes, Erin. She’s with him—” She nodded toward Steve, who was trying to toss the birdie at Carla’s head. “And he—”
she said, nodding to Mark, “—is still crazy about
you.
”

“Right,” I said. But inside my stomach did a little skip.

Everyone left around eight, except Jilly, Mark, and Mrs. F, who all insisted on cleaning up.

Reede promised to keep in touch. “We’ve even got a computer and slower than a turtle dial-up, thanks to Sorry Excuse,” she
said before she left.

I sat at the table on the deck, watching Mark talking to Jilly as they picked up trash.

Mrs. F sat down next to me. “Remember that boy you liked last year who didn’t like you and then he liked you this year but
you didn’t like him?”

I looked at her and burst out laughing. “Where’s your Windex bottle?” I asked.

Mrs. F laughed, then nodded toward Mark. “Why don’t you ask that nice young man to go for a walk with you.”

“I can’t,” I said.

“Of course you can,” Mrs. F said. “Just open your mouth and say the words.”

“I’ve already had my chance—more than one chance actually—and I blew it. Besides,” I said, looking down at my hands, “it wouldn’t
be right.”

“Erin Penelope Swift! Don’t talk nonsense. You know Jacob would be absolutely exasperated with you right now.”

I sighed deeply. “He said I was meant to do great things.”

“And you have,” she said. “Look at Reede. And Serena. And the kids at the Helping Hands Center.”

“Those are different,” I said. “What’s so great about going on a walk with Mark?”

“Only you can answer that,” Mrs. F said. “But you won’t be able to if you don’t do it.”