by Denise Vega
As soon as we were downstairs and out of sight of the adults, Bus Boy grabbed Jilly and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back—long and slow. Blake rolled his eyes at me. I smiled. He was so cute. Don’t make a fool of yourself, Erin.
“Want something to drink?” I asked, walking over to the cooler.
Blake helped himself to a Coke and started munching on the chips. Then he eyed the foosball table. “You play?”
I tried to hide my grin. Jilly and I had been playing foosball since we were tall enough to reach the handles. “A little,” I said casually. “You up for a game?”
We faced off while Jilly and Bus Boy grabbed some drinks and turned on the music. I dropped the ball and scored five points right off the bat.
“Man, you’re good,” Blake said, laughing. “I’m not used to playing singles. I keep forgetting to switch over to block your shot.”
I liked that he could laugh about it. “It takes practice,” I said. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
I beat him soundly three times before he fell to his knees, prostrate. “You are the Foosball Master, Erin Swift. I bow to your amazing skills.”
I liked hearing him say my name. I placed my hand on his head, a jolt going through me as I touched his hair. Now that was an energy surge. “It is good you recognize my superior powers, young one.”
He grabbed my hand and looked up at me. “Can you teach me, oh master?”
“It will be a long, hard journey but yes, I think I can.”
He stood up, still gripping my hand, then let go as we both laughed.
When Lauren and Dylan arrived, we played more foosball, with Blake and me on the same team. We won against Lauren and Dylan but lost against Jilly and Bus Boy.
“We’ll get ’em next time,” Blake said as we leaned against the wall, watching Jilly and Bus Boy quickly rack up points against Lauren and Dylan.
“I’m plotting our strategy as we speak,” I said, glad that he thought there’d be a next time.
Blake grinned at me and I grinned back, just as Jilly’s mom came down.
“Need any more snacks or drinks?” Mrs. Hennessey said, checking the cooler.
“Maybe some more chips,” Jilly said.
Jilly rolled her eyes after her mom left, muttering “spy” as she pulled the coffee table away from the couch. I smiled. Mrs. Hennessey had given Jilly strict rules for the unparty—daylight only, lights on at all times, no “messing around.” It sounded like my mom; it was nice to know I wasn’t the only one.
Bus Boy pulled out a deck of cards and we sat on the floor around the coffee table, playing Texas hold ’em until the pizza arrived. After we ate, the boys played foosball and Jilly, Lauren, and I sat on the couch and talked.
“Blake keeps looking over at you,” Lauren whispered to me. “I think he likes you.”
“It’s only because I’m the only available girl here,” I said modestly. But I’d noticed him looking, too, and it gave me a tingly feeling all over.
Lauren and Dylan’s ride showed up at 7:45. Bus Boy and Jilly went for a walk so Blake and I were left by ourselves on the front porch while he waited for his dad to pick him and Bus Boy up. We talked about MBMS and how he liked high school okay but it was hard starting over, especially with sports.
“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to being at the bottom again,” I said.
“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” Blake said, rapping my knee with his knuckle. Man, he was hot. He might make my Hot-o-Meter explode. I couldn’t believe I was sitting outside on a cool August evening chatting easily with this freshman in high school who actually seemed to like being with me and would make sure I was taken care of.
Bus Boy and Jilly came back just as a car pulled up in front of the house.
“There’s our ride,” Blake said, standing up. He said good-bye to Jilly, then motioned me to follow him down the sidewalk. “So,” he said, his gaze faltering, “you want to hang out sometime?”
Was he asking me out? My heart did a little skip. “Um, sure.”
“You got a cell?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll get your e-mail from Hennessey.” He punched my arm. “I’ll beat you next time.”
“In your dreams,” I said, poking him back.
“Maybe,” he said, looking at me briefly before heading down the walk, Bus Boy following behind.
I watched him go, my eyes drawn to the way his jeans hung loose on his butt, his shirt hanging out, untucked. What did he mean? Was he planning on dreaming about me? Or was he admitting that I actually would beat him again at foosball?
The thought of Blake Thornton or any other boy dreaming about me was so bizarre that I shook my head to get rid of the idea. Of course that’s not what he meant. People like Blake Thornton didn’t daydream about girls like me.
Did they?
Sunday, September 7
THINGS THAT ROCK
I have a double d8 on Fri!!! We’re going bowling, which should be a blast if I don’t become the Amazing Gutter Ball Girl.
A 9th grader wants 2 go out w/ ME, Erin Penelope Swift!
HOT— —METER
#1 Blake Thornton—totally gorgeous 9th grade mountain surfer
#2 Dylan Beaumont—taken, but cute
#3 Mark Sacks—the hair, the butt in shorts—need I say more?
#4 Mr. Perkins (drops to #4 because of age gap)
THINGS THAT ARE FREAKING ME OUT
A 9th grader wants 2 go out w/ me. Hello? What universe is this happening in? What if he changes his mind after he’s been back @ his school 4 a week & c’s all those cute h.s. girls?
He might try 2 kiss me. What if my breath stinks? What if I’m a horrible kisser & he’s totally turned off? Have not kissed 4 real EVER. That kiss w/ Mark didn’t count… basically missed lips cuz he faked left & cut right & I did the opposite. Our lips touched, barely, & then we both got all embarrassed & laughed & never talked about it again.
My mom is driving us so she can meet Blake. I can already imagine the humiliation. I won’t have 2 worry about embarrassing myself when we bowl—my mom will take care of that b4 we even start.
CHAPTER 10
SMOKE SIGNALS
“WE’RE ACTUALLY DOUBLE-DATING!” JILLY SQUEALED and grabbed my arm as she met me at the bus stop the next morning. “This is going to be so fun!”
“If my mom doesn’t ruin it,” I said. “And what about my clothes? My zits? My potential bad breath and lack of kissing skills?” And what would we talk about? It didn’t matter that Blake and I had had a perfectly normal and fun conversation on Saturday. This was a DATE with a capital D and I’d never been on one.
Jilly laughed. “You’ll look fantastic and be fantastic and charm him just like you did at my house.” She sighed as the bus pulled up. “As for the kissing part, there aren’t going to be a lot of opportunities at the bowling alley. Unfortunately.”
Of course. A bright crowded bowling alley. A decent spin on the ball. No kissing so no chance of failing miserably. Perfect.
By the time we got to school, I was totally excited with just a touch of nervousness around the edges. I found myself holding my head higher, walking with a little swing to my hips. Could people tell I was going out with a ninth grader?
As I made my way down the hall, I saw Reede talking to Mr. F. He laughed and handed her a Tootsie Pop before pushing his trash can away. Stupid, but I felt a little jealous.
* * *
I stayed after school to talk to Ms. Fehrmann, my language arts teacher, about an assignment so I had time to kill while I waited for the activities bus. The halls were nearly empty as I headed for my locker. When I rounded the corner, I saw Reede putting on makeup. Did she ever do anything else?
“So, you were totally into the Hottie with the Hair last year,” she said, opening her mouth wide as she brushed on mascara. “And you really pissed off some people.”
So Serena had told her about the YOHE. I waited for m
y big reaction. Anger. Embarrassment. Fear. But nothing came.
“It was last winter,” I said. “I don’t know why Serena still cares. I don’t.” “She was kidding about it,” Reede said, then cocked her head. “Did you really wear a sandwich board? Man, you’ve got guts, girl.”
I smiled. “Guts or stupidity, we’re still not sure.”
Reede smiled and turned to check her face and hair one more time before moving aside so I could get my books. “And I’m glad I’m not the only one who kissed her pillow before kissing the real thing.”
My eyes bugged out. “You?”
Reede laughed. “Yes, me.”
I couldn’t believe it. Sophisticated Reede Harper kissing her pillow? Let’s put that out on the MBMS website.
She pulled out her black bag and her other makeup case slipped out and hit the floor, spilling a lipstick and two cigarettes.
My heart stuttered. Having cigarettes was a huge rule breaker. And smoking them on school grounds could get you suspended. I felt my breath come faster, as if I was the one who had the cigarettes.
“Whoops,” Reede said, snatching them up. “Wouldn’t want anyone seeing those babies.” She zipped the bag halfway, then stopped. “Want one?”
Huh? Did I look like I smoked? “No, thanks.”
She shrugged. “See you tomorrow.”
I watched her go, my mind racing. Reede Harper smoked. Reede Harper kissed her pillow. Reede Harper didn’t think I was a dork, even though she now knew about my blog—knew I had called Mark a Hot Tamale and that I was a corn cob in the Thanksgiving play last year.
Huh.
Taking a deep breath, I turned and looked at myself in her mirror. Did I look like someone who smoked? I put my pencil between my fingers and held it near my mouth.
“What are you doing?”
Mark’s voice startled me and I dropped the pencil.
“I didn’t know you stayed after school today,” I said, picking up the pencil.
“I had to talk to my algebra teacher.” He wrinkled his brow. “It looked like you were pretending to smoke.”
I snorted, hoping it sounded more convincing to him than it did to me. “Yeah, right. I was pretending to smoke.”
“Well, you have been known to kiss your pillow.”
“Shut up.” I smacked him. “Why are you so annoying?”
Mark laughed and made a face, just as a set of arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Kara said. She leaned around him, frowning before forcing herself to smile. “Hey, Erin.”
“Hey, Kara.” I pulled the rest of my books out of my locker and shut the door. “Gotta go or I’ll miss the bus.”
“See ya,” Mark called. I lifted my hand in a wave but didn’t look back. No doubt they were lip-locked together, no pillows necessary. But hey, maybe that would be me with Blake Thornton, ninth grade cutie. I smiled. It was weird how a part of me was terrified to kiss him and part of me really wanted to.
The thought made me tingle all over.
Wednesday, September 10
MORE THINGS WE KNOW ABOUT REEDE HARPER
She smokes.
She doesn’t deny she smokes.
She didn’t dis me abt the YOHE.
HOT— —METER
#1 Blake Thornton—totally gorgeous 9th grade mountain surfer
#2 Dylan Beaumont—taken, but cute
#3 Mark Sacks—the hair, the butt in shorts—need I say more?
#4 Mr. Perkins (drops to #4 because of age gap)
MORE THINGS WE KNOW ABOUT ERIN SWIFT
She doesn’t smoke.
She would never smoke on or off campus not only cuz it’s gross but cuz she’s a rule follower.
She is just going 2 wing the kissing thing—a pillow isn’t even close anyway.
THINGS THAT MAKE ME WONDER
What would it feel like 2 break a rule? Maybe not a big 1 that got me expelled or anything, but a little 1, outside of school, just 2 test it out… test ME out.
What would it feel like not 2 be 2 chicken 2 find out? Bawk.
Will I get 2 kiss Blake on Fri? I think I want 2 but will I be 2 scared? Bawk, part 2.
CHAPTER 11
KISS-A-BOWL
“EVERYONE WEARS THE UGLY BOWLING shoes, Erin. It’s part of the fun and nobody cares.” Jilly pulled open the doors to Donna’s Bowl & Billiards on Friday afternoon. My mom was parking the car and the boys hadn’t arrived yet so we had a little reprieve before the Let’s Embarrass Erin show.
“You don’t care?” This seemed strange coming from Jilly the Fashionista.
“It’s bowling,” Jilly said, “No one’s looking at your feet because they’re too busy seeing how bad you play.” As we stepped inside the bowling alley, she gave me the once over. “I’ve never seen you so obsessed about your appearance before. How many outfits did you try on?”
“Six,” I confessed, glancing toward the counter where the dreaded bowling shoes were lined up in cubbies.
“Erin Swift tried on six outfits? I can’t believe it.” Jilly shook her head. “Let me guess. This one was the first you tried on.”
“Second,” I said, tugging my double tank tops down over my jeans.
Jilly’s eyes dropped briefly to my chest before returning to my face. “You look hot,” she said. “Blake will be so distracted, he’ll throw gutter balls.”
I laughed. “I doubt that. He’s pretty competitive.” But it made me feel good anyway. I turned to the counter. “Come on, let’s get the shoes on and find a lane before they get here.”
When the boys showed up, my mom was sitting in one of the seats in our lane, looking a little too comfortable. I introduced her to Blake and she shook his hand warmly.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said. “Have you and Jon been friends a long time?”
Blake shook his head. “We met at a soccer camp over the summer and found out we were both going to Washington High School.”
“Okay, mom,” I said, tugging at her shirt. “Mrs. Hennessey will pick us up later. Thanks for the ride.”
“I can take a hint,” my mom said, winking at Blake. Oh, please. Could you be any more embarrassing in front of a hottie I’m just getting to know and would like to get to know better if you don’t ruin it by being a dork?
“Did you have to wink?” I asked when we were out of earshot. “Nobody winks anymore, Mom. It’s really stupid.”
Her face fell. “I’m sorry,” she said, then pushed out the door without saying good-bye.
I flicked away a niggle of guilt and hurried back to the group. The three of them were sitting in the chairs while the boys put their shoes on. “Sorry about that,” I said. “She’s a little—well, I’m not sure what she is exactly.”
Everyone laughed, which made me feel better.
“Don’t worry about it,” Blake said. “Moms are supposed to be a little strange.”
I smiled as I set up our game on the overhead board.
Bus Boy looked around before leaning over and kissing Jilly. They kept kissing so I turned away.
“Are you two going to bowl or get a room?” Blake asked, unzipping a bag I hadn’t noticed before.
“You brought your own ball?” I put my hands on my hips.
“And his own shoes,” Jilly said, pointing to Blake’s feet. He had a nice pair of black shoes that looked like basic athletic shoes, not the ugly tan and red shoes we were wearing.
“No fair,” I said.
Bus Boy turned to Jilly and me. “His mom bowls in a league and he bowls on Wii Sports so that makes him an expert.”
“He has his own ball, Jon,” Jilly said. “I think this goes beyond the Wii.”
“It’s probably his mom’s,” Bus Boy said, picking up several balls from the rack before settling on a green one with black specks.
“It’s mine, bro,” Blake said, pulling out a glossy blue ball. “See?” He held it out. Engraved near the holes in neat script was his name: Blake Thorn
ton. He placed it on the ball return next to the standard black one I’d chosen. My ball looked slumped and weary next to his.
“I think we’re in trouble,” I said to Jilly, and she nodded.
“He’s just trying to psyche us out,” Bus Boy said, then turned to Blake. “I’m going to beat your sorry bowling butt.”
“You bowl with your butt?” I asked Blake. “You must be very talented.”
Blake laughed. I could get used to hearing that laugh. He caught my eye and my heart fluttered. Then he smiled mischievously.
I looked from him to his ball, then back at him. “Payback for foosball?”
“You know it, babe.”
Blake dominated all of us, scoring over 200 every game. My high game was 125, Jilly’s was 110 and Bus Boy’s was 165.
“Want me to bowl with my butt?” Blake asked Bus Boy. “Make it a little more even?”
“You got lucky,” Bus Boy said, unlacing his shoes. “Wait till next time.”
We all laughed and decided to grab some burgers at a restaurant a few blocks away.
“I’ll tell my mom to pick us up there,” Jilly said, pulling out her cell phone. She and Bus Boy walked several feet ahead of us, each with a hand tucked into the other’s back pocket. I marveled at how comfortable Jilly acted with Bus Boy. Sure she got jealous and insecure but she could touch him and kiss him in public no problem. I couldn’t see myself ever doing that with anyone. I smiled as Bus Boy complained—loudly, over his shoulder—about Blake’s win.
“Just admit you suck, Lanner,” Blake called.
“I admit nothing,” Bus Boy said. “Next time, you’re going down.”
“In bowling history, maybe,” Blake said, and I cracked up.
“You really are good,” I said. “I wish I could play like that.”
