Click Here (to find out how i survived seventh grade) Read online

  Copyright © 2005 by Denise Vega

  All rights reserved.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Time Warner Book Group

  Hachette Book Group, 237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  Cover photography (lollipop image) © Lucky Pix.

  Other photos courtesy of Getty Images.

  Summary: Seventh-grader Erin Swift writes about her friends and classmates in her private blog, but when it accidentally gets posted on the school Intranet site, she learns some important lessons about friendship.

  The Warner Books name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  First eBook Edition: October 2007

  ISBN: 978-0-316-03113-4

  The text was set in Life Roman and Trebuchet MS, and the display type is Badoni.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1: Alphabet Day

  Chapter 2: First Day Freakout

  Chapter 3: Erin Swift, Puppet

  Chapter 4: Pinocchio Stalls

  Chapter 5: What’s Your Sign?

  Chapter 6: Making My Mark

  Chapter 7: Ace of Clubs

  Chapter 8: CORN-ered

  Chapter 9: Playing With Our Food

  Chapter 10: Target Practice

  Chapter 11: Erin Swift, Scout

  Chapter 12: Ouch

  Chapter 13: Howlingween

  Chapter 14: Erin Swift, aka Idiot

  Chapter 15: DEFCON 1

  Chapter 16: IPF (Invalid Page Fault)

  Chapter 17: Gag Alert

  Chapter 18: FE (Fatal Error)

  Chapter 19: Mixed Messages

  Chapter 20: No Strings Attached

  Chapter 21: Creamed Corn

  Chapter 22: OMIK (Open Mouth, Insert Keyboard)

  Chapter 23: Erin Swift, aka Loser

  Chapter 24: The Gates of Heck

  Chapter 25: Erin Swift and the Chamber of Horrors

  Chapter 26: Out of Fashion

  Chapter 27: ATTENTION!

  Chapter 28: Spam With a Purpose

  Chapter 29: TSR (Terminate and Stay Resident)

  Chapter 30: Home Page Advantage

  Chapter 31: Defrosts and Hot Tamales

  To Nancy Roach,

  my seventh- and eighth-grade literature teacher and still my friend.

  For making me believe, at the age of twelve, that I was a writer.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First novelists always tend to thank the entire world, and I’m no different, though I promise not to thank the shoe salesperson or the guy in the checkout line behind me.

  First, big hugs to my family: my husband, Matt Perkins, and my kids, Zachary, Jesse Bernadette, and Rayanne Vega-Perkins. You rock. To my extended family and friends, who supported and continued to support my writing: my parents, John and Carol Vega; my brother, John Vega, and his wife, Eva Page Vega; my sisters, Michelle and her husband, Wayne Applehans, Cheryl VegaRyan and her husband, James Ryan, and Rebecca Vega; my mother-in-law, Elizabeth Perkins, and her late husband, Bill Perkins, and Bill Jr., Susie, and Sarah Perkins. To all my friends at St. Vincent de Paul School who picked up kids, watched kids, delivered kids, or stood kids on their heads when I needed a little extra writing time. I’m afraid to name you all lest I forget someone, but you know who you are.

  Big non-Vegamite kudos to both of my critique groups, whose words of wisdom as they tore my work apart bit by bit and helped me put it back together again, made the manuscript immeasurably better. Here they are, in alphabetical order: Hilari Bell, Meridee Jones Cecil, Carol Crowley, Anna-Maria Crum, Julie Danneberg, Coleen DeGroff, Wick Downing, Amy Efaw, Vicki Ferguson, Claudia McAdam, Marjorie Blain Parker, Christine Liu Perkins, Julie Anne Peters, Shawn Shea, Bobbi Shupe, Caroline Stutson, Ann Sullivan, and Rick Winter.

  Special thanks to Julie Anne Peters, who graciously opened the door to Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, and to those at Little, Brown who welcomed me inside: Megan Tingley, Jennifer Hunt, Sara Morling, Phoebe Sorkin, and Michael “I’m leaving to get a master’s degree” Conathan. Thank you for your humor, support, and insights into the manuscript. I’m so glad I stepped through. And thanks to copyeditor Christine Cuccio, whose eagle eye saved me from embarrassment.

  Many thanks to my agent, Wendy Schmalz, for agreeing to take a chance on a new author (and thanks to Julie Peters for introducing us). You’re the best.

  And finally, thank you to my friends at the Denver Public Library, especially at the Eugene Field Branch: Susan Gomez, DuRae Kubat, and Kathi Yuran. I can’t thank you enough for tirelessly checking out my stacks of children’s novels, lugging my reserves from the back, and always making me smile.

  Erin’s Website … Keep Out! (This Means YOU!)

  This is the totally secret and private home page of ERIN PENELOPE SWIFT. I guess it’s kind of like a fake web page, because most web pages are seen by lots of people on the Internet and mine will only be seen by me. But I don’t care. If I want to be a webmaster when I grow up, I need to practice.

  Besides, I need to talk about some things, and Jilly isn’t always around to listen…and even when she is, she is not always the best listener, though I would never tell her that because she’s my best friend and it might hurt her feelings.

  Things You Should Know About Me

  • I have big feet, which is great for basketball and soccer, bad for dancing. Luckily I play basketball and soccer, and no 1 has asked me to dance.

  • Jillian Gail Hennessey is my best friend and has been since K. She’s very pretty and friendly, and everyone likes her. Sometimes I can’t believe she wants me for her friend.

  • I have an older brother, Chris. Now that he’s a sophomore in h.s. and can DRIVE, he treats me like I’m a pest. Chris wears stupid bright orange boxers with green frogs on them, checks his breath by breathing into his hand and smelling it, and tucks pictures of the girls he likes under a box on his dresser. Sometimes he takes 1 out and talks to it, like he’s talking to the girl. He doesn’t know I know.

  Info About the Links

  My Life

  will be stuff about me and my exciting life. This will be the blog or live journal part, with dates and stuff…not really live since no 1 else will read it, but whatever.

  Mug Shots

  will have pictures of the zillions of people in my life. Or if I don’t make any new friends, it will just be me and Jilly.

  MBMS

  will be stuff about Molly Brown Middle School, my new prison, that I think is worth sharing.

  Snickers

  will be for when I get tired of clicking and just want to have a Snickers.

  Ok, TTFN.

  © 2005 by EPS, Inc. • All Rights Reserved • EPS Privacy Policy — It’s ALL private.

  KEEP OUT

  Don’t like this website? 2 bad!

  The webmaster does NOT want to hear from you.

  The Ped Stops Here!

  chapter 1

  Alphabet Day

  D-Day.

  Or should I say E-Day, as in Envelope Day. Jilly and I stood on her front porch, fighting for the small amount of shade from the maple planted several feet from the house. The air was still and hot, and we fanned ourselves in quick bursts with the identical envelopes we clutched in our hands. In these envelopes were our futures. Molly Brown Middle School divided each seventh- and eighth-grade class into three “tracks” of about 150 kids. So rather than feeling like a small fish in a 450-student pond, we’d feel like a small fish in a 150-student pond, going to all our classes with a mix of
these 150 kids.

  We were about to find out if we’d be swimming in the same pond.

  “Ready?” Jilly asked.

  My heart bounced up and down in my chest. “I’m nervous,” I said. “What if we’re not on the same track?”

  “Don’t jinx it, Erin.” Jilly stuck her finger in one corner of her envelope, ready to rip.

  “One, two, three!”

  We tore open the envelopes. “C,” Jilly said at the same time that I said, “A.”

  “Ahhhhh,” I wailed. “I jinxed it.”

  “This is terrible,” Jilly said, jumping off the porch and sinking into the grass. “Are you sure you read yours right?”

  A and C don’t exactly look the same, but I held my letter out to her anyway.

  “A,” she muttered. “This is the worst.”

  I flopped down next to her. It was worse than the worst. It was a disaster. We’d only been separated once in elementary school. We’d always been in class together. Always.

  “I can’t walk to classes by myself,” Jilly said.

  “I know.”

  “Oh, God,” Jilly said, sitting up. “I can’t go into the cafeteria by myself.”

  The cafeteria, aka the Humiliation Station. I hadn’t even thought about that. All those eyes turning to stare as I walked in, seeing right away that I was BY MYSELF, which meant no one to whisper secrets to or laugh with as we looked for a table, which meant no way to look like I fit in, which meant LOSER.

  I wrapped my arms around my knees, in spite of the heat. “What are we going to do?”

  Jilly frowned. “I need to think about this.” She stroked her legs, which were freshly shaved and unmarked. I admired that. I always had at least one cut and usually missed a whole area near my ankle so that I had a little clump of fur that I didn’t notice until I was nowhere near a razor. But she always got every spot so her legs were smooth and unblemished.

  Jilly slapped the grass on either side of her and jumped to her feet. “Let’s go shopping.”

  “How can you think of shopping at a time like this?”

  “It’s just the thing to take our minds off of it,” Jilly said. “The ideas will come if we’re not thinking about it.”

  I hated to shop. Especially for clothes, which Jilly loved to do. Comfort before style. That was my motto. But I had to admit I wanted to look good for seventh grade. I was practically a teenager and almost-teens needed to have style and flare, even if they had feet the size of a small whaling ship. And Jilly was the queen of style and flare. If it wasn’t for her, I’d look like a moron.

  “I’ve got just the thing for you,” Jilly said, as if reading my mind. “It’ll knock the socks off the MBMS boys.”

  “I don’t want to knock their socks off,” I said. “What if their feet stink?”

  Jilly laughed. “Well, then, let’s knock their hats off. Boys always wear hats.”

  We both giggled. But then I felt a little twinge in my belly. Did I really want to knock socks, hats, or any other clothing off a boy’s body? That would make them notice me, which would immediately reveal my boy/girl loser status.

  “So, shopping?” Jilly’s face lit up, as if she was asking me to go to Web Design World (the ultimate web design conference) or a WNBA game, not just the boring mall.

  “Sure,” I said reluctantly.

  “I saw these really cute jeans at PacSun,” Jilly said.

  “All they have are low-waist jeans,” I said. “We’re not allowed to show our belly button at Molly Brown.”

  “That’s what shirts are for, Erin,” Jilly said. “I put jeans and a cool T-shirt on hold for you.”

  I made a face.

  “What?” Jilly asked. “It’s jeans and a T-shirt. That’s what you like to wear, right?”

  I nodded. But not those kind of jeans. I liked regular jeans, not the ones that sat low on my nonexistent hips. And why did she have to put them on hold as if it were a done deal?

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “Well, I’d kind of like to try them on first.”

  Jilly laughed. “Duh. I just put them on hold so they’d be there if we wanted them.”

  Of course. It wasn’t like I had to get the outfit if I didn’t want it. “Thanks.”

  After we’d bought the PacSun outfit, Jilly grabbed my arm and squeezed. “You’re going to look so cute in that.”

  I had to admit I liked what I’d seen in the dressing-room mirror. My hips were still nonexistent, but the jeans weren’t too low and they made it seem like there was a little curve there. Last time Jilly had me try on some that, if I bent too far over, made my butt crack show. I’d prefer not to share my crack with the rest of the world, thank you very much.

  “If you wore bikini underwear, that wouldn’t be a problem,” she had told me.

  “Bikini underwear feels like it’s going to fall off,” I said. And a thong was like purposely giving yourself a wedgie all day long. Why would you do that? I couldn’t believe some girls wore them. Personally, I liked my underwear to have some substance. Especially because I played sports and didn’t want to worry about butt cracks or wedgies during a layup.

  “I’ll be over to pick out your clothes on Sunday,” Jilly said as we left the store.

  I gave her the thumbs-up. She came over every Sunday, picked my outfits for the week, and made a list for me. It was great because I always looked good, even though sometimes I felt like an idiot for not being able to do it myself.

  As we headed down the mall, Jilly stopped. “Oh, my God! Duh.” She turned to me. “You’ll switch tracks. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.” She snapped her fingers the way she always does when she gets an idea. “Have your mom call the school in the morning and get you on C Track.”

  “Okay,” I said. I kind of wanted to be on A Track because it was closer to the computer lab, a point I’d noticed when we visited the school last year. But that was okay.

  “Good,” Jilly said. She sighed as we headed to the main entrance where we were meeting her mother. “I can’t imagine going through seventh grade without you.”

  I smiled. “Me neither.”

  ETM (Evil Torture Mom) refused to call the school. “They don’t allow switching unless there are special circumstances,” she said. “The policy hasn’t changed since Chris went there.”

  “This is special,” I protested. “It’s beyond special. It’s catastrophic.” “It’s all about balance,” Mom said. “They carefully select the students for each track based on several factors.”

  “One switch is not going to change the balance, Mom.” My insides sank all the way down to my heels, settling in somewhere around my calluses.

  My mom shook her head, and I called in a report to Jilly.

  “What if you find someone who would switch to A?” she said. Brilliant.

  I headed for the desk in the kitchen, opening the drawer where we kept the school directory. I knew which kids from Jordan Elementary were going to MBMS. I explained the plan to my mom, who was chopping potatoes at the counter.

  “Erin.” Mom stopped chopping and looked at me. I didn’t meet her eyes.

  “After I find someone, you can call the school.” Confidence surged through me with this new plan. “I don’t know if I can promise I’ll find a girl with big feet who likes basketball and computers, but I’ll try.”

  I could feel Mom smile and knew her eyes were full of compassion. “Erin.”

  “Would you stop saying my name?” I held my finger in mid-dial and looked at her. “Even if I find someone, you’re not going to call for a switch, are you?”

  My mom sighed. “Even if I thought they’d go for it, I don’t think I would. This is an opportunity for you to spread your wings, Erin.”

  I gripped the phone. “I don’t have any wings, Mom.”

  “You don’t have any other friends, either,” Chris said. He had shuffled in just then, treading his usual path to the refrigerator.

  “Shut up.” I dropped the
phone back in its cradle.

  “Honey,” my mom said, coming to stand beside me.

  “You’re so mean!” I said. “You could call right now and keep Jilly and me together, but you won’t do it. I hate you!” I ran out of the room and up the stairs. Slamming the door behind me, I flung myself on the bed, burying my face in my arms.

  A few minutes later there was a knock at my door.

  “Erin?” Mom spoke softly, as if I might be sleeping. “Erin, can I come in?”

  “No!” I shouted, even though I realized in that instant that I did want her to. I waited. If she asked again, I’d say yes.

  After what seemed like hours but was probably just a few seconds, Mom spoke. “If you want to talk, I’ll be in my office.”

  I snorted. I wasn’t going to go to her. Besides, what was there to talk about? She had deliberately decided to ruin my life and there was nothing I could do about it.

  “We’ll figure something out,” Jilly said when she called that night to find out what had happened. “We’re best friends. They can’t keep us apart.”

  “Right,” I said. But inside I had a feeling they could.

  Monday, August 19

  Ok, so this is my 2nd blog entry. Hooray. I’m into lists, which you probably figured out from my very 1st entry…hmm. Who am I talking to? I guess it’s that mysterious “Dear Diary” person. Anyway, I like lists, so whatever.

  Things That Are Freaking Me Out

  • I start at MBMS TOMORROW and Jilly can’t go! She has strep! Mom didn’t believe me when I said I thought I had strep, 2.

  • The bus stop will have 8th graders. 8th graders scare me.

  • Who’s going to help me navigate the great halls of MBMS? Who’s going to pick my seat (the chair, not my butt)?

  • Jilly wants me to make a map of her classes. She wants 2 versions: the shortest route and a route that goes by the gym so she can check out the guys. Yikes!

  • I have BIG FEET at a new school…possible tease opportunity. Everyone at Jordan Elem. knows my feet and has kind of forgotten about them…but the new kids who don’t know me won’t know my BIG FEET.