Boys Are Dogs

by Leslie Margolis

  The dog-training book had instructions on how to teach Pepper his own name, but it didn’t cover teaching Pepper my name. And I couldn’t figure out how to reverse the lesson with Tobias, so I figured I’d just tell him.

  “Whatever,” Tobias mumbled.

  Pepper never talked back, but I guess I couldn’t expect a perfect translation.

  Mr. Beller called the class to attention, so I turned around. He collected our homework and I didn’t get kicked. He started talking about how we could expand our vocabulary by reading more and I still didn’t get kicked. Then he named three students who’d forgotten to turn in their homework on Monday. I wasn’t on his list but Tobias was. Oh, and I still didn’t get kicked.

  I tried not to make a big deal out of it. I didn’t want to get too comfortable. That had been my mistake yesterday. After one small victory, I’d let my guard down. Boys, like dogs, needed reinforcement. It wasn’t enough to teach Pepper to sit once. I had to remind him to do it over and over again. This meant my work was far from finished.

  Since I still had five more classes to get through, plus lunch, I tried to think in positive terms. Like, instead of having hours of potential torture ahead of me, I had that much more opportunity for boy training.

  It worked for a while. Then, as I walked to my locker to get my social studies book, some guy yelled, “Spaz!”

  It would have been easy to walk by and pretend that I didn’t hear, or didn’t know he was talking to me. That’s what I did yesterday. And that’s what I’d done all last week. But ignoring the problem wasn’t going to change anything.

  So rather than slink off silently, I turned around and followed him. Once I got close enough, I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Hey, wait.”

  “Huh?” The guy spun around, pushing his dark hair away from his forehead with one hand. He seemed confused and not exactly thrilled that I’d stopped him. He was taller than me, but practically everyone at Birchwood was. I couldn’t let that stop me.

  “Did you say something?” I asked.

  He looked at me like I was crazy. Like I was speaking to him in Spanish when he was barely passing French. “No,” he said, and tried to walk away.

  “Wait a sec.” I grabbed onto the sleeve of his jacket, then pulled my hand away, surprised that I could be so gutsy.

  “What?” he asked, now annoyed, staring where my hand had been as if I’d left a stain.

  I lost my train of thought. I tried to visualize Pepper tearing up the garden, not because he didn’t like my mom, but just because he didn’t know any better.

  Dogs need to be told what to do. They don’t know, instinctively.

  Maybe boys were the same.

  “You called me Spaz, just now, and that’s not my name.”

  His cheeks flushed red and his eyes darted from left to right. He refused to meet my gaze. “I don’t even know you,” he insisted.

  “My point exactly,” I said. “And let’s keep it that way.”

  By the time I got to our regular table at lunch, everyone else was already there. I had to squeeze into the only space available, which happened to be between Rachel and Erik. This week, his bangs were green. I didn’t know if it was an entirely new color, or if the blue had faded, but it’s not like I could ask him. The guy was way hostile.

  Example? As soon as I sat down he asked, “Do you mind, Spaz?”

  I guess he was upset that I was crowding him, but the thing is—there were five of us girls, and only four boys, and they took up way more than half the table. He could’ve easily moved over. There was plenty of room—but I didn’t say so. I didn’t want to try any boy training in front of an audience. It was all too new. And what would Rachel and her friends think? Obviously they were okay with being smushed. Or maybe they’d gone to school with boys for so long, they didn’t realize how annoying they were.

  Anyway, I ignored Erik, and he soon got distracted by his friend Joe, a short skinny kid with curly dark hair, braces, and pimples all over his forehead.

  “Five bucks says you can’t fit that entire corn dog into your mouth,” said Joe.

  Erik laughed, brushed his green bangs out of his eyes and said, “Dude, that’s easy.” Then he lifted the corn dog and slowly shoved it into his mouth. His cheeks bulged, contorting his entire face. Somehow, and I don’t know how, he stuffed it all in.

  The other boys watched in awe.

  “Do you know what hot dogs are made out of?” Claire whispered. “Random pig parts, like intestines, and brains, and pieces of bone.”

  Yumi put down her corn dog in disgust. “That’s not true,” she said. “Is it?”

  “It could be lips, too. Basically, hot dogs are made out of spare parts that no one else wanted,” she went on.

  I was glad I’d gotten the fried chicken. Sure, it was soggy, but at least I could tell I was eating a leg as opposed to lips. If chickens even had lips. Did beaks function in the same way? And if so, could they be called chicken lips? I’d have to Google that later.

  “Claire is a vegetarian,” said Rachel. “Whatever you do, don’t ask her about veal.”

  “Or factory farm chickens,” Emma added.

  “You should see their crowded cages. They cram so many inside, the chickens don’t even have room to turn around,” said Claire.

  I put down my chicken and reached for my chips. “Just don’t tell me anyone abused these potatoes,” I said, and everyone laughed.

  Suddenly Erik started coughing. A large chunk of corn dog flew out of his mouth and landed on the table—inches from my lunch. If Claire was right, I hoped it wasn’t the pig lips part.

  I leaned away from it, just in case.

  Meanwhile, Joe stood up and raised his hands over his head. “Yes, I won!” he yelled.

  “No, I got it all in,” Erik insisted.

  “What do you call that?” asked Joe, pointing to the corn dog remains.

  Erik shook his head. “That wasn’t the bet. I got it all in at once.”

  “But you didn’t eat it all.”

  “Fine,” Erik said.

  Much to my horror (and okay, I’ll admit it— fascination, too) he picked the piece up off the table and popped it into his mouth.

  As Joe pulled some crumpled bills out of his pocket and slammed them on the table, the other boys cheered.

  Next someone dared Erik to drink chocolate milk mixed with ketchup, salt, pepper, relish, and mayonnaise. This he did free of charge.

  After he downed it, he burped and pounded his chest. “I’m a human garbage disposal!” he roared. Like eating trash was something to brag about.

  Just then I remembered Pepper, wagging his tail happily in the midst of the kitchen garbage. These boys really were just like dogs.

  I giggled at the thought.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Rachel.

  “Um, nothing,” I said, since it was too complicated to explain. I finished my lunch quickly and left our table early so I could hide in the bathroom and go over my notes before class.

  Science would be tough, because I was outnumbered, with boys on either side of me and behind me, too. So I needed the extra time to get ready.

  In science, Ms. Roberts was the obvious pack leader, since she decided what we’d do, and assigned homework and stuff. Basically, she gave orders that we carried out.

  But the class had other packs, as well. Like at Table Number Seven—clearly, Tobias was the leader. He took control, and Oliver just watched and waited to be told what to do. Oliver wasn’t a bad guy, I don’t think. It was more like he was just trying to fit in. I had a feeling that if Tobias were nice to me, he would be, too, which was a little sad, but still irritating.

  Clearly Tobias was the dominant dog and Oliver was the submissive dog. And me? I was neither dog. Not even a follower because they didn’t bother acknowledging me. If anything, I guess I could be called the invisible dog. And that had to change.

  By the time I walked into class, the microscopes were on the table. Tobias was
already fitting the first slide into place, while Oliver watched.

  I took a deep breath and marched forward.

  “I’ll take that,” I said, holding out my hand.

  “What?” asked Tobias.

  “I’ll do that,” I said. “Since I didn’t get a real turn yesterday.” He didn’t volunteer to give up control, so I grabbed the microscope and pulled it in front of me.

  Tobias took it back just as fast. “Cut it out, Spazzers.”

  Okay, that hadn’t gone so well.

  “Come on,” I said.

  Don’t ask your dog to do something. Tell him. . . .

  The words ran through my head as I reached for the microscope, again.

  “I’m going first.” I spoke decisively. And this time, I managed to grab hold of the neck.

  Tobias kept both hands on its base. He just wouldn’t let go, and neither would I.

  Soon we were playing tug-of-war, both of us pulling as hard as we could. At least until Ms. Roberts came over.

  Tobias saw her first and let go immediately.

  Me? I held on and went flying past our table and into the aisle. Before I could stop myself I slammed hard into the sidewall.

  I didn’t fall or drop the microscope, but no one focused on that. Everyone was too busy laughing over the spectacle I’d made of myself.

  “What’s going on here?” Ms. Roberts asked. “Am I going to have to separate you two?”

  Yes, please separate us, I thought to myself, as I walked back to my seat and gently placed the microscope on the table.

  I didn’t agree out loud, because I’d already gotten into trouble for that in English class. I don’t understand these teachers, asking questions and then getting mad when you try and agree with them, but I wasn’t going to say so.

  Ms. Roberts stared from me to Tobias, like she was trying to figure out who to blame.

  Neither of us said a word.

  When she finally spoke her tone was harsh. “Please get back to work. And try to remember that you’re in the sixth grade now, and it’s time to act that way.”

  For the rest of the class, I let Tobias be the dominant dog.

  He lingered over each slide first and only let me and Oliver peek after he’d finished. It didn’t feel great, but this was only my first official day of boy training. I figured I deserved a little slack.

  Five minutes before class ended, Ms. Roberts asked, “How many people did the reading last night?”

  When I raised my hand, Tobias poked me in the side.

  “Ow,” I said, even though it didn’t really hurt all that much. Just, the surprise of it got to me. “Stop,” I whispered.

  But he faced forward, ignoring me. Pepper wouldn’t pull a move like that, so I didn’t know how to deal with it.

  “For three extra-credit points, who can tell me what it’s called when plants absorb energy from sunlight?” she asked.

  Photosynthesis. The answer popped into my brain, and I knew, I just knew I was right but I didn’t say so. Volunteering to speak seemed too risky. I figured I’d be better off laying low until I perfected the boy training. Instead, I stared down at my open notebook and started doodling, without really paying attention to what I was doing.

  “No one knows the answer?” asked Ms. Roberts.

  A few hands trickled up.

  Suddenly the air to my left shifted. Tobias waved his arm back and forth, desperate to be called on. “Oh, oh, oh, I know!” He wiggled in his chair like he couldn’t keep the answer to himself and would absolutely explode into a hundred pieces if he didn’t get it out right that second.

  Ms. Roberts called on him.

  “It’s photosynthesis,” he said, grinning like mad, and entirely too pleased with himself.

  He was right. I knew he was right. But he didn’t have to make such a big deal about it. It’s not like he was the only one who knew.

  Still, our teacher looked impressed. “Well done, Tobias.”

  I wondered. Had Tobias been playing dumb all this time, or had he finally decided to do his homework? After Ms. Roberts moved on, Tobias looked at me and whispered, “Thanks, Spaz.”

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “Thanks for the answer.” He pointed to my open notebook, where I’d written photosynthesis without even realizing it.

  Staring at the word, the horrible truth dawned on me. Rather than becoming the dominant dog, I’d helped the dominant dog get extra credit, while landing myself in the doghouse with our teacher.

  Clearly I had a lot to learn.

  chapter nine

  dominant dogs

  So do you have a boyfriend yet?”

  “Sophia, you have to stop asking me that every single day.”

  “I know. That’s why I skipped yesterday.”

  “That’s only because I didn’t call you back,” I said. “And anyway, my answer isn’t going to change, I promise.”

  “Someday it will,” said Sophia.

  “Did you only call me to talk about boys?”

  “No, I called to tell you we can’t come over this weekend.”

  “Oh, no. How come?”

  “We don’t have a ride. Mia’s dad is out of town and her mom’s car is in the shop and my parents are too busy.”

  I groaned. I only lived thirty miles away. It’s not like me and Mom moved to Mars. “What about your sister?”

  “She’s grounded because she missed her curfew again. My parents won’t even let her use the car to take me places.”

  “That stinks.”

  “I know. I’m really sorry. They promised to take us next Friday, right from school. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Of course.”

  “Maybe by then you’ll have a boyfriend.”

  I groaned. “Not funny.”

  “It kind of was. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sure, bye.”

  As much as I missed Sophia, I was happy to get off the phone. All she ever wanted to talk about were the Birchwood boys. Meanwhile, I had the opposite problem with Mia. We’d only talked once since I’d moved. And for some reason, we didn’t even have that much to say to each other. I know Mia doesn’t like talking on the phone—or talking much in general, for that matter. But I was hoping she’d make an exception.

  As bummed out as I was about not seeing my friends this weekend, I tried to look on the bright side. At least that left me more time for studying. I cracked open my dog-training manual and flipped to the next lesson.

  True, things hadn’t gone entirely as planned, but I’d done okay with Tobias when we were alone. And just yesterday, I confronted three more random guys who called me “Spaz.” (Okay, that meant I’d stopped five out of at least twelve, but it was a start.)

  I’d only read half of the book and hoped that more answers lay hidden inside. And sure enough, one mistake soon became clear. I’d tried to become the dominant dog in science without actually knowing what that meant.

  Meanwhile, the definition was spelled out for me.

  As I read the words, I could just picture Jackson walking down the hall with confidence and control, like he owned the whole school, like he could do whatever he wanted to do.

  Lots of boys at Birchwood acted this way—come to think of it, plenty of girls, did too. And because they had this attitude, people let them get away with anything. Which just gave them more of an attitude, and more power.

  Then I thought about how I’d been walking around school—rushing from place to place, totally lost and confused, my eyes on the ground, my posture hesitant and even slouchy. I hugged my books tightly against my chest. In trying to become invisible, so no one would tease me, I’d acted totally weak. No wonder boys picked on me. I was sending out wimpy signals.

  But maybe it wasn’t too late to change. Maybe I could learn how to swagger. I stood up and walked across the room with my head back and my shoulders swaying. Okay, it felt weird, and I probably looked dorky, but at least I had time to practice.

  That nigh
t at dinner, Pepper sat at my feet, whining and begging and watching every bite of food as it traveled from my plate to my mouth. Just to see what would happen, I waved my empty fork around in the air. He followed that, too.

  “Maybe we should put him back in the kennel,” said Dweeble.

  “He’ll be there all night,” I argued. “It’s not fair.”

  “We really need to teach him not to beg,” said Mom.

  “I’ll add it to the list,” I replied tiredly, as I pushed a cherry tomato across my plate.

  “So tell me more about school,” Mom said.

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s middle school. You have six new teachers and lots of new friends.”

  “I do not.”

  “What about Rachel and all those other girls you’ve been eating lunch with?”

  My mom was trying too hard, which was never a good thing.

  “They’re her friends.”

  “You know, Jason went to Birchwood,” Dweeble said, out of nowhere.

  “What?” I asked.

  “My son, Jason, from my first marriage.”

  Mom told me that Dweeble had a son, but I didn’t know much about him. Only that his bedroom was down the hall from mine, and when he stayed over (which my mom said would hardly ever happen) we’d share a bathroom. But wait a second.

  “How many marriages have you had?” I asked.

  Dweeble laughed and winked at my mom. “Just the one, so far.”

  I turned to my mom. “I thought you told me Jason was from Oregon.”

  “He goes to Reed College up in Portland, Oregon, but he grew up here in Westlake,” Dweeble explained. “And actually, he’s studying abroad in Switzerland this year.”

  “Ted’s going to visit him soon,” said Mom.

  “Really? For how long?” I tried not to sound too excited, but I couldn’t help it. Switzerland is all the way in Europe, which is really far from here.

  “Just a week,” Dweeble told me. “Saturday to Saturday, which should be enough time to get in some decent skiing.”

  “I haven’t skied in years,” said my mom. “And Annabelle hasn’t ever been.”