Boys Are Dogs

by Leslie Margolis

  Taking a deep breath, I said, “Excuse me.”

  Either he didn’t hear me, or he pretended not to.

  I tried again, louder this time. “Hey, Jackson?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, smirked, and then turned back to his friend like I didn’t even matter.

  By now, the halls were emptying out. I knew my mom was waiting. “I need to get in there,” I said, but he ignored me.

  Jackson’s friend slammed his locker shut, said, “See you, dude,” and took off.

  I thought Jackson would leave too, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back on my locker, with his legs crossed in front of him. He looked too comfortable. Happy even. Like bugging me was some great new sport and he was desperate to play first string.

  Some kid zipped by on a skateboard, even though they were banned from campus, along with sneaker skates and razor scooters. He came inches from mowing us down.

  Jackson didn’t flinch.

  I tried not to, but felt my jaw tremble.

  Now we were all alone.

  He stared at me and I stared at my sneakers.

  My mom would be wondering where I was.

  I repeated my boy-training lessons in my head.

  Be the dominant one. Speak firmly. Look him in the eye. Don’t ask. Order.

  If I were facing anyone else, this would’ve been easy. These past couple of weeks had been going so well. At least that’s what I told myself.

  The problem was, Jackson seemed like an entirely different animal. Maybe it was because he was an eighth grader. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I didn’t read that in my dog-training book, but it’s one of those things people say all the time, so maybe it’s true.

  Still, I had to at least try. My voice wavered even though I struggled to speak steadily. “Come on, Jackson. Just move.”

  He smiled a slow, drawn-out smile. Then he stretched his arms over his head, like he was just waking up or something. “But it’s so comfortable here.”

  “I need to get my stuff.”

  “What’s your hurry?” Jackson yawned, but I could tell he was faking.

  “My mom is waiting. I don’t want to be late.”

  “You’ve been late before and you survived.”

  I’d like to do more than survive here, I thought but didn’t say. I didn’t know how to answer him so I didn’t speak. I couldn’t even look at him.

  Maybe I didn’t really need my math book. Maybe I could just do my homework in the morning, before class. No, that wouldn’t work.

  Remembering how well the chocolate had worked on other boys, I pulled the last piece out of my bag and offered it to Jackson. “Um, here. This is for you.”

  “What?” He spoke sharply.

  But before I could answer, he’d grabbed it out of my hand. He looked from it to me and laughed a mean laugh.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Okay, bad move. Really bad move. The chocolate seemed measly. Weak. Sad, even. Just like me. But it was too late. I’d come too far, and I couldn’t turn back. “It’s imported?” Pathetic, I know, but what else could I say?

  “Well, this looks fantastic. Thank you, Spamabelle.” Jackson twisted his face into a mean sneer. Then he unwrapped the chocolate, turned around, and smashed it against my lock.

  I gasped. He’d wasted my last piece. He’d caked my lock in delicious Swiss chocolate. Except it didn’t look like chocolate anymore. . . .

  Jackson watched me, amused. He was actually enjoying this. Finally he walked away, calling over his shoulder, “All you had to do was say please.”

  Yeah, right.

  Once I was sure he wasn’t coming back, I dug a tissue out of my backpack, and cleaned off the lock. I couldn’t get all the chocolate out of the crack around the dial, but did the best I could. It took me three tries to open up my locker. My hands shook so much, I kept messing up and passing the right numbers.

  And once I did get my math book, I left brown fingerprints all over it.

  As soon as I got home, I consulted my book.

  So easy to read. So hard to do. Obviously Jackson knew I was scared of him. How can you hide something like that?

  You can’t.

  Which is why I needed a new plan.

  From now on, I’d spend the rest of sixth grade avoiding Jackson.

  chapter twelve

  buttons breaks and laundry aches

  That night, while I was reading over the final draft of my book report, Pepper jumped onto my bed.

  “Down, boy,” I said.

  He ignored me. Probably because he was too busy barking at Buttons, my stuffed hippo. Gran gave me Buttons when I was born. She’s fat and blue with blond braids and red shoes. (The hippo, I mean. Not Gran.) She used to have matching buttons running down her front but they all fell off. I know I’m too old to have stuffed animals, but Buttons is too cute and raggedy to give up. This made it really annoying when Pepper grabbed her by the hair, jumped off the bed, and fled.

  Yesterday, he’d taken one of Dweeble’s running shoes and tried to bury it behind the tomato plants. Fearing my hippo would soon share the same fate, I chased Pepper downstairs and through the kitchen, finally cornering him in the dining room.

  “Drop it,” I said. It was like he didn’t even hear me. He tried to run past me but I managed to grab ahold of Buttons’s foot. I tried yanking her away, but that just made him grip her even tighter.

  It didn’t matter how hard I pulled. He wouldn’t let go. “Come on. Drop it. Please drop it, Pepper.”

  His teeth sunk deeper into her fur. His lips curled up, exposing his pink gums. Gums I used to find adorable.

  “Let go, Pepper!”

  I gave it a sharp tug and finally managed to rip Buttons from Pepper. But not all of her. Buttons’s hair and half her head were still in Pepper’s mouth. I stared at Buttons’s bottom half, horrified.

  “You just scalped my favorite stuffed animal!”

  Pepper’s tail wagged.

  I held Buttons up to his face. Cotton stuffing puffed from the top of her head. “Her brains are oozing out. You murdered Buttons.”

  Pepper dropped Buttons’s head-half to try and get the rest of her. Obviously the gravity of the situation was lost on him.

  Once I had both pieces out of his reach, I led him into the backyard, and left him there, so I could take a look at the dog-training book.

  I went outside with my already ruined sandal and a pocket full of dog biscuits to try it out.

  Pepper grabbed the sandal as soon as he saw it. He preferred shoes, socks, and pillows to the actual toys we bought for him. If it wasn’t so destructive, it might be cute.

  Once I held up a dog biscuit and said, “Drop it!” he let go of the sandal and went for the treat instead.

  “Good boy,” I said, grabbing the sandal. “Now let’s try it again.”

  I gave him back the sandal. “Now drop it,” I said, offering him another treat. “Nice work, Pepper!”

  We practiced for a while.

  When I headed back inside I found my mom digging through her purse, probably in search of her keys. “Want to come to the grocery store with me, Annabelle?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Then can you do me a favor? I didn’t manage to finish the laundry. There’s a load in the dryer now. Will you fold everything after it’s ready?”

  “Why can’t Ted do it?”

  “He’s working late, and he’s leaving for Switzerland in just two days. He’s got a lot to take care of.”

  I sighed like it pained me. “Do I have to?”

  “You don’t have to, but you’d be doing me a huge favor,” Mom said.

  Yup, I had to. “Okay, fine.”

  “Thank you.” She squeezed my arm before heading out the door.

  Pepper and I headed upstairs, so I could do more homework and he could nap at my feet.

  The dinging of the dryer woke him up twenty minutes later.

  Pepper’s ears perked up and he let
out a low growl.

  “It’s okay, Pep,” I said.

  He followed me downstairs to the garage, where I began unloading the clean clothes.

  It wasn’t fun, exactly, but it did seem cool, having a washing machine and a dryer in our house. We didn’t have one in the old apartment, which meant that Mom had to go to the Laundromat every Saturday morning. If I didn’t have other plans, she’d make me come along. It was boring being there, cooped up inside. The machines were too loud to have a conversation over and the chairs weren’t comfortable to sit in. For a while, Mom and I would drop our stuff in the wash and then head to the diner across the street for breakfast. But one day someone stole our sheets. So after that, we had to stay inside and guard everything.

  Now if I needed clean clothes, I didn’t have to wait until the weekend. I could have them anytime.

  I dumped our dry clothes into a white plastic basket and headed for the living room to fold. Everything was still warm and it smelled good. Not as good as an ocean breeze, like the fabric softener had promised. But good, just the same.

  I took the dish towels right to the kitchen, folded them carefully and put them in the drawer next to the silverware. Then I folded my two new T-shirts— the ones that Pepper hadn’t destroyed. Luckily, they were already soft and worn looking—in a good way, not in an old way.

  As much as I missed St. Catherine’s and the ease of not having to deal with dumb boys five days a week, I had to admit, it was nice wearing whatever I wanted to at school.

  It was also fun seeing how certain kids wore clothes that matched their personalities. Emma always looked neat and tucked in. Yumi dressed like she was going to or coming from a baseball game. And Claire is kind of a hippy, who makes her own tie-dyes and even embroiders flowers and peace signs onto her jeans. It was much cooler than being surrounded by girls in plaid every single day.

  I was almost done with the folding when I spotted something horrifying at the bottom of the basket.

  Dweeble’s running shorts.

  I stared down at them for a while, afraid to get too close. So big and loud and bright, they seemed out of place among my and mom’s clothes. I wondered if I could just put the basket away, back in the garage, and pretend like I hadn’t noticed. But they were Oompa Loompa orange. There’s no way they could be missed.

  I carefully picked them up by the drawstring, using only my thumb and forefinger. Eew. I cringed. I couldn’t help myself. These were shorts he’d sweated in. Yes, they were clean now, but there was still something icky about it. Worse, something gray flapped around inside the lining.

  They had underwear already sewn in.

  I dropped the shorts faster than a hot potato— shocked that Mom had asked me to fold Dweeble’s underwear. And worse, Dweeble’s underwear and mine had tumbled around together in the same dryer. Like they all belonged together, which they so clearly didn’t.

  The shorts lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. I wanted to pick them up, like it was no big deal, but I couldn’t do it. Instead, I tipped the basket to its side and kicked Dweeble’s shorts back in. Then I threw Mom’s stuff on top and left the entire basket outside the door to their room.

  chapter thirteen

  cut to the chase

  I got to Birchwood early on Friday and didn’t even dread being there. Campus was so quiet it seemed peaceful.

  After a quick trip to my locker, I sat down on an empty bench in the West Quad and pulled out my book report. I wanted to read it one last time before turning it in. Sure, it sounds nerdy, but there’s something exciting about handing over an assignment you’ve worked hard on, when you’re pretty sure you’re going to get a good grade.

  Thanks to Tobias, Mr. Beller thought I was a nuisance. I looked forward to proving to him that I wasn’t some dumb kid who disrupted class on purpose. I was just an innocent victim, someone fully capable of doing well. I hoped.

  But after I pulled the report out of my backpack, before I even read the opening sentence, it disappeared.

  Yup, that’s right. My report was gone.

  Someone ripped the pages right out of my hands.

  By the time I realized what’d happened, Erik was halfway to the locker bank. “This yours?” he asked, carelessly waving my report by the spine. Dumb question, but I was in no position to criticize.

  “Give it back.” When I jumped up and went after him, he turned and ran.

  I chased him, of course, but I couldn’t keep up. Erik had a big head start. Plus, my backpack slowed me down.

  “Come on, Erik,” I yelled.

  He held my report in one fist. As his arms pumped back and forth, the pages flapped around. I knew they’d be wrinkled by the time I got them back. If I got them back.

  I chased Erik through the locker banks, all around the East Quad and into the cafeteria. Erik weaved through tables and around kids. Some watched us, but most were too focused on their bagels and muffins to notice the commotion.

  Finally, I managed to jump over an empty bench and corner him at the snack machine. Out of breath, his eyes darted around in search of an escape. He held my report behind his back. With his body pressed up against the wall, there wasn’t room to reach around and grab it.

  “Dude, what’s up?” asked Tobias, who’d just strolled up behind me with a half eaten donut in his hand.

  “Don’t know. This chick is chasing me,” said Erik.

  No one had ever called me a chick before and I didn’t like it. A chick is a baby chicken—cute and fluffy but totally helpless. Erik had basically called me a baby.

  “I’m not chasing you. I’m chasing my book report. Give it back.” I didn’t ask him. I told him. My tone was strong and commanding, but for once it didn’t do me any good. Maybe because I was facing two dominant dogs.

  “SPAZ!” Erik yelled in my face and spittle landed on my cheek. Nasty! As I wiped it away he darted around the table. I tried running after him, but Tobias grabbed my backpack, which was still attached to my back. So I didn’t get very far. But neither did Erik, because I snagged his T-shirt.

  “Hey, let me go,” he yelled.

  But I wouldn’t. “I need that.” I lunged for the pages with my free hand.

  He held it just out of reach. “You’re stretching out my shirt.”

  “You’re messing up my report.”

  “Okay, fine, fine. If you let go of me I’ll give you your stupid homework.”

  “It’s not stupid,” I said, relaxing my hold.

  Tobias let go of my bag.

  Erik held out my book report, but as soon as I reached for it, he tossed it to Tobias.

  Except he missed, so my report landed on the ground. When I bent down to get it, Tobias did, too and we bumped heads.

  “Ow!” I yelled, clutching my forehead. He’d really clocked me. My whole head throbbed.

  Worse, Tobias recovered first and grabbed my report.

  He took off with it and I chased after him. Twice, I grazed the pages with my fingertips, but couldn’t get close enough to grab it.

  Erik waved his hands. “Over here.”

  Tobias tossed my report like a Frisbee. The pages flapped in the breeze. Erik caught it and tucked it under his arm. It was hopeless. They were actually laughing. This was fun for them.

  What if they destroyed my report like Pepper had destroyed Buttons?

  Suddenly it hit me.

  I stopped in my tracks.

  Erik kept running. He turned the corner at the end of the locker banks and disappeared.

  As hard as it was, I let him go.

  Instead of following him, I headed straight for the bench where I’d been sitting when my report was stolen.

  I sat down and waited, hoping they’d lose interest, because chasing them wasn’t working and I didn’t know what else to do.

  Except blink hard to keep my tears from falling.

  And try not to think about how awful everything was right now.

  Or about how this never would’ve happened at St. Cather
ine’s.

  The first bell rang. I stayed where I was for a minute, but with no sign of Erik or Tobias, I figured I should head to class. Better to show up empty-handed than empty-handed and late. I still had everything saved on my computer at home. Maybe Mr. Beller would let me turn it in on Monday. Probably not, though. He’d been warning us about his “no excuses, no extensions” policy all week.

  The worst part about this mess was that when I showed up without my report, Mr. Beller wouldn’t even be surprised. He already thought I was trouble—and all for reasons that weren’t my fault. I didn’t even know how to get him to change his mind. I’d never had to deal with a teacher not liking me. Teachers always liked me. At least they used to.

  I circled the building a few times, trying to come up with a decent excuse.

  I didn’t know the report was due today.

  I left it at home.

  My dog ate it.

  Nothing seemed good enough. I was out of ideas, and the final bell was about to ring, so I walked into the room.

  Everyone else had their reports out on their desks and ready to hand in. Even Tobias.

  I tried to ignore him, but as soon as I sat down, he kicked me.

  Oh, great. That again. “Stop it,” I whispered.

  He didn’t.

  It was like the past two weeks had never happened. He kept on kicking. I was out of chocolate, and too upset to scold him.

  Then another passage from the book flashed to mind.

  Did that mean I’d have to go through this nearly every single day for the rest of my life? Or was it just Tobias with the short-term memory? What about the rest of the boys? It was all so much work.

  Tobias kicked me harder so I whipped my head around and shot him a dirty look. His glasses were on crooked but I didn’t bother telling him. “Cut it out,” I said.

  “You’re no fun, Spaz,” he replied, and handed over my book report.

  I grabbed it, turned around, and flipped through the wrinkled pages. It smelled like the cafeteria. I cringed at the ketchup stain on the back cover. Page four had a tear down the middle, but if you lined up the two pieces, you could still read everything. I raised my hand and asked Mr. Beller for some tape. He gave me a suspicious look, but still motioned for me to come up to his desk and then pushed the tape dispenser toward me.