Boys Are Dogs

by Leslie Margolis

  I knew Rachel thought her brother was annoying, but I hadn’t realized Jackson was mean to her other friends, too. It didn’t make me feel better, exactly, but it did make me feel less freakish.

  If it happened to everyone, I wondered if maybe I was making too big a deal out of his teasing. Claire and Yumi seemed annoyed, but they didn’t let Jackson ruin their lives. Maybe I could learn to ignore him. At least, that’s what I was thinking when I heard a yell as loud and as fierce as a war cry.

  I opened my eyes in time to see Jackson running toward us, clad in green swim shorts. He took a flying leap, hugged his knees to his chest, and cannon-balled into the pool, soaking every single person around. Lucky me—I happened to be the closest, so I got more drenched than anyone. Well, except for Jackson, but he doesn’t count. Clearly he wanted to be wet.

  “Jackson!” Rachel screamed.

  But he ignored her. Popping back onto the surface, he started kicking and splashing—not because he wanted to get to the other end of the pool in any hurry—just because he was intent on soaking us.

  My towel got drenched.

  “MOM!” Rachel yelled, running inside.

  “Crybaby,” Jackson called. He swam laps, kicking wildly—especially when he passed by us.

  No one else at the party knew what to do. We all just sat there, blinking at one another in surprise-annoyance. But that didn’t make me feel any better. Or less wet.

  Rachel came back outside, looking plenty mad. “Mom says you have to stop splashing.”

  “I’m just swimming. It’s not my fault your friends are too close to the pool.”

  “Why are you here, anyway?” she asked.

  “I came home early because I didn’t want to miss your party.”

  “But you weren’t even invited. That’s the whole point,” said Rachel.

  “Well, I’m here now.” Jackson shrugged. Looking around, he narrowed his eyes at me. Then he raised his nose and started sniffing around. “Hey, what’s that smell?” he asked.

  Uh-oh.

  Rachel seemed confused. “I don’t smell anything.”

  I felt a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This always happened when Jackson was near.

  Be strong. Don’t show fear.

  Yeah, right. This was hopeless. Jackson was the dominant dog, no question. And me? I didn’t even qualify to be a submissive dog. I was more like some flea buzzing around him: a small but completely harmless nuisance.

  Jackson treaded water and looked around in disgust, like he was suddenly surrounded by sewage sludge. “Hey, it’s really warm in the pool. Did someone pee in here? Spazabelle?”

  That’s not my name, I thought.

  Speak firmly, I told myself, but couldn’t manage to open my mouth.

  “The water is freezing and no one thinks you’re funny,” Rachel informed him.

  Jackson climbed out of the pool and stood over me, blocking my sun and dripping more water on my already-soaked towel.

  “Do you mind?” I finally managed.

  “Do you mind not peeing in my pool?” he asked, and then cracked up, as if he’d said something funny, which he hadn’t. Not at all.

  The other girls stood and moved away, wrapping their bodies up in towels. This must be why Rachel told us to bring beach towels. They were big enough to hide in, in case her brother came around. Except mine was so soaked it was too heavy to lift.

  As I watched him, something occurred to me. If Jackson were my dog, it’d be time to send him back to the shelter. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option.

  “You’re not funny,” I said, standing up.

  Jackson smirked at me. “No kidding, but at least you’re admitting it.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you didn’t deny it.”

  “Yes I did.”

  “Oh, so now you’re finally admitting that you peed in the pool. You’re a pisser and a liar. And you crank called our house last week.” He turned to Rachel. “You didn’t know that, huh?”

  “No. I, no.” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

  “Are you going to cry about it?” Jackson laughed meanly.

  I took a deep, steady breath, but couldn’t calm down. Rage churned from deep within me. It was too much. These past few weeks had been horrible— the worst of my life, probably. But it wasn’t about Birchwood, or my lab partners, or the Corn Dog Boys, or Mr. Beller. No, most of that I could deal with.

  There was more to it. A lot more. Jackson had made me miserable from day one. Jackson was out of control. Jackson was completely un-trainable. And now he was teasing me in front of all my new friends. But that didn’t mean I had to sit there silently and take it.

  “Why don’t you just leave me alone. Leave us all alone. We were having a great time until you showed up and ruined everything, acting like some wild, outof-control DOG!”

  I didn’t mean to scream that last bit, but once I did I had to admit, it felt pretty great.

  Jackson narrowed his eyes at me. “What did you call me?” he asked.

  “A dog!” I yelled. “You’re a dog, Jackson.”

  I braced myself, in fear of retaliation. But Jackson seemed too stunned to say a word.

  I heard laughter from behind me, which embarrassed me, until I realized Rachel’s friends weren’t laughing at me. No. That was the cool thing. They were laughing at Jackson.

  It was weird, that moment. I felt stronger. Bigger, too. Like maybe things could be different around here.

  Turning to face Jackson, I squared off my shoulders. I didn’t just look him in the eye. I stared him down. He seemed pretty surprised, and angry, too. For a few moments, he just stood there, blinking at me. Then rather than fight back, he stormed off, mumbling something about Rachel’s stupid friends, and how he just wanted to go for a swim.

  Once he was gone, the laughter died down and everyone got really quiet.

  Rachel met my gaze and I held my breath. Her face was impossible to read, with her lips slightly parted and her eyes kind of bugging.

  Had I gone too far? Was she mad that I’d called her brother a dog?

  “Um, sorry,” I whispered.

  “Are you kidding?” she asked, finally cracking a smile. “That was awesome.”

  We high-fived, and then everyone surrounded me, all talking at once.

  “That was amazing.”

  “So perfect.”

  “How’d you get rid of him?”

  “Yeah, how?”

  “Annabelle is just good at stuff like that,” said Rachel.

  The others nodded in agreement.

  “Good at what?” I asked.

  “Dealing with boys,” Emma said.

  “You’re kidding, right? That was a fluke thing. Jackson makes me so nervous. Pretty much every boy at Birchwood does.” I’d been so embarrassed, all this time, but it felt good to finally admit it. “They’re like, a different species.”

  “Exactly. It’s like you said. They’re dogs,” said Emma. “And speaking of, you got the Corn Dog Boys to move at lunch.”

  “And you told off Tobias,” Claire said.

  “I wish I could do that,” said Rachel.

  “Tobias bugs you, too?” I asked.

  Rachel shook her head. “Not Tobias. This guy Will, from band. He’s the other drummer and he’s always telling me I should switch to the violin. So rude!”

  “That’s nothing compared to Jake, this guy in my French class,” said Emma. “He asked to copy my homework on Friday and when I refused he called me a spaz.”

  They watched me eagerly, as if I had all the answers and could actually help. I didn’t know what to tell them. But wait a second. “I’m the spaz,” I said. “Random boys have been calling me that from day one.”

  “Me, too,” said Yumi.

  “Lots of sixth graders are called spazzes,” Rachel said. “It’s just some dumb Birchwood tradition. It used to be something the eighth graders called the new kids, but now even some sixth graders ca
ll each other spaz.”

  “I thought it was just me,” I said.

  Claire shook her head. “No, you’re the only one who managed to get them to stop. I saw you in the hallway last week. You went up to that eighth grader and told him to cut it out.”

  “Amazing!” Yumi marveled.

  “So, tell us how you did it,” said Rachel.

  “Um. Well, it started out as an accident . . .”

  I told them about Pepper, and how I’d used his puppy-training lessons on boys. They couldn’t believe it, and insisted on proof. I explained dog-speak, and then told them how important it was to act like the dominant dog in the pack.

  “What else?” asked Emma. “I feel like I should be taking notes.”

  “Yeah, this is good stuff,” said Claire.

  “Can you help me get my brother to beg for treats and roll over?” asked Rachel.

  We exploded into giggles.

  “Probably not,” I said. “But I’ll bring the book to school on Monday.”

  Emma said, “You should open up a boy-training school.”

  “I know lots of girls who’d sign up,” said Yumi.

  Just then Rachel’s mom came outside with a large pizza and a six-pack of soda, so we changed the subject. After lunch, we had ice cream cake, and Rachel opened up her presents, and then we swam some more.

  And Jackson didn’t bug us once.

  chapter nineteen

  boys, basketball, and bribes

  When I finally made my way home, I was so tired I hardly noticed Dweeble playing basketball in our driveway. I’d forgotten he was coming home today. I didn’t want to be rude, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk, so I said a quick hello and marched right past him on my way to the front door.

  “Hey, Annabelle,” he called.

  I froze with my hand on the doorknob. Something was up. Turning around, I walked back to the driveway and stared.

  Dweeble was shooting hoops.

  Dweeble could shoot hoops because we had a basketball hoop hanging above the garage.

  I watched him, speechless.

  “So, what do you think?” He palmed the ball. His hand was big enough to hold it like a pro ball player would.

  “Um, when did you? Where? You just got this?”

  Dweeble let out a big and loud belly laugh. “I wish your mom was home because she’d love to see your face right now.”

  “I didn’t think we were getting a hoop,” I said.

  “You thought wrong. We bought it months ago, but it’s been on back order until yesterday. I put it up as soon as I got home.”

  I stared at the hoop—at my hoop. Dweeble flew home from Switzerland and put up the hoop right away. How cool was that? But wait. He seemed too pleased with himself, which annoyed me. I wanted to be excited about the whole thing, but for some reason, I couldn’t be.

  “How was Switzerland?” I asked, stalling.

  “Phenomenal. Beautiful country. Jason and I skied almost every day. He says hi, by the way. He’ll probably be in town for Christmas and he’s looking forward to meeting you. Oh, and I brought you back some chocolate—a different kind. Wait till you try it. It’s amazing, and you can’t even get it over here. So do you want to shoot, or what?” Dweeble offered me the ball, like it was nothing. Easy. Too easy. Like he thought he could just get me enough stuff, and everything would be fine. And not just fine, but good.

  That’s when I realized something crazy. Dweeble was assuming that I’d respond to treats, like Pepper did. Which meant he was trying to bribe me like I’d been trying to bribe the Birchwood boys.

  But it wasn’t just him. My own mother had been treating me like a dog, too. And suddenly I realized why it hadn’t worked. I mean, it had a little, but not when it really mattered.

  Some things are just bigger, and not everything can be fixed with treats. Sometimes it takes a lot more.

  “You can’t bribe me into liking it here.”

  Dweeble tucked the ball under his arm asking, “Huh?”

  “The dog, the basketball hoop, the chocolate. I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not gonna work.”

  “Did something happen over at Rachel’s?” he asked, glancing across the street, worried.

  “No,” I said. “Well, yes. Kind of. But that’s not what this is about.”

  Dweeble bounced the ball. I watched him, not wanting to stay, but not wanting to go, either.

  Finally, he said, “I’m sorry if you don’t like it here, Annabelle. I hope that changes. We knew this move wouldn’t be easy. And I guess if you want to be cynical, you can call this hoop a bribe, but I promise you, that’s not how it was intended.”

  He sounded sincere but I wasn’t about to give in that easily. “So, how else am I supposed to see it?”

  “Well, when your mom and I decided to share our lives together, we wanted to be fair to you, too. We’re just trying to make things good for you. Nicer, anyway. I know it’s not easy and we can’t fix everything, but we’re doing what we can.”

  Dweeble dribbled the ball to the end of the driveway and shot a three-pointer. He missed, but just barely. “Anyway, you’re not the only one who wanted a basketball hoop. So do you want to play?”

  “No thanks.” I wasn’t ready to forgive him, but I wasn’t ready to go inside, either, so I sat down on the front lawn and watched Dweeble play. He wasn’t half bad. He could even slam-dunk. Of course, if I were over six feet tall, I’d be able to dunk too, probably.

  A few minutes later, he set the ball down on the grass and told me he was going for a run. So predictable.

  “Maybe we can shoot around a bit when I get back? Your mom tells me you’re quite the player.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay, then. See you soon.”

  “Have fun,” I called, and I think I might have meant it, even.

  I watched Dweeble turn the corner, out of sight, then stared at the ball, itching to play. When I picked it up, the pebbly leather felt good against my skin. I tossed the ball from one hand to the other, keeping it light on my fingertips. Then I dribbled in place a bunch of times, loving the hollow, smacking sound. Finally, I went in for a lay-up. The ball swished through the hoop—a perfect shot.

  I jumped up to get the rebound and slipped on the way down, landing on my butt. Youch! It’s because my flip-flops had no grip. I stood up and wiped the loose gravel off the back of my shorts.

  Then I ran after the ball, which was rolling toward the gutter. I picked it up and set it down on the lawn, then went inside for my high tops. They were buried underneath a bunch of clothes on my closet floor. Lucky for me, Pepper hadn’t found them yet. It felt good, slipping them on and tying the laces.

  Before I headed downstairs, I heard something from outside: the dreaded sound of wheels rolling on concrete. I peeked out my window and spotted Jackson skating up and down the street.

  Figures he’d have to go and ruin my good time.

  Telling him off in front of a huge crowd of friends was one thing. But facing him one-on-one? No way could I do it.

  I sank down onto my bed, unable to believe my rotten luck. Even after all the work I’d done, it was like nothing had changed. I didn’t want to wimp out, but I couldn’t make myself go outside. So here I was again, trapped in my room.

  Since I didn’t have any other ideas, I reached for the dog-training book and flipped to the next lesson.

  I nodded yes even though the book couldn’t see me. This whole Jackson situation had gotten me so riled up, I was trying to interact with inanimate objects. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.

  Okay, that lesson was a waste of time. Obviously I hadn’t transformed into any kind of leader. I flipped to the next page.

  I turned the page, again.

  The next page read, told you so, and then came the index. After that I found a list of recommended reading.

  First up was the sequel to Good Dog! It was called Great Dog! More Training Tips.

  I couldn’t believe I�
�d have to buy a whole different book to figure out what to do. How unfair was that? I tossed the training guide aside and looked down at the street.

  That’s when I realized something. I couldn’t be trained like a dog, and neither could Jackson. But I couldn’t spend my life in hiding, either. Things couldn’t go on like this forever. Jackson wasn’t going anywhere and eventually, I’d have to deal with him on my own.

  I looked at the book again. You’ve changed. The transformation is complete.

  No, I didn’t exactly believe those words, but they didn’t seem completely off base. I’d stood up to Jackson—something that had seemed impossible a few weeks ago. So yeah, maybe I had changed a little. And maybe it was time to change some more. Maybe the book could only take me so far and the rest I’d have to figure out on my own.

  I walked downstairs and headed outside. So far so good. Jackson didn’t even notice. Picking up the ball, I dribbled and shot and missed. I got the rebound and shot again. And this time I made it. I kept shooting and soon the rumbling got louder. Then it stopped completely. I felt someone’s eyes on my back.

  Taking a deep breath, I turned around. Jackson stood on the sidewalk in front of my driveway.

  Arms crossed, he sneered at me. “That hoop is so dumb. It’s not even regulation height.”

  I just shrugged, turned around, and shot. Luckily, I made the basket and the next one, too. Then I dribbled in for a layup. The ball hit the rim and bounced off.

  “Hah!” said Jackson.

  Whatever. I grabbed the ball and I threw it at him. “Think fast.”

  He flinched but caught it. “You want me to play on your stupid hoop?”

  “Well, obviously you want to play or you wouldn’t be here,” I said.

  Jackson opened his mouth to protest, but didn’t argue. “Fine, whatever,” he said, and shot and missed.

  He glared at me angrily, like he was daring me to say something, but I didn’t. Everyone misses sometimes. No big deal. I just caught the rebound and threw the ball back up.

  “I’m not a dog, you know.” He said it out of nowhere.

  My back was to Jackson. I didn’t want to turn around to face him, but I made myself. “Okay, you’re not a dog,” I said, looking him in the eye. “But sometimes you act like one. And not in a good way, either.”