Boys Are Dogs (9 page)

When I sat down, Ms. Roberts passed out microscopes—one for each lab group. We also got a small envelope that contained six numbered slides. We were supposed to take turns looking at each slide so we could write down our observations. For homework, we needed to try and figure out what we were looking at.

Not to sound like a nerd or anything, but I was excited, because the assignment was like a puzzle and I’m into that sort of thing.

When our microscope landed on our table, I had to smile. This wasn’t like the cheap plastic one I got for my eighth birthday that melted into an orange puddle two weeks later. (Never bring a plastic microscope to the beach, and definitely don’t leave it in your mom’s car on one of the hottest days of summer.) This microscope was heavy and serious looking, a real piece of scientific equipment. I thought so, anyway.

But before I could get my hands on the thing, Tobias grabbed it and slid it to his side of the table. “I’ll go first,” he said.

My smile quickly faded. I was about to protest, when someone whispered, “Spaz,” from the table behind us.

As the guys snickered, I hunched into myself and pretended like I didn’t hear.

Tobias slipped the first slide in, bent over the viewfinder, and peered inside. I watched him adjust the side dials, bringing the tray closer to the lens. I was curious, but didn’t want to get too close. Anyway, I figured I’d have a turn soon enough.

A few seconds later, Oliver stood up and walked to the other side of Tobias. He leaned in, with his elbows resting on the edge of the table. “Let’s see,” he said.

“Hold on.” Tobias kept one hand on the arm of the microscope and used the other to shield it from Oliver.

At least he acted rude to us both.

“Come on,” said Oliver. He seemed so anxious, I almost felt bad for the guy.

Tobias finally passed him the microscope. Oliver peered through and said, “Whoa.”

“What?” I asked.

They ignored me.

Tobias took down his notes.

Oliver kept looking. “That’s pretty cool,” he said.

“I know,” Tobias replied.

“Let me see.”

Oliver tried to pass me the microscope but Tobias pulled it away and grabbed the next slide.

“Wait, I didn’t get a turn,” I said, which shouldn’t have been necessary. I mean it was obvious I hadn’t seen it.

“Too late, Spazabelle.” Tobias pointed to the clock. “We’re running out of time.”

He stared me down, challenging me to object, but I couldn’t.

I watched them go from slide to slide to slide, and I didn’t say a word.

Tobias wrote down his observations with my pen. He didn’t even ask this time. He just saw it sitting there and took it. When I tried to see what he was writing, he blocked his page with his elbow.

They let me look at the last two slides, but only because Ms. Roberts strolled by our table and asked how we were all doing. Slide number five looked like little gray scratches on glass. Slide number six looked like bigger scratches. I’m sure it all would’ve made more sense if I’d seen the sequence from the beginning, but now I had no idea what I was looking at. I told myself it didn’t matter. I could always ask Yumi later on, since she had Ms. Roberts first period. But that wasn’t the point. I was mad at the boys for hogging the microscope for the entire class. And I was mad at myself, too, because I let them.

I wish I knew what came over me in English class. Why had it been so easy to stand up to Tobias then?

I couldn’t figure it out.

Not until I got home and took Pepper for a walk.

Before I opened the front door I said, “Pepper, sit.” And I hardly recognized my own voice.

It’s because my tone sounded different—stronger and more commanding. I was only following the instructions. My dog-training book said I had to talk to Pepper like that so he’d actually listen. And it worked.

But here’s the thing: I’d talked to Tobias that way, too.

The dog-training lesson worked on a boy.

Wow. Just thinking about the possibilities made my brain spin. When I first met Pepper, he was wild and unruly. Just like Tobias and the other middle school boys.

With my dog, all I had to do was learn some rules, pitch my voice a certain way, and give him commands. Pepper’s behavior got better every day.

It got me thinking. . . . Was it actually possible to train boys like I trained my dog?

Yes, it already had worked on Tobias this morning. But could it work on other boys, too?

And what about the other lessons? Would they apply?

I ran upstairs, sat down at my desk, and opened up the book. Taking a pencil, I crossed out the word “dog” and replaced it with “boy.”

It totally made sense! I flipped through the book, looking for other lessons to adapt, and found plenty: positive reinforcement, bribery, walking on a leash. Okay, maybe not walking on a leash, but the others would work. This was amazing. Monumental. Completely awesome. If I could actually pull it off, that is.

Just reading about it made me feel better.

Later that night, Mom poked her head into my room. “You’re studying hard,” she said.

I grinned. “Well, like you said, sixth grade is a lot of work.”

She smiled back. “I was going to remind you to take Pepper outside before you went to bed, but since you’re working, I’ll do it myself.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said.

When she brought the dog back into my room, I was almost halfway done translating the book.

“It’s getting late, Annabelle.”

I yawned. “I’ll go to bed soon.”

“Okay, good. Sleep tight.” She kissed my forehead and then headed out.

I finished one more chapter, changed into my pajamas, and got into bed. I was plenty tired but too excited to sleep. For the first time since I started going to Birchwood, I couldn’t wait until school.

chapter eight
boy-speak

I
got so caught up in studying I forgot to put Pepper in his kennel for the night. He woke me up at six thirty the next morning by jumping on my bed and licking my ear.

“Oh, gross. Pepper, cut it out.” I rolled over and buried my head under my pillow. But he wouldn’t let up and pushed his wet nose into my neck.

“It’s too early,” I groaned.

Next he swatted my shoulder with one paw. I turned to face him and noticed something green caught on the fur near his collar. “What’s that?” I leaned closer to get a better look. Pepper was sporting a piece of lettuce on his neck. And he smelled like garbage.

I threw off the covers, jumped out of bed, and ran downstairs. Turns out Pepper had tipped over the kitchen trash and had helped himself to everything inside. Remnants of last night’s dinner littered the entire room, along with banana peels, eggshells, chewed up paper towels, and stuff I didn’t even recognize.

“Oh, Pepper, this is disgusting.”

He wagged his tail, hard. He seemed completely unconcerned. Just like he did two days ago, when he stole one of mom’s used tissues out of the bathroom trash. I’ll never get used to the fact that the little guy actually enjoyed eating garbage—maybe even more than he liked his kibble. There wasn’t any point in scolding him, though. According to the dog-training book, dogs have short memories.

So I cleaned up the mess before Mom and Dweeble found it. Then I led Pepper outside and got ready for school.

After reviewing my notes in the car, I felt ready for English. Before Tobias could even think about bugging me, I stared him down.

“What?” he asked.

I looked him straight in the eye, because I figured it would be intimidating. I made sure to speak clearly and used few words, since his vocabulary might not be so great. “Don’t kick.”

He looked at me like he thought I was nuts. “Geez, Spaz. What makes you think I was going to kick you?”

Um, maybe because you spent all last week kicking me? I didn’t ask him out loud, though. This wasn’t a conversation. It was an order.

“I’m just saying, don’t,” I replied. “And don’t call me Spaz. My name is Annabelle.”

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.