Boys Are Dogs (19 page)

“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 call 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

W
hen 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.