No Girls Allowed (Dogs Okay) (3 page)

“Ka-chunk,” I sing with the stapler. “Ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Your feet smell like a skunk.”

Mr. Huckabee's bald head appears. It's extra shiny today. I'll bet he uses car wax on it. He tells me to come inside.

“Scab, what is proper behavior during an assembly?”

“Don't smack anybody, even if Lewis Pigford smacks you first.”

“Yes, but—”

“Don't jump around like a frog, even if you gotta pee.”

“No. Well, yes, that's true, but—”

“I got in trouble for that last time, though I didn't have to pee.”

“I think you're missing—”

“See, my teacher
thought
I had to pee and she got mad that I didn't go before we got to the assembly because we'd all made a special bathroom stop. But I had on these new pants my mom made me wear for the school picture and—”

“Scab—”

“I guess they had wool in them or something because I got these little red bumps all over my legs and I was itching like crazy—”

“SCAB!”

“What?”

“I am not interested in your pants.”

I slump down. Well, he started it.

“I was talking about your . . . uh . . . performance at the assembly.”

Why didn't he say so in the first place? Right now, I ought to be having a contest with Will Greenleaf to see who can toss the most Tater Tots into Cloey Zittle's hood. Will is my second best friend, after Doyle. The three of us go fishing together every Saturday.

Teachers have their own secret code. It's not easy to crack, but I am getting pretty good at it.

“I hear you were making noise while the orchestra was playing.”

“No,” I say. It wasn't “noise.”

It was music. My music. I can arm-fart the national anthem.

“Your teacher says you were disruptive.”

My armpit was in tune, which is more than
I can say for my sister and the rest of the violins.
Squeeeeeeeeak!
Try “The Star-Mangled Banner.”

CRACKING THE TEACHER CODE

“Scab, if you can't be considerate, you'll have to go to the time-out room during school assemblies. Do you want that?”

“No.”

“I want nothing less than your best behavior at the next assembly . . .”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see something outside the window. “Uh-huh.”

“. . . and I expect you to be cooperative, quiet, and respectful . . .”

It's a dog! In the park across the street, a collie is chasing a tennis ball. He grabs it, turns, and runs to a lady in white pants. She throws the ball again. The dog zips between two maple trees to get it. As he runs, his rusty brown–and-white fur waves in the wind. I bet his fur is soft. I bet it is
so
soft. I'd give anything to be on the other side of this window. Mr. Huckabee is still jabbering. “. . . part of growing up is being aware of your actions and how they affect others. You can't always do what you want to do when you want to do it. Do you see that, Scab?”

“Uh-huh.”

Outside, the lady drops to her knees. She wraps her arms around the collie's neck. He licks her cheek
with a big, pink, wet tongue. She laughs. She looks so happy.

My heart hurts.

That's what I want. I want a dog to love.

I want a dog to love me back.

S
CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAB!”

That's my sister, Isabelle. She must have found the hunk of cheddar cheese I stuck in her underwear drawer. It's been there for two and a half days. Remind me to write that down in my inventor's notebook. It's my latest experiment to see how long it takes your sister to find cheese hidden in her underwear drawer.

Isabelle and I are twins. But we are nothing alike. Isabelle is smart times ten. She speaks German. She can say the alphabet backward in less than five seconds. She likes to use big words. It's enough to make you
kotzen
. That's German for “puke.”

My sister got moved up a grade this year. She's in the fifth grade instead of the fourth with me. Miss Sweetandsour says I would do better in school too if I “applied myself.” I don't know exactly what that means, but it sounds about as fun as a flu shot. My lab is a mess, but I like it that way. Isabelle freaks out if there's even a pine needle on her floor. My sister is a nervous person. Doyle says she is “wound pretty tight.” Getting someone like Isabelle to unwind could take
a lot
of cheese.

“Scaaaaaaaab!”

She's close. I grab the spray bottle off my desk, hold it up, and squeeze the trigger. I sneak into my cave and slide the door shut.

“I know you're in here—gross, what is this goop on the floor?”

A blackberry Fruit Roll-Up. It's my wormhole to outer space. Next question?

“Scab, I know you're in here. When Mom gets home, I'm telling her about the—Ewww!”

She's caught a whiff of my new stinky sister-be-gone spray. I made it to keep Isabelle out of my lab when I'm not around. I've been working on the spray for a whole month. It's not perfect. After all, it's been ten seconds and she's
still
here. I'm shooting for five seconds tops.

Bug spit! I smell fresh air. Isabelle has opened a window.
I'd better go out there before she starts snooping through my stuff.

My sister is holding her nose. “It's noisome in here.”

“Huh?”

“Stinky.”

“I don't smell anything weird.”

“You wouldn't. I'm telling Mom and Dad about the mustard you put in my cheetah purse.”

I laugh. That wasn't an experiment. That was a dare from Doyle.

“I'm also telling about your arm-farting at the assembly.” She lets go of her nose. “It's all in my report. It's printing out now.”