Boys Are Dogs (12 page)

Hmm. That didn’t exactly apply. Erik was no stranger. Just someone who I wished was a stranger. Especially since he was clearly the dominant dog in the Corn Dog Boy pack. And of course, I’d no interest in petting him.

I flipped to the next page.

Well, that might work . . .

As a backup plan, I pulled a few pieces of Swiss chocolate out of my lunch bag. I didn’t want to give up any more, but I couldn’t deny that it’d worked like magic last week.

I approached the Corn Dog Boys carefully, not actually putting out my hand for them to sniff, of course, but sort of pretending to, just like I had with my pointy ears. When I got close enough I called out, “Hey.”

Busy pelting each other with Cool Ranch Doritos, the boys didn’t hear me. Or maybe they ignored me on purpose. Either way, I couldn’t give up that easily. “Hey, Erik,” I said, louder this time.

Erik finally looked up, but didn’t say a word. Someone had cut his bangs, so now only the tips had a tint of faded green.

I started moving closer but stopped because I didn’t want to startle him.

“Um, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“What?” he asked, sharply.

Don’t ask, tell.
I needed to be better about following the rules. I waved him closer. “Come here.”

Erik rolled his eyes and started to stand up. But then Joe whispered something in his ear. The two of them laughed. I felt my cheeks heat up. I told myself I was lucky I didn’t know what he said, that it didn’t matter. Words were just words. I needed action.

“Come on, Erik.” I used my most commanding tone of voice, pretending that I’d just caught Pepper chewing up my favorite T-shirt.

Amazingly, Erik stood up and headed over.

“What do you want?” He seemed annoyed, like his time was so precious and I’d interrupted his very important baloney sandwich consumption.

I leaned against the tree, like that could protect me, and glanced over my shoulder. My friends watched from a safe distance. By now Yumi had joined them. This didn’t seem to be working, which made me want to give up, but it was too late. Turning back to face him, I took a deep breath and tried to make my case. “Um, we’ve been sitting there since the beginning of school, and since you’re only four people taking up the whole table, I was wondering . . . Well, we were kind of hoping you and your friends could maybe move over. Just a little.”

“We were here first.”

There was too much hesitation in my voice, so I tried again. “There’s room for everyone.”

“Whatever.” He turned to go.

“No, wait.” I grabbed the sleeve of his T-shirt. He stopped and narrowed his eyes at me. Gasping, I dropped my hand, since you should never touch a strange dog.

If Erik actually were a strange dog, I’d hold out my hand for him to sniff. So that’s what I did. Except since he’s a boy, I kept my palm up and made sure there was chocolate inside. “Here. Try one of these.”

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Amazing Swiss chocolate. It’s imported.” I didn’t really know what this meant, but Dweeble had said it like it was something impressive.

“What are you doing, trying to bribe me?” he asked.

“No.” I shook my head.

Erik scoffed. “You can’t ask me to give up our lunch spot for some chocolate.”

“I know. I’m not. Seriously. It doesn’t even matter that we’ve been sitting there since day one, or that you guys don’t need all that room. Or that all we want is less than half the table. I don’t care. I just thought you might like this.”

He took the chocolate like he was doing me some huge favor.

“We’ll sit somewhere else,” I told him. “It’s not a big deal, so don’t even worry about it. Okay? It’s cool. We don’t really like that spot, anyway.” I turned around to go.

“Hey, Spaz,” he called.

“I don’t respond to that.”

“Okay, whatever your name is.”

I spun around and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m Annabelle. You know that.” Then I headed back over to my friends, walking tall, in case he was still watching. Sure I’d lost, but at least I’d tried.

“What was that about?” asked Rachel.

“Nothing,” I replied.

Emma stared at me. “No, you did something just then.”

I tucked my hair behind my ears and looked away. “I just gave Erik some chocolate.”

“Why’d you do that? He’s such a jerk,” said Rachel.

“Was it so he’d move?” asked Claire.

“Not exactly. Well, kind of. Maybe we should just eat by the trash cans? It’s only one lunch. Tomorrow, I’ll try and get here first.”

“Hey, look,” said Rachel, pointing to the lunch table.

I turned around to find Erik and Joe and the other two Corn Dog Boys moving their backpacks out of the way. A second later they slid over to make room for us.

It was a miracle!

Okay, not quite. But my plan had worked, which was very cool.

We hurried over and claimed our spot. We had to squish so all five of us would fit, but what did I care? We didn’t get stuck eating by the trash!

After lunch, as we were packing up, I thanked Erik for giving us space, because dogs need positive reinforcement. My friends thought I was weird for doing it, and they were probably right, but I figured it was better to be safe than stuck eating with the flies.

chapter eleven
scaredy-cats

P
hys Ed still annoyed me, and not because I got picked last for basketball. Yes, that bruised my ego, but I would’ve gotten over it had I actually been able to play in the game.

Our teams are coed, but usually the boys hog the ball the whole time. A few girls try and get in on the game, but most would rather stand around and talk on the sidelines. I’ve tried playing every day but no one would pass to me. Not even when I was wide open.

Today I got sick and tired of waiting around, so I stole the ball from Tommy St. James in the third quarter. As I dribbled down the court, he called me “Spaz,” and started yelling about how I’d fouled him, but that was a lie, and no one listened to him, anyway. Everyone on his team was too busy trying to get the ball back, but no one could.

I faked left and right, leaving them all in the dust. Once I made it to the top of the key, I sped in for a layup, and shot. The ball swooshed through the net, without even hitting the rim.

My team cheered so loud it drowned out Tommy’s whining. I stole the ball again a few minutes later and then I finally got passed to. I scored twice more, and we ended up winning the game by four points.

Afterward Sanjay, the team captain, high fived me and said, “That was awesome. You’re on a roll, Annabelle.” Yeah, that’s right. A boy actually called me by my real name
and
he was nice to me.

“Um, thanks,” I said, shrugging and grinning and probably blushing. What else could I say? It was true. And he didn’t even know the half of it.

Everything would have been so perfect had my day ended right then, but as I was on my way to the parking lot to meet my mom, I realized I’d forgotten my math book. I turned around and headed back to the locker area.

School’s-over excitement buzzed through the air. Doors clanged, kids rushed by, talking, laughing, yelling, and even squealing. One boy tried to shove his friend into me, but I scrambled away just in time.

When I got close to my locker, I noticed some guy leaning against it.

Figuring I could handle the situation, I didn’t freak out. But that was before I realized it was Jackson.

His left shoulder pressed into the grate—my locker grate—as he talked to some other guy, five lockers down. The two of them took up so much space, like they owned the whole school. I waited for a minute, hoping Jackson’s friend would get what he needed, so they could both just move on. But the guy took forever.

I soon lost patience. Jackson was just a boy. And boys were dogs. I’d already trained a bunch.

Okay I’d trained a few. Temporarily. Still, I told myself I had nothing to fear. Jackson was no different. And now I knew what to do.

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. . . .