Boys Are Dogs (21 page)

I cringed. Poor Rachel. It was bad enough having bad acne, probably, without having some mean older brother making fun of her all the time.

Not that Rachel was going to sit there quietly and take it. “Shut up, egghead,” she said, running downstairs. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why, are you going to tell on me?” Jackson asked, in a fake-whiny voice.

Rachel pushed past him. “Hey, Annabelle. Come on in.”

She grabbed my arm and led me upstairs to her room.

“You are so lucky you’re an only child,” she said, slamming the door so we could have some privacy.

“Except I won’t be for long. Pretty soon I’ll have a stepbrother.”

“But he’s not going to live with you,” said Rachel.

“He is for six weeks,” I said. “Dweeble bought new sheets for the bed in the extra bedroom. In fact, he doesn’t even call it the extra bedroom anymore. Suddenly it’s Jason’s room. And guess what else? When mini-Dweeb stays with us, I’m going to have to share a bathroom with him.”

“Mini-Dweeb?” she asked.

“That’s his new nickname. It’s easier to say than ‘son of the Dweeb.’”

“Good point.” Rachel nodded. “But I really don’t think you have to worry. Mini-Dweeb is in college, which means he’s too grown up to make fun of you.”

This made sense, but I hadn’t come over to Rachel’s house to talk about brothers—real or step. “Hey, do you shave your legs?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Rachel. “I started to this summer. How come?”

She sounded so casual about it, I almost regretted bringing it up. But it was too late. I had to know. I took a deep breath and asked, “Does everyone shave their legs? All our friends, I mean.”

“Um, I know Emma does, but I don’t think Claire and Yumi do. How come?”

“No reason,” I said. “I was just wondering.” And since she was looking at me kind of funny, I told her about what happened in PE.

Rachel freaked. “I can’t believe Taylor said that to you! She’s so horrible!”

I nodded. It felt good having Rachel leap to my defense so quickly. But at the same time, I didn’t want to make
too
big a deal out of it.

“The thing is—I’m not positive she said it to be mean. She just sort of asked me, like she was wondering, but I don’t know. It was weird . . .”

“Of course she said it to be mean,” said Rachel. “That’s what she’s all about. Other people play instruments, or collect puffy stickers. Taylor’s favorite pastime is making people feel bad about themselves. It’s, like, a hobby for her. As if she’s so perfect. Did you see her jeans today? They probably cost two hundred dollars, because she only wears designer clothes. But they look terrible. She should not be wearing low riders with her body because when she sat down, her shirt rode up and she had a total muffin top.”

“Muffin top?” I asked.

“It’s when your hips sort of swell and hang out of your jeans, like the top of a muffin.”

I laughed. Sure it was mean, but it was still funny. And anyway, why should I feel bad when Taylor made me feel lousy on purpose?

“Her muffin top shows in her PE clothes too,” I said. “And the other day, her underwear was sticking out of her shorts.”

“No!” yelled Rachel.

“Seriously. They were pink with white stars.”

“Stars?” asked Rachel. “Think she wore them because she’s so convinced she’s gonna be this huge star?”

We both giggled.

“She probably had them showing on purpose,” Rachel said. “You know, to get attention. All her friends are like that. Don’t you hate how they walk around school like they own it? They’re the biggest snobs in the entire sixth grade and, like, proud of it.”

I didn’t know any of Taylor’s friends except for Hannah, who I’d always liked. She and I sat next to each other in French. She’s tall, with big brown eyes and straight, shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair that she constantly tucks and re-tucks behind her ears. Whenever we have to switch papers for grading in French, we choose each other. Last Tuesday, I got a hundred percent and she put a happy face by my score.

Snobby girls do not draw happy faces. It’s a fact.

“Hannah seems okay,” I said.

Rachel groaned. “Hannah is the worst! She pretends like she’s all sweet and quiet, but it’s just an act. Trust me. If she were nice, she wouldn’t be friends with Taylor. Haven’t you noticed how she follows her around and does whatever she wants like some clueless, pathetic little puppet?”

I shrugged. “I guess I never really paid attention.”

“Well, now that I pointed it out I know you’ll

notice. And you cannot start shaving now, just because of what Taylor said.”

I didn’t know when I’d start shaving, but it didn’t seem like the kind of thing Rachel should be able to decide for me. I mean, I’m glad she was on my side and everything, but she was acting weird—too angry for something that didn’t even happen to her.

“But what if my legs are too hairy? People are noticing, obviously.”

“Let’s see.”

I rolled up my jeans and Rachel leaned closer to inspect my calves. “Your hair is so pale, you can hardly see it.”

“That’s what I used to think.”

“You know, once you start shaving you can never stop. Your hair won’t be all soft and smooth like it is now.”

“It won’t?” I rolled my jeans back down and crossed my legs.

Rachel shook her head. “Nope. The razor cuts it at a different angle so it’ll feel all stubbly. My mom waxes, but waxing looks like torture.”

My only experience with wax involved wax lips, but somehow I doubted that’s what Rachel was talking about. “What’s waxing?” I asked.

“It’s when they brush hot wax on your legs and then cover it with cloth. When the wax cools down it sticks to your hair and then they rip the cloth off really fast and it takes the wax and all your hair with it.”

I gasped. “No!”

“Seriously. It’s totally painful, because it rips the hair out from the follicles,” Rachel explained. “But it lasts longer, for the same reason.”

“It doesn’t take your skin off with it?” I asked.

Rachel shook her head. “Nope. But I’d still never do it. Shaving is much better.”

I didn’t want to admit it out loud, but shaving didn’t seem so much better to me. I know it’s not supposed to hurt, but it still involves running a razor blade up your leg, and I just don’t get how that can’t be painful.

Ever notice how commercials for razor blades always feature some woman shaving in a gigantic tub filled with bubble bath? Well, bubble bath makes me sneeze. So what happens if I sneeze and slip and cut myself with the razor? I’d start to bleed, probably, and blood makes me squeamish. What if I’m bleeding and the sight of it makes me pass out? I could drown in my very own bathtub. That is not a good way to go. Not that there’s any good way to go, but drowning in your own bathwater has got to be one of the worst.

I guess Rachel could tell I was stressing, because she said, “You don’t need to shave. Just forget about Taylor. I wish we didn’t have PE with her. I wish she didn’t even go to our school.”

“Yeah.” I agreed because it was easier, but to be honest, Taylor hadn’t ever really bugged me much before. Well, except for today. And on Halloween, I guess.

I wondered why Rachel hated Taylor so much, but that wasn’t something I could just ask her straight out.

On my way home, I had this weird thought. Maybe Taylor made me feel bad on purpose just because I was a part of Rachel’s crowd. And as for all those times she’d been nice in the past? Maybe she hadn’t noticed who my friends were.

Dweeble was just taking the lasagna out of the oven when I walked inside. He and my mom acted normal for the rest of the night, so either they’d made up or they were really good at faking getting along.

As I got ready for bed, I realized I’d forgotten to ask Rachel not to say anything to our other friends. About the whole Taylor/shaving thing, I mean. I didn’t want it to turn into a big deal, nor did I want to advertise that I hadn’t started shaving, but it was too late to call her. And by the time I saw her again, she’d already spilled the beans.

At school the next morning I found all my friends huddled around my locker. As soon as I was close enough, Emma said, “I can’t believe Taylor said that to you.”

I looked from her to Rachel to Claire to Yumi. “What’s going on?” I asked, although I already had a pretty good idea.

“I told them how Terrible T made fun of you for not shaving,” said Rachel.

“She didn’t make fun of me exactly,” I said as I worked the combination on my locker. “It was more like, well, more like she just asked me but it was weird.”

“No, she did it on purpose,” said Rachel. “And that’s just like her.”

“Rachel’s probably right,” said Emma. “But don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, I don’t shave my legs yet,” said Claire.

“And neither do I,” said Yumi.

“I just started last summer,” said Emma. “But it’s not a big deal.”

I was glad to have everyone on my side—but I still felt self-conscious. I wore jeans to school, and socks with my tennis shoes, even though it was pretty hot out. I told myself I wasn’t hiding my legs. But deep down, I knew the truth. Hopefully my friends wouldn’t make the connection, though. Of course, it would be even worse if Taylor realized it. But what other choice did I have?

“Does her underwear really stick out of her gym shorts every day?” asked Yumi.

“Not every day.” I glanced at Rachel, who looked away. “I never said every day.”

“Still, it’s pretty gross,” said Emma.

She’s
gross, so it’s fitting,” Rachel said with a “huff. “Sure she thinks she’s all that, but she’s really just a giant muffin top wrapped in designer clothes.”

“Oh, so fierce!” said Claire. Claire had been calling lots of things fierce, ever since she heard the word on
Project Runway
, her favorite show. As far as I could tell, it could mean awesome, nasty, or way harsh, depending on the context.

Just then I noticed Hannah and Taylor walking toward us. Yumi saw them too, and told us all to shush, which we did.

As soon as they passed us by, Claire whispered, “Fierce!” and the rest of us exploded into laughter. We just couldn’t help ourselves.

I guess we were pretty loud because both Hannah and Taylor glanced over their shoulders. Obviously, they knew something was up, but I figured I was safe. No way could Taylor know we were laughing at her.

Still, our eyes met for a brief second and this look of anger flashed over her face. Like somehow she’d figured it out. The thought gave me the chills.

Later on I tried smiling at Taylor in the hallway, like everything was still cool. She just looked away, as if she didn’t even know me.

Then when we had to exchange homework in French, Hannah traded papers with Morgan Greely instead of me. I had to switch with Jeremy Lundy, who marked my mistakes with gigantic red x’s, leaving my paper a huge mess even though I’d only gotten two answers wrong.

I felt nervous walking into chorus, but I told myself there wasn’t any need to. No way could Taylor and Hannah suddenly not like me just because they assumed my friends and I were laughing at them. Okay, true, we were. But they had no way of knowing that. They couldn’t have heard our conversation or anything.

Still, as soon as I headed to my seat, Hannah and Taylor looked at each other and laughed. Then when I glanced at them they grinned, but in this evil “we know something you don’t know” kind of way.

An ice-cold, icky feeling spread through me. Obviously Hannah and Taylor had been talking about me. But were they saying something about my legs? Or my friends? Or worse?

Half of me was dying to know.

And the other half was scared to find out.

Leslie
Margolis
lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her fairly well-trained, six-toed mutt named Aunt Blanche and her less well-trained husband, Jim. She is also the author of
Girls Acting Catty
and the young adult novels
Fix
and
Price of Admission
. Visit her online at
www.lesliemargolis.com
.

Copyright © 2008 by Leslie Margolis

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

First published in the United States of America in September 2008
by Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers
E-book edition published in August 2010
www.bloomsburyteens.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Bloomsbury BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Margolis, Leslie.
Boys are dogs / by Leslie Margolis.—1st U.S. ed.
p. cm.
Summary: When her mother gets a new boyfriend, sixth-grader Annabelle gets to cope with a new town, a new school, and a new puppy and, while training her puppy, she decides to apply some of the same techniques to tame the unruly boys that are making her middle-school life miserable.
[1. Moving, Household—Fiction. 2. Dogs—Training—Fiction. 3. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 4. Middle schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M33568Bo 2008          [Fic]—dc22          2007052362