Boys Are Dogs (3 page)

chapter two
new friends with weird hats

Y
ou were supposed to call me as soon as you got to your new house,” Sophia said on the phone the next morning.

“I know, but yesterday was really busy. My mom and Dweeble got me a puppy.”

“No fair!” Sophia cried. “I want a puppy!”

“He is pretty cute,” I whispered. Sure, I was upstairs in my room, behind the closed door, but I needed to play it safe. I didn’t want Mom and Dweeble to hear how happy I was about Stripe. If they knew I liked him, they’d think their plan worked. That’s why I didn’t pet him when I’d come downstairs for breakfast. I just ate my cornflakes silently and then took the portable phone upstairs so I could call my friends.

“When my dad moved out of our house, all I got was a cat,” Sophia complained.

This was news to me. “When did you have a cat?”

Sophia sighed. “Three years ago. We only got to keep her for a few days because then my dad came home, and he’s allergic.”

“So what happened?”

“We gave her to my mom’s cousin.”

I wondered what would happen if things didn’t work out with Mom and Dweeble. Who’d keep the puppy? Would we stay in this house, or move into another place? We couldn’t go back to our old apartment because there were already other people living there. But maybe if we asked nicely, they’d let us have it back.

“So how’s the house?” Sophia asked.

“It’s okay,” I said, even though it wasn’t. When I woke up this morning I got scared because I didn’t realize where I was at first. My old furniture looked small and shabby in my new room.

“Mia and I are meeting at the community pool. You should ask your mom to drive you over.”

I groaned. “She won’t do it. They’re organizing their closets all morning.”

“On the last day of summer?” asked Sophia.

“At least she’s taking me to the mall later to get some school clothes.”

“I’m so jealous. You don’t have to wear a uniform anymore.
And
you get to go to school with boys.”

Sophia has been obsessed with boys all summer and I don’t get why. As far as I could tell, boys weren’t so different from girls. Some were really nice and some were big jerks, and most were somewhere in between. And okay, this reasoning didn’t exactly explain the whole camp dance disaster, but I figured that was a fluke thing. Like, maybe those boys had too much sugar that day, or perhaps it was due to the full moon.

I didn’t bother trying to explain, though, because I knew Sophia would never understand.

When I heard my mom yelling from downstairs, I was actually glad I had an excuse to get off the phone.

“Um, I have to go,” I said.

“Well, call me on Monday, after you get home from school, and don’t forget this time.”

“Okay.”

I found Stripe and my mom at the bottom of the steps, playing tug-of-war with one of her sandals. She was on her knees, pulling at her shoe with both hands.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine, but my new sandal is a mess.”

Since I didn’t want her to get any ideas about giving the puppy back, I crouched down and called, “Hey, Stripe. Come here, boy.”

The puppy was determined. His teeth stayed locked on the sandal and he jerked his head back and forth, trying to wrench it away from my mom.

“Here, Stripe,” I tried, again.

“He doesn’t know his name yet,” said Mom. “I don’t think so, anyway.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t
like
his name.”

Mom pulled until the leather ripped, and then she let go with a gasp.

Unfazed, Stripe took the sandal into the living room, and we followed. Chasing after the dog was our new hobby, I guess.

He hid under the coffee table, guarding the shoe like it was the only food he’d seen all week. I crouched down and started crawling closer, but Mom said, “Let him have it. It’s already ruined.”

“You sure?” I asked, standing up.

“Positive. He’ll get better once you start training him. I figured you could start right now, actually.”

This was news to me. “I can?” I asked.

“Yes, unless you’d rather help unpack. It’s your choice.”

Some choice. I sighed an exaggerated sigh and said, “Fine.”

Then I ran upstairs and got the book. It was pretty thick, which meant Stripe had a lot to learn. I sat down on my bed and started reading.

“Stripe, no,” I said in my normal voice. I had to admit, it didn’t sound exactly strong or convincing. “Stripe, no!” I repeated, louder this time, although maybe that was too loud. I didn’t want him to think I was mad at him. I tried a few more times, until my mom poked her head in the room and asked me what was wrong.

“Nothing,” I informed her.

“Then why were you yelling?”

“I’m just practicing my dog-speak.” I held up the book to remind her. “You’re the one who told me to do this, remember?”

“Oh, yes. Carry on.” She answered me in her “British butler” voice. Mom and I both do that sometimes when we’re alone. I’m not sure why.

So far these training tips seemed simple enough.

I flipped ahead to the chapter called “A Walk in the Park.”

According to the book, I had to get Stripe comfortable wearing the leash before I actually tried to walk him somewhere. I also needed to prove to him that walking with me was fun. This is where the bribery kicked in. If I called Stripe over, and praised him and gave him a treat once he came, he’d learn that listening to me was a good thing.

This all made sense. Figuring it was time to practice on a real dog, I closed the book and grabbed Stripe’s leash. Then I pocketed a bunch of dog biscuits and went to find him. He was out back, digging up one of Mom’s new tomato plants.

“Stop it!” I said, rushing over. “Hey, Stripe, cut it out! You can’t do things like that! Mom’s going to be mad.”

My dog ignored me. Pretty soon I realized why. My voice was totally weak, and I used too many words.

“Stripe, no!” I spoke firmly this time. “Stop.”

Now he looked up at me, tilting his head, like he was confused. Clearly he didn’t understand what I was saying, but at least he seemed to know I was talking to him.

“Come,” I said, figuring that was all it would take.

Stripe turned back to his hole and dug more furiously this time.

Oh, well. So much for that.

“Stop!” I called again. This time I pulled a biscuit out of my pocket, got closer, and waved it in front of his face. That sure got his attention.

Stripe’s nose twitched as he sniffed at the biscuit with hungry eyes. Before he could take a bite, I walked backward.

Stripe watched the biscuit intently. Crouching low, he crept closer on mud-caked paws. I kept walking and Stripe kept following, more focused than ever.

I didn’t stop moving until we were halfway across the lawn. “Good boy,” I said, and fed him the biscuit, getting my fingers nice and slobbery in the process.

Stripe gulped it down and headed straight back to the plants.

Well, this was going to take some work. It’s a good thing I didn’t have anything better to do.

I called Stripe again. He looked up at me, but then decided that the plant was more interesting. Yes, my dog is more interested in a plant. Go me.

“Here, Stripe,” I repeated, holding out another biscuit.

He came bounding over and jumped on me. Bracing myself, I stretched my arm over my head to keep it away from him. When he finally calmed down, I let him eat the treat.

Since he stood so close to me, I clipped the leash to his collar. He was so focused on the snack, he didn’t even notice.

I led Stripe through the house to the front door. “Good boy,” I told him, as we headed outside.

We walked up and down the cul-de-sac. It wasn’t easy, because he stopped to sniff everything, and once he did notice he was on a leash he kept trying to get away from it. After a couple of trips, I sat down on the front lawn. Stripe plopped down next to me, resting his head on my leg. I guess all that training tired him out.

I put the leash around my wrist, just in case he got any ideas about running away. Not that I needed to. He stayed glued to my side like we were stuck together, courtesy of Elmer’s.

Soon, a girl turned onto the street and zoomed by on a purple bicycle. She was tall and skinny, and she had on rainbow-striped leggings underneath a jeans skirt, with a white T-shirt on top. It was a hot day, but for some reason she wore a red ski cap over her curly brown hair.

She didn’t look directly at me, but I could tell she noticed me, just by the way her head moved, ever so slightly, in my direction. When she got to the end of the cul-de-sac, she turned around and rode by again.

Finally, when she passed me a third time, I called out, “Hey there.”

She kept riding like she didn’t hear me. But when she rode past our neighbor’s house she braked and planted her feet on the sidewalk. Looking over her shoulder she asked, “Did you say something?”

“I said hi,” I replied.

She got off her bicycle and walked it over. “Oh. I thought you said, ‘Hey there.’ ”

If she heard what I said the first time, I didn’t know why she bothered asking. Still, I wasn’t going to hold it against her. She was the first person to speak to me in the new neighborhood. (Mom and Dweeble didn’t count.)

She set her bike down on the lawn and pointed to Stripe. “Is that your dog?”

I shrugged. “Sort of.”

Stripe cocked his head and gazed at her. Maybe he wondered about her ski cap, too.

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“He’s more like a consolation prize. My mom is trying to bribe me into liking it here.”

“What’s his name?”

“Right now I’m calling him Stripe, but only until I think of something better. I just got him last night.”

“What grade are you in?” she asked.

“I’m going into sixth.”

“At Birchwood?”

I nodded.

“Me, too.” She pointed to the house across the street and said, “I live over there. Do you want to ride bikes or something?”

“I can’t,” I said. “I need to train the dog.”

“Train him to do what?”

“Um, pretty much everything.”

“Want some help?” she asked.

“Do you know anything about dogs?”

She shrugged. “I know I’m allergic, so I can’t get too close, but I do have a hamster named Fuzzball.”

Well, I figured that would have to do.

“I’m Annabelle.”

“I’m Rachel.”

“How come you’re wearing that hat?”

“I don’t want my hair to frizz on the first day of school,” she said. “And my mom won’t let me get it straightened until I turn thirteen, which is forever away.”

“Oh,” I said, since I didn’t really know what that meant. I’ve heard of girls getting perms, but I didn’t know what hair straightening was all about and I didn’t want to ask. Maybe it was one of those things I was supposed to know already.

“Is your hair naturally blond?” Her questions were pointed like her features. She had a sharp nose and a sharp chin. “My cousin Liz gets highlights.”

“It’s always been like this,” I said. “The color I mean. Sometimes I cut it shorter.”

That was a dumb thing to say, but I didn’t realize until it was too late.

Rachel didn’t seem to care though, since she still sat down next to me on the grass and said, “My mom won’t let me get highlights until I’m fifteen.”