Boys Are Dogs (5 page)

So it was that obvious. “Yup.” I nodded.

He held out his hand. At first I thought he wanted to shake, so I held out my empty hand, too. But he just laughed and said, “No, let’s see your schedule.”

I handed it over. I didn’t want to, but couldn’t just refuse. He already thought I was weird enough.

“Room six-oh-four isn’t here,” I said. This was clear, but I felt like I needed to fill the silence.

“No kidding.” He looked at the classrooms in front of me and grinned. Then he handed back my schedule and said, “So you don’t know about the fire, huh?”

“Fire?”

“Room six-oh-four burned down last spring. It doesn’t exist.”

“Then why does my schedule say I’m supposed to go there?” I asked.

“Computer glitch. There was an announcement about it this morning. Didn’t you hear?”

I shook my head no.

The guy nodded. “Yes, they said that everyone with Room six-oh-four printed on their schedule should report to Room six-oh-five, instead.”

“Really?” I asked. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. Stuff like that happens all the time around here. You’ll see.”

This seemed kind of weird, but I
did
miss the morning announcements, I guess. I wanted to ask him one more time, but he’d already walked away. His walk wasn’t normal, though. He moved his feet in a slightly bouncy way and puffed out his chest. His shoulders swayed, like he was listening to music.

After the guy turned the corner, I took a deep breath, retied my ponytail, and opened the door to Room 605.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said, slinking my way inside. The teacher smiled and nodded to the only free seat. It was in the front row at the other end of the room.

I sat down quickly, opened my backpack, and pulled a freshly sharpened pencil from the lucky case Mia gave me back when she found out I had to move. It felt good, finally being where I was supposed to be. Maybe Birchwood wouldn’t be so bad. At least, that’s what I was thinking before I looked at the board and almost had a heart attack. The words swam before me, incomprehensible. Even worse, the teacher was speaking to me and I’d no idea what she was saying.

“
Cuál es su nombre y de donde es usted?”

“What?” I asked, my voice plagued with panic.

The girl to my left giggled behind her hand. The guy behind me didn’t even try to hide his laughter. He just let it out.

I slowly turned around and surveyed the strange faces. Something wasn’t right. These kids looked too old to be in the sixth grade.

“What’s your name and where are you from?” the teacher asked.

At least I understood the question this time.

“My name is Annabelle and I’m from North Hollywood.”

“Hablas en espanol, por favor.”

“Um, what?” I asked.

“Answer in Spanish,” she said.

“But I can’t.” I stared down at my desk. Someone had carved “I ‘heart’ Dave” into the wood. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Then how on earth did you get into Spanish III?”

Uh-oh. “I thought this was sixth grade English,” I whispered.

Now the entire class laughed.

“Settle down,” the teacher told them as she walked over to my desk. “Let me see your schedule, please.”

I handed it over.

She read it, frowned, then turned to her students. “Please write a five-paragraph essay, describing how you spent your summer vacation.”

As the class groaned, she motioned for me to follow her outside. I gathered my things as quickly as I could, not even taking the time to put my pencil back in its case. (What would be the point? Clearly all the luck had worn off.)

Once we were in the hall, the teacher asked, “Do you know about the numbering system for the two quads here?”

“There’s a system?” I asked, as I bit back tears.

She pointed to the first line of my schedule. “See that E? That stands for East, as in East Quad. You’re in the West Quad now. The rooms in the East Quad buildings have even numbers. The rooms in the West Quad buildings have odd numbers. That’s why there’s no Room six-oh-four over here.”

I wanted to apologize but I had to hold my breath to keep from crying.

It was nice of her to be so understanding, but also kind of annoying, because it seemed like she felt sorry for me.

“Don’t be upset. This happens every year. They really should change it. Although if you can remember that ‘E’ stands for both East and even, it’ll be easier.” She pointed toward the other quad. “Just go past the lockers and turn right. Room six-oh-four is the third door in.”

“Okay. Thank you,” I managed to squeak out, before hurrying off.

Once I made it to the right place, I burst through the door to find an entire roomful of eyes staring at me.

“Can I help you?” asked the teacher, a short man with thick gray hair, black chunky-framed glasses, and a big belly hanging over his belt.

“Sorry I’m late. I got lost. I . . . well . . . this is my first day.”

“Yes, this is everyone’s first day,” he said.

“Right. Of course.” I scanned the room, happy to find an empty desk in the back corner. I made my way toward it.

“Not so fast,” he said, pointing to a desk in the front row. “Why don’t you sit over there, and tell us your name.”

I sank into the chair. “I’m Annabelle Stevens.”

“Hello, Annabelle. I’m Mr. Beller.” He looked down at his roster and frowned. “Well, this is strange. I don’t see an Annabelle Stevens in this class.”

“You don’t?” I stood up fast—not realizing my backpack was still in my lap. It tumbled to the floor.

“Kidding,” he said, and the entire class laughed.

Wow. Looks like Dweeble’s got some competition in the “worst sense of humor, ever” category.

I sat back down and picked up my bag, wishing I’d just stayed in Spanish III. No, I didn’t speak the language, but at least that teacher had been nice to me.

Mr. Beller didn’t make any more jokes at my expense, but I still didn’t like him. He made everyone sign a contract that read, “This year, I [insert your name] promise to work hard and always give it my all.”

It seemed pointless, since everyone plans on giving school “their all” on the first day of the new year. It’s easy to do then, before the work piles on.

That’s what I was thinking when I felt something hard thump against my back. It pushed my whole body forward. It happened again, and then a third time. Someone was kicking the back of my chair.

When I turned around, the guy behind me pretended he was writing in his notebook. His shaggy, dark bangs hung down over the tops of his glasses. I stared at him for a few seconds, but he wouldn’t look up. I could tell he noticed, though. As soon as I faced forward, he kicked me again.

I tried to ignore him, but it was hard. He kicked my chair all through class, and I don’t know why I didn’t tell him to stop. When Margaret Sinclair pulled my hair in the third grade, I’d had no problem telling her to cut it out. Yet now, I just sat there and took the kicks.

Class finally ended, and luckily, I had social studies in Room 606, right next door.

Unfortunately, as soon as I walked into the room, some guy got up and said, “I’m Spamabelle Stevens and this is my first day!” His voice was higher pitched than SpongeBob sucking on a helium balloon. I don’t sound like that at all. Still, all his friends laughed and gave each other high fives. It wasn’t even that funny. But the way they carried on, you’d think it was the best joke they’d heard all year. And okay, the school year was only a few hours old, but this didn’t make me feel any better.

When I got to French class, some skinny red-haired guy called out, “Hi, Spamabelle.”

My first day of junior high, and I was already a total joke! I wondered if Ted’s dweebiness was contagious. Maybe it spread through the walls of our house, like mold or termites.

At least I didn’t run into the guy with spiky blond hair from this morning. That would’ve been the worst.

When the bell rang, releasing me from French, I raced to my locker.

After dumping my new books inside, I found Rachel. She was leaning against her locker, looking normal and totally happy in a light blue v-neck T-shirt, faded jeans, and flip-flops. Her fingers and toenails were painted pink. She’d left the ski cap at home and her hair frizzed only slightly.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hi, are you ready?” I hoped she hadn’t changed her mind about letting me eat with her. What if word already got out that I was a total spaz who crashed other people’s classes?

“Of course. I’m starving. Yumi is saving us space over in the West Quad. That’s where all the sixth graders eat.”

I wondered how she knew that, and wished I could ask. Instead, I followed her down the hall, silently.

“So, what do you think so far?” she asked.

I considered lying and saying everything was completely fabulous—the best morning of my life— but in the end, I told her about our alarm clocks and how Stripe chewed up my clothes. “That’s why I look like a slob.”

“I like your skirt. It’s cute.”

Rachel probably only said that to be nice, but I decided to believe her. It was the first good thing to happen to me all day.

That, and lunch. We walked to a big outdoor seating area, and wove through crowded picnic tables until we found her friends, Emma, Claire, and Yumi, who’d saved us seats.

When we got there, Emma was in the middle of unpacking her lunch. She lined up her food in a neat row and ate everything in order—a bite of turkey sandwich, a sip of lemonade, a carrot stick, then a bite of oatmeal cookie. Then she went back to the beginning. She looked tan, and had thick, dark hair with a perfect part in the middle. Her white T-shirt had pink trim and her pink socks were trimmed in white, which matched her pink and white plaid shorts, which all seemed to match her personality—quiet and orderly.

Yumi was wearing a Dodgers cap, and she ate like a regular person. She also showed us pictures of her baby sister, Suki, from a pink Hello Kitty photo album. Yumi explained that Suki was only three months old and that’s why she had no hair. I looked at all the pictures to be polite, even though they all seemed the same: sleeping baby—sometimes in yellow footy pajamas, and sometimes in blue and white striped footy pajamas.

“This one is my favorite.” Yumi pointed to a picture of the baby wearing a baseball uniform. “Isn’t she cute?”

“Yup, but I already saw it, I think.”

“No, she was wearing the Dodgers’
away
uniform in the other one. This is their home uniform. Plus, in this one she has on socks that look like cleats.”

“Yumi is obsessed with the Dodgers,” Rachel explained. “But you probably figured that out already.”

“I’m not obsessed. I just think they’re the greatest team that ever was and I never miss a game.”

“Exactly,” said Rachel.

“My dad and I have season tickets. He moved here from Japan to play baseball at UCLA, and almost got recruited to a minor league team in Sacramento,” Yumi told me. “Do you like baseball?”

“I guess,” I said. “But I’m more into basketball.”

“So are you a Lakers fan?”

“Um, I mean I like playing basketball. I don’t watch games on TV or anything.”

Just then Claire came over with a giant taco salad from the cafeteria. As soon as she sat down, she told me she recognized me from English class. I’m surprised I didn’t remember Claire, since she didn’t look like the other sixth graders. She was much taller than the rest of us, and had long, curly red hair pulled back with a wide blue headband, which matched her blue eyes. She wore a tie-dye shirt and a faded jeans skirt with frayed edges.

Of course, if we had English together, that meant she’d witnessed my humiliation. “That was so embarrassing,” I said.

She shook her head. “Don’t worry. No one cares if you’re late on the first day.”

“Mr. Beller sure cared.”

“Well, no one likes him. My sister had him two years ago and she said he’s way strict, and just, not nice.”

I was about to ask Claire about her other classes, but I never got the chance to, because just then a shadow loomed over our table.

Everyone got really quiet, except for Rachel. She glanced up and made a face, asking, “What do you want, Jackson?”

I looked up and almost choked on my chicken salad. Towering over us was the guy who’d told me to walk into Spanish III. I quickly turned my head away and hunched over my sandwich, hoping he didn’t notice me.

Last year in science we studied spiders that change color to hide from their predators. More than anything, I wished I could do the same thing. At least my shirt was green, so I blended in with the nearby grass. Okay, that’s a stretch. But I wished it were true.

Luckily, he only spoke to Rachel. “Don’t be late,” he said. “I’ve got Tae Kwon Do after school.”

“I won’t be late,” she replied, annoyed. “I’m never late.”

“Well, don’t start today,” he said.

My foot tingled with pins and needles but I was too scared to shake it awake. I couldn’t even move. If he and Rachel carpooled together, that probably meant he lived near Clemson Court. Could my luck get any worse?

“Hey, I know you!” he said, pointing at me.

Great. That’s just perfect. I shook my head, silently pleading with him not to tell everyone how he’d tricked me.