I nodded, happy she thought I was good. At least I think that’s what she meant. And no, she didn’t know me yet. But obviously she thought I had potential.
“Hey, do you have your class schedule?” Rachel asked. “Because mine came in the mail last week.”
“I think it’s in the house, somewhere.”
“Well, go get it and I’ll get mine and meet you back here, okay?”
“Sure,” I said. We both stood up. Stripe rolled onto his back and looked at me like he wanted a belly rub. “Let’s go, buddy.” I gave his leash a short tug. It took some coaxing but eventually I got him inside.
Mom couldn’t find my schedule right away because our stuff was still only half unpacked. By the time I got back, Rachel was waiting for me, sitting cross-legged in the middle of our lawn. “Are you taking band?” she asked.
I looked down at my schedule, even though I knew I wasn’t. “No. I’m in chorus.”
“Oh, that’s cool. Band kids are mostly nerdy, with the exception of the drummers, and I’m going to play the drums.”
“Cool,” I said, hoping that chorus wasn’t nerdy as well. I wished I didn’t care, but these things matter.
“I already bought the sticks and I’ve been practicing on the bottom of my hamper all summer,” Rachel told me. “My mom wouldn’t let me bring them outside now because she’s afraid I’m going to lose them again. I’m already on my third pair.”
“I sing in the shower sometimes.”
It was supposed to be a joke—not a good one, I’ll admit. But Rachel didn’t take it that way. She tilted her head and blinked at me with her big brown eyes. “Really?” she asked.
“No,” I said, shrugging. “But I like to sing.” Our camp put on Grease this summer, and I got to play Sandy. I didn’t tell Rachel because I didn’t want to sound braggy. But I still kind of wished she knew.
We compared schedules. Turns out we had PE together, which met last period. And we had the same teacher for English, but my class met first and hers met right after lunch.
“That stinks,” said Rachel. “I hardly have any classes with people I know. But you and I have lunch together. Want to eat with me and my friends? We’re all meeting at my locker, right before.”
“Okay,” I said.
Just then someone called her name from across the street.
“That’s my mom. I’ve got to go.” Rachel stood up, so I did, too.
She climbed on to her bicycle. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Wait, where’s your locker?” I asked.
“It’s number eleven-oh-seven,” she said. “All the lockers are in one place, so you’ll find it pretty easily.”
“Um, what are you wearing?” I asked.
“Jeans,” she said, like it wasn’t a big deal. So I figured jeans were what I should wear, too.
I went inside and told my mom I was ready to go shopping. The mall was much smaller than the one in North Hollywood, but we still found some cool stores. I got two pairs of jeans, a pair of capri pants, some brown leather sandals, and a few T-shirts. My favorite one came pre-softened. It was light pink with three blue stars across the front, perfect for the first day of school. I hoped.
My stomach ached so much I hardly ate dinner, even though we were having my favorite—macaroni and cheese. Mom and Dweeble had broccoli on the side, but she didn’t make me eat any of it. Another bribe, probably, but I wasn’t about to complain. Later that night, the grown-ups watched boring news in the living room on Dweeble’s gigantic flat-screen television.
“Can Stripe sleep in my room tonight?” I asked.
Dweeble seemed surprised. “I thought you didn’t like Stripe.”
“Well, I don’t, but it still doesn’t seem fair, making him sleep in a cage.”
“It’s a kennel, not a cage,” Mom said.
“It has steel bars and a lock,” I pointed out.
“He doesn’t mind it,” said Dweeble. “Puppies feel more comfortable in confined spaces.”
“Did he tell you that?” I asked.
“No, but the dog-training book did,” said Mom.
“I guess I missed that chapter.”
“It’s for his own safety,” said Dweeble. “Imagine if he opened up the cabinet under the sink and drank the cleaning supplies. He’d be poisoned.”
“There aren’t any cleaning supplies in my bedroom. Just a bunch of boxes filled with clothes and books.”
Mom looked at Dweeble, and I don’t know why. I was her daughter and Stripe was supposed to be my puppy.
Before I reminded her of this, she turned back to me and said, “If you want, we can move the kennel into your room, as long as you promise to put Stripe inside when you go to bed.”
“Cool,” I said. “I will.”
So at the next commercial they set everything up. Dweeble carried the kennel upstairs, and Mom laid a towel down underneath, so it wouldn’t mess up the new carpet. I made sure they were careful not to step on my first-day-of-school outfit, which I’d laid out in the middle of the floor.
When they finally left us alone, I found an old tennis ball and Stripe and I played a game that was sort of like fetch. Basically, I rolled the ball across the room, and Stripe ran after it, caught it, and started gnawing on it. Then I pried it out of his mouth so we could start all over again. It was way more fun than it sounds.
Soon Mom came in and said I should get to bed. It wasn’t easy putting Stripe back in the kennel. He struggled and nipped at my hands with his sharp little puppy fangs. He seemed to be telling me he wasn’t near ready for sleep. And in case I didn’t get the message the first time, once we did manage to close the grated door behind him, he started whimpering.
Mom frowned at the cage. “I hope he doesn’t keep you up.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said, as I climbed into bed.
“You’ll be better than fine, Annabelle. You’ll love your new school. I can feel it.”
“Mom!” I yelled, since she was being insane. Usually she’s a fairly cool mom, and she understands the important stuff. But then every once in a while, she’ll make some crazy remark like this.
“I will not love Birchwood. It’s still school, you know.”
“You’re right. Sorry, honey. Good night.” She kissed my forehead.
“Good night.” I pulled the covers up to my chin and rolled onto my side.
Soon after my mom left, Stripe began crying in sad, squeaky bursts of noise. He didn’t keep me up, though. I was up anyway. My mind raced. Starting tomorrow, I’d have six different teachers instead of one. This would be the first time I’d be at school without a uniform. I liked the new jeans and pink T-shirt I planned to wear just fine, but what if they were the wrong kind? Or what if Rachel made a mistake and no one else wore jeans on the first day of school? And speaking of Rachel, what if I couldn’t find her at lunchtime? What if she thought I didn’t want to eat with her? How insulting would that be? She’d get mad and maybe she’d turn her friends against me. My first potential enemies, and school hadn’t even started.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Then I rolled to the side. My pillow got too hot so I flipped it over, but nothing helped. I looked at my desk. It used to sit next to my bed, so it could double as a nightstand. Now it was clear across the room, five big steps away. My alarm clock still rested on the edge, forcing me to squint to see the glowing green numbers. Eleven thirty, it read. I only ever stayed up that late when Sophia and Mia slept over.
I couldn’t believe I had to go to school without them.
Stripe kept crying and it wasn’t right. Dweeble had said he was in the cage for his own safety, but there wasn’t anything dangerous in my bedroom. Plus, maybe he was missing his old home, like I was missing mine. The least I could do was let him walk around a bit, stretch his little legs.
I got out of bed and tiptoed over. Stripe thumped his tail hard and fast against the newspaper lining the bottom of the cage.
“Shhh,” I whispered. “You have to
promise to be good, okay?”
As soon as I set Stripe free he jumped up and licked my face.
“Down, boy,” I said, trying not to giggle too hard. “It’s okay.”
I set one of my pillows down on the floor and motioned him over. After sniffing around a bit, Stripe lay down on it.
“Good boy.” I stroked his fur. “Now let’s go to sleep.”
I figured I’d wake up early and put Stripe back in his cage before my mom came in, so she’d never know he didn’t sleep in there for the whole night. That was the plan, anyway.
Stripe fell asleep pretty fast, and I guess I finally did, too.
The next thing I knew, I woke up to my mom gasping, “Annabelle, what happened?”
I opened my eyes. The bright sun blazed through my window, casting light on the disaster area formerly known as my bedroom.
Pages from my loose-leaf notebook lay scattered across the floor. Some were wrinkled and others were torn up. My clothes were in a pile by the door. Mom held up my pink T-shirt and stared at me through the raggedy hole in its center.
Leaping out of bed, I reached for my new jeans. The cuff on one leg was missing, and the other cuff was frayed and slimy with slobber.
I turned to Stripe, who sat in the corner looking innocent. He had a strange chew toy in his mouth. Also known as one of my new sandals.
Stripe had ruined my entire first-day-of-school outfit, and he wagged his tail happily, like he’d done me some big huge favor.
“What am I going to wear?” I cried.
“Don’t know but you’d better decide fast,” Mom said. “We all overslept. If we’re not out the door in fifteen minutes, you’ll be late for school.”
chapter three
the bad beginning
We must’ve lost power in the middle of the night,” Mom said as we sped toward campus. “It’s a good thing Ted woke up, or we might all still be asleep.”
I wasn’t about to thank Dweeble for anything. If it weren’t for him, we’d be in our old apartment—where our alarm clocks had never let us down. But instead, I had to show up to my new school looking like a total slob. There hadn’t been time to do anything but shower and throw on the first thing I could find. That’s why I was wearing a green T-shirt and a gray plaid skirt, which had been part of my old uniform from St. Catherine’s. I didn’t even dry my hair. I had to pull it into a damp ponytail without combing through all the bumps.
This day was already a disaster and I hadn’t even set foot on campus. My heart thumped at about a million beats a minute as my mom pulled up to Birchwood Middle School.
“I’ll be right here at three thirty,” she said. “Have a wonderful first day.”
There she goes again with her crazy talk.
“Okay, thanks. Bye.” I got out of the car, shouldered my backpack, and ran. My ponytail slipped, but there wasn’t time to fix it. As the late bell chimed, kids streamed into their classrooms. Meanwhile, I still had to find mine.
I tore across the quad in search of Room 604, where I had English. When I found Room 603, I began to relax. There was just one problem. Room 605 was right next to it, and Room 601 was on the other side. Room 604 was nowhere in sight. Suddenly the halls were empty. Everyone else was where they were supposed to be. And me? I was alone, with no idea where to go.
I stared from my wrinkled schedule to the doors in front of me, as if the missing room would appear magically, if only I wished for it hard enough.
My stomach ached. Before I knew it, tears welled up in my eyes.
Stupid Birchwood. At St. Catherine’s, everything was in one tall building. Room Nine came after Room Eight, which came after Room Seven, and there was no skipping around or missing numbers.
I circled the whole quad and then stopped in front of Room 603, again. I didn’t know what else to do.
“Hey!” someone said from behind me.
I turned around. Standing in front of me was a kid with spiky blond hair and brown eyes. He was a head taller than me, and he seemed pretty grown up. Like he could have been an eighth grader, even. I couldn’t figure out what to say. So I kept quiet, which probably made me look dumb.
“You lost?” he asked.
“Nope.” I hardly ever lied, but at the moment, it seemed like a good idea.
The guy smirked. “Sure you are.”
I took a step away.
“You’re a sixth grader, right?” he asked.
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.
Boys Are Dogs Page 3
