My mother ignored me. "Kevin, get on the freeway. It's shorter if you take I-Five."
"She could learn stuff," said Dad. "She's going through a growth process. It's different from school, but it's still learning."
"Learning that you can't ask her about. Do you think they have salad at Snappy Dragon?" Mom pulled out a compact and powdered her nose. "Because I'm going to need to eat raw there, you know."
"It's Chinese. Are you really expecting salad?"
"Eating raw is a commitment," Mom insisted. "It's no good if you cheat."
"You said okay to Snappy Dragon! I asked you!"
"Why are you so unsupportive of the raw-food way of life?"
Mom sulked for a few minutes and Dad drove. Finally, he said: "I don't see why Ruby wouldn't tell us what she learned. She doesn't have to give us details that feel private, she could share the insights she's gleaned, so as to help us relate to her better."
My mother sighed. "Take this exit."
"Is there anything else you want to share with us about therapy?" Dad asked me. "I hope you realize my ears are always open."
I don't know what came over me then. I was so mad at myself for wasting my therapy session--and honestly, I
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didn't think there was any way they'd believe me. "Doctor Z thinks I should get a dog," I answered.
"What? That's a strange prescription," my dad said.
"Actually," I continued, amused, "she thinks I should get a Great Dane."
"No way." My mother crossed her arms. "Kevin, left! Left right here!"
Dad turned obediently. "Doctor Z specified a dog breed?" he wanted to know.
"Yes," I lied. "But really she said any superlarge dog would do. It has to do with having a vessel for my psyche, and the vessel shouldn't be too small."
I thought for sure they were both going to start laughing any minute. But they didn't, so I went on. "It's supposed to work wonders for the ennui brought on by mocha latte."
"The what is supposed to do what for the what brought on by what?" my dad wanted to know.
"We're not getting a dog. N-0 spells mo," said my mother.
"I can spell," I reminded her.
"Tell Doctor Z she should check with us before putting ideas into your head," said Mom. 'Juana has one of those dogs and it's a total menace."
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10.
I join Up with Granola Brothers
Hey hey Roo,
I came by the bake sale table this morning but you weren't there. Jackson
--written on his green-tinted narrow-ruled paper--but with no frog; no frog whatsoever.
i got this note after first period the next morning. I had an early meeting with my college counselor and had skipped sitting at the CHuBS recruiting table while Meghan and Nora gave out linzer cookies.
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Why had Jackson come by the table?
What did he want?
And why was there no frog?
Had I expected a frog?
I wondered about it all morning, but I didn't see him until after sixth period, when I spotted him waiting to talk to Mr. Wallace as a group of seniors surged out of Contemporary Am Lit. He was wearing an old plaid shirt rolled above the elbows. His forearms were solid muscle from rowing crew.
"Hey." I tapped his shoulder.
"Ms. Roo to you, what's up?"
"You said something about the bake-sale table," I reminded him.
Mr. Wallace caught Jackson's eye. "I haven't forgotten about you, Clarke," he said. "Just give me one more minute here."
Jackson nodded at him and turned to me. "Oh, it was nothing important," he said. "I can tell you later."
I was annoyed. Why write me, then, if it was nothing important? It wasn't like we were friends. "Whatever," I said, turning to go-but he touched my arm.
"You're running the bake sale and it's happening on Parents' Day, is that what I hear?" he asked.
I nodded. "We're recruiting now."
Jackson flashed his grin. "Are there gonna be doughnuts?"
"Doughnuts are advanced," I said. "You deep-fry them. There's hot oil involved. Don't get your hopes up."
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Jackson pulled a face. "Doughnuts would be so good, though, don't you think?"
"Maybe."
"You should get someone to make them," he said.
"In your dreams," I said, annoyed. "I gotta go to class."
"Yes, in my dreams!" he called after me as I went into Pre-Cal. "There are homemade doughnuts in my dreams!"
***
Even though I was lying about the Great Dane, it's true that I like animals more than people. That's a horrible thing to say, I know. It's also no doubt one of the reasons I need therapy. Wouldn't anyone with a modicum of sanity care more about the homeless, or battered women, or any kind of person who might end up in a shelter than she would about fuzzy kittens?
Yes, anyone with a modicum of sanity would. But to me, dogs and cats are innocent. Goats and llamas, too. They're never duplicitous, they're never bitchy, they're never untrue.1 They never write you confusing notes, or stare at your boobs, or steal your boyfriend, or write things about you on the walls of the bathroom.
When you love an animal, you don't mind if it has bad breath, or chews on your hoodie, or chases a toddler because its foot is hurting. You just laugh at those things, and try to understand them, and appreciate the animal for who it is. It's not conditional love-but love between people seems like it nearly always is.
***
1 Except llamas. Sometimes llamas are bitchy.
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I got Archer to agree to switch our charity to Happy Paws, a no-kill "haven" that finds homes for abandoned dogs and cats, and Thursday afternoon I stayed late at school helping Meghan and Nora make posters for the Baby CHuBS recruiting table. Some were about Happy Paws, and the others offered a free baked good to anyone who signed up to contribute to the sale. The food would get the boys in, we figured.
"Guys will do almost anything for a chocolate chip cookie," said Nora. "I have a brother. Trust me, I know."
"Like what will they do?" I asked.
"Once I got Gideon and his friends to clean my room."
"Gideon cleaned your room?"
"He wouldn't do it now. He was like thirteen."
"What else?"
"He's loaned me his car. And his iPod. Stuff like that, just if I make him cookies."
Nora's brother, Gideon, is a freshman at Evergreen State College nearby in Olympia. It's one of those colleges where you make your own major. He's extremely hot in a messy, bohemian way, and I had a ginormous crush on him in sixth grade.
"Those must be magic cookies," put in Meghan. We had finished poster making and gone in the Jeep to the Pike Place Market to buy ingredients and baking paraphernalia. The Market is a big open-air craft and produce thing. Cobblestone streets. A view of Puget Sound. Fishmongers. Smells waft from the crumpet shop, Three
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Girls Bakery and the dumpling place I don't know the name of.
"If Nora made the magic cookies now," Meghan mused aloud, "I could give a cookie to Mike and have him do my horizontal bidding."
I cracked up. "What about Mark, Dave, Dan and Don?"
"Whichever," said Meghan.
"You are a bad, bad woman," Nora said.
"You're the one making the magic cookies," said Meghan. "I'm just planning to use them to their fullest potential."
Nora looked at her. "I thought you wanted true love before Spring Fling."
Meghan shrugged. "Sure. But that was before I knew you could make magic cookies."
We entered a kitchen-supply store, and as we trolled the aisles, I wondered what I would do with magic cookies.
Make Kim and Cricket forgive me? Make Noel fall in love with me? Make Jackson want me? I couldn't decide.
Nora didn't like any of the cookie cutters at Sur La Table. Archer wanted us to make rabbits and Easter egg shapes, but when we looked at them they were just so cutesy and Christian-centric we couldn't deal. So we gave up on baking supplies and followed Meghan over to the Birkenstock store. She's obsessed with those sandals,