My Life as a Book by Janet Tashjian Page B

She’s wearing a Red Hot Chili Peppers tank top and high-top sneakers, and her hair’s in pigtails. I try to pretend I’m someone else and hide behind Bodi, but she’s already across the field.
    â€œHow’s your summer going?”
    I can’t look her in the eye. She’s wearing cut-off jeans and has a tattoo of a dove on her shoulder that I’ve never noticed. I feel like running home. Fast.
    I mumble something about having a stinky summer.
    She points to my Calvin and Hobbes book. “I see you’re reading. That’s not stinky.” She bends down to pet Bodi who slobbers all over Ms. Williams’s face. But instead of backing away, she lets Bodi cover her with kisses and talks to him in the same stupid baby-voice my mother uses with every animal, even though she’s a professional. If some moron like Joe Brennan is across the field watching Ms. Williams make out with my dog, I will never hear the end of it.

    â€œI found the notes you wrote in the margins of the book you gave me.”
    â€œWere they helpful?”
    â€œA little.” I take my sketchbook out of my pack and show her the flip-o-rama movie of my summer so far.
    She sits next to me on the grass and goes through the book herself. “I got an email from Carly saying you’ve been doing some great drawings this summer—I guess she was right.”
    Carly sends emails to teachers? During vacation? What a FREAK! I am forever grateful to the pitcher who yells, “Annie! You’re up!”
    Ms. Williams heads back to her position, calling over her shoulder for me to enjoy the rest of the summer. If she weren’t my teacher, she would almost seem cool. I inhale Bodi’s aroma one more time and try to return to my book, but I can’t. Carly emails Ms. Williams? She said my drawings were great? I wonder why she never told me?
    When I get home, there are three emails waiting from Grandma saying how excited she is for our visit and asking if I want her to cook any special meals. I email her back and tell her I can’t wait to see her too. I also happen to mention barbecued chicken, mashed potatoes, and chocolate cake with coconut frosting.
    I know my mom would be mad, but the next site I go to is Susan James’s guestbook. I’ve read these entries several times already, but the ones by Lauren Hutchins are funny and nice. Reading her entries, I find out she was with Susan at the beach that day. No one said anything about Susan being with a friend! I decide not to say anything to Mom in case she thinks I’m obsessed and cancels our trip.

    I type Lauren’s name into the search engine and learn she has a jewelry stall in an artists’ gallery in Chilmark, which just happens to be on Martha’s Vineyard. The photo shows silver bracelets and glass beads displayed in bowls of uncooked rice. On the “About Me” page, Lauren looks around the same age as Ms. Williams. I write down her store address on the inside cover of the book I’m supposed to be reading. Seeing Ms. Williams today makes me feel a tiny bit guilty about blowing off my reading yet again. Instead, I try to decide what would be more fun:
    a) spray my father’s shaving cream around Bodi’s mouth and run around the neighborhood pretending he has rabies or
    b) get Henry to loan me his headgear, tie it on Bodi, and attach a stuffed animal to the front so he can chase it like a greyhound running after a rabbit.

    Both ideas seem fun, but my markers are calling. My hand hovers over the case—deep blue? Orangey brown? I choose the lime green, grab a handful of cookies from the cupboard, and head for the porch to draw.

Monkey See, Monkey Do
    The medicine my mother ordered for Pedro comes in, and she plans on dropping it off before her yoga class. When I beg her to let me see Pedro again, she says I can come with her.

    I thought Mom’s friend Debbie was the one who had Pedro as a companion, but