Fetching by Kiera Stewart

this ignoring thing doesn’t work out.
    Which, eventually, it does. Kisses’s growls turn into whimpers and she runs toward the weak spot—Mr. Dewey. He starts to bend down to pet her, but Corny stops him right there. “You can’t pet her now, not when she’s fearful,” she tells him. “That just reinforces her feelings.”
    He stands back up, but doesn’t seem happy about it. “What am I supposed to do? Just ignore her?”
    â€œExactly,” she says. “We’ll show you how it’s done. Right, Olivia?” Corny smiles at me.
    Even though we’re light-years away from our goal of getting this insane little dog out on the grass, it seems like we’ve already made a couple of big steps. The fear that I had is nicely tucked away. In fact, I feel like all the fears I have—like craziness and being terminally weird—are being nicely tucked away in that brain-trunk. I imagine them stored away in a vacuum-sealed Space Bag, out of the way of important and powerful new thoughts.
    Such as the thought that, today, after sundaes, we’re stopping by CVS. I’m buying that mascara. I’ve made a decision. I do have the guts to be the kind of person who looks like I did, earlier today, in the mirror.
    â€œRight,” I say, and smile back.
    And besides, what’s a layer or two of mascara anyway, if not good body language?

PHOEBE HAS BROUGHT a package of poster board to the Bored Game Club and is standing over us, distributing markers and insisting we come up with a slogan for Mandy’s campaign.
    â€œBut I’m still working on standing up straight,” Mandy whines.
    â€œDon’t write that down!” Delia yells at Joey, who has already started writing it out on the poster board with an orange marker.
    Joey smirks.
    â€œThat’s not funny, Joey,” Phoebe tells him, and grabs the marker out of his hands. She starts to hand it to me, but stops and squints. “I still can’t believe you’re wearing makeup.” She has been acting slightly betrayed since lunch.
    â€œOh,” I say, and shrug like it’s no big deal. “It’s just a little mascara.”
    â€œYeah. It looks good,” Mandy says. “I’ve got some if you want to try it,” she offers Phoebe.
    â€œAnd risk infection ? At a time like this ? No, ma’am. We’ve got a campaign to run.”
    â€œYou’re just stressing everyone out, Martin,” Joey says to her. His latest method of annoying Phoebe is calling her by her last name, like they’re football buddies or something. “We’re not ready for posters.”
    â€œYeah, Pheeb,” I tell her. “Remember? It’s still top secret. You might have to tune out your inner working breed.”
    â€œDid Dennis Kucinich ‘tune out his inner working breed ’?” she asks, seething. In fourth grade, Phoebe took an online quiz that told her Dennis Kucinich, who ran for U.S. president in 2008, was her ideal candidate, and she’s had a strange sort of loyalty to him since.
    â€œUm, Martin,” Joey starts.
    â€œI DON’T CARE IF HE DROPPED OUT!” she yells at him. Ms. Greenwood looks up, eyes wide, mouth shut. “Sorry,” Phoebe murmurs.
    Joey stifles a laugh. “It’s just so easy,” he says. “I don’t even have to say anything to you. You’re just on auto-idiot.”
    Phoebe’s right eye narrows and both nostrils start to flare. She takes a big breath as if she is about to seriously verbally assault Joey, but I flash back to our last session with Kisses, and I put my hand on hers. This is what they call a teachable moment .
    I give her this really mature and patient smile, and say, “Ignore him, Phoebe.”
    â€œBut—” Her face is tight with frustration.
    â€œSit down, Pheeb. Just stop. Relax. Don’t even look at him.” I glance at Ms. Greenwood, who appears,