Fetching by Kiera Stewart Page A

as always, to be engrossed in the papers on her desk. I whisper anyway. “Trust me.”
    Phoebe looks at me like she’s offended, her mouth gaping. “Why should I stop?”
    â€œWe all have to ignore him. It’s just like when you first meet an aggressive dog. It may bark at you and try to scare you, but you have to completely ignore it until it calms down. It lets them know who’s in charge,” I explain. “So, for now, just keep doing what you’re doing.”
    â€œWhich was being a Marcie,” Joey so helpfully reminds Phoebe.
    I put my hand on Phoebe’s elbow before she can launch into him. Then I say, “Boggle, anyone?” with a slightly forced, but still very wise, smile.
    Phoebe exhales loudly and starts packing up her markers.
    Delia reaches for the Boggle box, and Mandy starts handing out scrap paper—to everyone but Joey.
    â€œLet me shake up the letters,” Joey says. We ignore him. Delia gives me a look that says, This is awkward .
    â€œC’mon, guys. I’m sorry , okay?” he continues.
    Mandy stares up at the ceiling. Delia shifts in her seat uncomfortably. Phoebe has started laying out the game, her lips pressed primly together.
    â€œI was being a butt, okay?” Joey says through gritted teeth, and sighs. “Now, can I please shake the letters?”
    Sometimes you can see how twelve years old he really is. Mandy hands him the letters, and he suddenly looks completely, one hundred percent happy.

    Lucky me. On the bus home, I get a chance to practice that teachable moment all on my own. I’m feeling a little like a scientist who just tested something in the lab (the Bored Game Club being our petri dish) and is now ready to try it in the field.
    Today there’s the usual barking, but it sounds more like a couple of restless poodles rather than a herd of pit bulls. I can feel Brynne staring into me, and I try to pretend she didn’t just fake a cough and choke out “loser” as I walked by. I don’t even blink when everyone laughs. I’m also pretty busy trying to keep my shoulders from creeping up to my ears, which is one of the all-telling signs of submission in the human world.
    When I get to my seat, I pull out my Spanish textbook. With everything going on, I know I’ve gotten behind on my work, and to be honest, it’s almost a relief to get my mind off of the training. I open my book and finally breathe—and almost relax. Until Brynne comes to the back of bus. “Hey,” she says. “You.”
    I stare at the green vinyl of the seat in front of me and don’t say anything. I’m too busy trying really hard to relax. You know how some people think about a beach or a park or something like that to make themselves calm down? Well, here’s what I think about. Brushing my teeth. Washing my face. Those things you’re supposed to do every day but sometimes don’t because they’re so incredibly boring. Flossing my teeth. I mean, if your world was really falling apart, the last thing you’d be doing is flossing your teeth.
    â€œYou think you can ignore me?”
    And when flossing fails, sometimes hair washing works.
    â€œ I said , you think you can ignore me?”
    Lather, rinse, repeat!
    â€œWell, you can’t,” she says. She leans down close to my face. “No one ignores me.”
    LATHER, RINSE, REPEAT! I look back down at my book. My hands are gripping it so intensely that my thumbs are turning white. So much for relaxing.
    But my nervousness actually works to my advantage. Because Brynne reaches her fist under my book and punches upward, but, as it turns out, I am holding on to it so tightly that nothing moves. And she looks kind of stupid trying to make it happen.
    She stands up straight, nostrils flaring. “You are a loser.” She holds her palms out and adds, “All’s I wanted was a piece of gum,” like she’s a victim or