How to Ruin Series Part 103

But above the buzzing of the shearing I bet he can't hear me.

The sheep stares at me with his big, spooky, gray eyes. I wonder if he'll charge me. I move a step closer. He doesn't move.

"Go on," I say a bit louder this time.

Sincerely hoping n.o.body is watching me, I take another step toward the animal.

He backs up.

"This way, dummy," I say.

The thing won't listen to me. d.a.m.n. I look over at Ron, but thankfully he's not paying attention.

It's me against the sheep. Did I say the thing looked small and vulnerable after being shaved? I take that back. Before I step toward the menacing four-legged, bare-a.s.sed sheep with a dangling thing between its legs, out of the corner of my eye I see another sheep stand up. It heads next to the first one. Now I have two to deal with.

Avi stands up and heads over to get another fuzzy, fur-filled sheep to shear. As he does, our eyes meet. I still haven't forgiven him for the snake-guts incident.

It's unbelievable he won't apologize for watching me while I was as naked as the sheep he's shearing. Kind of ironic, isn't it? I plead to him with my eyes, Help me.

He looks back at me with contempt. Not on your life, Amy. You're on your own .

Jerk. Not that he actually voiced those words, but I know he was thinking it.

Screw him. I take another step toward the two sheep. Maybe if I channel their psyche they'll do what I want. I open my eyes wide and look at the bigger one intently. Go inside the pen, I urge with my mind. Focus, Amy, I tell myself. I put my fingertips on my temples in order to channel my thoughts to the d.a.m.n four- legged creature who's looking at me like I'm a nutcase.

I feel a presence standing beside me.

Turning abruptly, I almost knock into Avi.

The confused expression on his face, with furrowed eyebrows and chocolate irises, tells me he thinks I'm a mashed potato (which, just in case you aren't familiar with the slang term, means a brainless human being).

"Yah!" he yells while stomping his foot on the ground. This coming from a guy who thinks I'm a mashed potato.

I turn back to the sheep, who have now just run into the adjacent pen at his command/stomp routine.

Avi's got this arrogant smirk on his face like he's done some ma.s.sive accomplishment.

"I bet your boyfriend can't do that," he says.

How dare he bring Mitch into this . . .

this . . . this . . . "I bet he wouldn't even want to," I say back.

For the rest of the afternoon, I copy the yell-stomp technique Avi showed me and I've become quite the herder.

At one point Ron even said, "Good job, honey." He'll never know how much those words meant to me.

Right after the adults leave the pens for the day, I watch as the teens gather together on bales of hay over ten feet tall.

I walk past them until Ofra yells down at me. "Amy, come up here."

Snotty glares at her, but Ofra ignores her.

"No, thanks," I say.

Avi is up there, sitting like he was born ten feet off the ground.

"She's scared to climb up here," he says. "She's got big words, but little courage."

Unbelievable. One minute he's trying to help me and the next he's being the biggest showoff and insulting me. It doesn't take more to get me climbing up the yellow, wiry straw.

When I get to the top, I don't know where to sit. I hang my feet over the edge of the hay and lean back. All eyes are on me. I turn to Avi and give him a little to stew about.

"Why do you hate me?" I ask.

I know this shouldn't be laundered in public like this, but I can't help it. I need to know, and I need to know now.

Avi doesn't answer and everyone else is looking away from him.

"Don't take it personally," Doo-Doo says. "He's been like this for a while."

"Why?" I direct my question to Doo- Doo, but I'm still looking at Avi.

n.o.body says anything. The tension is as hot as the sun beating down on my back.

Avi barks out words in Hebrew I obviously can't possibly understand. My Hebrew vocabulary is limited to about five words. He knows this. Snotty knows this.

h.e.l.l, they all know it.

Which makes me feel like one of those flying spider-looking things back at the house. Not a spider, not a fly. Just somewhere in-between.

They all start arguing. At once. Very loudly. It sounds like one big phlegm-fest because it seems as if every word in Hebrew has the 'ch' sound coming out of the middle of their throats.

It'd be nice to know what they're all talking about. Are they discussing why Avi hates me? It sure feels that way. But they're arguing.

It's obvious Avi and Snotty hate me, I'm so glad the other kids have been nice.

O'dead leans his body closer to Snotty's each time he talks. Interesting observation I'll reserve for later. I wonder what it is about her that attracts all the guys? Anyone can have black makeup running down their face.

I stand, ready to climb down from this haystack. I feel so uncomfortable around Avi and Snotty.

"You want to come on a camping trip with us?" Doo-Doo asks.

My eyebrows furrow. Before I can answer, Avi interrupts me.

"Mah-pee-tome!" Avi says to Doo-Doo.

"Llama-low?" Doo-Doo says back to his friend.

"h.e.l.lo? Why don't you speak English?"

I finally say. "Don't you realize it's rude to talk privately while I'm right in front of you?"

Ofra leans back on her elbows and nods her head. "She has a point."

My eyes blink. I could almost kiss the girl on the lips for supporting me so much.

Although I don't go that way. But if I did, I would.

Avi groans.

"I don't go camping," I say.

"You said you were going with your boyfriend. I heard you on the phone," Avi challenges.

Think quick, Amy. He's got your number.

"Yeah, well, I only go with him. Mitch has been a Boy Scout since he was, like, five years old or something."

Snotty hisses. "Amy, you make up stuff to try and look good. What's real with you and what's not? Avi's right about you."

Silence. Until I feel my patience snap inside my body.

I know I shouldn't start up with someone I have to share a room with. And I know it probably isn't the smartest thing to go off on my cousin in front of an audience. She probably won't understand what I'm going to say anyway because of the language barrier. But I can't help it, there's like an overload of adrenaline running through my brain.

Even as I tell myself to keep my mouth closed, I hear myself say, "Do you get off on being a royal b.i.t.c.h? 'Cause ever since I met you, you've treated me like a piece of s.h.i.+t." I'm on a roll and my mouth is working overtime. "I can't stand you, your short s.h.i.+rts, tight pants . . . or your sorry excuse for b.r.e.a.s.t.s! How's that for being real?"

I wave my finger at Avi. "And you, all you've got to offer is a bad att.i.tude and a chip on your shoulder. I will go camping, just to p.i.s.s . . . you . . . off! You don't like it, don't go. Then you can be an Israeli with a big mouth and little courage."

"You think you got courage?" Avi challenges me.

"d.a.m.n straight. I could push you off this thing without thinking twice."

He stands up, his mouth upturned in a smirk. "I dare you."

Okay, I think about it. But only once.

Then I push his chest with all the strength I have.

He doesn't budge, the guy is like a rock.

When I hear his laugh, I turn around and jump down the piles of hay until I reach the ground. Wouldn't you know it a feeling of rationality comes over me right now. And I think: I don't know why tears are rolling down my face.

I don't know why I just blew up at two people I'm going to have to see for the next month.

And I sure as h.e.l.l don't know why I agreed to go on a camping trip in the middle of a war zone with people who hate me.

G.o.d, I'm in Israel, the Holy Land.

Where are you?

15.

When the pickins are slim, you take what you can get.

That night after dinner, I'm watching television with Doda Yucky when Snotty's friends come barging in the door. Why don't people lock their doors around here?

Snotty and Ofra come out of the bedroom dressed in slinky, short, tight- fitting dresses. Avi, Doo-Doo, and O'dead are wearing jeans with long-sleeve T- s.h.i.+rts.

I don't ask where they're going tonight, because I don't care. I'm perfectly happy to sit in front of the television all day. I've been pleasantly surprised that there's a lot of American shows on TV in Israel. That's probably why Israelis know so much English.

Ron, who has been talking on the phone most of the evening, comes over to me.

"The kids are going to a disco."

A disco? Discos went out in, like, the seventies. "Good for them," I say.

"Don't you want to go?"

"No."

"It might be fun to get off the moshav."

If he only knew what I said to O'snot earlier. I insulted her clothes and her b.o.o.bs. I'm not about to admit those little facts to Ron.

"I'm going to ask them to take you," he says, and before I can stop him he stands up and walks over to Snotty. He says something in Hebrew to her.

She says something back.

At this point Doda Yucky interrupts her, her voice in a scolding tone. Then my aunt walks over to me and takes my hand.

"O'snot wants to take you out with her friends."

Yeah, right . But the lady just fought on my behalf, and I don't have the heart to argue with her. Instead, I shoot a scalding look at Ron, the person who got me into this mess in the first place.

Ten minutes later I find myself in Avi's car, being driven down the mountain. Avi and Snotty ignore me, but I don't blame them. I hate them, they hate me. It's a mutual hate-hate relations.h.i.+p.

When we pull up to the "disco," I get out of the car and follow Snotty, Ofra, Doo- Doo, O'dead, and Avi to the entrance. It looks like a large warehouse. Loud music is blaring from the place and colorful, blinking lights are s.h.i.+ning through large windows.

I halt as soon as I scan the long line of people waiting to get in. "Is it safe?" I ask.

"I promise there aren't any snakes inside for you to accidentally step on," Snotty says, then laughs at me.