How to Ruin Series Part 104

My eyes flash in outrage as I focus on Avi. How could he have told Snotty about the snake-guts mishap? What a betrayal.

Now I feel humiliated because of him.

"Come on," Ofra says, locking my arm with hers as she leads me to the line.

I toss my hair back and stand in line.

When I reach the front, an army guard makes me open my purse and he checks the contents. I expect him to ask me for an ID, but he doesn't. I guess in Israel there are no age restrictions for dance clubs. When the army guy waves me on, I have to go through a metal detector in order to enter the 'disco.'

Boy, they're not taking any chances. If we had a soldier at the entrance to every town, shopping mall, and bar in the United States, we'd be out of soldiers. There wouldn't be anyone left to protect our country.

I walk in, and the floor is vibrating to the beat of the music because it's so loud.

Snotty, Ofra, O'dead, and Doo-Doo go directly to the dance floor and start dancing. Avi is leaning against a railing, brooding as usual. But he's surrounded by girls while he's standing there so he doesn't look like a loner.

Me? Well, I'm standing here alone because I don't feel like dancing right now.

It's wall-to-wall people, but I manage to squeeze through the crowd, heading for the bar. I need a c.o.ke, or at least something in my hand so I'm not just standing around staring at people.

Luckily, I snag the only open barstool before anyone else can get their b.u.t.t on it.

I take a moment to take it all in. The people at the disco are wearing very trendy outfits. They're also dancing, laughing, and drinking. The air smells like cigarette smoke; obviously there aren't smoking laws here.

I don't go to clubs back home because I'm only sixteen and they won't let me in until I'm twenty-one. But when I do, I'm going to have as much fun as these Israelis.

The bartender says something to me in Hebrew and places a beer mug in front of me with yellow liquid inside.

"I speak English," I say at the top of my lungs so he can hear me above the music.

He leans forward and says in my ear, "The guy over there bought you the drink."

He points to the other end of the bar, where a guy wearing a white b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt with most of the b.u.t.tons undone is sitting. Is he kidding? The guy looks as if he's about Avi's age, and has long hair.

And it's not cool long hair, it looks like it's been greased back with too much hair gel. He's probably the one uncool guy in the whole place.

Great. I'm an uncool guy magnet.

To my horror, the guy is walking over to me as if he's some macho dude. He's wearing a huge grin on his face, which looks like it hasn't been shaved in a week.

I need help here.

Snotty and the gang are on the dance floor so they won't be much help. I search the room for Avi, who's obviously moved away from the railing. If I find him, I could pretend he's my date so this guy will leave me alone.

When my eyes finally settle on Avi, I realize he's not brooding anymore. He's dancing with some Hilary Duff look-alike.

To make matters worse, he's a good dancer. Not one of those guys who only moves from side to side. No, Avi moves like he's been born to dance with a girl in his arms.

I watch in disgust as he leans forward and says something into her ear, then they both laugh. For some reason I wish it wasn't so loud that he would have to be so close to her to talk. I don't care about him, I'm just p.i.s.sed that he's having a good time and I'm not.

"Allo, ay zeh cusit," Uncool Guy says once he's weaved his way through the crowd and is now standing in front of me.

"I speak English," I say, shrugging apologetically.

"My English not so good," he says.

"You American?"

"Yes."

His eyes light up. "You want dance with me? My dancing better than my English."

I peer around him and take a peek at Avi, who is still dancing with his blond bimbo. Grabbing the guy's hand, I lead him to the middle of the dance floor.

I've taken cla.s.ses at Julie's Dance Studio since I was four years old, so I'm not afraid to let loose. Listen, I wouldn't choose this guy to dance with, but at this point I can't be picky.

As I listen to the music, I pretend I'm dancing with my boyfriend. When the guy puts his hands around my waist, I want to think it's Mitch's hands holding me against him.

I close my eyes. The only problem is that in my imagination they're not Mitch's hands. They're Avi's. The guy I hate is haunting pure thoughts of me and my boyfriend.

Wait a minute. I think the guy I'm dancing with is feeling my back as if he's trying to locate the clasp on my bra. I open my eyes and whip around to face the perv.

Lucky for me my bra fastens in the front.

I stop dancing. The perv leans forward to talk to me-it's too loud to hear unless the person is screaming in your ear. I think he's about to apologize, until I feel this slimy wet thing trying to climb into my ear ca.n.a.l.

What the h.e.l.l is that?

When I realize Uncool Guy is trying to turn me on by sliding his Gene Simmons tongue around my ear and trying to shove it down my ear ca.n.a.l, I shriek and push him back. Anything to get his tongue as far away from my ear as possible.

Unfortunately, I've pushed him into some other people who were dancing.

They're not too happy with me or the licker and push him back. This starts more pus.h.i.+ng, and soon the place is out of control.

Oh, c.r.a.p.

I'm lost in the crowd, unable to move because the crowd has turned into a mob.

When someone grabs my hand and leads me out, I'm grateful.

Until I recognize Avi's bracelet attached to that hand.

I stumble outside with Avi and the rest of the mob. They've cleared out the club.

When I see a police car with its lights flas.h.i.+ng, I panic. Because someone over by the police car is talking to the soldiers and policemen while pointing at me.

"s.h.i.+t. Amy, don't say anything," Avi says. "Let me talk."

When the soldiers and policeman come up to us, I zip my mouth shut.

"Mah aseet," the soldier says.

When Avi starts to talk, the guy puts up a hand and points to me.

I wanted to keep my mouth shut, I really did. My intentions were to stand here and stay silent. "I speak English," I blurt out.

"Did you start pus.h.i.+ng people on the dance floor?" the soldier guy asks gruffly.

"Only because of the ear licker. I mean, at first he tried to feel me up but then, well, I thought he was going to apologize.

Instead, my ear starts getting slimy and I realize he's not apologizing, he's giving my ear a tongue bath."

I know I'm rambling. I'm scared, and I know I deserve to be punished for causing a whole club to clear out because of me. A cold knot is forming in my stomach and I clutch Avi's hand.

Then, suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of the guy with the tongue. "There he is!" I yell.

The licker just backs up and disappears behind a car.

The soldier barks out orders at Avi and storms off.

"What did he say?"

"To take you home now or else he'll arrest you. Come on," he says.

"Do you have a Q-tip?" I ask him.

"Why?"

Duh! "So I can wipe that guy's germs out of my ear. I bet I already have an ear infection because of that dude."

He's walking so fast I can hardly keep up with him.

"You don't blame me for what happened back there, do you?"

When we reach Avi's car, he turns to me. "You were turning that guy on with your dancing. What did you expect?"

I meet his accusing eyes without flinching. "He knew I was American.

Maybe Israelis like wet tongues in their ear, but in America-"

"He knew you were American?"

"Yeah. I told him when he bought me the beer."

"Beer? You were drinking alcohol with that guy? No wonder he thought you were easy."

"For your information, I am not easy."

"American girls have a reputation around here."

"Stop using me as proof of your stereotypes, Avi. It's not fair. Besides, you were shakin' it plenty tonight. You're just jealous because your blond bimbo didn't want to suck your ear off."

Snotty and friends are walking toward us. I cross my arms in front of my chest, waiting for them so we can go home.

"Someone started a fight inside the disco," Ofra says to me, offering her explanation of the commotion.

I bite my tongue and keep silent, but Avi glances sideways at me.

"You," Snotty says. "You started it, didn't you? I should have guessed. You can't do anything right."

"Leave her alone," Doo-Doo says. I want to kiss him right now for sticking up for me.

Feeling like I have support, I say to Snotty defiantly, "I can do anything you can do." And then, because adrenaline is flowing through my body I add, "And I can do it better."

The look on her face is priceless. She's thinking. I can almost hear her rusty, unused brain creaking as it's working.

"Shear a sheep,"

she blurts out.

"Tomorrow morning."

"No problem," I say with confidence, even though on the inside I'm shuddering at the thought of holding down a poor, defenseless sheep while I cut his fur off until he's naked.

But I'll do it, just to prove to everyone I don't screw everything up.

I just hope I don't make a fool out of myself.

16.

I can do anything you can do, and I can do it better. I think.

Just call me Amy the Sheep Shearer.

That's what I've been trying to convince myself of all morning. After I found the note that Snotty wants to meet me after breakfast for our little challenge, that is.

Unfortunately, last night was not a nightmare. I really and truly challenged Snotty, and I hadn't even had any of that beer I was accused of consuming. Okay, I realize I'm the stupid one here, but I'm still determined to prove to her that I do not screw everything up.

I dress in jeans and a long-sleeve T- s.h.i.+rt for full protection. I don't have any protective goggles, so I put on my Coach sungla.s.ses. Walking outside, I see Mutt bouncing toward me.

"You find my sandal yet?"

To answer me, he rolls onto his back.