How to Ruin Series Part 14

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.

His tongue is hanging out of his mouth like a beggar.

"Don't grovel," I say. "It's not attractive."

I pick the mutt up and carry him with me.

He might prove useful when I'm trying to corner the sheep. "Okay," I say. "Let's get a game plan. You make me look good, and I'll forget the sandal incident. Okay?"

Mutt's answer is a big fart.

This is not going to be my day.

When I reach the sheep pens, Ofra is the first person I see.

"You don't have to do this," she says.

Oh, yes I do. For me. For Mutt. For Americans all over the globe. Ofra's lack of confidence in me just furthers my resolve.

"That's okay. I want to do it," I a.s.sure her.

Doo-Doo comes over to me and gives me pointers. "Hold him down. Keep your eye on him. Don't drop the razor on your toe."

He's like a boxing coach, and in the ring is my opponent.

They've placed one sheep in the pen, along with a large razor hanging from the ceiling. Doo-Doo helps me strap the razor to my hand.

I survey my surroundings. Snotty is sitting on top of a railing with O'dead at her side. Ofra and Doo-Doo, my supporters, are beside me.

Avi is nowhere in sight. I'm surprised he didn't come to watch me get eaten alive by a sheep.

In the opposite pen is another sheep.

Snotty's. I swear, it looks a lot smaller than mine.

Taking a deep breath, I enter the pen with the unsuspecting animal. He's even bigger than I thought. You'd think Snotty would have enough compa.s.sion to give me a lamb like the one in the nursery rhyme, but no.

This is definitely not Mary's little lamb.

And its fleece is as dirty as Mutt's, not white as snow.

Snotty enters the other pen. She jumps right in, like she does this every day. Then she turns to me. "You're really going to go through with it?"

"h.e.l.l, yeah." I once saw a b.u.mper sticker that showed a picture of an American flag and the caption below These Colors Don't Run . I'm not about to chicken out. Even though I really, really want to.

"Okay," she says, pure disbelief on her face. "On the count of three we'll start.

Whoever finishes first, wins."

"Fair enough."

"One. Two. Three."

I put Mutt down and whisper, "Go do your thing."

Immediately, Mutt starts barking and the sheep scurries into the corner. I turn on the razor and head toward the menacing animal.

Until it looks at me with those big, gray eyes. I keep thinking that Ron told me it's too hot for them with their hair all bushy. I understand and sympathize. Okay, I'm trying to convince myself that I understand and sympathize.

It's not working.

I look down at Mutt, who's staring at me as if saying, Do it! He's right. There's no chickening out now. I have to face my fears and just do it. I hold up the razor like a sword and head into battle.

Except the stupid sheep runs away in fear. When it pa.s.ses me, I hold out the razor like an idiot. Now the thing has a bald stripe down its back.

I try not to listen to or look at the progress in the other pen. I'm trying to concentrate solely on my mission. Mutt is barking up a storm, making the sheep nervous.

"Wrestle him to the ground and hold him there," I hear from my cheering section.

Should I break the news that I never had a brother to teach me to wrestle? Or a sister, for that matter.

"Mutt, you got to help me here."

Mutt is a great sheep herder. I realize this when the animal tries to move. Mutt expertly heads him off and gets him in the corner again.

With a swift move, I hold my weight against the wooly creature and start shearing. There's no rhyme or reason to it, I'm just so happy when the dirty, wooly fur starts flying off.

I hear lots of laughing, some cheering and various directions from Doo-Doo. I don't stop, I'm like a sheep shearing nut gone wild.

I step back and look at the poor animal.

Okay, so I haven't done such a hot job. He has a Mohawk hairdo and his body looks like it's a road map. But I did it and I feel victorious.

Until I hear Ron's voice yell, "What the h.e.l.l is going on here?"

17.

This roller coaster called life is making me dizzy.

"Amy, we need to talk."

I hate when parents think they can sit down and tell you what you've been doing wrong while they expect you to sit quiet and nod like a bobblehead figurine.

"What do you want?"

Right now I'm sitting outside the house petting Mutt. I'm proud of him, he's a great sheep herder. I can hear Uncle Chime yelling at Snotty inside the house. He didn't look too happy when Ron explained our little compet.i.tion.

"I want to know what's going on with you," Ron says, sitting next to me.

"Nothing," I say.

He places one of his hands on my forearm. "Believe it or not, I want you to be happy. You don't have to shear sheep to prove anything to me."

I shrug his hand off me.

"If you want me to be happy, give me a ticket home right now. I don't belong here," I say. Then I add, "and I don't belong with you."

I don't know why I said it. I knew as the words left my lips it would hurt him.

Maybe deep down I want to hurt him for not being there for me the past sixteen years of my life. I keep looking at Mutt and rubbing his tummy so I don't have to look at the disappointment of my life.

"Fine."

Wait. Did he just say "fine"? I think he did, but the word still doesn't register.

When I look up, Ron's back is to me.

He's walking inside the house. My legs are a little numb from having the mutt on my lap for so long, but I scurry to get up and follow him.

When I enter the house, I walk up to him.

He's rummaging through his suitcase.

"What did you say?" I ask.

He glances sideways at me before rummaging through his bag again. "I said 'fine,' Amy."

"Fine as in . . ."

"As in if you want me out of your life, if that will make you happy, then that's what I want for you." He takes papers out of his suitcase and holds them out to me. "Here's your ticket back to the States."

I hesitate for a moment. Then my hand reaches out and slips the paper out of his extended hand.

A wave of sorrow and confusion makes me freeze. Then I run out of the house and head to the place where Safta and I talked about her love for this place.

Sitting on the edge of the mountain, I think about everything here that I'll leave behind if I go home. Like Matan. Like my aunt and uncle, who I've just met. And Mutt.

But most of all, I want to be here for Safta. I love her, and can't just leave while I know she's going through chemo treatments.

I hug my knees to myself, thinking about this life here in Israel. It's a part of me, but not.

Walking back to the house, I look for Ron. I have to tell him I want to stay here for another reason, too: to find out where I fit into his life. When I see him talking on the phone, I sit on the kitchen chair, waiting.

Ron hands me the phone. "It's your mom. I called her."

"We need to talk, okay," I say to Ron before taking the phone out of his hand.

I watch as he nods, puts his hands in his pockets, and walks outside.

I put the receiver to my ear. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Amy, are you okay? Ron just told me you want to come home."

"I did, but not anymore."

"You've changed your mind?"

"I guess," I say.

I hear her getting out of bed and closing a door. I bet she's locked herself in the bathroom because Marc with a "c" is in her bed and she doesn't want to wake the dork up.

After a minute she says to me in a very bubbly voice, "I have some great news."