6

THE DAY BEFORE WE GO back to school, Kitty and I are lying in my bed watching pet videos on
my computer. Our puppy, Jamie Fox-Pickle, is curled up in a ball at the foot of the bed. Kitty
wrapped him up in her nubby old baby blanket so only his face is peeking out. He’s dreaming—I can
tell by the way he shudders and shakes every so often. I can’t tell if it’s a good dream or a bad dream.
“Do you think we should start doing videos of Jamie?” Kitty asks me. “He’s cute enough, right?”
“He’s definitely got the look, but he doesn’t have any discernible talent or quirky thing about him.”
As soon as I say the word “quirky,” I think of Peter and how he once said I was “cute in a quirky
way.” I wonder if that’s still how he sees me. I’ve heard people say that the more you like someone,
the more you think they are beautiful even if you didn’t think so in the beginning.
“Jamie does that thing where he prances around like a baby deer,” Kitty reminds me.
“Hm. I wouldn’t exactly call that a ‘thing.’ It’s not the same as leaping into cardboard boxes or
playing the piano or having a really grumpy face.”
“Ms. Rothschild will help me train him. She thinks he has the right personality for tricks.” Kitty
clicks on the next video, a dog that howls when you play Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” Kitty and I
crack up and we watch it again.
After a video of a woman whose cat wraps itself around her face like a scarf, I say, “Wait a
minute—did you do your homework?”
“All I had to do was read a book.”
“So did you read it?”
“Mostly,” Kitty hedges, snuggling in closer to me.
“You’ve had all of Christmas break to read it, Kitty!” I really wish Kitty were more of a reader
like Margot and me. She much prefers TV. I click stop on the video and snap my computer shut with a
flourish. “No more pet videos for you. You go finish your book.” I start to shove her out of the bed,
and Kitty grabs on to my leg.
“Sweet my sister, cast me not away!” Proudly she says, “That’s Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet,
in case you haven’t read it.”
“Don’t act high and mighty like you were reading Shakespeare. I saw you watching the movie on
TV the other day.”
“Who cares if I read it or I saw the movie? The message is still the same.” Kitty crawls back up by
me.
I pat her hair. “So what’s the message?”
“Don’t kill yourself over a boy.”
“Or a girl.”
“Or a girl,” she agrees. She opens up my computer. “One more cat video and then I’ll go read.”
My phone buzzes, a text from Chris.

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