How to Ruin Series Part 100

She looks down at my little cousin. "It means 'gift,'" she explains before leading him away.

He turns back, runs to me, and gives me a big hug. "Shalom, I-me," he says, then bounds off.

I give a little wave. "Shalom, Matan."

When he looks back with his hair full of flowers and furiously waves back at me, I realize I've just made my second friend in Israel (Mutt being the first).

11.

Don't trust males.

Human or otherwise.

Going into the house, I take out my nail polish and hold it up. Cotton Candy is the name of the color. It's a bright, shiny pink that sparkles in the sunlight. I think it'll look great when the h.e.l.lish sun reflects off of it.

I decide to paint my nails outside in the sun after I take the old polish off. Sitting down on the concrete in front of the house, I open the bottle. I feel better. I guess doing something I'm used to doing back home helps.

The mutt lies down next to me, using me as his shady tree. I let him, just because he'll keep bugging me anyway. I paint my toenails until I hear a sound coming out of the mutt's b.u.t.t that sounds surprisingly like a fart.

"Eww," I say.

The dog doesn't get up, he just looks at me like I'm bothering him.

"Listen, if you're going to hang around me there's a couple of rules. Rule number one: bark like a dog. Rule number two: take a bath before you rub up against me.

Rule number three: I don't want a dog, so go find someone else to bug. Rule number four, five, and six: no dog farts. Got it?"

Wouldn't you know it the mutt gets his lazy a.s.s up and walks away. Did I say something wrong? Maybe I should go play with him later. Just so there's no hard feelings.

I go back to painting my nails when I hear someone walk up to the house. I look over and it's Avi, the last guy in the universe I want to see. And he's staring at me.

I dip the brush in the nail polish.

"Why stare? You've already seen me without my clothes on," I say, trying not to look in his direction. It's pretty hard, because he looks like an Abercrombie model.

But then I remember he saw me naked and I want him to be anywhere but in my line of vision. I can't walk because my toenails are wet and I don't want to smudge them. Anyway, why should I be the one to move?

Mutt decides at that moment to come back. I expect him to come directly to me, but instead he hobbles over to Avi.

Traitor.

"I wouldn't touch that thing," I say.

"He's dirtier than my Uncle Bob."

Uncle Bob works in a factory. He cleans up okay, but no matter how many times he washes his hands, there's always this black, gooey gunk stuck under his nails.

Avi bends down and pets the traitor, who wags his tail so vigorously you'd think it was a flag in some parade. Then he looks at me. Not the traitor, Avi.

"You're not much for helping, are you?"

he says.

I don't even have to try and sneer, his comment makes my lip curl on its own.

"What ever," I say.

Then I go back to painting my toenails a second coat. But now I'm so p.i.s.sed at what Avi said my hand starts shaking and I'm getting nail polish on my toe-skin.

Each stroke now looks like a two-year-old kid had a field day with the brush on my toes.

The dog trots over to me and buries his wet nose under my arm.

"Go away," I say.

He won't leave, he just sits down in front of me. I look over at Avi again, who's still eyeing me. Why does he do that?

"Arg!"

"Traitor," I grumble through gritted teeth to the mutt.

"Arg!"

If I tell you what the mutt does next you're not going to believe me. He sticks that b.u.t.t of his in the air, like he's trying to play with me or something. When I don't take the bait, he grabs my shoe with his teeth and runs away. Now this isn't just any shoe, it's my one and only pair of Ferragamo jelly sandals.

"Give that back!" I yell. "Do you have any idea how much that cost?"

I try to grab for it, but the white devil- pup starts shaking it back and forth in its mouth like a chew toy.

"Stop it," I say in a loud, warning tone.

But he doesn't. He starts running away with it. I get up, trying not to ruin my still- wet toenails in the process. But it's no use.

As I head toward the dog, it trots away in the opposite direction.

Now it's war.

Most of the time I go through life at a relatively slow pace, but that doesn't mean I can't haul a.s.s every once in a while. The only problem is my b.o.o.bs bob up and down when I run fast. But I try not to think of that. I'm concentrating on saving my Ferragamo sandal.

The mutt stops beside one of the houses and I pretend I'm not going to get it. I sneak behind a lemon tree with the hugest lemons I've ever seen. They're as big as a baby's head.

When I think he might forget I'm behind the tree, I sneak a look at him. His b.u.t.t is in the air again and his tail is wagging a mile a minute. He's looking straight at me.

And my sandal is still in his mangy, s...o...b..ry mouth.

"You should get neutered," I say as I step from behind the tree. Maybe then he'd have some respect for Ferragamo.

"Grrrr."

"What, no 'arg'?" While I'm talking to him, I'm sneaking up to him. "Keep that tail wagging so I can have something to grab at when I catch you, you slimy mutt."

"Grrrr."

"You don't scare me," I continue, inching closer. I'm almost within reach.

"Grrrr."

My concentration is solely on the sandal until I step and feel something squishy squeeze in between my toes. I look down and realize I've just stepped on an old, rotten cuc.u.mber. But at second glance, I realize it's not a cuc.u.mber, it's a DEAD SNAKE. It's black, but shimmers a bright fluorescent green in the sunlight.

I've never been more grossed out as I am now, running toward my uncle and aunt's house. Obscenities, some I even make up, are streaming out of my mouth.

I'm trying hard not to think about the snake- guts that must be in the crevices of my toes as I run as fast as my legs can carry me.

"Ho . . ." I say to Avi in-between gagging. Please dear G.o.d let me get the word out before gagging again. "Ho . . ."

Gag. "Hose!" I point to my foot just in case he doesn't get it.

The jerk gives a short laugh (at my expense) and I follow him to the back of the house. When I see the hose, I run toward it as fast as my snake-encrusted feet can carry me.

Avi turns the handle and I quickly chance a glance at my gross foot. Little pieces of black, stringy guts are peeking out from in between my toes. My toenails are dry now, with pieces of gra.s.s or hay stuck to them permanently.

I'm still gagging, I can't help it. I think if I stop looking at my toes I can get through this. When the water starts spurting out of the hose, I take it from him and aim the water toward my foot. My gaze lands on Avi. "Thanks a lot for helping me get my sandal," I say sarcastically.

"Thanks a lot for helping with the sheeps," he counters.

"It's sheep, not sheeps. Whether you have one sheep or a million of 'em, it's still sheep."

He walks forward and pulls the hose out of my hand. I watch wide-eyed as he bends on one knee and lifts my gross foot and places it in his hand. Then, if you can believe it, he washes my foot thoroughly.

I'm about to lose my balance, I really am. And it's not because I want Avi to catch me or anything. I hate playing the damsel in distress every time he's around.

I'm lightheaded because it's unG.o.dly hot outside and I just busted my a.s.s to run after a Ferragamo-stealing mutt. To top it off, this boy who I'm determined to hate has one of my feet in his hands.

"You can stop gagging. Whatever you stepped in is gone."

"It was a snake!"

He shrugs. Like it's no biggie.

"You ever stepped on a snake?" I ask.

"I usually watch where I step."

I yank my foot out of his grasp. "Well, where I live there are no snakes. Dead or otherwise."

He stands, which is not so great because I was feeling superior when he was on his knee. But he's probably six feet tall and when he looks down at me I feel small.

Instead of responding, he gently pulls a flower out of my hair. "Cute," he says, twirling the stem between his fingers.

Oy, I forgot Matan filled my hair with white, purple, and yellow wildflowers. I must look like a clown.

"Your father wanted me to tell you everyone's at my house eating what you call lunch. If you want to join them, follow me."

I step beside him as he's walking, but then I stop. "Why didn't he tell me himself?"

Avi shoots me a withering glance. "He also wanted me to apologize for watching you undress the first night you were here."

"Well?"

"Israelis don't apologize for what they're not sorry for."

Now I'm really getting riled up. "You're not going to apologize?"

He looks at me straight in the eye. "What I saw was beautiful and natural, so why should I say sorry?"

12.

Boys are either jerks or clueless.

Take your pick.

"Ron, I need to call home and my cell phone won't work."

I've been in Israel almost six weeks and need to call home once again. First of all, Mitch is back from his camping trip and I need to talk to him. Second of all, I need to call Mom and Jessica.

Ron is sitting on the couch watching some news channel in Hebrew. Uncle Chime is with him, along with the corkscrew-haired Matan.

Matan is naked and he's been like that for the better part of my trip so far. Who am I to bring it up to them that their son isn't dressed and his pee-wee is dangling out for all the moshav to see. You'd think they would have noticed they're not living in a nudist colony.

"I think your mom was going out of town," Ron says, his face still turned toward the television.

"So I'll call a friend."

"What's the number," he says as he heads toward the phone in the kitchen.

Obviously, like everywhere else around here, there's no privacy.