The Day of the Iguana (7 page)

But how?

I didn't need magic elves. I needed Frankie Townsend. If anyone could put that box back together, it was Frankie. He is a boy genius with electronic stuff. I happen to know firsthand that he's had a subscription to
Popular Electronics
since he was eight years old. And he reads it, too. Cover to cover.

I thought about my situation at breakfast. I had to find a way to apologize to Frankie that he'd accept. I needed him to help me fix the cable box by the time my father plopped in his chair and flicked on the nightly news.

After breakfast, I raced into my room to get my backpack, but before I left, I took out a piece of paper.

“KEEP OUT!” I wrote. “SIENSE PROJECT IN PROGES.”

I don't think I spelled too many of the words right, but it got the message across, just in case my dad or anyone else felt like snooping.

I taped the sign on my door, and closed it tight. I considered pointing out the sign to my dad, but I really didn't need to. My dad is a major-league sign reader. All you have to do is walk down Amsterdam Avenue with him and he will read every sign he sees—
out
loud.

“Harvey's Pizza—a dollar a slice. Kim's Korean Market, fresh roses today. Big Apple Laundromat, Free Dry with Wash. Manhattan Bagels, two free when you buy a dozen.” His sign reading habit was great when I was a little guy and couldn't read. But now that I'm older, it's pretty annoying. And now Emily's starting to do it, too. Maybe there's a gene for annoying oral sign reading. I hope I don't pass it on to my kids.

“I'll meet you downstairs, Dad,” I called. He was walking us to school, but I wanted to get down there early and see if I could talk to Frankie before we set out.

When I got to the lobby, only Ashley and Robert were there.

“Where's Frankie?” I asked. “We've got to talk. I'm going to buzz his apartment.”

“Hank,” Ashley said, stopping me from going back inside. “Frankie already left. He didn't want to walk with us.”

“He's still that mad?” I gulped.

“I don't know,” Ashley answered. “He just took off with his dad.”

“Listen, Ashley, we've got to figure out how to get Frankie to talk to me again.”

“Give him a day or two, he'll get over it,” she said.

“I don't have that much time,” I said. “I need him now. He's got to help me fix my cable box-by tonight.”

“I can fix a cable box,” said Robert.

“Can you really?” I asked him.

“Sure,” he said. “Call the cable company and ask for a new one.” Then he laughed.

Great,
now
Robert was developing a sense of humor. Just when I needed him to be the nerd he's always been, he's turned into Captain Wisecrack.

“Actually,” he said, “anyone can get a new box. My mom just got one for the TV in her room.”

It was the perfect solution. I'd call the cable company right after school and ask them to bring over a new box.

My dad and Emily arrived downstairs with Cheerio on a leash. When it's my dad's day to walk us to school, he always brings Cheerio along for the exercise. He likes to sniff the sidewalk and curbs—Cheerio, that is, not my dad. We headed down Amsterdam Avenue, and I was already feeling much better. It's great when you find a solution to a problem. It's like someone has lifted a huge sack of potatoes off your back.

“Robert,” I whispered. “You're an all right guy, even if you do wear a white shirt and tie to school every day.”

He reached out with his scrawny little arm and threw me a fake punch in the arm. Boy, is that kid weak.

“By the way, buddy,” he said, “It costs fifty-eight dollars.”

“What does?”

“The cable box. Actually, fifty-eight dollars and forty cents.”

“Robert, why didn't you tell me this before?”

“You didn't ask.”

“But I only have ten dollars,” I said. “That means I'm thirty-eight dollars and forty cents short.”

“Make that
forty
eight dollars and forty cents,” Robert said.

In case you haven't noticed, my math isn't any better than my spelling.

This was not looking good for the future of my television privileges.

WHEN WE REACHED SCHOOL, I saw Frankie standing outside on the steps. I went charging up to him and launched into my apology.

“Frankie! Listen, I've been thinking about what happened and I've got to tell you that—”

Before I could even finish my sentence, Nick McKelty appeared on the steps next to us. Nick McKelty doesn't care if you're in the middle of an apology. He just blurts out whatever he has to say, which is usually something loud and obnoxious. Correction. It is
always
something loud and obnoxious.

“Hey, Townsend,” he hollered at Frankie, not even paying the slightest attention to me. “What did you think of
The Mutant Moth That Ate Toledo.
Was I right or was I right?”

“I wouldn't know,” Frankie answered, giving me a dark stare. “I missed it.”

“Don't tell me you didn't see it?” McKelty said, his big mouth hanging open in surprise. “The part where the moth ate the policeman's guts and grew to the size of an apartment building was awesome. A total gross-out.”

“I wish I had seen it,” Frankie said quietly, staring at me until I thought his brown eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. “Someone I know was supposed to tape it for me.”

McKelty, who is generally not the brightest bulb in the lamp, put two and two together for the first time in his life.

“Hey, sounds like Zipzer screwed up again.” He smirked. “What did you do, Zipper Face? Forget what the ON button looks like?”

I must have looked like someone punched me in the stomach. McKelty saw me flinch. He could tell he had found a sore spot, and now he was going to go for the knockout.

“Yeah, those ON and OFF buttons are really hard to push,” he said, putting his huge face right up to mine. His breath was like a dragon who had eaten six onions for breakfast.

“Back off, McKelty.” I could only take so much. “This is none of your business.”

McKelty grinned, and I noticed he still had some of his breakfast lodged in that big space between his two front teeth. I'm guessing it was waffles, but I couldn't entirely rule out cinnamon toast.

“Did I tell you girls that my dad is getting the original poster of
The Mutant Moth
movie for me,” he bragged. “Not a copy, either, but the only one they ever made.”

There it was. The McKelty factor at work. That guy exaggerates everything. We call it truth times one hundred.

“And did I mention that it's signed by the moth himself?” he said, blasting me with another giant dose of his dragon breath.

“What'd he do, sign it in wing dust?” I shot back.

Frankie laughed. That was a good sign.

“You're funny, Zipzer,” said Nick. “Retarded, but funny.”

Ordinarily, if he hadn't been so mad at me, Frankie would have jumped to my defense. But he didn't say a word. He just pulled his Yankees hat down over his eyes, so he wouldn't have to look at me. McKelty sensed that Frankie wasn't talking, so he fired off another insult.

“Listen, zippety zipper man. Maybe you can come over sometime and I'll teach you how to work a VCR. Oh, and when we're done with that, I'll teach you how to tie your shoelaces. I remember you had trouble with that in kindergarten. You were never too swift, were you, pal?”

“That's enough, McKelty,” Frankie said.

Yes! Frankie had spoken! I hoped that meant that he wasn't mad anymore.

Before I could find out, Principal Love came out onto the steps. Actually, I heard him before I saw him appear. You can't mistake the squeak, squeak, squeak of his Velcro sneakers. He's the only grown man I know who wears white Velcro sneakers with a navy blue suit and tie. Maybe he had trouble learning to tie his shoes in kindergarten like I did.

Principal Love started to gather up the kids who were still standing around.

“Everybody inside,” he said in his voice that sounds like he's on the public address system, even without a microphone. “You know what I always say—a classroom without students is like a bird without a song.”

Principal Love says things that almost make sense, but then when you think about them, don't make any sense at all. What's even worse is that he likes to say these things twice.

“Mr. Zipzer,” he said, pointing at me. “Are you on your way to class?”

Before I could answer, Nick butted right in. “
I
am, sir, and I'm looking forward to school today.”

The one true thing you can say about Nick McKelty is that he never, ever misses an opportunity to suck up.

Principal Love gave Nick a friendly slap on the back. “Yes, sirree, a classroom without students is like a bird without a song.”

Frankie and I bolted for the door and headed upstairs, trying like crazy not to have to walk with Nick McKelty. It wasn't a problem, though. He was hanging back with Principal Love, trying to score a few extra points.

“Nick's probably telling him how much he enjoys his announcements on the loudspeaker,” I said.

Frankie almost laughed as we took off up the stairs.

“Does this mean we're okay again?” I asked.

“I'm thinking about it,” Frankie said.

“Well, can you think about it fast, because I'm calling an emergency meeting after school. Four o'clock, in the club house. I really need you there.”

“What's u
^p
?” Frankie asked.

“I can't even begin to explain to you what a pickle I've gotten myself into.”

“Give me a hint.” I had gotten him curious at least.

“Imagine your cable box.”

“Got it.”

“Now imagine it in, let's say, fifty pieces.”

“Got it.”

“I got it, too. And it's under my bed.”

“You didn't.”

“Oh, yes I did.”

“Zip, is there anything you don't screw up?” Frankie said as he reached the top of the stairs.

Ouch.

BEFORE I COULD SAY ANYTHING MORE, we were outside our classroom. Ms. Adolf was waiting by the door.

Some teachers say good morning when you come in. Some even read you a chapter of a story before you get to work. But not Ms. Adolf. No, she believes in getting right down to business.

As soon as the bell rang, she took off the silver key she wears on a lanyard around her neck and unlocked her desk drawer. Inside that drawer is where she keeps her roll book, which is her favorite thing in the world. Ms. Adolf took out her roll book, a red pencil, and—you guessed it-got right down to business.

“Pupils,” she said. “Today your science project topics are due. Who would like to go first?”

Heather Payne's hand shot up in the air.

“Me! Me!” She begged. She waved her hand right under Ms. Adolf's nose and grunted “Me! Me!” another seven or eight times. Heather can't stand it if she doesn't go first. I bet there's someone like that in your class, too.

Heather said for her project she would be taking photographs to show the effects of regular flossing on gum disease. Personally, I'd rather repeat fourth grade twenty times than take pictures of gum disease. But I guess that's why Heather Payne got straight As on her last report card and I got four Ds.

Hector Ruiz said he was going to build a rain forest out of toothpicks, plastic flowers, and real leaves. Kim Paulson was studying fingernail polish and its drying time in various climates. Ms. Adolf raised an eyebrow, but agreed to it when Kim explained how she planned to relate nail polish drying to the evaporation cycle. Frankie was going to build a radio from a kit he sent away for from an ad in
Popular Electronics.
Ashley was planning to make a model of the human kidney from kitchen sponges. Luke Whitman was going to do his project on tarantulas. He owns one named Mel. Mel has very hairy legs.

Then came my turn.

“Originally, I was going to study the tummy sliding habits of penguins,” I began, “because penguins look so extremely cute when they slide on their stomachs.”

Everyone in the class laughed, even though I was totally serious.

“However, I've changed my mind,” I went on.

“That was a wise decision, Henry,” said Ms. Adolf. She always calls me Henry, even though I've begged her to call me Hank. Ms. Adolf doesn' t approve of nicknames.

“I plan to invent a device that will help slow readers follow the written words on the television screen as they speed along their merry way.”

I paused to let the full, wonderful effect of my idea seep into Ms. Adolf's brain.

“What are you talking about, Henry?” she sighed.

“I'm getting to that,” I said, trying not to panic.

“Please hurry.”

“Remember Thomas Edison?” I said, talking fast now. “He invented the lightbulb. Why? Because he probably couldn't see well enough to read in the dark and if he had moved closer to the candle, he might have set his hair on fire.”

Ms. Adolf tapped her foot impatiently. She was wearing gray shoes to match the gray clothes she always wears, which match her gray face. “Henry, what is your point?”

“My point is that the best inventions happen out of need. And I really, really, really need to be able to read what's on the program guide on television.”

“What you need is a brain that works!” hollered Nick the Tick from the back of the room.