The Day of the Iguana (9 page)

“Here, you guys look,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

“Let me do it,” said Robert, moving Ashley aside. “I'm the calmest.”

“You're also the shortest, Robert,” Frankie said. “Ashweena, you take that part of the wall and I'll look on this side.”

“Here it is! Here it is!” Ashley screamed.

My heart started to beat really fast. How can you be so happy just finding a phone number? When your life, social and otherwise, depends on it, that's how.

“No, no. This is a cable-knit sweater company,” she said. “Sorry, guys. Keep looking.”

As always, Frankie was the man. He took a bright green card down from the wall.

“Here it is,” he said. “Coxy Cable. Okay, Zip, start dialing.”

“Read it slowly, Frankie. I can't keep all the numbers in my head at once,” I said.

“362,” Frankie started.

“362,” I said, punching the numbers. “Go on.”

“5555,” Frankie continued. “Got that? Four fives.”

“5545,” I said.

“Go slow, Hank. Five, five, five, five,” he repeated.

“Oh, okay. I got that. It's ringing. Shhhh.”

“Thank you for calling Coxy Cable,” said a recorded voice on the other end. “Please listen carefully to the following menu.”

“Here,” I said, pushing the receiver into Ashley's hands. “You do it.”

Ash listened for a while and pushed the number 3. She listened for another while and said, “Here. Someone said hello.” She handed me back the phone.

“Hello. How are you today?” I didn't wait for an answer. “My name is Hank Zipzer. My parents are Randi and Stanley Zipzer and they are customers. Good ones. Please, we need a new box by six o'clock today. You're not going to believe what happened. My sister's idiotic iguana got a Phillips screwdriver, opened the box, and filled it with boxer shorts. Now she's laying eggs in it. Can you believe that?”

I finally took a breath.

“No,” the operator answered.

“You can't?” I answered. “Well, I know it's totally amazing. Anyway, I need to watch a Discovery Kids show for an assignment and it starts at six today. So please, can you come? Please, please, oh please?”

“I'm sorry,” the operator said.

“Don't say that!” I interrupted her. “I asked you so nicely not to say that.”

Robert couldn't stand it anymore. “What did she say?” he asked.

“They can't bring a box today or tonight!” I said. “We're dead meat.”

I slid down the wall and held my head in my hands. Ashley took the phone back and asked when was the earliest they could bring a box.

She covered the mouthpiece and asked me when someone would be home.

“I'll be here after school tomorrow,” I answered. “Ask her how much it costs for a new box.”

“Excuse me, madam, may I inquire how much a new cable box will be?” Ashley asked.

She covered the mouth piece again and whispered, “Fifty-eight dollars and forty cents.”

“I told you that's what it would cost,” said Robert.

“Where am I going to get that kind of money?” I asked.

“I'm in for ten bucks,” Ashley said.

“Me, too,” Frankie said.

“I've got twenty-three dollars and forty cents,” said Robert.

“I can't take all your money, Robert,” I said.

“It's a loan,” said Robert. “You can pay me back from your Magik 3 earnings.”

“You're a good man,” Frankie said to him, and slapped him on the back. Poor Robert went flying across the kitchen. “A little man, but a good man.”

Ashley was adding up the numbers.

“You're still five dollars short,” she whispered.

“Just tell them to come as soon as they can,” I whispered back. “Maybe we can get Emily to cough it up.”

I happen to know that Emily has a wad of birthday money stashed in a fake 7 UP can in her room. When Papa Pete gives me money for my birthday, I always spend it the minute I get it. But not Emily. She hides it away in that can like a little squirrel. She says she's saving for a snake. Either that or an armadillo.

Ashley made the arrangements. They told us the cable guy would be at our apartment between 3:30 and 5:15 the next day. My mom would still be at The Crunchy Pickle, but if I could find a way to get my father out of the house, they'd replace the box without him seeing it.

That could work. There was only one small problem left.

We were less than an hour away from the nightly news, which, as you know, is my father's TV time.

So I ask you.

WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO WITH MY DAD TONIGHT?!?!?!?

THE ANSWER CAME to me in eight letters. S-C-R-A-B-B-L-E.

I'm sure I've told you before that my father loves crossword puzzles. As a matter of fact, he's a word fanatic. He loves letters and words no matter where they are. Sometimes he reads the dictionary just for fun. He's got about five of them placed all over the house for easy access. He has one next to his bed, one on the living room coffee table. He even has one next to the toilet.

A game of Scrabble is
his
idea of the perfect evening. It's
my
idea of torture. Trying to put a bunch of wooden tiles with letters into words-long words that have to be spelled right—well, let me just say, this is a major KEEP OUT sign for me. The only time a game of Scrabble is fun for me is when it's in its box with the cover on.

My dad and Emily play Scrabble a lot. Sometimes my mom joins in, too. The three of them laugh and argue for hours about whether “xeric” is a word or not. They used to invite me to play, but I am such a spelling moron that they stopped asking me. That's actually fine with me, because playing always embarrasses me anyway.

But when you're trying to keep your father from watching TV because you've taken apart his cable box, you'll do anything. Even make a fool of yourself in a Scrabble game.

After dinner, at the moment when my dad usually sits down for his dose of nightly news and
Hollywood Squares,
I sprang it on him.

“Hey, Dad, let's play a game of good old Scrabble.”

At first, my dad couldn't believe it.

“Are you joking with me, Hank?”

“No, you always want me to play with you and I was thinking we could share a little quality spelling time together. As a matter of fact, I hear the game calling out to me now.
Hank, isn't this the perfect time to pull me off the shelf?”

“You're a nut, Hank.” My father laughed. “But I've never said no to a game of Scrabble in my life. Emily!” he called out. “Want to play some Scrabble with us?”

“No thanks, Dad,” she answered. “Kathy and I are just talking about girl stuff.”

Emily was in my room, watching over Katherine. I let her stay in there for as long as she wanted in exchange for not spilling the beans about el cable boxo. We hadn't told my parents Katherine's baby news yet. We had decided to wait until the new cable box was in, to be sure there would be no questions asked.

My mom didn't want to play, either, because she was in the kitchen experimenting with a new recipe. I think it was tofu chips that are supposed to taste like potato chips but actually taste like cement. Not that I've eaten cement, but I imagine it tastes like her tofu chips.

So it was my dad and me sitting down at the Scrabble board. We set it up on the dining room table and each took seven letters from the pile. My dad let me go first. I stared at those tiles, but I didn't see any words there. I squinted up my eyes. Still nothing. Then, you're not going to believe it, I saw a word! Right there under my nose!

Hey, Scrabble wasn't so difficult.

I picked up my tiles and put them down on the board so hard they made that snapping sound. There it was! My word!

“N-O.” I spelled it out proudly. “No.”

“That's your word?” my father asked.

“Isn't it unbelievable, Dad? My first try and I got two points. And you thought I couldn't play Scrabble! ”

“Hank, the goal is to get as many points as possible.”

“I'm on my way, Dad. I'm on my way.”

It was my dad's turn. He stared at his tiles, running his hands through his hair, which is pretty messy to begin with.

“Hmmmm,” he said, which made him sound like he was concentrating really hard. I made a note to make that sound during my next turn.

Suddenly, his face lit up and he looked at me with a big grin. He took all seven of his letters—that's right,
all
of them—and laid them out underneath my N.

“N-E-R-V-A-T-I-O-N,” he said, as he put down each letter.

“Is that a word?” I asked.

“It's a system of nerves. Look it up,” he said, pushing the dictionary toward me.

“It's okay,” I said, pushing the dictionary back toward him. “I believe you.”

I was feeling like a system of nerves myself. It was my turn again. It had just been my turn, and here it was again.

I stared at the letters on the board, then at the ones in my hand. The tiles began to look like they were swimming in an ocean. The letters became sharks about to attack me. I wanted to get away from them more than anything.

“Come on, Hank. Go.”

I picked up four letters from my hand and placed them next to the T on the board.

“T-E-N-C-E,” I said proudly. “How many points is that, Dad?”

“None yet, Hank. That's not a word.”

“Sure it is. As in nervous. You know.”

“Oh,” my dad said. “Tense. Do you have an S?”

“No. Why?”

“Because tense, the way you're using it, is spelled with an S. T-E-N-S-E.”

“Oh,” I said. I took the letters off the board and put them back on my tray. I stared at the board again. Then I saw an amazing opportunity.

“This is going to make your socks go up and down,” I said to my dad.

I started with the “I” in “nervation,” and built this word around it.

“A-I-N-M-A-L.”

“What does that spell?” my father asked.

“Animal,” I said. “As in tiger, anteater, iguana. And do not ask me to spell any of those.”

My father looked at the board, then at me.

“Hank, what are the first three letters in animal?”

I sounded it out, then answered. “A-N-I,” I said.

“Do you see that you flipped those letters around on the board?”

“No,” I said. “How many points, Dad?”

“You really can't see that you spelled the word wrong?”

I looked at the board. The letters looked okay to me.

“No, I'm not kidding with you.”

My mother had come out of the kitchen and was standing in the doorway watching us. My father looked over at her.

“He really can't see it,” he said.

“That's what they've been saying at school, honey,” my mom said. “This is one of his problem areas.”

Hello! Ding dong! That's what I'd been telling them ever since the subject of spelling first came up. I can't do it. I try and I try, but my brain just won't picture the words. I know my letters but they won't go into words. Or at least words that anyone would recognize.

“I'm sorry, Dad,” I said. “I guess I'm a real loser at Scrabble.”

My father was quiet for a long time. I didn't know if he was mad or sad or surprised or all of those things.

He stood up and started to put the Scrabble board away. That was not good. I couldn't let him go into the living room to watch TV. I had to keep him away from TV for the whole night.

“I could try again, Dad,” I said. “I'll concentrate really hard this time.”

My dad smiled at me.

“How about chess, Hank?” he said. “I really feel like a game of chess.”

“Wow, so do I!” I said.

I am a whiz at chess.

My dad and I played thirteen games of chess. We played right up until bedtime. I beat him every game except one. He didn't even mind losing. And the best part was, he never even mentioned the TV.

No, that's not true.

The best part was, my dad and I really had fun.

ONE OF THE THINGS my friends and I are very good at is making plans. Take, for instance, the one we made for getting the new cable box installed. We worked on it all during lunch period the next day.

1. TUESDAY, 3:00 SHARP. Come straight home from school. Hank and Ashley report to Hank's apartment to wait for the cable guy.

2. Frankie stands watch for him in front of building. Robert goes to his apartment to wait for orders.

3. When the cable guy arrives at our building, Frankie buzzes Hank's apartment three times, then keeps the cable guy busy for exactly two minutes and thirty seconds.

4. Ashley calls Robert and tells him to come up right away.

5. Robert arrives at Hank's. Asks Mr. Zipzer to come to his apartment and help him with a crossword puzzle. Tells him it's a vocab emergency.

6. Mr. Zipzer leaves apartment and goes to Robert's. Robert keeps him there for
at
least fifteen minutes. (Don't mess up, Robert!)