The Zippity Zinger #4 (10 page)

“Do the pitch we know you can do,” said Ashley.

“You mean the Zippity Zinger?” I said. “I think I may have a couple of those left.”

“See, that's what I'm talking about,” Frankie said. “That's the spirit, Hank.”

“And we mean that in the Hopi way,” Ashley said. She smiled a real smile at me. I have to admit, I have great friends.

“Play ball!” the Adolfosaurus shouted from behind home plate.

McKelty stepped back into the batter's box.

“What's the matter?” he shouted. I thought I could smell his bad breath all the way on the pitcher's mound. “Pitcher's got a bellyache? Come on, Zipper Head. I can't wait to win.”

“Concentrate, Hank,” I said under my breath.

My parents were in the stands now. They had looked pretty upset at first, but now they were concentrating on me and the game. Cheerio was asleep in Papa Pete's jacket, and Emily had her hand on his back. She smiled at me, and mouthed the words, “Good luck.” That's right, you read it correctly. Emily Grace Zipzer smiled and wished me good luck. You know, when times are tough, it's kind of nice to have a sister.

I checked on Hector Ruiz on second. He had been standing there for so long, his legs must have been really tired.

Frankie got into his catcher's crouch. He pointed at me and then pointed back to himself. I nodded. As if by magic, the sound of the crowd started to drift away again. And I wound up to let loose a Zippity Zinger.

My body turned this way and my legs stretched that way. My hands flew out toward first base, then like an arrow, shot right into the sky, and the ball became an eagle that flew right past Nick the Tick's bat before he took his first swing.

“Strike one!” Ms. Adolf shouted and made her strike sign.

Frankie stood up and ripped the mask off his face. He did not say a word. He didn't have to. He put the mask on and threw the ball back to me so it would roll the last few feet to my glove.

This time, my body started the pitch, but I felt different. I started to relax and just let my arms and legs and waist and hand flow through their motions.

The ball left my fingertips and McKelty was really concentrating on it. His eyes were like laser beams trying to bring the ball to his bat. He swung his Aluminum Beauty and hit the ball hard, but it shot backwards. It was going for Ms. Adolf, but just before it reached her, she dropped to her knees into the dirt and it sailed into the chain-link fence behind her.

Ms. Adolf got up, brushed herself off, and used the same brush to dust off home plate.

“Strike two!” she shouted.

This time, Frankie threw the ball back directly to my mitt ... and I caught it!

I quickly turned to Papa Pete, whose smile was so big that I could see all his teeth from under his black mustache. I could feel his love all the way out on the mound.

Two strikes, two outs. Hector Ruiz leading off, just itching to race toward home plate. McKelty ready to hit the winning run.

I twisted to second and stuck my leg out like I was an ostrich. At that moment, with my head pointing to third, I lost focus. When I let go of the ball this time, it didn't sail. It wobbled and hit the ground, rolling past McKelty's feet as if there were ten bowling pins behind home plate.

“Ball one!” Ms. Adolf yelled.

“Hey, Zitface, this isn't bowling,” McKelty shouted. “The game's called softball, remember? Oh, right, you can't remember stuff.”

Ashley yelled from the bench. “Bring it back, Hank! Don't listen to that boob! Come on now! We need strikes! Throw strikes.”

I looked at Frankie and leaned toward him a little. I don't know why I did that, but all the Mets pitchers do it so I thought I would try it.

He pointed at the center of his mitt and then hit it three times really hard. He was telling me to put the ball “right there.” But could I do it again? All I needed was one more strike. Could I throw another Zippity Zinger?

“Hey, Zipper—you can't do anything right, so why try?” McKelty shouted. “Just put it over the plate and I'll put the ball over the fence to finish the game.”

I took a moment to regroup. Ms. Adolf got her head in position to see where the ball was going. Frankie was statue-still, his mitt in front of him making a perfect target. The entire crowd knew how important this pitch was. My parents; Frankie's parents, the Townsends; Ashley's parents, Dr. and Dr. Wong; Mr. Rock and Dr. Lynn were all standing, waiting.

I looked at my mom and dad, Papa Pete and Emily. Every fear I ever had came rushing in and filled my brain.

My upper body twisted to second base, my leg started to lift itself off the ground as if it was floating. My head pointed toward third and, this time, I did not leave any part of the Zippity Zinger out. I kept my eyes on the center of Frankie's mitt and let the ball roll off my fingertips.

McKelty's bat started its rotation from his shoulder all the way around his body, and he hit that ball hard. So hard I felt sorry for the ball.

Thwack!
was the sound on contact and it rang in my ears.

Everything happened in slow motion after that.

Frankie ripped off his mask, never taking his eyes off the ball. All the heads in the crowd looked up at the ball in flight. Ms. Adolf lifted off her mask and stared up into the sky. Ashley pressed her face up against the fence. My mother was clamped onto my father's arm, their eyes glued to that ball.

The entire Yellow Team on the field watched that ball, shielding their eyes with their gloves. The Blue Team on their bench jumped forward and pressed their fingers through the fence to see where the ball would land.

The ball ... instead of heading toward the left field fence, had sailed straight up and was falling toward Earth, right over my head.

One thing I know for sure is that I can't catch under pressure. So I darted off the pitcher's mound and moved toward first base to clear the way for Frankie. He came running from home plate just in time to catch the ball. In a single movement, we both spun around to Nick McKelty and yelled in one voice, “You're out!”

The only thing Ms. Adolf could do was yank her thumb in the air, which was her sign for “you're out!” McKelty looked at her in disbelief.

I had made Nick the Tick hit a pop fly and that fact made me fall down in excitement, pride, and disbelief.

Everyone on the Yellow Team came running up and jumped on me, yelling and screaming. I was on the bottom of the pile with just my head sticking out. Ashley was lying down on the ground in front of me. Her glasses were crooked and her baseball cap was on sideways.

“Hank, you did it! You did it! I'm so proud of you!” she laughed.

“Hey, I can't breathe down here,” I tried to yell.

One by one, the kids got off the pile. I imagined that by the time they were all off, I would be flatter than a pancake—for real.

Frankie helped get the kids off and then lifted me back to my feet.

This is what good pals we are. He did not have to say a word to me. He looked me in the eye and I knew every thought he had and I felt the same way.

I was really glad to be his friend, too.

WE SAT ON THE STAGE of the auditorium, the Blue Team on the left and the Yellow Team on the right. All the parents and guests were in the audience, and the teachers were lining the walls. Everyone was waiting for the same thing—to find out which team won the Olympiad.

Principal Love was going on about how competition was good for the growth of character. I was too excited to listen to him. All I wanted to know was if the Yellow Team was going to win so I could get that medal around my neck. I know you're not supposed to care about winning and losing, but when there's a gold medal involved, I don't see how that's possible. Who doesn't want a medal? Nobody I know.

“I'm keeping my fingers crossed,” I whispered to Frankie. And was I ever. In fact, my fingers were turning blue from being crossed so tight.

“And so,” Principal Love was saying, “our competition today is part of a chain that can be traced all the way back to the roots of competition, when human beings first realized that competing was the very nature of competition.”

If they gave a gold medal for sentences that clog up your brain because you can't figure them out, I think Principal Love would have a neck full of them.

“And now for the results of today's Olympiad,” he said.

“Finally,” Ashley whispered to me. She had put on a white baseball cap that said GIRL MANAGERS RULE in yellow rhinestones.

“No matter what happens, you made history today,” I said to her.

“You made it into the record books yourself,” she said with a smile. “The first ever Zippity Zinger. No one will ever be able to do it again.”

“Including me,” I said.

“That's for sure,” said Frankie, “or my name isn't Bernice.”

“Frankie, your name isn't Bernice.” I said. And all three of us laughed.

“I'd like to call to the stage our faculty coaches,” Principal Love said. “Mr. Michael Sicilian for the Blue Team.” Everyone on the Blue Team applauded like crazy. “And for the Yellow Team, Ms. Fanny Adolf.”

Frankie, Ashley, and I looked at one another and our mouths fell open.

“Fanny?” we all said at once.

“As in rear end?” Ashley said.

“As in tush?” I said.

“Ms. Buttocks Adolf,” said Frankie. “That is too funny to be true.”

Ashley started singing in a tiny whisper. “Fanny, Fanny Bo Banny, Banana Fanna Fo Fanny, Me My Mo Manny, Fanny.”

We tried not to laugh, and trust me, we were not the only kids in that auditorium trying not to laugh.

I looked out in the audience and saw my parents. My mom was giving me the Look. You know the one. It's that same look you get if your aunt farts at the dinner table and, even though it's the funniest thing you've ever heard, you have to pretend it didn't happen.

“We've tabulated the scores,” Principal Love said. “As we all know, the Blue Team, led by Emily Zipzer, won the Brain Buster part of the Olympiad, earning one hundred points.”

I looked over at Emily. She looked so happy. I was really glad for her. Honestly and truly. I glanced at Robert, who was sitting with our team, and he had the same grin on his face that Cheerio gets after we give him a biscuit.

“In the Softball Competition,” Principal Love continued, “the victory goes to the Yellow Team, earning them one hundred points. A special hats off goes to the Yellow Team's secret weapon, Hank Zipzer.”

Everyone in the auditorium started to applaud. I thought my ears were going to drop right off my head. It was the best sound I had ever heard. I never thought I would be able to do what I did today, and here was a room full of people applauding for me. I looked around the room at the people clapping, and mostly it was a blur. But I did see Dr. Lynn and Mr. Rock, who were both smiling directly at me and clapping really hard. My parents looked so proud, and Papa Pete actually got out of his chair and raised his fist in a victory salute.

“Hankie,” he yelled in his big voice. “Atta boy!”

I felt Frankie's elbow in my ribs.

“Zip, look over there.”

He pointed over to the center of the stage, where Ms. Adolf was standing next to Principal Love. She was clapping, too. I repeat. Ms. Fanny Adolf was clapping for me.

And they say miracles never happen.

BY THE WAY, did I mention that the Yellow Team won the Olympiad and that I'm now wearing a gold medal around my neck?

Well, we did. And I am.

It was a tight race for us, though. The deciding factor was the Triple C event, the Clean and Clutter-Free Competition. Our team scored really well on that, thanks to Robert. In the Clean Desk category, he blew the judges away by bringing in a mini-vac and sucking up all those little pencil shavings that fall out of the pencil sharpener and collect in the corners of your desk. We got bonus points for that.

That Robert, he does come in handy sometimes.

You won't believe what lost it for the Blue Team. Picture this. The judges are at the Blue Team's desks and they come to Luke Whitman's. While they're checking his desk to see if it's orderly and uncluttered, he reaches into his back pocket where he keeps a half of peanut butter and jelly sandwich because he never wants to be without a snack. Luke had to sneeze and couldn't find a tissue, so he took his sandwich out, unwrapped it, and get this, blew his nose in wax paper.

If that wasn't bad enough, when he took the wax paper away from his honker, there was a mixture of chunky peanut butter and boogers spread like silly putty across his face.

If you're going to lose a Clean and Clutter-Free Competition, that's the way to do it. If it were up to me, I would have given Old Luke extra points for grossness, but the judging committee didn't see it that way. Which I guess is good, because in case I didn't mention it before, I am wearing a Yellow Team gold medal around my neck.