The Zippity Zinger #4 (5 page)

“So, how did the book on tape work out?” Dr. Lynn asked.

“That's what I wanted to see you about,” I said. “I have to tell you two important things. But you have to keep what I'm about to tell you a secret and please don't laugh.”

“I think I can handle those requests,” she said, smiling. “You're not going to tell me you got in trouble at home for listening instead of reading, are you?”

“No! No! Nothing like that. It's weirder.” I took a deep breath. My insides felt like I could trust her.

“I got a B-minus on my Hopi test and do you know why?”

“Yes, I do. Because it is easier for you, Hank, to absorb information through your ears than through your eyes.”

“Nope. It's the monkey socks,” I blurted out.

Dr. Lynn raised an eyebrow and started playing with the pearls around her neck.

“It's because of my sister's lucky red socks with pink monkeys,” I went on. “I put them on by mistake yesterday, and now look. I did really well on my social studies test, and I also threw a softball faster and straighter than I ever have in my whole entire life.”

“Wait a second, Hank. Let's back up,” Dr. Lynn said. There was a smile waiting to burst across her lips, but I saw her catch it before it turned into a laugh. She's a person who keeps her promises.

“You're telling me you think ...”

“I know!” I interrupted. “I'm telling you ... even Frankie said it was the lucky monkey socks. They have cured my learning problem. It's a miracle!”

“That sounds wonderful, Hank. But can we look at another possibility?” Dr. Lynn asked.

“Sure, Dr. Lynn. Lay it on me.”

“Let's start with throwing the softball. Was there anything different about it?” she asked. “Like where you were or what you did?”

“Just the place we played,” I answered. “My grandpa suggested we play catch in the courtyard of our building and not in the park.”

“Really. And why did he do that?” Dr. Lynn wanted to know.

“Because of the monkey socks,” I whispered. “I didn't want anyone to see me in them and if we went to the park, everyone would.”

“What does the courtyard look like?”

“Regular. A big square with building walls on all four sides,” I answered.

“Is it closed off from the street?”

“Yes!” I said. “Have you ever been down there?”

“No, Hank, I haven't. But let's look at the possibility that because it's quiet and isolated, there were very few distractions to take your mind off your task at hand,” Dr. Lynn explained. “You were able to concentrate on throwing.”

“Now that I think of it, it was quiet down there. But you should have seen me pitch that ball. Amazing is what it was. No, Dr. Lynn, a pitch like that has to happen by magic. It was the socks. Besides, it has to be, because they worked again on the test.”

“Hank, don't you see ...”

The bell rang, which meant that lunch period was over and I had to get to class. My teacher, Ms. Adolf, sends you to Principal Love's office when you're late too many times.

“Thanks for listening, Dr. Lynn,” I said as I raced out her office door. “Remember, you promised not to tell anyone. And a promise is sacred to the Hopi.”

“I'll keep my promise, Hank, but we have to continue this conversation,” Dr. Lynn called after me.

I charged down the hall to my class. I think the monkey socks were making me run even faster than usual.

Wow. They were powerful.

As I SLID INTO MY SEAT, Ms. Adolf was already writing on the blackboard, listing the Olympiad teams and the event schedule for the next day. Her grey skirt, which she wears every single day to match her grey shirt and her grey shoes and her grey face, was smudged with chalk dust.

“Excuse me, Ms. Adolf,” Luke Whitman said as he walked by her. “You have chalk poop on your butt.”

You have to give Luke Whitman credit. He is not afraid to say what's on his mind. Everyone laughed at the chalk poop remark, and that made Ms. Adolf really mad. She thinks fourth-graders laugh too much to begin with, and laughing at her rear end is certainly not okay with her.

“Quiet, pupils,” she said. “I see nothing funny about a little chalk dust.”

“You would, if you could see your butt,” said Luke. “It's hilarious.”

We couldn't help laughing again. I could see red splotches flaring up on Ms. Adolf's cheeks, which is a sign that she's steaming mad. She took off the silver key she wears on a lanyard around her neck and unlocked the top drawer of her desk. Picking up her roll book, she wrote a little note next to Luke's name and then took out the hall pass.

“I think you know where you're going with this,” she said to Luke, handing him the hall pass.

“To the cafeteria for a snack?” said Luke.

“Absolutely not,” said Ms. Adolf. “You just march to Principal Love's office. That's where pupils go who insist on talking about their teacher's hindquarters.”

As Luke left the room, he looked at me and said, “I'll keep the seat warm for you.”

I said a secret thank you that, this time, it wasn't me going to Principal Love's office. Believe me, I've spent plenty of time sitting across from Principal Love. Doing mole time, we call it. That's because Principal Love has this mole on his face that's shaped like the Statue of Liberty without the torch. When he talks to you, his mole shakes like crazy and it looks like the Statue of Liberty has ants in her pants. All you can do is stare at it while you're trying not to stare.

“These are the final teams for tomorrow's Olympiad,” Ms. Adolf said, pointing to the blackboard. “Half of you have been assigned to the Yellow Team, and the other half is on the Blue Team. Check over the list on the board, and make sure that you have been assigned to the event you tried out for.”

I looked at the board. Ashley was listed as the manager of the Yellow Softball Team. Frankie was a member of the team. Kim Paulson, the second most beautiful girl in our class, was on the Yellow Team, too, as was Ryan Shimozato, who is an awesome athlete. Nick McKelty, the single most obnoxious human being ever hatched, had been assigned to the Blue Softball Team. At least Frankie and Ashley weren't going to have to play on the same team as Nick the Tick.

My name was listed under the Triple C Competition. I enrolled for that event because, at the time, it was my only choice. I knew I couldn't play softball, and I certainly wasn't qualified to be on the Brain Buster Squad. So that left the Triple C Competition as the only event I even had a shot at. I happen to be really good at sharpening all the pencils in my desk so that they are exactly the same length. I thought that would impress the judges, for sure.

Ashley stuck her hand up in the air and Ms. Adolf called on her.

“Yes, Ms. Wong,” she said.

“I'd like to request a change in teams,” Ashley said. “As manager of the Yellow Softball Team, I am requesting that Hank Zipzer be transferred to my team.”

“That's your first mistake, girlfriend!” shouted a voice from behind us. I didn't have to look. It was McKelty's voice. He's really loud and always sounds like he's laughing at you, which by the way, he usually is.

I poked Ashley across the aisle.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Frankie told me about the socks,” she whispered back. “This is your lucky chance, so I went ahead and put you on the team.”

“Ash, I can't.”

“Hank, I saw you throw. You're dynamite.”

Frankie's hand shot up.

“As the official catcher of the Yellow Team, I'd like to second Manager Wong's request for Zipzer. We'd like to draft him.”

“Is this all right with you, Henry?” Ms. Adolf asked me. She is the only person in the world who calls me Henry, except for my mother when she's mad. Ms. Adolf doesn't believe in nicknames. She thinks they're unnecessary.

“Yes, Ms. Adolf, it's okay with him,” Ashley said before I had a chance to speak up. “We've already discussed it.”

“I can't believe you're drafting Zipper Boy!” snorted McKelty. “I wouldn't draft him for the toilet squad.”

That's exactly the kind of thing Nick McKelty says all the time—it's just mean and creepy. A bunch of kids giggled.

That guy was making my blood boil, especially now that he had the class laughing. I looked down at my white socks and knew that the lucky monkey socks were underneath, just waiting to be used.

“Hey, McKelty,” I whispered. “Meet me on the athletic field after school. I've got something to show you.”

“What's that, Zipper Face?” he snarled, blasting some of his bad breath over my way.

“Two words,” I said. “Guess what they are?”

“Girly throw?” he said.

I shot him my most confident grin and whispered the two words.

“Secret weapon.”

AT EXACTLY THREE O'CLOCK, Frankie, Ashley, and I were on the athletic field, waiting at the baseball diamond that had been set up for the Olympiad. Robert Upchurch was there, too, for no particular reason except that he always gloms on to us and we can never shake him.

“Robert,” Frankie said. “Go home.”

“I'm on the Yellow Team, too,” Robert said. “I have a right to be here.”

“You're in the Triple C Competition,” Ashley said. “Look around, Robert. This is a baseball diamond.”

“Actually, it's a softball diamond,” said Robert. “A baseball diamond has to meet regulation measurements. Would you like me to tell you what those are, because I have committed them to memory.”

“No,” we all said at once.

“Another time, maybe,” Robert said. He saw Nick McKelty approaching, and he knew this was no time for nerd talk. I give him credit for shutting his mouth.

McKelty came lumbering up, his big feet slapping the pavement like clown shoes. He smiled, not in a friendly way, and I could see his after-school snack hanging from the corners of his mouth. It looked like chocolate pudding, or maybe butterscotch.

“Can we hurry up with your little party?” he said. “I've got to get home because my dad is taking me to a private feast at the best Chinese restaurant in Manhattan. In fact, it's the best Chinese restaurant in the world, except for one in China that we're going to this summer.”

Of course, we all knew none of this was true. Nick's dad, who owns McKelty's Roll 'N Bowl over on Amsterdam Avenue, was probably buying him a rice bowl at Uncle Ming's Chop Suey House right next door. But Nick McKelty always has to exaggerate everything. We call it the McKelty Factor. Truth times a hundred.

“We just thought we'd show you a little sample of our secret weapon,” Ashley said. “Be afraid, McKelty. Be very afraid.”

Ashley gave me the signal, and I took the mound. Frankie got behind home plate and squatted down. He held his mitt out in front of him.

“Put it here, Zip,” he hollered.

I reached down and pretended to be scratching my ankle. What I was really doing was making sure the monkey socks were awake and ready to give me some extra luck. I took a deep breath, focused on Frankie's glove, wound up, and released the ball.

Bam!
It shot through the air like a cannon, whipping across the plate and landing dead center in Frankie's mitt.

McKelty didn't say a word, but his big jaw flopped open like a barn door in the wind. Ashley smiled at him and waved.

“Just a little sample of what you can expect tomorrow,” she said. “Now, if you'll excuse me, we have to get our secret weapon home. We don't want to tire him out.”

We walked off the field, leaving McKelty there with his face still flapping in the breeze.

The minute we were off the field, we burst out laughing.

“That was awesome, Zip,” Frankie said.

“Yeah, too bad I won't be able to do it tomorrow in the real game,” I said, suddenly realizing the awful truth.

“What are you talking about?” Ashley said. “You can and you will.”

I shook my head. “Emily will never give me the monkey socks to wear tomorrow. She needs them for the Brain Buster Competition. And, without them, I can't throw worth beans.”

“Tell Emily she HAS to let you wear the socks,” said Ashley.

“She needs them, too,” I answered.

“Actually,” Robert said, “your sister is the most brilliant third-grader in the world. You don't need luck when you have a brain like hers.” Robert should know. He and Emily are really good friends in a nerdly kind of way.

All the way home, I thought about what Robert had said. Emily didn't need the luck. I did.

The thought rolled around and around in my mind. What if she just couldn't find the monkey socks by tomorrow morning? Things get lost, don't they? It could happen.

When we got home, I went to my room and took off the white socks. Oh, were my toes happy to be released from the prison of two pairs of tight socks. I could hear Emily outside in the hall, frantically searching every closet in the house for the monkey socks.

Slowly, I peeled off the red monkey socks, tucked them underneath my Mets sweatshirt, and closed the drawer very quietly.