The World's Greatest Underachiever and the Best Worst Summer Ever

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The World's Greatest Underachiever and the Best Worst Summer Ever Page 7

by Henry Winkler


  “I have peanut butter for lunch.”

  “Good for you. Peanut butter rocks, dude.”

  Mason’s mum came running up after him. I assumed it was his mum because she had red curly hair just like his.

  “You must be Hank,” she said, putting out her hand to shake mine. “Mason talks about you all the time.”

  “He’s a cool kid,” I said.

  “What’s in your carrier bag?” Mason asked me. “Can I see?”

  “It’s my Einstein costume,” I said. “Today is my presentation.”

  “Can I come?”

  “I’ll ask your teacher if it’s OK,” Mason’s mum told him. “That is, if it’s all right with you, Hank.”

  “Sure. I just hope I don’t mess it up.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you won’t,” Mason’s mum said. “Last night at dinner Mason told us all about Albert Einstein and said you taught him everything. You must be a very intelligent young man.”

  Nick McKelty was standing near by, and that was all he needed to hear.

  “That’s a hoot!” he said. “Zipper Zitt is a first-class moron. He’s so stupid, he had to go to summer school.”

  Mason’s mother wheeled round and stared McKelty right in the eye.

  “Perhaps one day you’ll learn to be as kind as Hank is,” she said.

  I looked at McKelty to see what he was going to do. It’s one thing to talk back to a kid. It’s another thing to open up a mouth to an adult. I could see his big, slow brain grinding away, trying to make a decision and finally grinding to a halt.

  Ms Adolf appeared on the steps, clapping her hands three times. She was wearing her grey shirt with the coconut bikini top over it. This time, it didn’t even surprise me to see her dressed like that. It’s amazing what the human brain can get used to.

  “Aloha and welcome to our luau extravaganza and sleepover, pupils,” she said. “I am disappointed to have to tell you that Head Teacher Love can’t be with us today. He threw his back out while doing the limbo.”

  Everyone just stared at her, trying to picture short Head Teacher Love bent over backwards, inching his way under a broomstick.

  “However, I am happy to report that I will be filling his shoes and leading the festivities this afternoon.”

  Everyone groaned.

  “And what was that? A group groan? Now all Junior Explorers will follow me to the Hawaiian Islands,” she said. “Summer-schoolers, to your classrooms.”

  Mason’s mum took his hand and started walking towards the building, but then she stopped and turned to me.

  “What time is your presentation, Hank?” she asked.

  “After lunch.”

  “I’ll try to arrange for Mason to come,” she said.

  “Goody!” Mason shouted, starting to jump up and down like a monkey on a trampoline. “Goody gumdrops! Blue ones!”

  I think you know what I’m going to say. The thirteenth cutest thing about kindergartners is that they say stuff like “goody gumdrops” and “silly billy” and “noodle nose”, and they don’t worry that anyone’s going to make fun of them.

  As I started walking towards the classroom, I felt Frankie’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Listen, you’re going to be great,” he said. “Just focus, Zip. Be Albert Einstein. Keep your head in the game, Hank.”

  “We’re counting on you,” Ashley said.

  “King Kahuna Huna will do as he is told,” I said. “Count on it.”

  I sounded really confident. I just wished I felt that way too.

  I spent the whole morning reviewing my notes in class. I read those index cards over and over until I knew every word. I was ready.

  A few kids gave their presentations before lunch. Lauren, the fifth-grader, picked a famous opera singer named Marian Anderson and actually sang her whole presentation. Joelle made fun of her and called her a squeak box, but I thought she had a really pretty voice and was very brave to sing. Mr Rock shouted bravo and said it was a spectacular performance. Of course, he is the music teacher.

  Luke Whitman went next. He did his presentation on his uncle Wayne, who is a professional juggler in a travelling circus in Indiana. Luke told us that his uncle specializes in juggling lawnmowers and light farm equipment. Unfortunately, when Luke tried to do a juggling demonstration using cantaloupe melons, he dropped them and they cracked open and splattered all across the floor. Mr Rock didn’t even get mad. He said it was a quick way to make a fruit salad. While Luke was cleaning up the mess, good old Joelle put up her hand and asked Luke if Uncle Wayne ever needed any new leotards to wear in his act. Luke told her he was a lawnmower juggler not a ballet dancer, and Joelle stuck her tongue out at him. I won’t even tell you what he did back to her, but it involved his finger and his nose.

  After lunch I asked Mr Rock if it was OK if I missed Salvatore’s presentation so that I could go to the toilet and prepare for mine. I knew that Salvatore was talking about the baseball player Derek Jeter, who plays for the Yankees, and his presentation would just get me wound up anyway because I’m such a huge Mets fan.

  I went into the toilet with my carrier bag and lined my stuff up along the sink. I changed into a black T-shirt and put the collar with the floppy bow tie over it. Then I put on a suit jacket that I wore to my cousin’s wedding last year. I was wearing shorts on my bottom half, and that did look a little strange. Too bad I hadn’t thought to bring trousers. But when I looked in the mirror, I thought, Yeah, Hank, you look like a German scientist … from the neck down and waist up, anyway.

  Next it was time for the wig and the moustache. I carefully took the bottle of spirit gum out of its plastic packaging. Big Eddie had told me to paint a little of it on my upper lip and then wait a minute for it to get sticky before putting on the moustache. While I was waiting for it to dry, I put on the wig. Wow, it was a lot of hair. You couldn’t even see my face. I looked like a model of a Neanderthal man I saw once at the Museum of Natural History. I pulled the wig back on my head and yanked it right off. There I was, staring at me again in the mirror.

  I decided to put a little of the spirit gum on my temples and over my ears. Not too much. Just enough to hold the wig on.

  Good thinking, Hank. Maybe you should be a make-up artist in the movies when you grow up. Wig-gluer to the stars. I like the sound of that.

  I touched my upper lip, and it was pretty sticky. Man, that spirit gum was strong. I took the moustache out of its little plastic case and stuck it above my lip. It looked like a huge, furry caterpillar had got loose and was crawling under my nose. It tickled too, but I didn’t dare rub it, or it would get all crooked on me.

  I looked at myself in the mirror.

  Maybe this is what I’m going to look like when I’m Papa Pete’s age.

  “Hello, Hankie,” I said to myself in the mirror. “I am zee grandfazzer of zee science vorld.”

  I started laughing, but it was hard because my upper lip was stiff from the spirit gum.

  Come on, Hank. Stay focused. Remember what Frankie said. Keep your head in the game. Magik 3 is counting on you.

  I wiped the grin off my face and picked up the wig. Bending over, I shoved my head into it and held the sides down where I had put the spirit gum on my temples. I looked up and there he was, Albert himself. Hair flying, moustache glued, bow tie covering my Adam’s apple.

  I smiled a little. This was going to be great. All I had to do was clean up, get back to class and get my A.

  I picked up the bottle of spirit gum and was just about to twist the cap back on when the door flew open.

  “Hank! It’s me!”

  Mason came charging full speed at me like a galloping pony, flinging himself into my kneecaps. Oooooph! The bottle of spirit gum went flying into the air and as I reached to catch it, it turned upside down. Spirit gum oozed out all over my hands.

  “Oh, no!” I screamed.

  “I’m sorry, Hank,” Mason said.

  Before I could answer him, the door flew open again. It was Luke
Whitman.

  “Come on, Hank. Salvatore is done, and we’re all waiting for you. Mr Rock wants you to come right this second.”

  I ran towards the classroom, giving my hands a quick wipe on the back of my shorts. Mason followed behind. All the kids were waiting for me as I bolted into class. Before I could even try to explain what had happened with the spirit gum, Mr Rock took one look at me and burst into applause. For a second, I wondered why he was clapping. Then I remembered that I was wearing my costume.

  “Ladies and gentleman, let’s give a warm welcome to Albert Einstein, twentieth-century genius and man of science,” he said.

  “And man of ugly hair,” Joelle called out. “You’d think he would’ve invented the hairbrush.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “I don’t like her,” Mason whispered to me.

  “That makes two of us,” I whispered back.

  Mr Rock pulled up a chair for Mason and took a seat next to him.

  “Go ahead, Albert,” he said. “Tell us all about yourself.”

  I took my place in front of the class and pulled out the notecards from my pocket.

  Calm down, Hank, and focus. Breathe. You are Albert. Be Albert.

  The information was right there in front of me. All I had to do was erase the spirit gum spill from my mind. I took a deep breath and began.

  “I vas born in Germany in zee year of 1879. Mine mothzzer vas Pauline and mine farzzer vas Hermann.”

  I looked around the room. The kids seemed to be enjoying my accent. Everyone was smiling – everyone but Joelle, that is. She was picking some fluff off one of the birdies on her leotard.

  I had finished the facts that were on the first notecard, and it was time to go on to the next. I reached down to shuffle the top card to the back of the pile. It stuck to my fingers. I shook my hand, hoping it would fall off, but it didn’t. The spirit gum was starting to dry and get sticky, just like Big Eddie said it would.

  The card just needs a little help getting off my finger, that’s all.

  I bent over and put the card on the floor. Then I stepped on it with my trainer and yanked my hand away. The card came free from my hand but stuck to my trainer. I left it there. I was no fool. I wasn’t going to touch it again.

  Where was I? Oh, yeah. Albert goes to school.

  “I vas raised in Munich, where I vent to school and studied zee violin. I didn’t enjoy zee school much. I found it – how you kids say – too boring.”

  “I’m with you, Big Al,” Luke Whitman called out.

  Good, Hank. They’re liking it. Move to the next card.

  This time, I carefully picked up card number two using only the tippy tips of my first two fingers. I thought I could just slide it to the back of the pile. Unfortunately, the card didn’t cooperate. It stuck to the tippy tip of my index finger, which by now was really sticky. The spirit gum was kicking in big time.

  Don’t panic, Hank. Just remove the card from your finger and go on.

  I took my other hand and carefully pulled the card off my index finger. It came off – only now it was stuck to my other hand. I could hear Salvatore and Matthew laughing at the back of the classroom.

  “Zis is part of my plan,” I said. “Not to worry.”

  I raised my hand to my mouth, put the index card between my teeth, clamped down and pulled on it like a dog grabbing for a bone. It came flying off my finger, all right. But now it was stuck to my tooth.

  Did you ever try to give a report with an index card hanging off your chompers? Trust me, it makes things very complicated.

  A few more kids started to laugh. I had to get that thing out of my mouth quickly. So I reached up with my whole hand and grabbed the card impatiently. No more Mister Nice Guy. I think my hands might have been shaking from being nervous, because I missed the card and grabbed my moustache instead. Three of my fingers instantly attached themselves to the fake hair on my upper lip.

  I had a choice. I could either try to continue my speech with three fingers clinging to my upper lip, or I could try to detach my hand from my moustache. It was a no-brainer. I pulled.

  Uh-oh. What’s that?

  I reached up to my face and realized that I had yanked the moustache too hard. Half of it had slid down my lip and landed on my teeth. I have to tell you, it felt pretty hairy in my mouth. And it was really crowded in there too. I had three fingers, an index card and half a moustache all fighting for space. Plus two new molars. It’s amazing I still had room for my tongue!

  Everyone was laughing now. Mason was giggling so hard, he nearly fell off his chair. If I hadn’t needed an A, it would have been funny to me, too. But under the circumstances, I couldn’t laugh. I had no choice but to continue.

  With my fingers and moustache filling my mouth, and the card I needed still in my teeth, I had to do the rest of the presentation from memory. The problem was, my memory wasn’t working.

  “I am very famous for developing zee theory of vhat you call it,” I said. See what I mean? I told you my memory was on holiday.

  “You know, zee big deal theory about zee light and all zat stuff.” Man, I was desperate.

  You’re losing it, Hankster. There it goes.

  Suddenly, a little voice chirped up like a bird.

  “You mean the theory of relativity.”

  It was Mason! He’d remembered!

  Way to go, little dude.

  “Zat is exactly vhat I mean,” I said. “Zank you, young man.”

  I thought it would be good to act casual at this point in my presentation, so I strolled over to the desk and leant against the edge of it like Mr Rock often does.

  “My greatest discovery vas vhen I calculated zee speed limit of zee universe, known as zee speed of light, vhich is…”

  Oh, no. I was drawing another blank. Come on, brain. Give me a little help here!

  The speed of light had left my brain at the speed of light. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember the numbers. I could almost see them written down on my notecard in green ink. I just couldn’t get them to jump off the card and into my head.

  The notecards! I could still look at them. I glanced down at the stack of cards that were clutched tightly in my hands. I should say clutched in my sticky hands, sticky being the key word here. The index cards were all clumped up in one big wad, sealed together for ever with spirit gum. Somewhere in that wad was the speed of light, but it was buried deep.

  The class was staring at me, waiting for me to say something. I thought that maybe if I started again, the information would just pop into my head. It does that sometimes.

  “So like I vas saying, I figured out zee speed of light, vhich is…”

  Nope, nothing popped into my head. No popping, just silence. Suddenly, I heard that little chirping voice speak up again. It was Mason!

  “The speed of light is one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles per second,” he said, like it was something that every kindergartner knew.

  Mason Harris Jerome Dunn. You are amazing, dude!

  “Zank you again, young man,” I said. “I vas just seeing if everyone vas avake. And you are. Also, you’re a very intelligent person.”

  “No, I’m not.” Mason giggled. “You taught me that, Hank. I mean Albert.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Rock hold out his hand and give Mason a high five.

  “Go on, Einstein,” Mr Rock said. “We’re very interested.”

  “Nothing goes faster than zee speed of light,” I continued. “If you could go faster zan zat, vhich is impossible, you vould get sick in zee tummy and get a speeding ticket too.”

  I had planned that joke. And it was working. Everyone chuckled, and for a second I felt good again. But only for a second. I had forgotten one little detail – the spirit gum all over the back of my shorts.

  When I stepped away from the desk to make my next point, I heard a loud ripping sound. It sounded like my trousers ripping all the way across the butt area.

  That’s because it WAS m
y trousers ripping all the way across the butt area. “I don’t believe this!” Joelle howled. “Wait until I tell Nick!”

  I looked over at the desk and saw a good portion of my shorts clinging to the edge. That meant only one thing – that a good portion of my tighty whities were hanging out for all the class to see.

  What would Albert Einstein do?

  Run, that’s what. Which is exactly what I did. Sideways, all the way to the door.

  “Hank, come out.”

  I was huddled in the cubicle of the boys’ toilet. Mr Rock was on the other side of the door, talking to me as I wrapped myself up in the palm leaves from my King Kahuna Huna costume. Thank goodness for that carrier bag with my costume in it. Without it, my tighty whities would still have been waving in the breeze.

  “Thanks, anyway, Mr Rock, but I think I’ll just hang out in here for a while, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind,” he said.

  “What happened out there was pretty embarrassing,” I explained. “I’d rather not have to see all the kids right now.”

  “I don’t expect you to go back into the classroom,” he said. “Just come out of the cubicle.”

  “No, thanks. I like small spaces. It’s cosy in here.”

  “Hank.”

  “No, really. All it needs is a fireplace.”

  “Hank, why won’t you come out?”

  “Because if I do, I’ll have to see Frankie and Ashley and I can’t face them, either. I’ve messed everything up for them too.”

  “I’ve just seen Frankie,” Mr Rock said. “He stopped by the classroom to say he was expecting to see you at the luau.”

  “I know he’s counting on me, but I can’t go,” I told Mr Rock “My dad said the only way I could go was if I got an A on my Einstein presentation.”

  “Oh,” Mr Rock answered. “Well, I’m afraid you didn’t get an A.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “You got an A-plus.”

  My ears almost stood up on my head and danced the cha-cha. I opened the door and stuck my head out of the cubicle.

  “You didn’t happen to say that I got an A-plus, did you, Mr Rock?”

 

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