“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 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 p.m. and 5.15 p.m. the next day. My mum 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.
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 mum 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’d 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 mum didn’t want to play, either, because she was in the kitchen experimenting with a new recipe. I think it was tofu crisps that are supposed to taste like potato crisps but actually taste like cement. Not that I’ve eaten cement, but I imagine it tastes like her tofu crisps.
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 was 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 towards me.
“It’s OK,” I said, pushing the dictionary back towards 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.”
A word. Think of a word. I can’t think of a word. I’m wordless.
Come on, Hank. You must know some word. How am I feeling? I’m feeling tense. Tense. It starts with a T. There’s a T on the board. OK, Hank. Way to 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 OK to me. “No, I’m not kidding 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 mum said. “This is one of his problem areas.”
Hello! Ding dong! That’s what I’d been telling them ever since the subject of spellin
g 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 angry 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 whizz at chess.
My dad and I played thirteen games of chess. We played right up until bedtime. I beat him at 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 that 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 break the next day.
THE MAGIK 3 PLAN FOR SAVING HANK ZIPZER’S SKIN (AGAIN!)
1. Tuesday, 3 p.m. SHARP. Come straight home from school. Hank and Ashley report to Hank’s flat to wait for the cable guy.
2. Frankie stands on watch for him in front of building. Robert goes to his flat to wait for orders.
3. When the cable guy arrives at our building, Frankie buzzes Hank’s flat 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 flat and help him with a crossword puzzle. Tells him it’s a vocab emergency.
6. Mr Zipzer leaves flat and goes up to Robert’s. Robert keeps him there for at least fifteen minutes. (Don’t mess up, Robert!)
7. Hank buzzes downstairs to signal to Frankie that the coast is clear. Frankie brings the cable guy up.
8. The cable guy installs the new box.
9. When he leaves, Ashley calls Robert to tell him to release Mr Zipzer.
10. Ashley, Frankie and Robert go home for dinner. Hank watches the nightly news with his dad. Hank acts like nothing has happened.
Now I ask you, is this a thing of beauty or what?
Our plan couldn’t have started out any better. My dad walked us home from school and we took our positions. Robert went to his flat. Frankie waited outside the front. He had a bouncy ball with him, to help him pass the time. Ashley and I went to my flat and had some biscuits and milk. The biscuits and milk part wasn’t in the plan, but when you’re doing battle, you have to eat to keep your energy up.
Emily was out of our hair. She went right into my bedroom to be with Katherine, who was sitting on her nest looking a little more disgusting than usual.
At four-fourteen p.m. the buzzer rang.
Bzzzzzz. It only rang once. What was wrong with Frankie? He was supposed to buzz three times.
“Maybe he forgot the signal,” Ashley said.
Meanwhile, Cheerio, who believes that buzzer is out to get him, started to bark and chase his tail.
“Calm yourself, boy,” I said. I really love Cheerio, but right now, there was no room in this plan for a psycho dog.
Bzzzzz. The buzzer rang again. We waited for the third ring. Instead I heard my neighbour, Mrs Fink, on the intercom.
“Hankie, sweetheart, I just got back from the skin doctor. I have such a rash, you should see it. Anyway, I forgot my key. Could you buzz me in?”
“Sure, Mrs Fink. I hope your rash doesn’t spread,” I said.
I buzzed her in quickly. This is exactly the kind of unexpected event that can make your stomach do flips all over your body. I wondered if George Washington had a lady with a rash bothering him when he was trying to cross the Delaware. I don’t think so.
Ashley and I sat down to wait some more.
At four-thirty-one, the buzzer rang.
Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Three rings!
Ashley dialled Robert’s number.
“It’s a go,” she said.
One minute later Robert was at our door. I was waiting for him.
“He’s in the kitchen,” I whispered. “And, Robert, we’re counting on you.”
“I’ve been training for this moment for years,” Robert said.
Robert hurried past me and I followed him into the kitchen.
“How ya doin’, Mr Z?,” he said to my dad. “This is some weather we’re having, huh?”
I motioned for Robert to hurry. He had a little part in this. He didn’t have to turn it into a starring role.
“Actually, I was wondering if you would mind coming to my apartment for fifteen … I mean … a few minutes,” Robert said. “I have to create a crossword puzzle for school and I’m stuck. It’s really good up to seven down but then I don’t know where to go.”
I started to cough to cut him off. As a matter of fact, I had a seizure. Robert looked over at me and I told him with my eyes to wrap it up.
“No one knows crossword puzzles like you do, Mr Z.,” he said. “So could you come and help me?”
My dad looked like he had been asked to the wizards’ ball. He couldn’t have been happier.
“Hank, are you OK if I pop downstairs to Robert’s?” he asked.
“I’m fine, Dad. Take your time. Really. It’s just great that you’re willing to lend this little guy a helping hand.”
The minute they were out of the door, I pressed the buzzer three times and spoke into the intercom.
“All clear, Frankie,” I said.
“It’s about time,” he said. “I’m running out of conversation with Mr Cable.”
I waited by the lift door. When it opened, Frankie came out, followed by the cable guy. He had a ponytail and was wearing a blue uniform with his name, “Tom”, embroidered over his shirt pocket. He was carrying a new cable box in his hand. What a beautiful sight!
“Right this way,” I said, showing him into the living room. The moment Cheerio saw Tom, he attacked his ankles and started chewing on his trouser legs. In Cheerio language, this is a sign of true love. He only does that to people he really likes, such as Papa Pete.
Tom didn’t mind. In fact, he laughed. He reached down to pet Cheerio, and my little dog rolled over on his back for Tom to scratch his stomach. It was a total love fest.
“Sir, I hate to break this up,” I said, “but we’re kind of in a hurry.” I pointed to the cable box in Tom’s hand. I was trying not to be rude.
“You kids have money to pay for this?” Tom asked.
Ashley handed him an envelope with cash. We had all pooled our money and I had got the last five dollars out of Emily. I’d had to make a few small threats, but eventually she came through.
“Fifty-eight dollars and forty cents exactly,” Ashley said.
Tom took his clipboard and started to write out a receipt. This was eating up valuable time.
“Would it be OK for you to start installing the box now?” I asked Tom.
“You guys must be planning to watch something special on the Cartoon Network,” he said, as he attached the new cables to the back of our TV. “Personally, I like the old cartoons. That Tweety Bird cracks me up. I tot I taw a puddy cat. Yeah, that’s great stuff. Now Woody Woodpecker – he’s one irritating bird.”
Tom seemed like a really nice guy. I would have liked to continue the conversation, but this wasn’t the time or place. I didn’t trust Robert to keep my father busy for long.
“Now if you’ll just give me your old box, I’ll be on my way,” Tom said when he was finished.
“We don’t have an old box,” Ashley said.
&n
bsp; Tom picked up his clipboard and looked over a sheet of yellow paper on the top. “Says here you do,” he answered. “The company wants it back or I have to charge you twenty-five dollars more. Company policy.”
“But we don’t have any more money,” I said.
Tom started unscrewing the cable box.
“Wait,” I said. “Listen, Tom, you seem like a nice guy. Can I trust you with a secret?”
“Depends,” he said.
I motioned for him to follow me. I led him to the door of my room. Emily was sitting on the floor next to Katherine.
“There’s the cable box,” I said. “My sister’s pet iguana laid eggs in it. If you take it now, you’ll be interrupting the life cycle of forty-five adorable baby iguanas waiting to be born. You wouldn’t want to do that, would you?”
“Heck, no!” said Tom. “Did you know you’re talking to a chartered member of the SPPI?”
“I had no idea,” I answered. “What’s the SPPI?”
“The Society for the Protection and Preservation of Iguanas,” he said. “I’ve been raising iggies since I was your age.”
Frankie, Ashley and I almost fainted. This was too good to be true.
“Do you mind if I have a look at your iggie?” Tom said.
“Watch out,” I warned. “She’s in a nasty mood.”
“You would be too if you’d just laid forty-five eggs,” Emily said.
Tom scooted over next to Katherine and started talking to her in a soft voice. “Hi, sugar,” he said. “You’re a good iggie.” Slowly, he edged closer and closer to her. The funny thing is, Katherine didn’t hiss at him. In fact, she kind of closed her eyes like she was falling asleep. Tom touched her head and stroked her along the side of her belly. Then gently, he picked her up off the nest.
“Just as I thought,” he whispered. “Take a look.”
We looked down into Katherine’s nest. We saw my father’s underpants, and mine too. We saw the cotton balls and the toilet paper and my mum’s slipper. But there wasn’t an egg to be seen. Not one.
“There’s nothing in there!” Emily said.
“Exactly,” Tom said.
“Katherine, girlfriend, you are one big fake,” Frankie said.
The World's Greatest Underachiever and the Mutant Moth Page 7