Uh-oh. This was the moment. Decision time.
I closed my eyes and imagined two pictures of myself. In one, I was wearing my gi and delivering a powerful roundhouse kick. I looked awesome. In the other, I was sitting at a library desk, reading a book. I looked . . . well . . . way less awesome. Which one was the real Hank?
Face it, Hank. You’re a martial arts guy.
There it was. Decision made.
Okay, so this was the time to tell Zoe that I was going back to Tae Kwon Do class. That I was changing my middle name from “Improvement” to “The Smasher.”
“Yeah . . . about Reading Gym, Zoe. I was thinking that . . .”
Before I could finish the sentence, who should come galumphing up to our booth but Nick the Tick. He was holding a bowling ball in his ketchupy hand.
“I challenge you, Zipperbutt,” he said. “One ball each. Whoever knocks the most pins down gets to stay. The loser guy has to leave. Pick your ball and meet me on lane seven, Loser Guy.”
He stomped off before I could say no.
“This will be fun,” Zoe said, jumping up from the booth. “I’ll bet you can beat him, Hank.”
“No problemo,” I said out loud, but inside I was saying, “Yes, problemo.”
I am not too good on the athletic front. Frankie is a great athlete—he’s good at anything that involves a ball. Me, I’m a good swimmer. And a pretty good Ping-Pong player. And if you promise never to tell a soul, I’ll also share with you that I can do some complicated ballroom dancing steps that my mom taught me. But when it comes to baseballs and soccer balls and basketballs and other round objects, including bowling balls, I’m not the most talented guy on the team. McKelty knows that, too, which I’m sure is why he challenged me to a bowling duel.
Before I could explain any of that to Zoe, she was heading over to lane seven. I had no choice but to accept Nick’s challenge.
I grabbed the first ball I saw on the rack, and instantly fell smack on the ground. There must have been rocks inside that thing! It felt like it weighed two tons. After checking my arm to make sure it hadn’t stretched to twice its length, I grabbed another ball, a lighter one this time. In case you’re wondering how I knew it was lighter, it was because it was orange with yellowish swirly designs all over it.
I know, I know. This wasn’t the manliest ball on the rack. But I could pick it up and throw it without hurling myself down the alley, and I figured in a bowling duel, that had to be more important than the color scheme.
When I reached lane seven, McKelty was there tying his bowling shoes and Zoe was sitting at the score table.
“I can’t do this. I don’t have the right shoes,” I said.
“You can just bowl in your socks,” McKelty said.
“That’s against the rules,” I pointed out.
“It’s one ball, dingbat. Besides, my dad makes the rules and if anyone questions him he’ll go directly to his best friend who happens to be the first cousin of the mayor of Brooklyn. So there.”
I wasn’t in the mood to hear him rattle on about the McKelty factor, which is truth times ten, so I just took off my shoes without answering. I accidentally on purpose waved my feet around in front of Zoe, just to make sure she noticed that I was wearing matching socks. A guy has to play to his strengths, you know.
McKelty decided to go first, which was fine with me. He held the bowling ball up in front of his face and stared at the ten pins at the far end of the alley, making a big deal out of how seriously he was aiming. Then he took a few steps, swung his arm in back of him, brought it forward, and let the ball fly.
I have to admit, it was a pretty powerful performance. That ball went careening down the lane, straight and fast and dead-on center. When it hit the pins, they clattered loudly and nine of them fell down. The last pin standing wobbled back and forth, tipping to one side then the other.
“Fall over, stupid!” McKelty shouted to the pin.
It was like the pin had heard his voice and said to itself, “You can’t talk to me like that,” because it stopped wobbling and stood straight and tall in its corner of the lane.
“Nine,” said Zoe. “Pretty good, Nick, but beatable. Isn’t that right, Hank?”
“No problemo,” I said. And I think by now we all know that when I say that it means, “Yes, problemo.”
I picked up my orange and yellow swirly ball and walked to the starting position. They must have put oil or wax on the floor, because I noticed how slippery the wood was under my socks. I made a mental note to be careful not to slide.
I held the ball up to my face, just as Nick had done, and stared down the lane at the ten pins. Then I took a few steps forward and got up a little speed. Actually, I got up a lot of speed. Way too much speed. I couldn’t stop myself, and those few steps turned into an all-out slide. I went sailing down the lane like an Olympic speed skater, clutching on to my orange swirly ball with one hand and waving my other arm wildly in the air to try to keep my balance.
It wasn’t pretty, folks.
“Attention, bowler on lane seven!” Joe’s voice came over the speaker so loud you could probably hear him on the top of the Statue of Liberty. “There is no walking, sliding, or whatever the heck you’re doing, allowed on the lanes.”
What did he think? I was trying to look like a total idiot on purpose?
Thankfully, I finally came to a stop before I reached the pins. It would have been really terrible if I had knocked down the pins and kept sliding all the way through to the other side. Now that I mention it, what exactly is on the other side of the pins, anyway? I’ll have to check that out someday.
I was stuck in an awkward situation. If I wasn’t allowed to walk on the lane, how was I supposed to get back?
I had no choice but to take the gutter route.
Let me tell you, it’s not easy to hustle your rear end down the gutter of a bowling alley. It’s slippery and curvy and the whole time you’re worrying that you’re going to get clipped by a returning bowling ball coming down the gutter.
When I finally got back to the score table, I thought for sure Zoe would be laughing her head off at me. Nick the Tick certainly was.
“Zipperhead, that was pathetic,” he howled.
Zoe wasn’t laughing, though. “I think you need to put your shoes on,” she said. “It’s dangerous out there in just your socks.”
Wow. Not only didn’t she laugh at me, she actually had a helpful suggestion. That was really sweet.
I put my regular shoes back on, picked up the orange ball, and took my position at the head of the lane.
Concentrate, Hank. You have to score a ten to beat McKelty. You can do this if you look, think, and most of all, concentrate.
I took aim, swung my arm back, brought it forward, and let the ball loose.
“Go,” I whispered to myself. “Go! Go! Go!”
CHAPTER 15
Don’t get your hopes up, guys. This is a Hank Zipzer book, not a superhero comic where Captain Bowler pulls out an incredible move just in the nick of time. Remember, it’s me. Just plain Hank.
The ball took its good old time to reach the pins. By the time it got there, it was teetering on the edge of the lane, right next to the gutter.
Fortunately, it didn’t roll into the gutter until it had knocked down one pin, the one on the very, very outside. I watched that pin wobble for what seemed like forever, hoping that as it fell it would take down the other nine pins.
No such luck.
I scored a one.
“Bye-bye, Zipper Klutz,” McKelty said, handing me my backpack.
I was too embarrassed to even look at Zoe. I just grabbed my stuff and ran out the door without even saying good-bye.
CHAPTER 16
The phone was ringing when I burst into my apartment. The minute I heard it, I hoped it was Zoe, telling me not to be embarrassed because she isn’t a very good bowler, either. Telling me to come back and get my notebook that I had forgotten to pick up. Telling me that Nick was
a jerk and I was just the kind of guy she truly admired.
“It’s for you,” Emily said, handing me the phone. “And it’s a girl.”
Yes! It was Zoe! No other girl ever calls me.
“Hi, Zoe,” I said.
“Uh . . . Hank?” said the voice on the other end of the phone. “Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s me, Mr. Rock.”
I looked over at Emily, and she was holding her sides, laughing. Wait until I was off the phone. I was going to get her good. I was going to tell Dad on her the minute he came out of . . . out of wherever he was.
“Mr. Rock,” I said into the phone. “I’m sorry. My sister said you were a girl.”
“Well, your sister needs to take a science lesson,” Mr. Rock laughed.
Emily was still laughing when she walked back to the dining room table where Robert was holding Katherine and trying to feed her one of the parsnip and squash squares they had baked. I figured those stinky squares were probably why our entire apartment smelled like the inside of a rotten-vegetable bin. Katherine hissed at Robert every time he tried to shove an iguana treat near her snout.
“Do you want to talk to me or to my dad?” I asked Mr. Rock. Most of the time, if a teacher calls our house, they’re calling to tell my parents that I messed up on something. So I just figured he was calling for my dad.
“Actually, it’s you I’d like to speak with,” Mr. Rock said. “I was wondering if you had made a decision on whether to continue with Reading Gym.”
“Reading Gym seems like fun, Mr. Rock. Really and truly it does. But I promised Frankie and Ashley that I’d stick with Tae Kwon Do.”
“Are you sure about this decision, Hank?”
“See, I promised Frankie I’d be his sparring partner. He’s counting on me.”
“As I said to you in school, Hank, although I highly recommend the Reading Gym, in the end it’s your choice. If you’re sure of your decision, I’ll go ahead and assign a new partner to Zoe. See you tomorrow, Hank.”
“Wait! Mr. Rock! Did you say I was going to be Zoe’s partner?”
“Yes. She requested you.”
“As in ‘I’d like to work with Hank.’”
“Exactly.”
“She really said that?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Rock, could you hold on a minute, please?”
I covered up the phone and started to pace. Emily and Robert both stopped their parsnip-squash feeding frenzy and stared at me. Even Katherine took a break from her hissing and focused her bulgy, beady eyes on me. Our dog, Cheerio, ran back and forth with me, staying right in between my legs so that I nearly tripped on him with every step I took.
Everyone, human, reptile, and cute little four-legged furry guy, was feeling my dilemma.
“Tae Kwon Do versus Reading Gym,” I whispered out loud, pacing back and forth.
“If you ask me, reading is pretty important,” Emily said.
Then she did a weird thing. She came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder, in a nice, friendly kind of way. “Plus, you seem to really like Zoe. And it seems like she did request you.”
Was this Emily the Annoying being Emily the Helpful?
Robert came over to me and put his scrawny little hand on my other shoulder. Man, this was getting too weird.
“Love is what makes the world go round, Hank,” he said, looking all gaga-eyed at Emily. Then he got hold of himself and turned back into Super Nerd. “Love and orbital force, of course.”
Cheerio looked up at me and yipped. I don’t speak dog, but I think I saw him smiling with his bottom teeth. Could he be nodding yes?
I put the phone up to my ear.
“Okay, Mr. Rock. I’m in.”
“In what, Hank? I need you to commit.”
“Get out the trampoline and fire up the pummel horse, I’m going to Reading Gym.”
“That’s a good decision, Hank. You’re a smart kid. See you tomorrow.”
He hung up, and suddenly, there I was, with Emily’s hand on one shoulder and Robert’s on the other. That was unacceptable.
“Okay, guys, the love fest is over,” I said. “Besides, Katherine is hissing for you.”
The junior science brigade went back to their parsnip party and Cheerio rolled over for a belly scratch. I think he was proud of me, too. Either that, or his belly just itched.
“By the way, Emily, don’t discuss this with Dad,” I said as I scratched Cheerio.
“Why not? I’m sure he’d rather you learn to read than learn to fight.”
“I have my reasons,” I said.
“Okay,” Emily said. “But this will cost you. You make my bed all week.”
“That’s ridiculous. No deal.”
“Dad!” Emily called out. “Hank has something to tell you.”
A second later, my dad stuck his head out of the kitchen.
“What is it, Hank?” he asked.
Emily looked over at me and smiled.
“Okay, deal,” I said.
“Hank just wanted to tell you that we both think Katherine really likes you,” she said.
“That’s good,” my dad said. “Tell Katherine I like her, too. Now can I go back to my crossword?”
“Sure,” said Emily. “Thanks, Dad.”
Even though I had Emily’s word to keep it a secret, I couldn’t really feel comfortable with my decision until I told Frankie and Ashley that I was dropping out of martial arts. I decided to do it right away, like plunging into a freezing ocean all at once, rather than edging yourself in one inch at a time.
I took the elevator to the basement, where we have our clubhouse in the storeroom next to the laundry. Frankie and Ashley had said they’d be down there practicing some Tae Kwon Do.
I tiptoed by the laundry room, trying my best to avoid running into whatever adult was in there. I find that when adults are folding towels, they get very talkative and like to tell you about how far they walked to school when they were growing up and what their mom used to cook for their special birthday dinners. I don’t know what it is about warm towels. They just bring out memories, I guess.
I thought I was safely past the laundry room door when our neighbor, Mrs. Fink, stuck her head out into the hall. She was in her fluffy pink bathrobe and her fluffy pink matching slippers. That might sound like a weird thing to be wearing at four-thirty in the afternoon, but I understood it. It was a cold February day and personally, I think it’s really fun on a cold day to bundle up in warm pajamas and hang out in a toasty place, which the laundry room certainly was.
“Hank!” she said. “Come in and say hi while I finish folding the towels.”
“Gee, Mrs. Fink, I’d really like to, but Frankie and Ashley are waiting for me and it’s kind of an emergency.”
“Nothing wrong, I hope?”
“Oh, no, it’s not a something’s-wrong kind of emergency, more of a we-have-to-talk kind of emergency.”
“You go on your way, then, darling. And stop by my apartment later for a piece of my apple-cinnamon sugar cake. I remember my mother always made it for my special birthday dinners . . .”
What’d I tell you? It’s the warm towels.
As I headed down the hall, I wondered if someday when I was folding towels and ran into a kid, I’d tell him about how my mom always made me tofu scramble with dandelion greens on special days. Somehow, it didn’t jump out at you like apple-cinnamon sugar cake.
When I walked into the clubhouse, Frankie was sprawled on the big flowered couch, and Ashley was crumpled up in a ball on the floor. They were both wearing their gis.
“This looks more like Tae Kwon Don’t than Tai Kwon Do,” I said.
They both cracked up. At least, Frankie did and I was pretty sure Ashley did because I could see her ponytail shaking as it rested on her back.
Sure, you guys are laughing now, but wait until I fink out on you. Will you be laughing then?
“I’m beat,” Frankie said. “Practicing these moves is hard work. You wait and see.”
Ashley spoke from her curled-up ball. “My arms are sore, my legs are sore, my feet are sore, even my forehead is sore.”
“That’s because Ashweena’s no match for me,” Frankie said. “I need you, Zip, to be a real partner.”
Okay, Hank. You’re on. Open your mouth and let it fly.
“So about that partner thing,” I said. “I think I’m deciding . . . no . . . I’ve for sure decided that I’m not going to do the Tae Kwon Do class. I’m taking Reading Gym instead.”
Ashley uncurled herself from the ball and looked at Frankie. He looked at me, and then back at her. It was very quiet in the clubhouse.
“I know you guys are disappointed,” I said, talking really fast, “but it’s just that I stink at reading and Mr. Rock says that I need practice or . . .”
“Zip,” Frankie said. “Stop.”
“Not another word,” Ashley agreed.
Wow, Hank, they must be really mad at you to not even let you explain.
“I think it’s cool that you’re getting reading help,” Frankie said.
“And I think it’s cool that you found Zoe to share the class with,” Ashley said.
“So you guys aren’t mad at me?” I said softly.
“Not even a little,” Ashley answered.
Frankie gave me a thumbs-up sign. “You got to do what you got to do, Zip.”
“One more thing,” I added. “I’m not telling my dad about the switch. You know how upset he gets when he thinks I need special help. So as far as he knows, we’re all doing Tae Kwon Do together.”
“My lips are sealed,” Frankie said, pretending to zip up his lips.
“Your secret is my secret,” Ashley agreed.
Suddenly, I felt like the luckiest guy in the world. I mean, think of it. I had two best friends who understood me and really and truly wanted what was best for me. I had a hat-wearing drum-playing girl who requested me as her reading partner. I had two matching socks and a new Mets sweatshirt. And I had knocked down a bowling pin without pulling my arm out of its socket.
I sat down with Frankie and Ashley and told them all about my meeting with Zoe. I told them all the things I said to McKelty, and they were so proud of my quick wit, although Frankie did give me a lecture about using an orange swirly ball in public. We laughed until our stomachs hurt.
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