The World's Greatest Underachiever and the Lucky Monkey Socks

by Henry Winkler

  I couldn’t say this out loud, but I was wondering if I could be dumber than a lizard?

  “Stanley, that’s a wonderful solution,” my mum said. “Each of the children gets one sock.”

  “It won’t work,” said Emily the Cheerful.

  “Let’s put it to a test,” said my dad.

  My mum was holding the socks that she had scooped up from the corridor, where Emily had tossed them in her hissy fit. She handed one to each of us. Emily put hers on her left foot. Or maybe it was her right foot. I could do the short pinky finger thing again, but you’d probably stop reading, so let’s just say she put it on a foot.

  I was a little nervous, because I remembered that last time I’d put the sock on, her mad-crazy iguana had attacked my ankle.

  “Can you put Katherine in her cage?” I asked Emily.

  “And have her miss this?” said Emily.

  I rolled my eyes and put the sock on.

  “Good,” said my dad. “Now let’s test this out. Emily, what is your best subject in the Brain Buster Competition?”

  “Geography,” Emily answered.

  “Fine,” my dad said. “Emily, name the two longest rivers in the world.”

  “That’s easy,” Emily answered. “The Nile and the … and the … and the… I only know one.”

  “Let’s try another question,” my dad said. “What is the largest state in the USA and what’s its capital?”

  “The largest state is Alaska. Its capital is … is … is… I can only answer half the question. See, Daddy, it’s because I only have one sock. Hank, give me that sock immediately.”

  Emily made a dive for my ankle, but I was quicker than she was. She landed on the carpet, clutching at air.

  “Now it’s my turn to test out the one sock theory,” I said. I grabbed a softball and my glove. “Come on, Dad. Science in action.”

  We all took the lift down to the courtyard. Everyone except Katherine. She doesn’t like lifts. Once, she freaked out and bit the button for the fifth floor. My dad had to prise her off. If you come to my block, you can still see her teeth marks on the button.

  When we reached the courtyard, I went to my place and my dad stood on the metal drain cover that we were calling home plate. I did my wind up, just like I had done with Papa Pete. The ball left my hand and flew. But, instead of flying into my father’s glove, it took off like a wild thing, spun around and lodged itself in the metal gate that leads to 78th Street.

  “Try again,” my dad said as he prised the ball loose.

  I went through my wind up again and let the ball go. This time, it sailed through the air and was heading for my dad’s glove. But then, just before it got there, it took a sudden turn and headed for the clay flowerpot on Mrs Seides’s window ledge. Bam. The next thing I knew, the flowerpot was in a million pieces in the courtyard.

  Mrs Seides stuck her head out the window.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs Seides,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hit your flowerpot, but I couldn’t help it, because I only have one monkey sock on.”

  Mrs Seides looked confused.

  “We’ll replace the flowerpot, Miriam,” my mum said. “Hank didn’t mean to break it.”

  I turned to my dad.

  “You saw it with your own eyes, Dad. Proof that I can’t pitch without the socks.”

  “And I can’t remember geography facts without those socks,” said Emily.

  “Those socks really are lucky,” I said.

  “I agree,” said Emily.

  It was the first time ever that my sister and I had agreed on anything.

  “Therefore, I NEED the socks,” I said.

  “I disagree,” said Emily.

  There we were, disagreeing again. At least we were back to normal.

  I spent the hour before dinner in my room, trying to figure out how to tell Ashley that I was quitting the team. It’s not easy to tell Ashley something she doesn’t want to hear. Like if she has a tangerine for lunch and wants to share it with you, and you say, “Tangerines are a little too tangy for me.”

  She won’t just say, “OK, not everybody likes tangy.” She will explain to you why your tongue needs tangy, because it wakes up all of your taste buds so they can appreciate all the tastes that are non-tangy. And the next thing you know, you’re eating the tangerine and thinking how lucky you are that Ashley has decided to share this wonderful fruit with you.

  I took out a piece of paper and wrote this down:

  I read what I had written and a bolt of terror shot through me.

  That was not a sentence a fourth-grade guy such as myself would want anyone else to see. It gave me the creeps to read it, so think what it would be in the hands of – oh my gosh, I can hardly say it – Nick “the Tick” McKelty.

  Let’s say Ashley was walking up the stairs to class. And let’s say that the list accidentally fell out of her rucksack and Nick McKelty was right behind her to swoop it up in his fingernail-bitten paw. He would run right to Mr Love’s office and grab the microphone and read on the public address system to every student at PS 87 that Hank Zipzer wears his sister’s red-and-pink monkey socks. Let’s say all that happened. Let’s say that I would quickly change my name to Bill or even Bernard and get a one-way plane ticket to Alaska and live in an igloo trading whale blubber for the rest of my life.

  Wait a minute. I can’t do that. They don’t have cable TV in igloos.

  I took my list and crumpled it into a ball and threw it in the bin. That wasn’t enough. I took it out and shredded it into such small pieces that no one could ever tape it back together again.

  “Hank, dinner’s ready,” my mum called. “Come and set the table.”

  I left my room and headed for the dining room.

  “It’s Emily’s night to set,” I sulked.

  “I did it last night,” Emily snapped. “It’s your turn. Don’t you remember? You asked me to switch because you had to study for your Hopi test longer than anyone in the world.”

  “You two have been at this all afternoon,” my mum said. “I’ve had enough of it. Now, both of you, set the table and no more discussion.”

  “I’ll do the plates and the forks,” I said. “No napkins, no knives.”

  “If I do the napkins and knives, who does the spoons?”

  “Hey, mum,” I called. “Are we having anything that we have to eat with a spoon tonight?”

  “I made low-fat soy silk swirl gelati for dessert,” my mum said.

  “You put spoons out for you and Dad,” I said to Emily. “I’ll put out Mum’s spoon. I won’t be needing one. Soy silk isn’t my thing.”

  We were just sitting down to dinner when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Emily and I said at the same time.

  “Don’t bother,” I said to her. “It’s not for you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because only humans ring doorbells and what human would want to come and visit you?”

  “Robert does.”

  “I rest my case.”

  I headed for the door. I looked out the spyhole and saw Ashley standing there. She was waving a piece of paper around and looking very excited.

  I opened the door and she almost fell into the flat.

  “I’ve got to show you this,” she said.

  My mum came into the corridor. “Hi, Ashley. Why don’t you stay and have something to eat with us. We’re having an all-green dinner – green pasta with raw garden greens.”

  “Gee, Mrs Zipzer, you know how I love your dinners. They’re so … so … so … unique. But I can’t stay. I just came to show Hank this.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a special edition of the PS 87 Newsletter. Listen to this. Headline: ‘Ashley Wong First Female Softball Manager in School’s History.’”

  “Ashley, that’s wonderful,” my mum said.

  “It says that everyone is expecting great things from me. Look, Hank, it even mentions you as our secret weapon.”

 
; I couldn’t keep it inside any more.

  “Ashley, I can’t pitch tomorrow.”

  “What do you mean? Of course you can pitch. We can’t go through this again!”

  “Yesterday was a one-time thing. It can’t be repeated because a certain someone I know won’t share her lucky monkey socks.”

  “I’ve decided that the only fair thing is for no one to wear them,” my mum said.

  “Mrs Zipzer, you can’t do that,” Ashley begged. “You’re setting back the cause of women in sports. Look, we’re making headlines. Don’t you want to see women in the headlines?”

  My dad walked out in the corridor.

  “What’s going on here?” he said. “The dinner’s getting cold.”

  “It’s supposed to be cold,” my mum said. “It’s raw.”

  “Well then, it’s getting warm,” my dad said. Boy, our whole family was mighty cranky. Ashley got the message.

  “I should go,” she said. “Hank, can you meet me in the clubhouse after dinner?”

  “I’ve got maths to do.”

  “How long will it take you?”

  “I have to do all the even problems on page forty-six. Maybe half an hour.”

  “After homework, then. Seven o’clock. I’ll get Frankie.”

  “What for?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Who was I kidding? All the even problems on page 46 might take a normal person half an hour, but for me, maths is not a get-it-done-quickly subject. I can sit there and look at one problem for half an hour and not have a clue what I’m even supposed to be doing. Except for certain multiplication problems that involve twos, fives and tens. For some reason, I can multiply anything by those numbers and get the right answer. But show me a seven or a nine and ask me to multiply it by something and I’m dead meat.

  The odd problems looked easier to me. They had a lot of tens and twos in them. Since I was in a rush to get to the clubhouse, I thought it would be a very creative decision to do those instead. I mean, maths is maths, right?

  “I’m going down to the clubhouse for a little while,” I called to my parents.

  “Did you finish your maths homework?” my mum said.

  “I did all eight problems,” I said, “and I think I got them right.”

  In my opinion, she did not need to know that I had made the creative decision to do the odd problems. That was between me and me. And me felt like I had the situation under control.

  “OK,” my mum said. “You’ve got thirty minutes. Don’t be late.”

  As I left the flat, Cheerio jumped off the sofa and bolted out into the corridor with me. He loves to hang out in our clubhouse. Actually, he loves to hang out anywhere I am, which makes me feel really good.

  I pushed B for basement, and the lift took off on our journey down to the centre of the building. Cheerio started to do his circle thing, but I looked at him and said, “Come on, boy. Not tonight. This is a really important meeting, and I need you to act like a normal dog.”

  Cheerio must have heard in my tone of voice that I meant business, because he stopped chasing his tail and gave me the sweetest little yip you’ve ever heard. He is my best animal friend, no doubt about it.

  When the lift landed in the basement, Cheerio and I headed down the corridor to our clubhouse. We meet in a storage room that has two old sofas in the middle, surrounded by shelves full of cardboard boxes with words written on them like “Winter clothes”, “Festive plates” or “College photos”.

  I pushed the door open, but no one was inside. That was strange, because Ashley is never late. Suddenly, a low, creepy voice echoed down the corridor.

  “Hank Zipzer,” the voice said. “You are about to enter the world of spirit. Join the ancient ones.”

  I whirled round to see where the voice was coming from. The corridor was dark, except for a reddish glow coming from under one of the doors. It was the laundry-room door.

  I looked down at Cheerio. His eyes were big and round and his ears were standing straight up. He tried to yelp, but it sounded more like a yip. If he was human, he’d be saying, “Let’s blow this pop stand.” Which is exactly what he did. He turned on all four of his little legs and sprang, as much as a dachshund can spring, back into the clubhouse. The last thing I saw was his tail disappearing under one of the sofas.

  “Hank Zipzer, you are being called to enter the kiva!” the voice said. It was starting to seem much more familiar.

  “Frankie?” I whispered. “Is that you?”

  “No,” the voice whispered. “It is the eagle spirit come to nest.”

  “You’re nesting in the laundry room?” I said with a laugh.

  “The spirits do not appreciate being laughed at,” said another voice from inside the laundry room.

  “And who are you?” I asked.

  “I am the spirit of the owl, bringing wisdom to the night,” the voice answered, sounding very much like a certain Ashley Wong.

  I pushed the door to the laundry room open and a blast of steam hit me in the face. Through the mist, I could just make out two figures. They were wearing masks that were decorated with pink feathers and marker pen. The room was dark, lit only by the red glow of the “Exit” sign. As my eyes became more accustomed to the dark, I could see that the steam was rising out of the open lids of the washing machines. The masks the spirits wore were made out of the paper plates we use for hot dog lunches.

  “Hey, guys, I’ve only got twenty-five minutes before I have to be back,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Then stop fooling around and take your place at the Council Circle,” Ashley the Owl said.

  I sat down on the floor of the laundry room, and Ashley and Frankie sat on either side of me.

  “Wow, it’s hot in here,” I said. “My T-shirt is starting to stick to me.”

  “This is our sweat lodge,” said Frankie the Eagle.

  “It’s working,” I said, feeling the sweat start to form little lakes behind my knees.

  Ashley was holding a wooden cooking spoon with a couple of feathers taped to the end. I was pretty sure I recognized those feathers from a Barbie boa that Ashley used to wear when she was pretending to be a rock star.

  “I have the talking stick,” she said, waving the wooden spoon around. “So I will begin. We are gathered here in our kiva to create for you the all-powerful lucky socks you so desire.”

  She reached into a coffee pot that was also decorated with a few pink feathers and pulled out a pair of normal white games socks. Ashley handed me the socks, and I saw that she had put red rhinestones in the shape of a monkey face on them. Ashley loves to decorate her clothes, and I mean everything she owns, with rhinestones. She’s really good at it too.

  “Wow, Ash, these are great,” I said. “You’re so artistic. They really look like monkeys. What are they for?”

  “For you, dodo brain,” she said. “For tomorrow, for the game, for luck. They are the lucky monkey socks you need.”

  “Thanks so much, guys,” I said. “But it takes more than rhinestones to make lucky monkey socks. They have to have been worn by my sister, they have to have been washed first and they have to have been hidden in the third drawer from the bottom, under my Mets sweatshirt. You can’t make socks magic just by putting monkey faces on them.”

  “I think you’re forgetting something, young Hopi brave,” said Frankie.

  “Shhh,” Ashley said to Frankie. “You can’t talk. You don’t have the talking stick.”

  “Then pass it over here, Ashweena,” said Frankie. “Who said you could hog the talking stick?”

  “Guys,” I said. “Will someone just take the talking stick, already? I’ve only got fifteen minutes left.”

  Ashley picked up the feathered spoon and Frankie grabbed it.

  “If the socks aren’t lucky enough for you now, we’ll fix that,” Frankie said. Then he started to chant. “Oh, Spirit of the Ancient Ones, come into the kiva and bestow your magic into these monkey socks. Make them lucky for Br
ave Hank Zipzer.”

  Frankie waved the socks around.

  “Boy, I’m sure glad those socks don’t smell,” I said.

  Ashley shot me a dirty look.

  “Come on, Hank. We’re doing this for you. Now be serious.”

  “OK,” I said. I got a really serious look on my face, cleared my throat and shouted, “Animal spirit, show yourself now!”

  We waited for something to happen. Now, you’re not going to believe this, but the door flung open and there, standing in our laundry room at 210 W. 78th Street, New York City, was the panting spirit of a small bear.

  We of the Council Circle let out an earth-shattering scream and jumped so high, we landed on top of the ancient ceremonial Hotpoint dryer.

  We were crouched on top of the dryer, shivering with fear and excitement. The small bear started to creep towards us, step by step. In the dark, we couldn’t see him clearly, but I did see one tuft of brown fur so thick you could stick a spoon in it.

  “It’s him,” Ashley whispered.

  “Him who?” I said.

  “Your totem spirit,” Ashley said. “You asked the Ancient Ones to call him and he came to fill the lucky socks with his magic.”

  “Guys,” whispered Frankie. “Look.”

  He pointed to the wall opposite us. The red glow from the “Exit” sign was casting a shadow that made the bear look as if he weighed eight hundred pounds.

  “Nice Mister Totem Dude,” Frankie said, trying to smile, but I could tell that even he was pretty scared.

  “Do you think he’s going to do his magic before he eats us?” I said.

  “Totem spirits don’t eat kids, do they?” Ashley asked.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “They might have left that part out of my tape.”

  The totem spirit lunged towards us and started to shake.

  “Oh no!” Ashley screamed.

  I couldn’t help myself. I screamed like a baby too. Yes, I did. But so did Frankie.

  I think we actually scared the bear totem, because he lifted his leg and peed all over those monkey socks.