The Zippity Zinger #4

by Winkler, Henry

  “I don’t see why we need a family meeting,” Emily began. “The creep took my socks. They’re my socks, not his socks.”

  “Hank, your turn to express yourself,” said my mom. She believes in expressing yourself.

  “I didn’t take her socks,” I said. “They must have known I needed them and they wound up on my feet. All I’m asking is to wear them for one day and one day only. Not even a day. Just for two hours during the Olympiad softball game. I don’t see why that’s such a problem.”

  “Because those are the same two hours that I’m participating in the Brain Buster Competition. And I need my lucky socks to lead the team on to victory.”

  “What about my victory in the softball game?”

  “What victory is that?” Emily the Perfect said. “It would take more than monkey socks to get you to do anything right.”

  “That’s enough, you two,” my dad said. “First, let me say that I don’t believe monkey socks bring luck.”

  “Of course,” my mom chimed in. “We all know there’s no such thing as a lucky charm.”

  “Although,” my dad said, “I do have a silver mechanical pencil, the one I got for being a six-year subscriber to TIME magazine. And I do seem to complete my crossword puzzles faster with that particular pencil.”

  “Stanley, this isn’t about your crossword puzzles,” my mom pointed out.

  “You’re right, Randi,” he agreed, running his hands through his hair, which was already in its usual messy condition.

  “Trust me, Dad,” I pleaded. “I need them more than I’ve ever needed anything in my whole life.”

  “Not as much as I need them,” said Emily.

  My dad held up his hand, letting us both know that we were to stop talking. He looked out at us over the top of his glasses the way he does when he’s thinking of an especially hard word in his crossword puzzle.

  “Well,” he began, “since we’re talking about a PAIR of socks, a very clear solution presents itself. There are two children in this family. There are two socks in a pair. We are one family, and one for all and all for one. Are you following my line of thinking?”

  “No,” I said. “You lost me after ‘Well’.”

  “All right, let me try this,” he continued. “Two kids. Two socks. Two divided by two is what?”

  “How should I know, Dad?” This conversation was driving me crazy. “Check back with me after sixth grade. Maybe I’ll know division by then.”

  “Two divided by two is one,” said Emily. I looked at Katherine, and I know this sounds weird, but she shot me a look as if to say, “Even I knew that, dodo brain.”

  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 mom 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 mom was holding the socks that she had scooped up from the hallway where Emily 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 put the sock on, her mad-cow iguana 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 for 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 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 dove 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 elevator down to the courtyard. Everyone except Katherine. She doesn’t like elevators. Once, she freaked out and bit the button for the fifth floor. We had to have my dad pry her off. If you come to my building, you can still see her teethmarks on the button.

  When we reached the courtyard, I went to my place and my dad stood on the metal water drain that we were calling home plate. I did my windup, 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 pried the ball loose.

  I went through my windup 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 on the courtyard cement.

  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 on one monkey sock.”

  Mrs. Seides looked confused.

  “We’ll replace the flowerpot, Miriam,” my mom 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.

  CHAPTER 15

  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, okay, not everybody likes tangy. She will explain to you why your tongue needs tangy, because it wakes all of your taste buds up 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 decided to share this wonderful fruit with you.

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

  TEN REASONS HANK ZIPZER ABSOLUTELY CANNOT PITCH FOR THE YELLOW TEAM

  1. My sister won’t let me wear her lucky red-and-pink monkey socks.

  I read over 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 backpack and Nick McKelty was right behind her to swoop it up in his fingernail-bitten paw. He would run right to Principal 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 eve
n 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 in igloos.

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

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

  I left my room and headed for the dining room.

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

  “I set 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 mom said. “I’ve had 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, mom,” I called. “Are we having anything that we have to eat with a spoon tonight?”

  “I made carob-soy silk swirl gelati for dessert,” my mom said.

  “You put out your and Dad’s spoon,” I said to Emily. “I’ll put out Mom’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 visit you?”

  “Robert does.”

  “I rest my case.”

  I headed for the door. I looked out the peephole 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 apartment.

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

  My mom came into the hall. “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 mom 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 anymore.

  “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 the only fair thing is that no one wears them,” my mom 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 hall.

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

  “It’s supposed to be cold,” my mom 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 math to do.”

  “How long will it take you?”

  “I have to do all the even problems on page 46. Maybe a half hour.”

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

  “What for?”

  “You’ll see.”

  CHAPTER 16

  WHO WAS I KIDDING? All the even problems on page 46 might take a normal person a half-an-hour, but for me, math is not a get-it-done-quickly subject. I can sit there and look at one problem for a half-an-hour and not have any idea 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, math is math, right?

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

  “Did you finish your math homework?” my mom said.

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

  In my judgment, she did not need to know that I 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.

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

  As I left the apartment, Cheerio jumped off the couch and bolted out into the hall 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 elevator took off on our journey down to the center 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 regular 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 elevator landed at the basement, Cheerio and I headed down the hall to our clubhouse. We meet in a storage room that has two old couches in the middle, surrounded by shelves full of cardboard boxes with words written on them like WINTER CLOTHES or HOLIDAY DISHES 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 hall.

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

  I whirled around to see where the voice was coming from. The hallway 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 stood 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 couches.

  “Hank Zipzer, you are being called to enter the kiva!” the voice said. It was starting to get 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 barely see two figures. They were wearing masks that were decorated with pink feathers and markers. The room was dark, lit only by the red glow of the EXIT sign. As my eyes became more accustomed to the dar
k, I could see that the steam was rising out of the open tops of the washing machines. The masks the spirits wore were made out of 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 pretended 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 can that was also decorated with a few pink feathers and pulled out a pair of regular white athletic 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.