A Brand-New Me! (10 page)

My mind was racing, and I tried to make my eyes stay on the page and do their work.

Come on, boys. Look at that second word. You got to help me out here.

“The circus is coming to town, Jethro. So I dressed up.”

Garry looked confused as he flipped through all three pages.

“Excuse me, Hank,” he said. “I don't see that line anywhere. Do you have a different script?”

“Actually, Garry, yes I do.”

“That's strange,” he said. “How did that happen?”

Many explanations raced through my mind. I met a jolly old elf in the hall and he snatched my original script and replaced it with this one. The place is crawling with elves, you know. Or how about this: The spirit of William Shakespeare visited me with his quill pen and dictated an entirely new play that he thought was better. You know that Shakespeare, he likes it to be done his way, and there's just no arguing with him.

While I was deciding which story to tell, a funny thing happened.

I told the truth.

I didn't exactly decide to, but when I looked at those three nice people, I just couldn't hide who I really was.

“The truth is,” I heard myself saying. “I really want to come here. You guys are so great and I just loved rehearsing for this audition and feeling so creative and special. But I can't read out loud. In fact, I can't read very well at all unless I concentrate with all my brain and even then, it's really hard for me. I have learning challenges that have always made school difficult so you might as well know that right now because if I did come here, I probably couldn't keep up, anyway, although I really want to keep up but I just never seem to be able to.”

Wow. That came out in a big gush. And guess what? I wasn't finished.

“It's pretty frustrating feeling like you're smart inside but when you try to get it outside, everything just gets all tangled up. It makes me feel like my brain is caught in a spider web, and try as I might, I just can't ever escape from it. People always think I'm not trying hard enough, but they don't have any idea how hard I really do try.”

“Hank,” Trudi Ferguson said. “Why didn't you tell us?”

“Because I really want to be a student here and I'm sure, with everyone in the whole city that you have to choose from, the last person you're going to want is a guy with learning challenges.”

I could feel myself starting to cry, that feeling when your throat tightens up and your voice starts to squeak like a mouse. I sure didn't want them to see that.

“So thank you so much for your time and for being so cool and letting me call you by your first names and everything, and I'll just send the next person in. By the way, she's a ballerina and I'll bet she's really great.”

Without waiting for their answer, I turned and ran out of the room as fast as I could. As I came crashing through the double doors into the hall, the beautiful ballerina smiled at me and said, “How'd it go?”

“Fine,” I squeaked. “Your turn.”

All I knew was that I had to hold the tears back until I was out on the street. I was able to do that, but when I hit the sidewalk, boy oh boy oh boy, did they ever come fast and furious.

My mom was really nice on the way home. She tried every trick in the book to make me feel better, including an offer to stop at Harvey's for a slice of pizza, or even two slices if I wanted. Nothing worked, though. I felt like I had blown my best chance at ever having a good time in school, and my whole future was going to be more spelling tests and Nick McKelty blowing his bad breath into my face.

When we got home, Emily and my Dad were playing electronic scrabble. My dad barely looked up from the game. I guess he was working on a seven letter word with triple points, which is the kind of thing that needs his full attention.

“How'd it go?” Emily asked, taking a break from the game.

“Let's just say,” I said, really not wanting to go into details, “that if I were a submarine, I would be at the bottom of the ocean, below where the clams live.”

“Honestly, Hank. Even you should know the clam cannot survive in that depth of water.”

“Actually, Em, I don't know that. And do you know why? Because I'm a stupid guy who can't read a bunch of simple words off a page. So if you'll excuse me now, I'm going to live the rest of my life in my room.”

I walked into my room for a good sulk, but I couldn't even do that. Baby Harry was at it again, and my room had the unmistakable aroma of strained peas. He was a talented kid when it came to the filled diaper department. At least one of the Zipzer boys was good at something.

Ashley and Frankie tried their best to cheer me up. We spent the rest of the day in our basement clubhouse, with them telling me what a cool guy I was and me not hearing a word they said.

Thank goodness there was a Mets game on TV on Sunday, because by that time, I was starting to bore myself. I don't know about you, but I can only be in a bad mood for about a day and a half before I need a Mets game and some microwave popcorn with Junior Mints dropped into it while the popcorn is still hot so that the chocolate melts and makes a delicious, gooey mess.

On Monday, Nick McKelty was particularly obnoxious at school. Right before lunch, he grabbed all my Number Two pencils and broke them in half, for no reason.

“This is perfect, Zipperbutt,” he said, handing them back to me. “You're short, and now you got short pencils, just like you.”

It took me all of lunch to figure out how to get him back, but finally I came up with a brilliant plan. I used two halves of one of my broken pencils like chopsticks, and picked up one of Luke Whitman's already-been-used nose tissues. Being very careful not to let any part of my body make contact with it, I carried the disgusting thing back to class and carefully slipped it in to McKelty's sweatshirt pocket. When he stuck his stubby hands in there on the way home from school, he was going to get a delightfully slimy surprise.

I thought that was going to be the highlight of my day, but boy, did I have a surprise waiting for me when I got home.

“This letter came for you today,” my mom said the minute I walked into the apartment.

I don't get many letters. Actually, I don't get any letters except a card on my birthday from my aunt Maxine. I really like that letter because it always has a crisp ten dollar bill in it. I held up this letter to the light to see if there was a ten dollar bill in it. No such luck.

“Why don't you read it to me, Mom? It's probably someone wanting me to subscribe to
Highlights for Children
.”

“I don't think so,” my mom said, “because the return address is from the Professional Performing Arts School.”

“Oh great. I get to find out a second time that I didn't get in.”

My mom opened the envelope and pulled out the letter.

“Dear Hank,” she read. “It was a real pleasure for the three of us to meet you. We really enjoyed your imagination and your positive spirit. We've talked over your application with the entire admissions committee at great length. And we feel that if you agree to work on the academic areas that are difficult for you, such as cold reading, then we are happy to offer you a spot in the middle school class starting this September.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

“Mom, could you check the name at the top of the letter and see if it's really addressed to
Hank
Zipzer. Maybe there was another Zipzer who applied.”

“Honey, it says your name right here. This letter is for you. It's signed by Trudi, Garry, and Tom. And wait, there's a handwritten note at the bottom. It's from Garry and it says, ‘Funny is good. Welcome, Hank.'”

At first I couldn't say one word. I just stood there letting the words in that letter wash over me. Finally, they must have sunk as far as they were going to go into my brain, and I just exploded.

“I GOT IN!” I said, over and over again. “I'm in! I was accepted! They want me to come there! I was accepted! I can't believe it! Mom, can you believe it? I got in! I got in! I got in!”

It took me less than forty seconds to race to the telephone.

“Who are you calling, honey?” my mom asked.

“I'm calling the school to say yes, before they change their mind.”

“Do you think you might need the phone number?” she said, holding the letter up.

“Another brilliant suggestion from the Mom department! Reel it off to me.”

She did just that, saying the numbers in quick succession. My dialing finger did not budge.

“Oh, mom-o,” I said. “Remember, it's me, Hank. I need one number at a time, really slowly.”

“I'm so sorry, honey. I wasn't thinking.”

It seemed like the ringing on the other end went on forever until someone finally picked up the phone. I didn't ask who it was, I just blurted out, “Yes!”

The man on the other end said, “Excuse me?”

“This is Hank Zipzer, and yes, I accept.”

He laughed.

“I think you want the office,” he said. “They're already closed for the day. I'm William, the custodian, but here everyone calls me Tiny which by the way, I'm not.”

“Nice to meet you, Tiny,” I said. “I'm going to be a student there in the fall, so I'll get to meet you in person.”

“You sound like a nice kid, Hank. Congratulations on getting in.”

When I hung up, I felt like a million bucks. Everyone at that school was so nice and welcoming.

As soon as I got off the phone, my mom suggested that we should have a family meeting to tell my dad and Emily the good news. Emily was really glad for me, although Katherine expressed some negative feelings. At least, I think they were negative feelings. I don't know iguana speak, but I'm pretty sure when her tongue shot out and she hissed into my face for twenty seconds, she wasn't asking me to dance.

My dad's reaction was a little more complicated. He was half mad, half glad, and half doubtful. I know that's too many halves, but that's the way I saw his reaction.

“Look, Hank. You know this artsy school wouldn't be my first choice for you, but if you're so sure of it, go ahead and give it a try.”

“I'm going to work really hard there, Dad.”

“Well, that would be a nice change, wouldn't it? Meanwhile, congratulations.”

That didn't exactly feel like the way congratulations should feel, but knowing my dad, it was the best I was going to get.

“Hank,” my mom said. “Why don't you walk over to Papa Pete's apartment and tell him the good news.”

“Why don't I just call him?”

“I think it would be really nice for you to give him this news in person. And here's an idea. Why don't you stay at Papa Pete's and do your homework there, and we'll meet you at the Crunchy Pickle for a little family dinner.”

“Do I have to order soylami, or can I get a real pastrami sandwich?” I asked.

“Well, this is a special occasion so real meat it is.”

Just then, Katherine hissed again.

“And no, Madame Iguana, you can't have a bite. It's my pastrami, not yours.”

“Iguanas are primarily herbivores, Hank. Don't you know anything?”

“Yes, Emily, I do. I know that I'm going to Professional Performing Arts. And in the future, I'd prefer that you keep your insults, put downs, and other rude remarks to yourself.”

“Okay, I'll call Robert and insult him. He doesn't mind.”

I took my book bag and jacket and said good-bye to Cheerio. I don't think he actually understood what was going on, which makes sense, because dogs don't really go to middle school, as far as I know. But he could sense something good was going on, because he gave me extra licks on my way out.

When I got to Papa Pete's and told him the news, he started to cry.

“What's wrong, Papa Pete?” I asked him.

“What's wrong? Everything is right! I knew you could do this. You were so worried and look what you've accomplished. I am overjoyed for you, and so proud of you, young man, that my buttons are popping off my shirt.”

Then he swept me up in his big, strong arms and gave me the bear hug of all time.

And then a surprising thing happened. I started to cry, too, which took me by total surprise. I don't know where those tears came from . . . maybe from I'm-the-Happiest-Kid-on-the-Planet-Land. But they just came pouring out. And there we were, Papa Pete and me, hugging like there was no tomorrow.

Two hours later, when I pushed open the glass door to the Crunchy Pickle, it was alive with energy. Everyone I knew was there. As I walked in, they all screamed, “Hooray for Hank!” and started clapping. I started clapping, too.

I looked over at my mom, who was smiling at me from behind the meat counter, where she was making sandwiches alongside Carlos and Vlady.

“I thought a party was pretty necessary,” she said.

Then I saw Frankie and Ashley, who came running up to me and jumped on me like I had just hit a home run in the World Series. We wound up in a heap on the floor, and before I knew it, we went from a pile of three to a pile of five when Luke Whitman and Ryan Shimozato decided to join in.

“You pulled off a great one,” Luke said, spraying saliva in my face. I didn't even care about his spitting problem because I knew he didn't mean to be gross.

Ryan didn't say anything. He just kept pounding me on the top of my head, which I think means congratulations. It was fun at first, and then I finally said, “Come on, guys. Get off me. You're squishing my stomach.”