Help! Somebody Get Me Out of Fourth Grade (5 page)

“He is,” I answered. “My dad's just not picking up the phone. He doesn't even hear it sometimes when he's in the middle of a really intense crossword puzzle.”

Ashley threw on her baseball cap and bolted for the door.

“Come on, guys,” she said. “No time for the elevator. We're taking the back stairs.”

Ashley's apartment is on the fourth floor, and I live on the tenth. We dashed out of her apartment and ran up the six flights to my floor. When we got to my floor, I pulled my key out of my pocket, but I was so nervous, I couldn't get it in the keyhole.

“Here, give me that,” Frankie said, and he grabbed the key from me and stuck it in the lock. He tried to turn it, but the lock didn't open.

“Are you sure this is the right key?” he asked.

“I'll take it from here,” I said. Every lock has a little secret, and the thing about ours is that after you put the key in, you have to pull it out just a fraction of a smidge before you turn it. I did that, and the door opened.

My dad was sitting there at the dining room table. He's a computer consultant, so he works at home a lot. He likes that because he can hang out in his boxers and do crossword puzzles whenever he gets bored. He's kind of a crossword-puzzle genius, if there is such a thing.

“Hi, kids,” he said, barely looking up from his newspaper. “What's the rush?” He was wearing the blue boxers with the sailboats that matched his favorite metallic blue mechanical pencil, which was stuck behind his ear.

“Hi, Dad,” I called back.

I knew I didn't really have to answer his question, because he had that “I'm deep into finding a seven-letter name of a province in South Korea” expression on his face.

We whizzed down the hall and flew into my sister Emily's room, where I knew the nerd and nerdette would be hanging out. When I came flying into the room, I never expected to see what I saw. Robert and Emily were hunched over Katherine, who was lying across them both, her scaly ugly head resting in Emily's scaly, ugly lap. Robert was handing an eye-dropper filled with what looked and smelled like chicken soup to Emily, who was squirting the yellow liquid into Katherine's mouth.

“Don't you guys knock?” Emily said. “Katherine's not feeling well.”

“Really? She doesn't look any worse than usual,” I said.

“Hank, you have no sensitivity to the iguana world.”

“Emily, it really hurts me to hear you say that,” I said, clutching my heart like she was breaking it.

“Hank, this is no time for sarcasm,” Ashley said.

“You're right,” I said. “Ash, turn on the radio and see what caller we're up to. Robert, get your brain over here. We need it.”

Ashley switched the radio from Emily's country music station (I told you she was weird) to WFUN. Cousin Ralphie was just saying that the twelfth caller had phoned.

“Great,” I said. “We still have four callers left.”

“Make that three, Zip,” Frankie whispered. “Fifteen minus twelve is three.”

Frankie knows that math and I don't party together much, and he's really nice about not embarrassing me in public. If Emily had noticed me make that mistake, I would have never heard the end of it. Emily doesn't make math mistakes or any other kind of mistakes, either. She is a Super Brain.

“Robert,” I said. “We need eight cities that have the word
rock
in them, not counting Little Rock and Rockville Centre. Can you do it?”

Robert nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “I can also name forty countries that produce wheat.”

“This isn't show-off time, little man,” Frankie said. “Stick to the basics.”

Ashley was already dialing the phone. I had forgotten to write down Cousin Ralphie's number, but Ashley had it in her head. Thank goodness. It's times like these that really frustrate me. Sometimes I just don't like my brain.

“Robert,” I said as Ashley dialed the last number. “Are you sure you can do this?”

“Of course I can,” he said. “I can do it as sure as there are thirteen characters in the ancient Hawaiian alphabet.”

“How do you fit all those facts in that pinhead of yours?” Frankie asked.

“Shhhh . . . it's ringing,” Ashley said, shoving the phone into my hand.

“Cousin Ralphie's
Top Forty Hour
,” a voice said on the other end of the phone.

I couldn't believe it. It was Cousin Ralphie in my actual ear. We got through!

“Congratulations, you're the fifteenth caller!” he said. “Name ten cities with the word
rock
, and you'll be the lucky winner. On your mark. Get set. Go!”

I opened my mouth to speak, but only a tiny squeak came out. Frankie saw the panic in my eyes.

“Breathe, Zip,” he said. “Oxygen is power.”

I took a deep breath and tried again. I still sounded like there was a chipmunk stuck in my throat, but at least a sound came out.

“Little Rock,” I yipped. “And Rockville Centre.”

“That's two!” Cousin Ralphie hollered. “Eight more to go.”

Ashley tapped Robert on the back. “You're on, genius,” she said.

“Rockford, Nebraska,” Robert whispered to me, and I repeated it into the phone.

“This kid's good,” said Cousin Ralphie with a smile in his voice. “Lay on some more.”

“Keep going, Robert,” said Ashley.

“Blowing Rock, North Carolina. Rock Island, Illinois. Castle Rock, Colorado,” Robert said as I repeated each one to Cousin Ralphie. I put my hand over the phone and whispered to Frankie, “How many is that?”

“You've got six,” Cousin Ralphie answered.

We all stared at Robert. He just stared back at us.

“I'm thinking, I'm thinking,” he whined in his nasal, little voice.

“How about Rock City, Alabama,” Emily chimed in. “Remember, that's where I threw up clam chowder in the motel pool when we were driving to Florida.”

I was pretty disgusted by the memory, but I was glad she came up with it. I repeated it to Cousin Ralphie.

“That's seven,” he said. “But I hear you slowing down.”

“Not me, sir,” I said. “I have thousands more.”

Frankie looked at me like I was crazy. Robert was squeezing his nose and closing his eyes really tight.

“Rock Springs, Wyoming,” he spit out like his face was going to explode. “And there's another Little Rock in Iowa.”

I repeated those two to Cousin Ralphie. Even he was pretty impressed.

“That's nine, young man. I need one more, and you're on your way to the Stone Cold Rock opening-night concert. And did I tell you you're riding on the band's personal tour bus?”

I looked over at Robert. He looked stuck.

“Dig deep, little man,” Frankie said to him. “We need you now.”

Robert's whole body twisted from side to side. He looked like a baby chick hatching from an egg—you know, when they come out all wet and skinny and scraggly-looking. It felt like hours were going by.

“Time is running out,” Cousin Ralphie said on the other end of the phone. “Are you still there, caller?”

Suddenly, Robert's face turned bright red. “Red Rock, Ontario,” he said.

Without waiting even half a second, I repeated what he said.

“Red Rock, Ontario!” I screamed into the phone.

There was a pause.

“I'm so sorry,” Cousin Ralphie began, “Red Rock, Ontario, is in Canada.”

“Which is just what I was going to point out,” I said, “that Red Rock, Ontario, is a lovely spot, but unfortunately it isn't the one I was going to say because we all know that Canada is not a state in the United States. It's its own Canada.”

Okay, I was stalling. Wouldn't you if your whole educational future was riding on this one answer?

Robert shook his head. “I'm sorry, Hank. I'm rocked out.”

I looked desperately at Ashley. She shook her head, and Frankie did too. They had nothing. It was up to me. My mind ran over every city we had mentioned. We had all kinds of rocks—a blowing rock, a red rock, a little rock. Hey, why not? I took a chance.

“Big Rock!” I guessed.

I held my breath.

“Good answer!” Cousin Ralphie called out. “What is your name, son?”

“Hank Zipzer.”

“Well, pack your bags, Hank Zipzer, because you are on your way to Philadelphia.”

“Actually, Cousin Ralphie, I want to give the trip to my parents, Stan and Randi Zipzer. They really deserve some quality time together.”

“Your parents? Are they Stone Cold Rock fans?”

“Are they ever! My dad sings every one of their songs in the shower at least three times a week. He especially likes ‘I Was a Dirt Bag 'Til I Found My Soap.' ”

“He must be a real rocker, that Stan Zipzer,” Cousin Ralphie said.

“Oh, yes, he is, sir,” I said. “He couldn't be more of a rocker.”

“Stay right where you are, kid,” Cousin Ralphie said. “We're going to commercial, and when we come back, I'll tell you all about the fabulous trip you've won for your parental unit.”

Just then, the door to my sister's room swung open, and my dad came in. I looked at him in his blue boxers, with the mechanical pencil stuck behind his ear. His hair was standing straight up from his head, and his newspaper was still folded to the crossword-puzzle page.

“Any of you kids know an eight-letter synonym for an extinct rodent?” he asked. “I tried pocket rat, but it doesn't fit.”

That's my dad,
I thought.
A real rocker.

I COVERED THE PHONE with my hand and whispered to my dad.

“Give me a second, Dad, and we'll get you the answer you're looking for, I promise.”

My dad wasn't getting the clue that I wanted him to leave.

“Robert,” he said. “You're usually full of information. Any ideas?”

“Actually, Mr. Zipzer, my special knowledge is in the reptile world rather than the rodent world, although I once did a book report on the life cycle of the black-tailed prairie dog and found it quite fascinating,” he replied.

“Yeah, Dad,” I said, trying to edge him toward the door. “Robert's a snake-iguana kind of guy, not a mouse-rat-gerbil kind of guy.”

Boy, did I want to get my dad out of there. We needed to finish the arrangements with Cousin Ralphie, and I didn't want my dad hearing about the concert until I had the whole plan figured out. I motioned to Frankie with my eyes, but he wasn't getting it. I motioned with my head, and he still wasn't getting it.

“Hello,” I whispered. “Ding-dong, anyone home?”

Frankie looked puzzled. Finally, I jerked my thumb toward the door. I gestured toward the living room, then toward my dad.

“I think you might find the word he's looking for in the living room,” I said. “You know, that room out there. The one where I'm NOT talking on the phone.”

“Right!” Ashley said.

“Righhhht,” I said.

Frankie nodded. At last, he was with the program. He's usually good at picking stuff right up.

“Come on, Mr. Z.,” he said. “Let's go into the living room. I always find that synonyms for rodents come to me a lot faster out there.”

“Maybe it's because the ceilings are higher,” I threw in.

“Yeah,” said Frankie. “There's more oxygen floating around. It's better for the brain.”

Before my dad could answer, Frankie and Ashley had him by the arm and were escorting him back to the living room.

Robert laughed his snorty little nerd laugh, which sounds like the noise my dog, Cheerio, makes when he has a cold.

“More oxygen in the living room,” he snorted. “Actually, Hank, everyone knows that the number of oxygen molecules per cubic foot varies according the density of the atmosphere, not the height of the ceiling.”

“That's so interesting, Robert. I think you should go see if that theory works in your apartment. Like now.”

“But what about Katherine?” he said. “She needs me.”

“You're absolutely right,” I agreed. “Katherine needs you . . . to leave the room. Bye-bye, little man.”

I basically shoved Robert out the door, which is easy to do because his bony little self doesn't weigh much more than a pocket rat soaking wet. Come to think of it, he looks like a rat soaking wet, except without the tail.

I put the phone receiver back to my ear.

“Are you still with me, caller number fifteen?” Cousin Ralphie said. “What is your name again?”