The Zippity Zinger #4 (7 page)

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 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.

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.”

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 dark, 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.

“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 Brave 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.”

“Okay,” 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 toward 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 across from us. The red glow from the EXIT sign cast 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, Hank?” Ashley asked.

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

The totem spirit lunged toward 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.

“Hey, cut that out,” Ashley yelled.

“Ashley, you can't talk to the animal spirit like that,” Frankie said.

“Spirit, schmirit,” she snapped. “There are thirty-five individual rhinestones on each of those socks. Do you have any idea how long that takes?”

Ashley jumped down off the dryer and went toward the bear.