A Brand-New Me! Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Copyright Page

  Title Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3 - WHAT HAPPENS TO PEOPLE WHO DON’T COMPLETE THE FIFTH GRADE

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9 - THE OTHER NINE GREATEST SENTENCES I COULD EVER HAVE HEARD

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14 - TEN THOUGHTS THAT WERE SCREAMING IN MY MIND ON THE WAY TO DR. ...

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  THREE MONTHS LATER . . . FIRST DAY OF MIDDLE SCHOOL

  About the Authors

  To all the children around the world

  who enjoyed Hank . . . this is for you.

  And to Stacey . . . always.—H.W.

  For Henry Winkler, with everlasting gratitude

  for letting me share Hank with you.—L.O.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Doodles by Theo Baker and Sarah Stern

  Text copyright © 2010 by Henry Winkler and Lin Oliver Productions, Inc. Illustrations copyright © 2010 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. S.A.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-17177-6

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  CHAPTER 1

  Call me crazy, but when Ms. Adolf handed me the envelope that said Hank’s Graduation, I thought it was going to contain a note that said I was getting some kind of special prize. In my imagination, it said: Because of your great Zipzer attitude and outstanding contribution to PS 87, we’ve chosen you to give the opening speech at your graduation. Congratulations!

  Or if not a speech, at least I thought they were giving me a statue of Principal Love that ran on batteries so when you switched it on, the Statue of Liberty mole on his cheek would light up and dance the hula.

  But that’s not exactly what the note said.

  What it exactly said was this:

  Dear Mr. Zipzer,

  Unfortunately, you have not completed your community service requirement for graduation. We are also notifying your parents that you have failed to fulfill this obligation.

  Just reading that note alone made my stomach flip around like an Olympic diver jumping off the high board. But the note continued, with even more stomach flipping news.

  Unless you complete your community service, it said, you will not be able to graduate with the rest of your class. Please set up an appointment with Principal Love as soon as possible.

  So there it was. The one thing I had been looking forward to since I was born, which was graduating from PS 87 and getting out of there and leaving Ms. Adolf far, far behind, was kaput. Kaput . . . as in not happening. As in how did I get myself into this mess?

  I just sat there staring at the note. I was so stunned that I didn’t hear the bell ring, I didn’t see Ms. Adolf pick up her roll book and leave the classroom, and I didn’t notice that my best friends, Frankie Townsend and Ashley Wong, were standing in front of me, waiting for me.

  “Community service?” I said to them. “Please tell me when anyone said anything about community service?”

  “Uh, in the first grade,” Ashley said.

  “And in the second grade,” Frankie added. “And the third grade, and the fourth grade.”

  “And five times in the fifth grade,” Ashley continued.

  “And they expect me to remember?” I said.

  “And the last time they sent home a pink piece of paper that you were supposed to have your parents sign. Remember? It listed some choices for those who hadn’t finished their community service.”

  “Like litter clean-up or graffiti removal or volunteering at the animal shelter. Is this ringing any kind of bell, Zip?”

  “I think I’m hearing a tiny tinkle. It’s a very small bell, but I’m sure it’s there.”

  “Hank, did you lose that pink slip?” Ashley asked.

  “I certainly did not, Ashweena. As a matter of fact, I put it to great use. It’s protecting all of my favorite pieces of chewed bubble gum.”

  I reached into the pocket of my Mets jacket and pulled out a wadded up piece of pink paper and pulled it open as best I could. This wasn’t easy because it was filled with little wads of A.B.C. Double Bubble. I’m sure you know this, but A.B.C. stands for Already Been Chewed.

  I tried to read the note, working around the gooey splotches of hardened gum that covered most of the words.

  “Look,” I said to Ashley and Frankie. “It doesn’t say anything about community service. It just says ‘Dear ank.’ And then down here it says ‘nity serv.’ And at the end it says ‘wil graduate.’”

  Frankie took the letter from my hands, very carefully, to avoid the A.B.C. parts.

  “Okay, genius,” he said. “Your gum wads are covering half the letters. It doesn’t say ‘nity serv,’ which as far as I know is not English. If you look under the gum wads, you’ll see it says ‘community service.’”

  Ashley, who was looking over his shoulder at the letter, chimed in.

  “Yeah, and for sure it doesn’t say ‘wil graduate.’ It actually says ‘will not graduate.’ See the not? It’s right under that little clump of Juicy Fruit.”

  “Impossible. I hate Juicy Fruit. That’s tropical-kiwi burst.”

  “Zip,” Frankie said, handing the letter back to me. “The point is, you never took care of business and did your community service. So now your graduation is in jeopardy. You’re toast, dude.”

  I stuffed the pink slip back in my jacket and walked over to my desk to pick up my backpack. As I slipped it on and started for the door, I realize
d that I had forgotten my math book, which would only have been the seven billionth time I had forgotten it.

  Oh come on, brain. You have to help me out here. How about you start kicking into gear? I can’t do this without you.

  Frankie, Ashley, and I headed out of the classroom and down the hall, past the painted banner that had just been put up congratulating the graduating fifth-grade class. It said: Middle School, here you come! There was a picture of each one of us fifth-graders, with our faces glued onto gold stars. The stars were pinned to a blue velvet cloth that I think was supposed to be the sky. I stopped and looked at my picture. I had my best Zipzer smile going in full force across my face, the one where I show my top and bottom teeth. I looked really happy. But that was when I still thought I was graduating with my class.

  Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I was so deep in thought, I jumped about forty feet in the air. When I landed back on the linoleum, I turned around to see Principal Love wagging his finger at me. His Statue of Liberty mole was not lit up, but he was grinding his teeth so much, it made his mole look like it was dancing the cha-cha. I hate when the mole dances the cha-cha, because it means . . . you’re in trouble, Hank.

  “Principal Love,” I said. “I was just coming to see you.”

  “Really?” he answered. “That’s funny because my office is in the other direction.”

  “I know that, Principal Love. I was taking the long way to give myself an extra opportunity to get some exercise. Kids today just don’t get off the couch enough. Isn’t that right, Frankie?”

  “Yeah, we’re total couch potatoes,” Frankie agreed, giving Principal Love his famous one dimple smile.

  “But not Hank,” Ashley said. “He is one hundred percent committed to good health practices.”

  I flashed her a look that said, “Cool it, Ashweena. That’s going a bit too far.”

  Principal Love wasn’t buying one syllable of it. He was all business.

  “Young man,” he said. “Stop this chitter chatter instantly and accompany me to my office where we will discuss your future, or lack of same, the future being where you should go as opposed to your present direction, which is where you should not go, but you’re heading there, anyway.”

  If you’re having trouble following good old Principal Love, imagine how I felt. I didn’t understand one word after “young man.” When he talks, I feel like I need a translator from the United Nations.

  Principal Love didn’t even wait for me to answer. He spun in a very tight circle on his black Velcro sneakers and headed down the hall in the direction of the stairs that led to his office. I love that move of his, and I tried to imitate it, spinning around in that same tight circle. When I finished the spin, I was facing Frankie and Ashley. I stuck my hands out and said, “Ta-da!”

  Both of them said the same thing at exactly the same moment.

  “Don’t be cute, Hank. Just go.”

  “No problem,” I said. “This is me, heading toward Principal Love’s office. He and I are just going to talk this through, man-to-man.”

  “No, Zip,” Frankie said. “He talks, you listen.”

  “I have things to say. Important things.”

  “Hank. Not now. Your graduation is at stake. So just shut it and do what he says.”

  The thing about Frankie and Ashley is that they worry way too much. Me, I don’t worry. My grandfather, Papa Pete, always says, “Worrying doesn’t make it better.” And I couldn’t agree more. So whenever possible, I try to limit my worry time.

  But as I caught up to Principal Love, followed him into his office, and watched him slam the door closed behind us, I thought to myself, “Wow, this might be a really great time to start worrying.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “Young man,” Principal Love said before I had even put my butt in the chair across from his desk. “This is probably the last time that you and I will meet like this to discuss your inability to complete the tasks required of someone such as yourself that will allow you to leave the hallowed halls of a school such as this.”

  He looked up and without taking a breath, added, “And why are you still standing? Take a seat. Any seat. The red chair will do.”

  I knew that chair . . . my old friend, the red chair. I’ve sat in that chair for the last six years. I know exactly where to rub my jeans across its leather to make it sound like I had beans for lunch, if you know what I mean. I sat down and before I could get completely comfortable, Principal Love continued. He couldn’t wait to have his words fill the room until I thought the walls were going to pop like a balloon that was pumped with too much helium.

  “I have been watching you, Mr. Zipzer, since your first day of kindergarten, and let me just say, the word impressed has never entered my mind. Other words have, however. Lazy, irresponsible, not living up to your potential, class clown, and impulsive . . . just to name a few. All these words help form an impression of a person who does not want to graduate, who is on his way not to graduate, and who in fact, may never leave this school.”

  “But . . .” I started to say.

  “No buts about it,” he interrupted. “The world of education recognizes those students who are willing to extend themselves through hard work, concentration, and . . .”

  “But . . .” I tried to say. I mean, I really had to defend myself here.

  “There’s that but again,” Principal Love said. “I suggest you open your ears and close your mouth and hear what I have to say, because what I have to say is what you need to hear, which you can only do with your ears and not your mouth.”

  “But, I . . .”

  “No, Mr. Zipzer,” he said pointing at me with his hairy, stubby index finger. I looked closely at it and noticed he bites his fingernails. Wow, I thought only kids did that. “Listen, don’t speak.”

  I felt pretty good about my response, though. At least I got in two words. You definitely have to admit that’s progress.

  “Mr. Zipzer,” Principal Love went on. “I know what you’re about to say. I’ve heard every reason, every excuse, every wisecrack . . . all of which have brought you to this sad and bleak and embarrassing moment.”

  Oh, I hadto answer that.

  “B . . . b . . . b . . . b . . . b . . .”

  He stood up suddenly, held up his hand, and just said, “NO! You will not make use of your mouth, lips, or tongue.”

  On the one hand, it was too bad that he wouldn’t let me speak, but on the other hand, saying all those b’s in a row made my lips buzz. At least they were having fun.

  “As the records show, Mr. Zipzer, you have done exactly zero hours of community service.”

  Oh right. We’re back to that again. I almost forgot why I was in here.

  “But I can explain why, sir.”

  Look at me! I got a whole sentence out. Of course, it didn’t help . . . but I got it out.

  “Your explanations are of no interest to me, Mr. Zipzer. Here’s all you need to know. You have exactly ten days to complete your required twenty hours of community service. What are your plans to accomplish that?”

  I had no plans, but I did have a thought.

  “Principal Love,” I said with a big smile. “What is your favorite suggestion of something I could do to fulfill my requirement?”

  I thought he’d be pleased that I was asking for his input. But it didn’t quite work out that way.

  “Good try, Mr. Zipzer,” he snapped. “But this is something you should be in charge of, not me. It has to be your passion. What are you passionate about?”

  “You mean community service wise?” I asked.

  “What do you think we’re talking about here, young man?”

  Wow, that was a hard question. What was I passionate about, community service wise? Once I volunteered at the animal shelter and held some really cute puppies. Until that little schnauzer with the white spot on his chest peed on me. That kind of brought my passion level way down. And another time, Frankie and I collected litter on Rockaway Beach unt
il we found a dollar and went off to buy ice cream sandwiches at the snack bar . . . which is also one of my passions. I like the ones that have three flavors of ice cream including strawberry.

  “Hey, Principal Love. I do have a passion. Can I see how many ice cream sandwiches I could eat in ten days? Would that work?”

  “Leave my office right now, young man, and don’t come back until you’ve written out a plan to complete your community service. And keep in mind what happens to people who don’t graduate fifth grade. Turn that over in your mind a few times. Perhaps that image will kick-start your wandering brain.”

  My brain wandered out of that office as fast as it could, and before I could stop it, it had wandered itself right into a list of what happens to people who don’t complete the fifth grade.

  If you’re curious, turn the page.

  CHAPTER 3

  WHAT HAPPENS TO PEOPLE WHO DON’T COMPLETE THE FIFTH GRADE

  1. You get to ignore the alarm clock and sleep as late as you want. How great is that!

  2. You get to lie on the couch and watch TV all day. Wow, that sounds wonderful.

  3. You get to eat pizza for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Wow, why didn’t I think of that before?

  4. You get to play video games until your thumbs fall off. Who needs thumbs, anyway . . . you wouldn’t have to hold a pencil anymore.

  5. You get to see your friends whenever you want and watch movies on the computer. Yeah, that’s the life.

  6. Wait a minute. What am I thinking? If I slept late every day, I’d miss the morning. And I really like the morning, especially the smell of cooking waffles coming out of everyone’s windows.

  7. And about that all-day TV watching . . . come to think of it, it’s mostly soap operas that are on, and everybody’s yelling at one another . . . and if they’re not yelling, they’re kissing. Ick.

  8. Pizza for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Hey, I love pizza, but the thought of eating it three times a day every day is making me burp, and I haven’t even had one piece yet.