A Short Tale About a Long Dog Read online

  Indya, Ace, and Lulu—you all inspire me. And to Stacey, always—HW

  For Bronson Day Bahador, for the happiness you have brought to us all—LO

  For Jakki, a true HW fan!—SG

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Text copyright © 2014 by Henry Winkler and Lin Oliver Productions, Inc. Illustrations copyright © 2014 by Scott Garrett. 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) LLC.

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

  ISBN 978-0-698-16757-5

  Version_1

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  “Hank, I can see tiny bits of tuna fish swimming around on your tongue,” my sister, Emily, said.

  “Then don’t look,” I told her. “Just listen. My mouth is full of words that are trying to come out.”

  “Well, the tuna fish is coming out with them. And it’s gross.”

  I put down my fork. Actually, I was looking for an excuse to put it down, anyway. My mom had whipped up another one of her healthy dinners, which looked and tasted like a science experiment. If you ask me, tuna fish and blueberries do not belong together on the same plate.

  “Besides, I don’t care what you have to say,” Emily went on. “Katherine was here first, and that’s that.”

  As she spoke, I noticed that her tongue didn’t look so great either. It was all blue from the blueberries. It looked like the entire Smurf family was living in her mouth.

  “Emily, honey,” my mom cut in, “Hank has a right to express his opinion.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “And my opinion is that this family needs a pet.”

  “We have a pet, and her name is Katherine,” Emily snapped.

  “Katherine is an iguana,” I answered. “All she does is hiss and catch flies. She can’t even play ball. We need a dog.”

  My dad stopped midbite and gave me a look.

  “Who’s going to take care of this dog?” he asked. “A pet needs to be fed and walked and washed and taught proper rules of behavior.”

  “And that’s what I want to do,” I said. “I can’t wait for that job.”

  “Hank,” Emily said with a sigh. “We can’t have a dog because Katherine is just a baby. A big dog would scare her. As her mother, that would break my heart.”

  “Oh, now you’re her mother?” I said. “That makes sense, actually, because you look alike. You both have scales on your feet, claws on your hands, and long, sticky tongues that collect insects.”

  “Hank, that’s enough,” my mom said. She got up and started to gather the dishes.

  Emily got up, too, and headed to her bedroom. She returned with Katherine wrapped around her shoulders like a scarf.

  “You’re not bringing that lizard to the table, are you?” I complained.

  “She’s a member of this family, too,” Emily told me.

  The minute Emily sat down in her chair, Katherine whipped out her long tongue and snatched the last bite of my buttered roll. It was the one thing I wanted to eat. I had been saving that bite to drown out the taste of the rest of dinner.

  “Hey, Kathy!” I hollered. “Drop that roll right now. It’s mine.”

  It was too late. The roll had disappeared into her scaly iguana body. Katherine smiled at me as if to say, Tough patooties, kid.

  “You see what I mean, Dad?” I said. “It’s not fair that Emily can have that lizard as a pet. She and her roll-stealer hang out in her room after dinner. But what about me? I’m all alone in my room, with nothing to do.”

  “Actually, Hank,” my dad said, “I was thinking we could do some spelling flash cards after dinner.”

  “No, Dad. Please, not the flash cards again! They don’t help me. I know the word one minute, then I forget it the next.”

  “Hank, you have a spelling test coming up. Don’t you want to do well?” he asked.

  There it was again. My dad can hardly get through a meal without bringing up school. My grades aren’t good. I know that. But school is hard for me. I try to do well, I really do. Everyone, especially my dad, thinks I don’t try hard enough. They say I’m funny and a good talker so there’s no reason I shouldn’t have better grades. I can’t explain it, either, but no matter how hard I try, my report card never improves.

  “Let’s make a deal, Dad,” I suggested. “I’ll do the flash cards. I’ll try my hardest. And if I get a good grade on my test, you take me to the animal shelter.”

  “Great idea,” Emily said. “And be sure to leave him there.”

  “I think we should listen to Hank,” my mom said. “A child needs a goal, and getting a dog is a good one.”

  “I just want to know who’s going to clean up the poop,” my dad said.

  “I’m your guy, Dad,” I said. “I’m going to get rubber gloves, a nose clip, and a face mask.”

  My dad was already up and heading for the desk drawer where he keeps the flash cards. It’s my least-favorite drawer in the house.

  “So here’s the agreement, Hank,” he said as he pulled out the box of Dr. Smarty Pants Fun With Spelling cards. “If I see improvement in all your grades, we will make that trip to the animal shelter.”

  “Wait a minute, Dad. I thought we were just talking about my spelling test.”

  “No, Hank. That’s not enough. I need to see improvement in all your grades.”

  “Even math?” I asked.

  “Absolutely math.”

  “Reading, too?”

  Now my dad was getting irritated.

  “Every subject,” he said.

  After dinner, my dad and I sat on the couch and opened the box of flash cards. Wouldn’t you know it, the very first word on the very first card was impossible to spell. It was friend. How was I supposed to know that the i came before the e? I didn’t even know there was an i in the word in the first place.

  I messed up the next three words, too. Okay, the next ten words. How was I going to get a dog, if I couldn’t even remember how to spell such easy words? I didn’t have an answer to that, so I did what I always do when I have a problem to solve: I made a list.

  Exactly one week after my dad and I spent the whole horrible evening reviewing flash cards, my teacher, Ms. Flowers, handed back our spelling te
sts.

  “Nice work, Hank,” Ms. Flowers said as I stuffed the test into my notebook. “I see real improvement.”

  Improvement? I quickly pulled out the test. Of the fifteen spelling words, I had gotten six right instead of my usual two. This was a new Hank Zipzer world record.

  “Wowee zowee!” I yelled. “I’m almost a genius.”

  Frankie Townsend, my best friend, reached across the aisle and gave me a high five.

  “Way to go, Hankarooney,” he said. “Your dad’s going to be happy with this.”

  “That dog is practically yours,” Ashley Wong whispered from her seat. Ashley had just moved into my building and had quickly become best friends with Frankie and me.

  “The three of you guys are pathetic,” Nick McKelty said. He sits in back of me. When he breathes, I can feel his hot, stinky sausage breath all over my neck. “Six out of fifteen is nothing to celebrate.”

  “Perhaps you should keep your eyes on your own paper, Nick,” Ms. Flowers said, putting his test down on his desk. “You missed half the words yourself.”

  Ms. Flowers returned to the front of the class and wrote the following words on the board: SCIENCE BOOK REPORT DUE TOMORROW. Katie Sperling groaned.

  “Oh no,” she said. “I’m only halfway done with my book on volcanoes.”

  “Then I suggest you spend some of recess reading,” Ms. Flowers told her.

  I had a bigger problem than Katie Sperling. I hadn’t started my book. I hadn’t even checked one out of the library. In fact, I had totally forgotten about the assignment.

  When the recess bell rang, I went up to Ms. Flowers’s desk.

  “Ms. Flowers, I have a small problem,” I said, giving her my best smile. I feel that when you’ve got bad news, you need to show a lot of teeth.

  “What is it, Hank?”

  “I forgot to check a science book out of the library.”

  “But, Hank, I reminded you three times that the book report was due tomorrow.”

  “Yup, I forgot that, too.”

  “Oh, Hank.” She sighed. “What are we going to do with you? We’ve had this talk before.”

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Flowers. This time I think I have a solution.”

  “Well, you’re very creative,” Ms. Flowers said. “I’ll be interested to see what it is.”

  I actually didn’t have a solution. As I walked out of the classroom, I tried to come up with one. But nothing came to me. My mind just wandered around like it was lost in a forest.

  I was about to give up, when I passed the fifth-grade bulletin board. At the top in red letters, it said, SHARKS NEVER SLEEP.

  Suddenly, an idea came to me. It was a big idea. And it certainly wouldn’t be easy to pull off. I was going to need help, that was for sure. But all I could think about was how much I wanted that dog.

  I had to try everything to get it.

  I asked Frankie and Ashley to meet me in our clubhouse at four o’clock. It’s not a real clubhouse. It’s a storeroom in the basement of our apartment building where we hang out. They arrived exactly on time.

  “Okay, Hankster,” Frankie said. “Let’s see this big idea you have.”

  I reached into one of the cardboard boxes labeled SUMMER VACATION STUFF. I pulled out a pair of neon yellow flippers, a snorkel, and some goggles. I put on the flippers and slipped the goggles over my face.

  “You look an outer-space creature,” Ashley said.

  Then I reached into a box labeled EMILY’S BABY TOYS and pulled out two stuffed animals. One was a fuzzy purple octopus who she used to call Morton. The other was a creepy-looking jellyfish with rainbow-colored tentacles.

  I held Morton in one hand and the jellyfish in the other. Then I stuffed the snorkel into my mouth. Proudly, I strutted back and forth in front of Frankie and Ashley.

  “What do you think, guys?” I tried to say.

  “Huh? I can’t understand you,” Frankie answered.

  Of course he couldn’t. I took the snorkel out of my mouth.

  “I’m a shark,” I explained, “swimming in the ocean with my underwater friends. I’m going to do my report as Shark Boy. I know a whole lot of scientific shark facts. Like, did you know that sharks don’t have a single bone in their bodies? And that they can swim forty to sixty miles an hour? And that they have three fins?”

  “All of which you are missing,” Frankie pointed out.

  “And that’s where you come in,” I said. “I need you to help me make some fins.”

  “Oh, I love art projects!” Ashley said, jumping off the couch and heading right for our cardboard boxes. She ripped off one of the flaps and tore it into the shape of a triangle.

  “Here’s a fin,” she said.

  “I can attach some string to tie it to your body,” Frankie said.

  “And for a really special touch,” Ashley added, “I’ll decorate it with blue and green sparkly rhinestones.”

  “Easy there, Ashweena,” I said. “Sharks don’t sparkle.”

  “They do if they want a good grade,” she said.

  By dinnertime, I had the best shark costume of any second-grader in America. Maybe even the world.

  When we got to school the next morning, Ms. Flowers collected everyone’s science book report.

  “Where is your report, Hank?” she asked as she stood next to my desk.

  “Ms. Flowers, you’re going to have to see it to believe it,” Frankie told her.

  “Hank’s report is alive,” Ashley added. “And it’s amazing.”

  “Amazingly bad, you mean,” Nick McKelty said with a snort.

  “It sounds interesting to me,” Luke Whitman said, taking his finger out of his nose. That finger spends most of the day in there.

  Ms. Flowers thought it over.

  “Okay,” she said. “Why don’t we see what you’ve come up with, Hank.”

  I took my costume and went into the hall. Ashley came to help tie on my fins. While I was slipping into my flippers and mask, Frankie went to the front of the class to introduce me.

  “The subject of this book report is sharks,” he said. “And now, coming to you direct from the undersea world is Hank Zipzer, otherwise known as Shark Boy.”

  I flopped to the center of the classroom. Then I turned in a circle so everyone could get a good look at the sparkly fin that Ashley had made. I began to recite my shark facts. When I saw the blank looks on everyone’s faces, I realized that I still had the snorkel in my mouth. No one could understand me. It just sounded like I was blowing bubbles underwater.

  I took out the mouthpiece and started again. I said everything I had learned about sharks. When I was finished, the whole class applauded. Well, everyone but you-know-who.

  Ms. Flowers said nothing for what seemed to be a long time. At last, she spoke.

  “Well, Hank, that wasn’t exactly the way the assignment was supposed to be done.”

  I felt my heart drop. If she gave me a bad grade, I was never going to get a dog.

  “But you really knew your facts,” she continued. “And you showed great creativity. For that, I am going to reward you.”

  “With an A?” I said.

  “Yes, Hank. With an A.”

  My ears couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It was my first A ever in my whole life. I smiled at Frankie and Ashley and did a huge fist pump in the air. Ashley laughed. Frankie put his hands up like paws and barked, “Bowwow.”

  As for me, I did a happy dance, flippers and all. That new dog was almost mine.

  The next Thursday, report cards came out. My grandpa, Papa Pete, was picking me up at school that day. I came running out the front door, waving the sealed brown envelope in my hands.

  “What you got there?” Papa Pete asked, giving me one of his great big bear hugs.

  “My report card,” I answere
d. “Let’s hurry home so I can show it to Dad.”

  “Sounds like you’re expecting some good grades,” Papa Pete said. “Getting a dog really has motivated you. I’m proud of you, Hankie.”

  Usually Papa Pete and I stop at my mom’s deli, the Crunchy Pickle, for an after-school snack. But that day, I wanted to get right home.

  The minute I set foot in our apartment, I handed the envelope to my dad.

  “How did I do?” I asked him before he had even finished opening it. “Are the words ‘much improved’ going to come flying out of your mouth?”

  He put his glasses on and looked over my report card for what seemed to be forever.

  “In a few subjects, there was slight improvement,” he said at last. “In science, there was a lot of improvement.”

  I started jumping up and down.

  “Cool! When can we go look at puppies?” I was so happy I was practically shouting.

  “However . . . ,” he went on.

  I hate that word, however. Nothing good ever comes after it.

  “However, Hank, in some important subjects, such as reading and math, your grades have actually slipped.”

  Papa Pete put his hand on my dad’s shoulder.

  “You know, Stan,” he said, smiling that great smile of his. “I spent my life running the Crunchy Pickle. My sandwiches made a lot of people happy. And the truth is, I had a hard time with math, too. You learn to figure out what you’re good at. Then you go full-steam in that direction.”

  “So what are you suggesting, Pete?” my dad said. “That I just let Hank be lazy and get any grade he wants?”

  “He’s not lazy,” Papa Pete said. “Let him prove it to you by showing he can take care of a dog.”

  “Yeah!” I exclaimed. “Dad, I promise you. I will be the best dog-taker-care-of person in the whole entire solar system.”

  My dad just sat there, scratching his head.