Enter at Your Own Risk
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
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
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
GROSSET & DUNLAP
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Photo credits: Page 194 © Bonnie Bader; Pages 198-243 © Theo Baker; Pages 244-245 © Henry Winkler; Pages 248-249 © Sarah Stern, Alan Baker, and Aaron Oliver; Page 150 © Sally Crock
Doodles by Theo Baker and Sarah Stern
Text copyright © 2008 by Henry Winkler and Lin Oliver Productions, Inc. Illustrations
copyright © 2008 by Grosset & Dunlap. 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.
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Library of Congress Control Number is available.
eISBN : 978-0-448-44376-8
http://us.penguingroup.com
This book is dedicated to a gift of a partner,
who happens to be very gifted,
and to Stacey, as always.—H.W.
For Steve Mooser—my wonderful partner since
way back under the fig tree.—L.O.
CHAPTER 1
“So I’m in my best martial arts crouch, ready to let loose a whopper roundhouse kick,” I said to my best friend Frankie Townsend as we waited for the red light to change at the corner of 78th and Amsterdam. “And Nick McKelty is right in front of me, pressed up against a brick wall, begging for mercy and whining like a baby.”
“You had that big-mouth bully cornered?” Frankie said. “No way, Zip.”
“He was all mine,” I said proudly.
“And then what happened?” Ashley Wong, my other best friend, asked. She was so totally engrossed in my story that she didn’t even notice that the light had turned green.
“Suddenly, McKelty breaks free. He stops whining and springs at me, flashing his teeth like an angry lion.”
“So what’d you do?” Frankie asked.
“I let out a loud whoop, spun around like a top, and landed that roundhouse kick on his squishy butt. I think my footprint made a permanent impression on his rear end.”
Frankie and Ashley laughed out loud.
“Way to do it, Zip,” Frankie said. “You’re the man.”
“Oh, you know I am,” I said. “That McKelty went down as hard as Swampman when The Lagoon Creature gave it to him between the eyes.”
“Wow, Hank,” Ashley said as we stepped off the curb and headed across the street. “When did this fight happen?”
“Last night.”
Frankie squinted his eyes and gave me a funny look.
“Dude, I was with you last night until bedtime,” he said. “Remember, we were quizzing each other on spelling words.”
“Sure, I remember.”
“So, Hank, exactly when last night did you have this battle with McKelty?” Ashley asked.
“In my dreams,” I said. “Ashweena, I was all-powerful. When I landed that kick, he couldn’t even see it coming. My foot was faster than the speed of light.”
“For a minute there, Zip, you had me believing this actually happened,” Frankie said.
“It did actually happen. It just happened in my dreams.”
“I love dreams,” Ashley said. “Last night, I dreamed I shared a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a dolphin.”
“And they say girls don’t know how to have fun,” I said. Frankie and I cracked up and Ashley shot us a dirty look.
“I know why you had that dream,” Frankie said as we trudged up the last half a block to our school.
“Me too,” Ashley chimed in. “It’s because Nick McKelty is a bragging, obnoxious bully who needs to get put in his place.”
“No,” Frankie said. “I mean yes, but no. Yes and no.”
“Is it just me, or is Frankie making no sense at all?” Ashley said with a laugh.
Frankie stopped walking and looked at us both.
“Okay, here’s what I mean,” he said. “Yes, McKelty is a world-famous jerk. But no, Zip’s dream isn’t about McKelty. It’s about Zip. He’s mentally preparing himself for our Tae Kwon Do class.”
Feeling that he had cleared everything up, Frankie started walking again. As I hurried to catch up with him, I thought about what he had said. True, we were starting our once-a-week after-school Tae Kwon Do class that day. And true, I was really looking forward to it. And true, it would feel great to be the best one in the class. And true, even though I would probably never do it, I would love to know that I could take down McKelty, even if it was only in my dreams.
Wow, I wonder how my brain figured all that out when I was asleep and put it into such a cool dream? Way to go, brain!
“Hey, Hankster,” Frankie said when Ashley and I were once again by his side. “Remember when we took karate in pre-kindergarten? You were a little champ. I bet you’re going to be the master of our Tae Kwon Do after-school class. Except for me, of course.”
“We’ll be co-masters,” I said, knowing that Frankie Townsend was an ace athlete and way better at everything than I was. If I turned out to be half as good as him in Tae Kwon Do, I’d be happy.
“Did you remember to get your parents to sign your permission slip?” Ashley asked me. “They won’t let you start without it.”
“Who do you think I am, Forgetto-Man?” I laughed. “It’s right here.”
I jammed my hand into m
y jeans pocket to show Ashley that of course I had the signed permission slip. Okay, so it wasn’t in that pocket. I checked the other front pocket. Whoops, not there, either. I didn’t panic, because we all know that jeans have a lot of pockets. I just calmly shoved both my hands in my back pockets, and they both found out together that it wasn’t there, either.
Hank to permission slip? Where are you? Show yourself.
“Zip, you didn’t forget it again?” Frankie shook his head at me.
I have to say that I was a teensy bit worried. I really, really, really wanted to do the after-school Tae Kwon Do class. And I really, really, really wasn’t finding the permission slip.
“I know that I picked it up from my desk this morning,” I said, retracing my steps in my mind. “Then I walked with it into the kitchen, put it next to my oatmeal at breakfast, picked it up again when I was finished, walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth, got a little toothpaste on it, rubbed that off, left the bathroom and walked to the front door, and put it . . . put it . . . into my backpack!”
“Phew!” Ashley said. “I thought we were never going to get there.”
“Pull the zipper, Frankie,” I said as I turned around so my backpack was facing him. “See if it’s in there.”
Frankie pulled the zipper, reached into the pouch, and came up with two pencils with the erasers bitten off, one NERF ball, and then . . . ta-da . . . my permission slip.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the long-lost Zipzer Permission Slip,” he said.
We didn’t even have a second to celebrate, because the final bell was ringing as we reached the grey cement steps of PS 87. Principal Love, who is not only the principal of our school, but also the owner of the world’s largest collection of snowman scarves, was holding the door open.
“Welcome to the halls of learning, children,” he said to us, adjusting his red scarf so we’d get a clear view of the tap-dancing snowmen wearing black top hats. You could tell he was really proud of that scarf.
“Hello, Principal Love,” Ashley said. “Nice scarf.”
Frankie and I shot her a look. I mean, just because the guy wears a snowman scarf every day doesn’t mean you have to encourage him to do it.
“Wait until you see the one I’m wearing tomorrow,” Principal Love said. “I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but I will tell you it involves snowmen on seesaws.”
Fortunately for us, we were already late and had to hurry upstairs to class, so there wasn’t time to come up with something to say. I think you’ll agree that snowmen on seesaws aren’t exactly an easy topic of conversation.
“Enter quickly,” Principal Love said, waving us through the door. “And allow your minds to open to the ideas that fill the open mind, as open as this door is that I hold open for you.”
If you’re trying to figure out what Principal Love actually meant, please do not tire your brains out any longer. No one at PS 87 has ever understood anything that he has to say, at least not for the six years and four months that I’ve been a student here. You just kind of smile at him and nod. A lot.
So we all did a lot of nodding, then shot up to class. Ms. Adolf, our teacher, does not appreciate tardiness. She’s told us that once or twice. Or ninety times. No tardiness is only one of her rules. A few of her others are: No Laughing, No Smiling, No Grinning, No Happy Movement of the Lips at All. Aside from the No’s, there are her “dislikes.” A few of those include misspelled words, any color other than grey, nicknames, and odd smells that come from either your lunch or your body. Oh, I forgot her biggest dislike. Children.
Ms. Adolf sure makes fifth grade fun. Don’t you wish you had her, too?
We bolted into class and slammed on the brakes immediately, because one of the Big No’s that I forgot to mention is No Running in Class.
I didn’t even look up as I slowly slinked to my chair. I guess I thought if I moved slowly enough, I’d be invisible and she wouldn’t mention that I had arrived after the bell rang. So you can imagine my surprise when I heard a man’s voice say, “Good morning, you guys,” which, by the way, was not followed by, “Take out your lined paper and get ready for a pop quiz.” That—and the manly voice—were definite tip-offs that it was not Ms. Adolf speaking.
I looked up, and to my surprise, standing before us was Mr. Rock. He’s the music teacher, and by the way, the coolest teacher in all of PS 87. He’s a pal of mine. Mr. Rock was the one who convinced my parents to have me tested to see if I had a learning challenge, which, by the way, I do. Ever since then, Mr. Rock and I have had a special connection. He really understands that my brain has a mind of its own.
“Hey, Mr. Rock, how are you doing?” I shouted out before I could lasso my tongue to stop it from talking out loud. My tongue and I seem to have a problem with impulse control. But Mr. Rock didn’t even mind that I hadn’t raised my hand. And how did I know that? Because here’s what he said:
“Great to see you, Hank. How’s tricks?”
Imagine that coming out of Ms. Adolf’s mouth! It never would. What would come out of her mouth was, “In my classroom, pupils raise their hands before speaking.”
“Everything’s fine, Mr. Rock,” I answered. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing here?”
“Well, funny you should ask, Hank. Because I was just about to tell the class that you guys have the good fortune to have me as your long-term substitute for the next four weeks.”
Four weeks of Mr. Rock! My ears started jumping for joy. The words weren’t even out of his mouth when the whole class burst into applause.
“Unfortunately,” Mr. Rock went on, trying to ignore the applause, “your teacher, Ms. Adolf, has thrown out her back while participating in one of her favorite hobbies.”
My hands were applauding, my ears were jumping for joy, but my mind went into list-making overdrive. What possible hobby could Ms. Adolf have that would cause her to throw out her back?
CHAPTER 2
TEN WAYS MS. ADOLF COULD HAVE THROWN HER BACK OUT WHILE PARTICIPATING IN HER FAVORITE HOBBY
1. Maybe she was a contestant in the Strongest Woman in the World competition and was towing a jumbo jet down the runway by a rope tied around only her left ankle.
2. Maybe while scuba diving she was attacked by a giant squid who mistook her for a spiny crab (which, by the way, she is).
3. Maybe once the squid realized that she wasn’t a spiny crab, he used three of his eight arms as a slingshot to fling her back to shore, where she landed on her back. Ouch.
4. Maybe she was bowling, and her fingers got stuck in the ball, and she threw herself down the lane. (Hank’s note: If you knock all the pins down with your body and not the ball, I wonder if that’s still considered a strike?)
5. Maybe she’s a rodeo rider and a bucking bronco bucked her off so hard that she went into orbit and landed on her back in New Jersey.
6. Maybe she was in a spelling bee and got so upset when she misspelled “receive” (like I always do) that she fainted and fell off the stage and landed on the world’s biggest dictionary.
7. Maybe she was writing a Big Fat Red D on my last math test with such force that her whole back went into a spasm and all of a sudden half of her was facing frontward and the other half was facing backward.
8. Maybe she has a secret life as a ballroom dancer and was injured while doing a wild rumba turn with her handsome partner from Argentina. No, what are you thinking, Hank? That’s way too cool a thing for Ms. Adolf to ever do.
My list came to an abrupt stop when I suddenly heard my name being spoken by Mr. Rock.
“Hank . . . Hank . . .”
CHAPTER 3
“... Hank, as I was saying, Ms. Adolf was injured while doing a triple turn in a rumba contest with her partner from Argentina,” Mr. Rock said.
No way.
She really is that cool!
Hank Zipzer, you’re a psychic!
I mean, a guy doesn’t just randomly think that his teacher is a rumba dancer and then it turns out t
o be true, unless he has powers from the great beyond. Maybe I should open a fortune-telling office. And get a turban. I don’t need a crystal ball; I’ve got one in my brain. I immediately got busy imagining what my business cards would look like. Should they be simple and just say, “Hank Zipzer, Mind Reader?” Or maybe I should go with something rhyming like “Hank the Fortune Teller for Gals and Fellers.” Or maybe something weird and mysterious like “Travel with Swami Zipzer to the Great Beyond.”
I was still trying to decide if my cards should be blue with white letters or black with orange letters and a purple lightning bolt when I thought I heard my name mentioned again.
“Were you listening, Hank?” Mr. Rock was saying when I checked back into reality.
“Um . . . does half-listening count?” I asked him. “Because I heard a lot of what you said, just not the last part.”
“You mean the part where I asked everyone to open their social studies books to chapter seven?” Mr. Rock said with a smile.
“Those words just whizzed by my head at supersonic speed, sir,” I said.
Everyone cracked up, everyone except Nick McKelty. Nick McKelty only laughs at things he says or does. And by the way, the things he does are never funny . . . unless you consider sticking your tongue out to show people a half-eaten granola bar funny. That’s his idea of a major laugh.
I quickly opened my book. I didn’t want to be a flake when Mr. Rock was teaching. He was being really nice about my not listening. Ms. Adolf would have given me a big-time lecture about the importance of paying attention. I flipped through the pages, but I wasn’t finding chapter seven.
McKelty reached over to my desk and turned to the right page.
“Here you go, Zipperbutt. Chapter seven. I found it because I knew you couldn’t.”
“That’s enough of that talk, Nick,” Mr. Rock said. “Now, let’s begin by reading the chapter introduction out loud. And by the way, guys, if you’re wondering why we’re doing this, it’s because I teach music and not American government, and this chapter is about American government. So we’re all going to learn together. Okay?”