Hooray! My Butt Left the Bench! #10 Read online

  To Stacey for your love, patience, and support. And to mighty Jules—HW

  For darling Cole, this one is just for you—LO

  For my sweetheart Jakki and my wonderful boys!—SG

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Penguin Young Readers Group

  An Imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

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  Text copyright © 2017 by Henry Winkler and Lin Oliver Productions, Inc. Illustrations copyright © 2017 by Scott Garrett. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

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

  ISBN 9781101995860 (pbk)

  ISBN 9781101995877 (hc)

  ISBN 9781101995884 (ebook)

  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 1

  “I have a great idea,” I said to my best friends, Frankie Townsend and Ashley Wong. “After school today, let’s put on a worm race. Not just any worm race. The First-Ever Hank Zipzer Uphill Worm Sprint.”

  It was Taco Tuesday, and we were in our school lunchroom eating—you guessed it—tacos. I like mine with no onions.

  “Two problems,” Frankie said, his mouth full of cheese and beans. “Number one: Worms are slow and slimy.”

  “Yeah,” Ashley agreed. “It’s so gross when they leave that icky slime trail.”

  “No, slime is good,” I said. “The trail will give us proof of which worm crosses the finish line first.”

  “Okay, Zip, I’ll give you that,” Frankie said. “But we still have problem number two. Where are we going to find these speedy worms?”

  “I’ve got that solved,” I said. “I saw three of them sticking their heads out of the dirt in the planter in front of our building this morning. They were practically begging me to let them race. I bet they’ll be there after school.”

  Ashley and Frankie gave each other a weird look.

  “Actually, Hank,” Ashley said slowly. “Frankie and I are busy after school today.”

  “Busy doing what? The three of us always do an after-school activity together.”

  “Listen, Zip,” Frankie said, putting his hot-sauce-covered hand on my shoulder. “Ashley and I have been asked to be on the second-grade basketball team. The one that’s going to play PS 91 in our yearly game.”

  That totally took me by surprise.

  “Really?” I said. “How come I didn’t hear about this?”

  Ashley pushed her sparkly purple glasses up on her nose.

  “Well,” she said, “they only asked the kids who are really good at basketball in gym class. Anyone else who wants to be on the team can come to tryouts. There are still some open spots.”

  I was quiet as her words bounced around in my brain like a Ping-Pong ball. Frankie knew what I was thinking.

  “Hey, don’t feel bad, Zip,” he said. “They only asked certain kids because this is a really important game. Our school has beaten PS 91 two years in a row. If we win this year, it will be a three-peat. The first three-peat ever in the whole history of PS 87!”

  “But I want to play, too,” I said. “It says right on my report card that I play well with others.”

  “You sure do, Zip. But you have to admit, you’re not that great at basketball.”

  “What exactly are you saying, Frankie? That I’m short?”

  “No, that’s not it,” Frankie said. “Look at Ashley. She’s short and she’s on the team.”

  Ouch, that hurt.

  “I’m not short,” Ashley said. “I like to think of myself as vertically challenged.”

  “Me too,” I said. “I’m going to ask the coach if I can try out.”

  “Why not?” Ashley said. “It never hurts to try. If you don’t, you’ll never know.”

  “Okay, I’m going to do it. By the way, who is the coach?”

  “Ms. Adolf,” Ashley said, “the fourth-grade teacher.”

  I felt my throat tighten up, then the rest of my body followed.

  “You mean the one who looks like she swallowed a lemon?” I squeaked.

  “Yup,” Frankie answered. “Old sourpuss herself.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. It was hard enough to ask to be on a team that nobody wanted you on. But now I was going to have to ask the meanest teacher on the whole planet Earth. Just looking at Ms. Adolf scared me down to my bones. Her hair was gray. Her clothes were gray. Her face was gray. Even her breath was gray.

  “Hey, look,” Ashley said, pointing across the room. “Ms. Adolf is on lunch patrol. She’s standing over there by the desserts, making sure no one takes one.”

  “Go talk to her now, Zip,” Frankie said, giving me a push. “Tell her you want to be on the team.”

  I got to my feet, walked over to Ms. Adolf, and gave her my best Zipzer smile. She did not smile back.

  “Don’t even think about taking one of these desserts,” she barked at me. “It will rot your teeth and ruin your brain.”

  “Actually, Ms. Adolf, I’m here to talk basketball. I’d like to try out for the second-grade team that you’re coaching.”

  She pulled her gray glasses down on her gray nose and stared at me like I was a flea that just fell off a dog.

  “Can you shoot?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Can you rebound?”

  “No.”

  “Can you jump high?”

  “No.”

  “Can you dribble?”

  “Only from my mouth,” I said. Then I cracked up. But not Ms. Adolf. She just sighed heavily.

  “There will be an open tryout this afternoon at three, in the gym,” she said. “I’ve already selected four players for the team. But I can add five more to round out the roster. You can come then, but don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Great, I’ll be there,” I said. “You’ll see. I’m going to surprise you.”

  As I walked away, I felt pretty good, and my hopes were up . . . until I suddenly realized that I had nothing to surprise her with. Not one thing.

  I had to come up with something. And fast.

  CHAPTER 3

  After school, I hurried to the gym. I thought that being the first one at tryouts would impress Ms
. Adolf. Maybe I couldn’t dribble, but at least I could be on time.

  When I was halfway down the hall, I realized that my body felt awfully light. I looked over my shoulder and noticed that my backpack straps were missing. So was my backpack.

  I spun around and sprinted back to class. When I reached the door, my teacher, Ms. Flowers, was standing there holding my backpack out in front of her. She knows me so well.

  “Forget something?” she asked with a smile.

  “Thanks, Ms. Flowers,” I said, taking the backpack and flinging it over my shoulder.

  “By the way, Hank,” she whispered. “Did you know your backpack smells strongly of pickles?”

  “Yeah, isn’t it great? I sprinkle a little pickle juice in there sometimes, just to keep my nose happy.”

  “You’re an interesting boy,” she said.

  “Thanks again,” I shouted as I took off down the hall.

  When I got to the gym, I flew through the door. Unfortunately, Ms. Adolf was standing right in front of it, and I ran smack into her.

  She didn’t exactly fall down, but she stumbled forward a few steps, which made her blow her whistle really loud. The whole gym got quiet, waiting to see how mad she was going to get.

  She got pretty mad.

  “Of course it’s you, Henry,” she said, squinting at me with her beady gray eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Adolf. I didn’t mean to knock you over.”

  “But you did,” she said. “Everyone else seems to have gotten here without creating an accident. And what is that terrible pickle odor?”

  “Garlic dills,” I answered. “They’re my favorite.”

  “Perhaps you and your pickles can stand farther away,” she said, holding her nose.

  I took a few steps back. It was then I noticed that Ms. Adolf was wearing shorts. My eyes almost popped out of my head. She isn’t the kind of person who wears shorts. Her bony gray knees looked like they had never seen daylight before.

  I looked around the room. Frankie and Ashley were sitting in the bleachers, and next to them were Heather Payne and Nick McKelty. There were five other second-graders waiting to try out for the team, just like me.

  “Based on their excellent performance in gym class, I have already chosen the following students for our team,” Ms. Adolf said, reading from a clipboard. “Frankie Townsend, Ashley Wong, Heather Payne, and Nick McKelty.”

  Nick McKelty! Why would anyone choose Nick the Tick? That guy moves like a dump truck. And besides, he’s the worst sport in the world. Maybe he got picked because his head looks like a basketball, only with teeth.

  “Today, I will pick five more players to complete our team,” Ms. Adolf said. “One to play on the main team, and the other four will serve as backup on the bench.”

  “I’m really good at backing up,” I said with a big smile. “I can walk backward from Ms. Flowers’s classroom all the way to the water fountain.”

  Everyone in the bleachers howled. Well, everyone except McKelty. Even though I didn’t mean to be funny, it sure felt good hearing them laugh.

  “As usual, Henry, you have misunderstood,” Ms. Adolf snarled. “I’m asking you to sit on the bench as a backup player who goes in the game when we need a substitute.”

  “But I don’t want to be a substitute, I want to be one of the main guys.”

  “In that case,” Ms. Adolf said, “you may try out first. Let’s see if you qualify. I want you to pick up the basketball, dribble from one end of the court to the other, and when you get to the basket, shoot.”

  “No problem,” I said, tossing my backpack on the floor.

  Frankie got up from the bleachers and handed me a basketball.

  “Stay calm, Zip,” he whispered in my ear. “Focus. You can do this.”

  I took the ball and walked to the end of the court. When I turned around and looked up at the basket, it seemed like it was miles away. On the one hand, that was bad. On the other hand, that was really bad. But I told myself that if I just used the old Zipzer attitude, I could do it.

  I took a deep breath and bounced the ball. To my surprise, it came right back to the palm of my hand. Hey, this wasn’t so hard. I took a few more steps and bounced the ball again. There it was, right back in my hand.

  Look at me, world, I’m dribbling!

  Oh wait, don’t look at me now, world!

  Suddenly, the ball left my hand and took off like it had a mind of its own. It rolled all the way across the court, without me attached. I glanced over at Ashley. She was covering her eyes.

  “Hey, butterfingers,” Nick McKelty shouted from the bleachers. “You call that basketball? I call it bowling.”

  Then he let out one of his rhinoceros snorts.

  I raced across the court and picked up the ball, flashed a smile like I had meant to drop the ball, and went back to the center of the court. As I started to dribble again, I noticed that Ms. Adolf was writing something down on her clipboard. I was pretty sure she was not writing “Excellent job.”

  I tried the dribbling thing four more times. One time I dribbled the ball on my toe. Another time it just stopped dead on the floor in front of me. And you don’t even want to know about the two times I fell on my butt. Finally, I picked up the ball and ran across the court to the net.

  There are a lot of ways to get to the net, I thought. And this is my way.

  I stared up at the basket. It seemed higher than I imagined. I took aim, bent my knees, and pushed the ball with all my might up into the air. Wow, it went high. It sailed up into a perfect arc. It was a pretty good shot, if I do say so myself.

  Too bad it didn’t go anywhere near the basket. It seemed to take a left turn somewhere near Ms. Adolf’s head. She ducked, but not enough. The ball bounced off the back of her head, flattening her gray bun like a pancake.

  Oops.

  Something told me this was not the best way to make the team.

  CHAPTER 4

  When I was finished, I sat down in the bleachers and watched the rest of the kids try out.

  The next two kids were very impressive. Ryan Shimozato sunk his first basket. It didn’t even touch the rim, just went straight in. When it was Luke Whitman’s turn, he managed to make a basket while picking his nose. That’s not easy to do. Katie Sperling went next. She demanded that they wash the ball with soap and water before she’d touch it. That must have worked, because she made a basket, too.

  Samir Patel tried a fancy dribble, but it backfired and hit him in the nose. Kim Paulson tried out in her ballet tutu because she had a dance rehearsal right after tryouts. Every time she dribbled the ball, she did a ballet leap across the floor. We thought she was showing off, but Ms. Adolf lapped it up.

  Once everyone had his or her turn, Ms. Adolf told us all to line up on the court. As I watched her looking down at her clipboard, I got really nervous. She was taking her time, and every second that went by made me even more jumpy. It’s a good thing I was standing in between Frankie and Ashley, or I would have bounced out of my skin.

  I didn’t even notice when Principal Love walked into the gym.

  “Well, what kind of gathering do we have here? Something sports-related, I presume,” he said.

  “It’s basketball tryouts,” Ashley answered.

  “Ah, yes! That would explain why Ms. Adolf is wearing shorts.”

  Ms. Adolf gave him a nasty stare.

  “Excuse me, Principal Love,” she said. “I was just about to announce who made the second-grade team that will compete against PS 91.”

  “Go right ahead,” he said. “I’d love to meet the team. There is nothing more thrilling than watching a team be a team, participating in teamwork.”

  Don’t get upset if you didn’t understand that sentence. No one understands Principal Love when he talks. We just watch his lips move until he’s done.

  �
�Will the following students please step forward,” Ms. Adolf said. “Frankie, Ashley, Nick, Heather, and Katie. These are the children who will make up our first-string team.”

  I was glad for them. Well, to be honest, I wasn’t that glad for Nick McKelty, but I was truly happy for the others. I knew I wasn’t a starter. But I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping that I could at least be a substitute. All I wanted was to be a member of the team.

  “I’d like the following students to step forward now,” I heard Ms. Adolf say. “You will be our substitute players, a very important part of the team. Kim Paulson, Ryan Shimozato, and Luke Whitman. Luke, please keep your fingers out of your nose when you’re playing.”

  The three kids stepped forward. There was only one place left. I crossed my fingers so hard, I couldn’t feel the tips.

  Please! Let her pick me!

  “The last person,” Ms. Adolf said, “is Samir Patel.”

  Samir stepped forward to join the other three. That left me, only me, standing by myself in the back row. I could feel the tears wanting to shoot down my cheeks. I was barely able to hold them back.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Adolf,” Principal Love said, walking up right next to her. “You can’t leave one child out.”

  “That child is completely unskilled in basketball,” she answered, pointing at me.

  “I’m sure you will find some appropriate role for him on the team,” Principal Love said. “Even the smallest ant can carry one hundred times its own body weight.”

  Actually, my sister, Emily, who loves reptiles and insects, says that some ants can carry five thousand times their body weight. I didn’t think this was a good time to correct Principal Love’s science facts, though. I still had no idea why he brought up ants in the first place. But I was so happy he did, because it seemed to change Ms. Adolf’s mind.