A Brand-New Me! Page 2

  9. And playing video games really gets boring after a while. And I don’t want my thumbs to fall off. I like my thumbs. They really come in handy when you’re giving a thumbs-up sign.

  10. And about hanging out with your friends all day . . . well, that’s not going to happen . . . they’d all be in school. That’s where I should be!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  So, let me ask you a question. Anyone out there got any good ideas for community service projects???

  CHAPTER 4

  Whoops. False alarm. You can stop thinking about community service projects for me now. Mr. Rock, great guy that he is, came to my rescue.

  I had just pulled Principal Love’s office door closed when Mr. Rock, who is the music teacher at PS 87, came strolling down the hall, carrying three clarinets, two saxophones, and a trombone. He could barely see out from behind all those horns.

  “Hey, Hank,” he said. His voice sounded pretty weird, because he was talking into the cone of the trombone. It sounded like he was a baby whale underwater calling for his mommy. “I really need your help.”

  “Sure, Mr. Rock. Let me take those saxophones off your hands.”

  I reached out and tried to remove the instruments from the tangle of horns, but Mr. Rock’s fingers were wrapped around them pretty tightly.

  “You can let go now, Mr. Rock. I got them.”

  “Please be careful not to let them drop, Hank. These are the only ones we’ve got, and the school has no money to replace them.”

  I took the two horns and followed Mr. Rock down the stairs to the music room in the basement, concentrating so hard on not letting them slip out of my hands.

  “Can I ask you a question, Mr. Rock? Why are you carting all these horns around the hall? Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “These are the instruments that the band members were borrowing to practice at home,” he answered. “I’m collecting them all, and I’m going to have to sterilize them, polish them, and store them for next year. It’s a big job.”

  Bingo!

  I don’t know what you’re thinking, but what I was thinking starts with the letters C and S and rhymes with zammunity bervice.

  “Hey, Mr. Rock,” I said as we approached the door to the music room. “If I helped you clean and polish and store the instruments, would you call that a service to our community?”

  “Of course I would, Hank. You would not only be helping me, but also the students who participate in band next year.”

  “Great,” I said. “Then I’m volunteering. Raising my hand. Signing myself up for the job.”

  “You know, Hank. This isn’t a one day task. You’d have to come to me after school every day for at least a week.”

  “Now that you mention it, Mr. Rock, I’m sure that it will take just about twenty hours. Wouldn’t you say?”

  By then, we were inside the music room. Mr. Rock switched on the lights, laid the clarinets and the trombone down on his desk, took the two saxophones out of my arms, and put them on their stands. Then he turned to face me, and he had this funny smile on his face. Don’t get me wrong. It was a nice smile, the kind that says, “I know what you’re up to, young man.”

  “You weren’t by any chance discussing your community service requirement with Principal Love, were you?”

  “Funny you should ask.” I smiled back. “That’s exactly what we were discussing. Correction. We were not discussing it. He was lecturing and I was nodding.”

  “I’ve nodded with him a time or two myself,” Mr. Rock said with a laugh. “But I found it to be a great neck exercise.”

  That’s the cool thing about Mr. Rock. He’s not like other grown-ups who think all other grown-ups are so correct. He’s willing to see things from a kid’s point of view.

  He stuck his hand out, shook my hand, and said, “This is our contract, Hank. You help me with the instruments, and I’ll sign your community service form. You have to do the work, though.”

  “I will, Mr. Rock. I promise.”

  “Great. Do you have the form with you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  I reached into my Mets jacket pocket and pulled out the crumpled pink mess that was my community service slip. The gum wads were still there, of course. The thing about gum wads is that they just don’t disappear when you want them to.

  I flinched when Mr. Rock reached for it.

  “I can explain,” I said.

  “No need,” Mr. Rock answered, pulling his hand back without touching the paper. “I think I understand what happened. But you might want to stop at the office and pick up a new slip.”

  “Done,” I said. “But can I just give you one small tip, Mr. Rock?” I pointed to a particularly large wad of purple gum that was smooshed in between a green wad and a pink wad. “This grape-raspberry burst Bubbletastic lasts the longest.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Mr. Rock said.

  With that, I bolted out of the music room and headed straight for the office to get my new community service form from Mrs. Crock. It felt like a three-ton hippopotamus had been lifted off my shoulders. I mean, one minute I was in a gigantic pickle (which I love, by the way). And the next minute, a Zipzer solution came flying out of my brain.

  Sometimes it’s great to be me!

  CHAPTER 5

  I walked home, and I promise you, I was taller. Or at least it felt that way. It’s amazing what finding a solution to a problem can do for you. And I have to confess, the idea of graduating from PS 87 wasn’t a bad idea, either. It was time for me to move on. To see what the future held. To take responsibility for my new life.

  Whoa, just hold on there, brain. Take responsibility? I don’t think so. Maybe I’ll just stick with graduating from the fifth grade first.

  As I hurried down 78th Street and crossed over Amsterdam Avenue, I saw Mr. Kim putting water in all of the flower buckets in front of his corner grocery store.

  “Hi, Hank,” he said. “How was your day?”

  “Hi right back at you, Mr. Kim,” I said, giving him a high five. “My day is looking better and better every minute.”

  “Then you should celebrate,” Mr. Kim said. He reached over the flowers and grabbed a big bunch of something leafy and green with big, round, lightbulb-looking things at the bottom.

  “Here,” Mr. Kim said. “Have some bok choy. Enjoy.”

  “Wow, Mr. Kim. This is so . . . um . . . unexpected. And so organic. And so . . . what do I do with it?”

  “Your mother will know.”

  “Uh-oh. That’s a dangerous thought. Knowing her, she’ll put it in the pot looking all nice and green, and then she’ll add octopus suction cups and who knows what else, and it will come out all brown and slimy and stinky, like everything else she cooks. And if you ever see her,” I added, “please don’t tell her I said that.”

  Mr. Kim laughed. “It’s our secret.”

  I tucked the bok choy into my backpack and ran the rest of the way to our apartment building. I even heard myself singing as I stepped into the elevator and punched ten. I don’t sing often, and if you heard me, you’d know why. But this is what I sang.

  I’m graduating . . . I’m graduating . . .

  I never thought I would, but I am . . .

  Graduating, yes, graduating.

  Okay, I didn’t promise you a good song, but it’s my song, and trust me, it felt really good coming out of my throat.

  When I burst thought the door of our apartment, the first thing I saw was my dad, sitting in his boxers at the dining room table, staring at his computer screen, which was filled with columns of little irritating numbers.

  “Hi, Dad!” I hollered. “I got some bok choy for you!”

  You’d think he would have been happy. I mean, how many times in his life has he gotten bok choy for no reason at all? But my dad is my dad, and happy is not his middle name. You’re probably not interested, but in case you are, his middle name is Whoopington. No kidding, it really is. Like the whoopee cushion but without
the noise.

  “You’re late,” was the best greeting he could muster up.

  “But I have a good explanation.”

  Just then, my sister Emily wandered in from her bedroom, with her iguana, Katherine, draped around her neck like a scaly scarf.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said. “You were looking for your math book which you couldn’t find because it was in your backpack which you couldn’t find because you had left it in the lunchroom where you forgot to get the change from the mac ’n’ cheese lunch special which you dropped on the way to your table.”

  “I’m amazed, Emily,” I snarled. “How did you know?”

  “It comes with the territory,” she answered, with her freckled nose up in the air. “When you’re smart like me, you know these things.”

  “Well, I know things, too,” I said. “Like your lizard is barfing on your sweatshirt.”

  Boy, did I get a good laugh when she looked at her sweatshirt with total panic.

  “That’s enough, you guys,” my dad said. “You both have better things to do, and I’ve got to finish this financial report before five.”

  “That works out perfectly, Dad,” I said, dropping my backpack and the bok choy on his recliner chair. “It’ll give me a chance to hang out with Frankie and Ashley.”

  “They’re in the clubhouse,” Emily said. “And I want to come.”

  “You can,” I said to her. “Just wait until tomorrow.”

  “But you guys won’t be there then.”

  “You see? You do know things.”

  Without waiting for her answer, I ran for the front door. Luckily, the elevator was still waiting on my floor. I popped in, pushed Bfor basement, and was on my way. I couldn’t wait to tell Frankie and Ashley the good news. We would all three graduate together, just like we had always planned.

  I used the elevator ride down to the basement to continue singing my song. Wait. Don’t put the book down. I will spare you this time. Just imagine someone singing my graduation song, who sings really well.

  The basement smelled like its usual soap suds self, which meant that someone from the apartment building was doing a load of laundry. I could hear Frankie and Ashley’s laughter from down the hall. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it sounded like they were having a great old time.

  “Hank Zipzer, reporting for fun,” I said, poking my head into our clubhouse storeroom. Frankie and Ashley were both sitting on the old flowered couch, with their feet up on two cardboard boxes that were labeled Mrs. Fink’s Summer Hats and Mr. Park’s Vinyl Records. I don’t know why grown-ups save everything they don’t want in cardboard boxes. It seems to me that the stuff just sits around for a hundred years, then when you go to pick up the box, everything falls out of the bottom. But the good news is, those cardboard boxes in storage make great footstools for our clubhouse.

  When I walked in, Frankie and Ashley stopped talking. It was weird, though. It wasn’t like they just stopped talking. I mean, they stopped short, like in the middle of a sentence. And then they both looked up and stared at me. I didn’t know why, but the look on their faces reminded me of the way our dog, Cheerio, looks when I catch him chewing on my fuzzy plaid slippers.

  “Wow, Zip!” Frankie said. “What’s going on?”

  I noticed that he took a piece of paper that was in his hand and stuffed it down in between the cushions of the couch.

  “Guess who got his twenty hours of community service rolling?” I said.

  “That’s so great, Hank!” Ashley said. “You really gave us a scare for a minute.”

  Wait a minute. Was that her hand stuffed down between the cushions, too? Yes, it was. There was something going on here.

  “What did you guys stuff down there between the cushions?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Frankie said. “We were just looking for change.”

  “A person can always use some extra spending money,” Ashley agreed.

  “Guys,” I said. “We’ve known each other since we were droolers. I can tell you’re hiding something. So what is it?”

  My mind was going over the possibilities. It wasn’t my birthday, so it couldn’t be a birthday present. It was too early for a graduation gift. I’m not a father, so it couldn’t be a father’s day card.

  And I’m not a mind reader, so I had no idea what it was.

  CHAPTER 6

  Frankie and Ashley just sat there on the couch in our clubhouse like statues. It was so quiet, you could hear the dryer spinning down the hall and the pigeons making their little pigeon noises through the barred windows.

  “Are you going to make me reach down there myself?” I asked finally.

  “Zip,” Frankie said. “It’s a long story.”

  “So shorten it up to a sentence.”

  “I think we should start at the beginning,” Ashley said.

  “Well, I think we should start at the end. Just show me what you’re hiding.”

  Frankie sighed, looked at Ashley, reached down and pulled out two pieces of crumpled paper. He held them out to me and I could tell by the look on his face that whatever those papers were, they were not gift certificates.

  “How about you just tell me what it says? Unless it’s really bad news, and if it is, you can stuff them back in the couch.”

  “It’s good news and bad news,” Ashley said. “Good news for us, and we didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  I wasn’t getting it. I mean, how could something that was good news for them hurt my feelings? They’re my best friends. Good news for them is good news for me, right?

  “Dear Mr. Townsend,” Frankie began reading. “We are pleased to inform you that your application to the Anderson Middle School Gifted and Talented Program has been accepted. Congratulations!”

  I looked over at Ashley.

  “Mine says the same thing,” she said. There were tears in her eyes.

  All of a sudden, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t get that letter. I didn’t get any letter except the one from the school saying that the smell of old bananas was still coming from my locker and would I be kind enough to clean it out with a soapy sponge.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, a little confused. “That means you guys applied to this genius school and never even told me?”

  “We told you we were taking the entrance exam,” Frankie said. “Remember? That Saturday when Papa Pete took you bowling and we couldn’t go.”

  “Yeah, I knew you were taking a test, but I didn’t know that test meant . . .”

  I couldn’t even think it, let alone say it.

  “Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Wait . . . a . . . minute.”

  My mind was spinning.

  “Are you telling me that we’re not going to the same school? We’ve been in the same class since kindergarten.”

  “Zip, let me explain. There’s more to it.”

  “Oh good. I know what you’re going to say. That you got in, but you’re really not going, because who wants to go with a bunch of geniuses, anyway. Phew, that’s a relief.”

  “Hank,” Ashley said. “It’s a huge honor to get picked for the Anderson School. There are over 500 applications for only 184 seats.

  “We can’t say no,” Frankie added. “And we’ll still be able to see each other after school and on weekends and stuff.”

  “I know, I know, it’s an honor and everything.” I was really trying to be glad for them, but my emotions just wouldn’t cooperate. “You’re going to make new friends and have really hard homework and lots of it and me, I’ll just be . . . where? Hey, where will I be?”

  “You’ll go to the regular middle school, whichever one you applied for,” Ashley said.

  “Who even remembers what I applied for?” I answered. “I just checked all the boxes on the form.”

  “So,” Frankie said, “you’ll probably go to MS 245 with a bunch of other kids in the class.”

  “Oh, thanks a lot. Me, Luke Whitman, and his pet slug. But that’s okay, because you
guys will be hanging out with your new group of Junior Einsteins.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” Ashley said.

  “Yeah, Zip. We’re best friends. That doesn’t just evaporate into the ozone.”

  “See?” I said. “That genius school is already rubbing off on you. Now you’re using words like evaporate and ozone. What’s next? You’re going to tell me my epidermis needs washing? Oh, that means skin, if you didn’t know.”

  “I have an idea,” Frankie said, standing up and putting his hand on my shoulder like nothing had happened. “Why don’t we go to my apartment and watch the Mets game?”

  “That sounds fun,” Ashley said.

  I could tell they were desperate to change the subject.

  “You guys go ahead,” I said. “I’m going back to my apartment. I have a lot to think about.”

  “Don’t be like that, Zip.”

  “No, it’s okay. I understand, really I do. It’s just really hard to understand. Know what I mean?”

  Suddenly, I felt like I was going to cry and I really didn’t want to do that in front of them. They’re my friends, and something good had happened to them. I should have been happy. On the other hand, my life as I knew it was about to change completely.

  And if there’s one thing I’m allergic to, it’s change. Uh-oh. I feel a rash coming on right behind my knees.

  CHAPTER 7

  As I rode up the elevator, my heart was pounding. This was a lot of information to take in, and my brain was in a not-taking-in mode. I needed to be alone, to think, to work this out.

  I took my key out of my jeans pocket before the elevator even stopped at the tenth floor. The moment the doors flew open, I was out and heading to our front door. Unfortunately, our neighbor Mrs. Fink had other plans for me. It seemed as if she was looking through her peephole waiting for me.

  “Hank,” she said as she stuck her head out her door. “What do you smell?”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Fink. My nose is on vacation at the moment.”

  “Such a funny boy,” she said with a laugh. “It’s my cherry strudel. And it’s calling your name. Can you hear it? Or are your ears on vacation, too?”