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  I told you Mr. Rock was cool. I mean, when was the last time you heard a teacher admit that he didn’t know that much about the subject so you’re all going to learn together?

  “Let’s start with Ashley in row one,” Mr. Rock said. “We’ll go around the room, and each person will come to the front and read a paragraph. That sounds pretty painless, doesn’t it?”

  That’s when my brain pushed the panic button. It’s not that I have anything against social studies. I actually loved when we learned about the ancient Egyptians and how they buried their kings with gold jewelry and lots of food and stuff so they would be happy and not too hungry in the afterlife. But if there’s one thing on this whole earth that is unbelievably hard for me, it’s reading out loud. I stumble over words, even simple ones that I know how to read. My eyes jump around on the page so much that I can’t follow even a single sentence. I see words that aren’t there, and leave out the ones that are. It’s really frustrating to me, because I feel like I could read out loud with great expression, if I could just get the words right.

  “Bet you can’t wait for your turn. Right, Zipper Dunce?” McKelty whispered.

  McKelty’s been listening to me screw up reading out loud since first grade, and he really enjoys giving me a hard time about it. I knew he was looking forward to watching me get up in front of the class and make a fool of myself.

  Ashley read the first paragraph, and she was perfect, as always. It was all about how the Founding Fathers set up the Constitution and the government and all that stuff. The only thing I kept thinking was why the Founding Fathers had to use so many big words that were hard to pronounce.

  After Ashley, we went across the front row. Katie Sperling and Ryan Shimozato and Heather Payne all read. After each paragraph, we would stop and Mr. Rock would talk about what was interesting or important. I kept raising my hand and asking a lot of questions, hoping that we’d use up all the social studies time before we got to my turn to read.

  “How come they were called Founding Fathers and not Founding Dads?” I asked.

  “Why did they call it a constitution and not A Bunch of Rules?”

  “When the Founding Fathers met in Philadelphia, did they eat a cheesesteak? And if they did, was it with or without the Cheez Whiz?”

  “I didn’t know you were so fascinated by American history,” Mr. Rock said to me after my third question. “I’m glad to see that, Hank.”

  But even with all my questions, the old hands on the clock were moving slowly and there was still time for more reading. That meant we moved into the next row. My row.

  Frankie went next, then Nick McKelty, who was lucky and got the shortest paragraph on the page. It was only one sentence long. Why couldn’t that have been me?

  I guess McKelty got through his reading okay, but I really wouldn’t know because I didn’t hear a word he read. All I heard was the thumping of my heart. It gets really loud when I get nervous, and I was big-time nervous.

  “Okay, Hank,” Mr. Rock said. “The next paragraph is yours. Come on up.”

  “Mr. Rock,” I said, “I would love to do some oral reading, really I would. But it’s just that I woke up this morning with a frog in my throat. Didn’t I, Frankie?”

  Frankie gave me one of those “Are you nuts, dude?” looks. I shot him back one of my “If I ever needed you, it’s now, dude” looks. And without missing a beat, Frankie came through.

  “He sounded so hoarse, he must have swallowed a bullfrog,” Frankie said. “Isn’t that right, Ashley?”

  Ashley gave him one of her “Oh, don’t drag me into this” looks, and I shot her one my “Hey, what are friends for?” looks. And without missing a beat, Ashley came through.

  “It was such a big bullfrog, we almost saddled him up and rode him to school,” she said.

  Now the whole class was rolling in the aisles and stomping their feet. Mr. Rock laughed, too.

  “You’re a lot of fun, Hank,” he said.

  I grinned and sighed with relief. Wow, that had been a close call, but once again, my sense of humor had gotten me out of an embarrassing situation.

  Whoops, not so fast, Hank.

  “But,” Mr. Rock went on, “I don’t hear you being hoarse now, so it seems that the bullfrog has moved to another pond. Come on up and don’t forget your book.”

  I didn’t understand why Mr. Rock was making me do this. He must have known that I’d hate it.

  The walk to the front of the class seemed like it was seven thousand miles long. My feet felt like they had hundred-pound weights attached to them. My stomach was flipping and flopping all over the place. This was really my worst nightmare.

  I opened the book and cleared my throat.

  CHAPTER 4

  Before I began, I took another look at the clock.

  “It’s getting late,” I pointed out to Mr. Rock.

  “Late for what, Hank?”

  “Um . . . math,” I answered. “You want to be sure to save enough time for math.”

  Was this me, wanting to do math? Yes, it was, which told me how desperate I was. Anything was better than reading out loud. Even long division.

  “Thanks, Hank,” Mr. Rock said. “But I think we’re all finding the story of how our government was formed really interesting. Am I right, guys?”

  Everyone in the class nodded, even Luke Whitman, which is really something, because it’s not easy to nod with your finger in your nose without poking yourself really hard.

  “So go ahead, Hank. Everybody follow along as he reads,” Mr. Rock said.

  “You’re not going to want to do that,” I mumbled under my breath. I mean, where were they going to follow me? Into the confused mess that is my brain? Once they get in there, they’ll never get out.

  “Mr. Rock,” I said. “I just remembered that I never got my flu shot this year, so I’ll read as soon as I get back from the nurse’s office.”

  I turned to go.

  “Hank,” Mr. Rock said. “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do. But it’s important to practice your reading. We’re all here to learn, and learning takes practice. So give it a try. If you need help, I’ll help you. Take your time. We’ve got time, don’t we, kids?”

  “This is going to take Mr. Stupid until next year,” McKelty shouted out.

  “There’ll be none of that, Nick,” Mr. Rock said. “We are a supportive learning community in this class. You don’t make progress unless you try. So now, Hank, go ahead.”

  I took a breath and looked down at the page.

  “Chapter seven,” I said, even though everyone knew we were reading chapter seven. I just wanted to get off to a good start. I wasn’t even reading the words, I was remembering them.

  “The Founding Fathers divided the American government into three branches,” I read.

  “That’s excellent, Hank,” Mr. Rock said.

  Wow. So far, so good. This wasn’t so hard.

  “They are called the . . .”

  I stopped dead in my tracks, because three of the longest, hardest words you have ever seen popped out of nowhere. These weren’t branches of government, they were alphabet traps. Why did they have to call them that, whatever that was? I mean, what’s wrong with olive branch, pine branch, and maple branch? At least I had a shot at reading those.

  No, this branch was the . . . whatever it was, it started with an “L.”

  “Just try to sound out the word,” Mr. Rock said. “Break the word down into syllables.”

  “Mr. Rock, I think I’ve gone about as far as I can go,” I said. “Can’t we call it the ‘L’ branch and let me sit down?”

  “Yeah,” McKelty called out. “Let Zipperbutt sit down. He’s a lost cause.”

  “Nick, that’s enough from you,” Mr. Rock said, with real impatience in his voice now. “We show one another respect in this classroom. Just because each of us learns differently, doesn’t mean we all don’t have greatness in us.”

  I didn’t know what to feel. On the one hand, h
aving Mr. Rock stick up for me felt great. And I was proud that I had started out pretty good. On the other hand, not being able to read out loud is totally, completely embarrassing. You try feeling embarrassed and proud at the same time. It’s very confusing.

  “That’s a good beginning, Hank,” Mr. Rock said. “You happened to get a very difficult paragraph, and you gave it a good shot.”

  Mr. Rock didn’t insist that I go on, so I hurried to my seat faster than you could say Founding Fathers. After me, three more people read about the branches of government. I should point out two things here. Number one: None of them had any trouble at all reading the names of the three branches of government or any other word on the page. And number two: I now know that the three branches of government are the legislative, executive, and judicial branches. When you think about it, that makes a whole lot more sense than the olive, pine, and maple branches.

  The minute the recess bell rang, I slammed my book shut and bolted for the door. Before I could make it into the hallway, Mr. Rock asked if he could see me for a minute. He waited until the class was empty, then perched himself on the edge of Ms. Adolf’s desk, swinging a leg as he talked to me. I noticed that he had green frogs all over his blue socks. I like it when adults wear funny animals somewhere on their clothes. It’s like saying, “I’m an adult but not all the way through.”

  “So, Hank,” he began. “Seems like reading is still pretty challenging for you.”

  “Only some words,” I said. “I’m a whiz at ‘and,’ ‘cat,’ and ‘the.’”

  He laughed and then stopped laughing.

  “Seriously, Hank, would you like to be better at reading?”

  “Seriously, sure I would. It’s not fun to stand in front of the class and not be able to get two words out. But maybe McKelty is right. Maybe I am a lost cause and I just have to learn to live with it.”

  “No, you don’t,” Mr. Rock said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “In fact, PS 87 is starting a new program called the Reading Gym, which is intended for students just like you.”

  “The Reading Gym?” I said. “What do you do, hang from a trapeze and read upside down?”

  “We practice reading, just like a gymnast practices tumbling or trampolining.”

  “Maybe I’ll come sometime,” I said. “It sounds okay.”

  “I’d like you to come after school this afternoon,” Mr. Rock said. “I’m the Reading Gym teacher, and if we work together, I think your reading skills could go through the roof.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Rock, but I’m doing the Tae Kwon Do after-school program, which is starting today also.”

  “Maybe I could call your mom and dad and discuss the possibility of you switching to the Reading Gym,” Mr. Rock said. “I could explain to them why I think you need it and could benefit from it.”

  “No!” I said, maybe even a little too quickly. “Don’t do that!”

  The last thing I wanted was my dad getting another call from school saying that I needed special help. His theory about me, even though he knows I have learning differences, is that if I concentrate and work really hard and, as he says, “keep my bottom in the chair and study,” I’ll do fine in school. He is definitely not a big fan of the call from the teacher saying I’m behind in reading or behind in math or just behind in anything.

  “Okay, Hank,” Mr. Rock said. “Let’s keep this conversation between us for now. But think this over. I’d like you to seriously consider participating in the Reading Gym. It will give you skills that will help you the rest of your life.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  “I know you’ll make the right decision, Hank,” Mr. Rock answered. “Now go to recess. You earned it.”

  I bolted out the door, knowing full well what my decision was going to be. I mean, give me a break. If you had to choose between learning how to do a really cool roundhouse kick and learning how to sound out short vowel sounds, what would you choose?

  It wasn’t even close.

  CHAPTER 5

  Okay, I confess. I did feel kind of guilty as I walked into the gym for the after-school Tae Kwon Do class. A little voice inside was telling me that improving my reading was probably more important than learning to punch a board in half with my bare hands. Oddly enough, that little voice sounded a lot like my dad’s.

  But all that guilt went away when I caught my reflection in the gym window. We had all been given a new white gi, which is the traditional uniform of the martial artist. And as I caught a glimpse of myself in my gi, I thought to myself, Wow, do I look powerful. Hey, you know I’m not stuck-up and I wasn’t just standing there admiring myself. But the thought did cross my mind that I was going to be good at martial arts.

  I didn’t get to enjoy that thought very long because joining me in my reflection was a gigantic blob of white that looked like a bag of marshmallows that had melted together. It was Nick McKelty in a gi the size of the Goodyear Blimp.

  “What are you doing, Zipperbutt?” he said. “Posing for animal crackers?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking about being the lion,” I said. “Wanna hear me roar?” Then I growled in his face and walked away.

  Okay, so it was babyish, but it felt really good.

  I turned around to see Frankie and Ashley watching me, laughing their heads off.

  “That deserves a three-way high five,” Frankie said. And we all put up our palms and slapped one another five.

  Suddenly, the loudspeaker in the gym buzzed and a large, deep voice came blaring out.

  “Attention, young masters in the making,” the voice said. “Your sensei approaches.”

  There were ten or eleven other kids in the Tae Kwon Do class, and we all stopped what we were doing and turned our attention to the door. We waited and watched. Joelle Atkins, who has the icky pleasure of being Nick McKelty’s girlfriend, actually got off her cell phone, which is something that only happens every eighty years like one of those weird comets that flies by. Katie Sperling stopped messing with the scrunchie that holds back her blond ponytail and stood at attention. Ashley pushed her purple glasses back on her nose and craned her neck to see if she could see anyone coming. I have to confess, even I edged my way to the front of the group so I could get the first look. We could hardly wait to meet our teacher, the sensei who would teach us how to throw punches and land kicks. Then we heard footsteps coming down the hall. They were squeaky.

  Wait a minute, I thought to myself. I’m positive I know that squeak.

  “There’s only one person whose shoes squeak like that!” I whispered to Ashley.

  But before she could answer, our sensei appeared in the doorway. He was none other than Principal Leland Love, wearing his favorite goofy Velcro sneakers that squeaked wherever he went. I don’t even want to tell you what he was wearing above the sneakers. Okay, I will, but you’re not going to believe it. He was wearing a gi with short pants that looked like Bermuda shorts. Below them, you could see his pale legs, wrinkly black socks, and, of course, the brown imitation leather Velcro sneakers. And wrapped around his waist was the scarf with the tap-dancing snowmen. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

  “Young masters, I am your sensei,” Principal Love said. “Your teacher, trainer, and inspirational leader.”

  There was a buzz that went around the group. I didn’t want to turn around and stare, so I couldn’t tell exactly who was saying what, but my ears picked up the following.

  “You gotta be kidding.”

  “What’s he know about this?”

  “I thought this was going to be fun.”

  “That’s the biggest gi I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’m calling my mom to come get me.”

  As for me, I just kept looking at Principal Love’s knees. It’s hard to take someone seriously as your inspirational leader if their knobby knees are staring you in the face.

  “What’s with the short pants?” I whispered to Frankie. “Doesn’t that seem strange?”

  “Maybe he left his gi in the dry
er too long and it shrunk,” Frankie said.

  “That makes sense,” Ashley said. “Because no one would go after that look on purpose.”

  “Except a turtle,” I said. “It looks like his arms and legs are coming out of a shell.”

  We had to cover our mouths and turn away from Principal Love to keep from laughing. But when we couldn’t hold it in anymore, a couple of smushed-down laughs leaked out of our covered lips. Principal Love shot all three of us a stern look.

  “The martial arts are no laughing matter,” he said. “What exactly are you finding so funny, Mr. Zipzer?”

  “Um . . . I was just thinking about a really funny turtle joke,” I said. “Would you like to hear it?”

  Ashley poked me in the ribs with her elbow so hard I thought she was trying to crack one. There was a look of horror on her face as if to say, “You’re not really going to tell him what we’re thinking, are you?”

  “Why, yes, Hank. I would,” Principal Love said. “Why don’t you share it with us all?”

  Frankie was shaking his head no, as he inched away from me. I’m sure he was terrified that I was going to say something about how Principal Love looked like a turtle coming out of its shell.

  But as much as I can’t remember how to spell almost any word, I happen to have a great memory for jokes, and I had a turtle one ready to go on the tip of my tongue.

  “Why did the turtle cross the road?” I said.

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Principal Love answered.

  “To get to the Shell station.”

  To my amazement, Principal Love threw his head back with such force that what little hair he had surrounding his bald spot flew into the air. Then he let out a huge laugh. And kept laughing for a really long time. Man, that guy must have been really starved for jokes. I mean, the turtle joke is cute, but it’s not a throw-your-bald-head-back-and-scream kind of joke.

  Principal Love has this mole on his cheek that is shaped like the Statue of Liberty without the torch. Well, let me tell you, his mole looked like it was doing the hula as he laughed his head off. I watched it jiggle on his face, and my mind pictured that mole in a gi with a green belt holding the jacket closed. I cracked up again.