The World's Greatest Underachiever and the Killer Chilli Page 2

  “Your grandfather, the one who eats those pickles,” Ms Adolf said.

  “He makes them himself,” I said proudly. “Garlic dills are Papa Pete’s specialty.”

  “I hate to say this, Henry, but I don’t think Japanese people enjoy garlic dills,” said Ms Adolf.

  “Then they haven’t lived,” I answered.

  “Henry,” Ms Adolf said, getting close enough to me that I could see the banana gunk between her teeth. “My point is that I think we should put our best foot forward for our Japanese friends. And I’m not sure staying with your family will do that.”

  “Yoshi will have a great time at my house,” I said to Ms Adolf. I didn’t know whether to be angry or sad, so I was both.

  “Yeah,” said Frankie. “Hank’s family is cool. And warm. At the same time. Tell her, Ashweena.”

  “They’re really thoughtful,” added Ashley.

  “Besides, America is a land of diversity,” said Robert to Ms Adolf. “Hank’s family is diverse. Yes, indeed. Very, very, very, very diverse.”

  Ms Adolf sighed. That shut her up once and for all. There was nothing she could say to that. She picked up her banana peel and left.

  Way to go, Robert Upchurch!

  We all reached over and slapped Robert on the back. Unfortunately, we were too enthusiastic and sent the poor little dude flying right into his plate of fish tacos.

  After lunch, while the rest of the class were working on their maps of the rivers of North America, Ms Adolf called me to her desk.

  “Henry,” she said, “I want you to make a list of ten things you plan to do with Yoshi while he’s staying at your house.”

  “That’s a great idea, Ms Adolf,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about all kinds of fun things we could do together.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’ll come by your desk and check your list. And remember, Henry. Spelling counts.”

  Spelling counts? “Spelling counts” has to be my least favourite sentence in the English language. By the way, do you happen to know if it is a sentence? I don’t have a clue.

  Even though Ms Adolf knows that I have learning difficulties and that spelling is nearly impossible for me, she still marks me down if I make spelling mistakes. She says she thinks students with learning difficulties should have to learn just like everyone else. They just need to work harder at it. Obviously, she’s never been inside my brain when it’s trying to spell. Sometimes it’s working so hard you can almost smell the smoke. Finally, it just flops over and says, “I QUIT!”

  But I wanted to have Yoshi at my house so much that I really worked at spelling every word on that list correctly. I even looked up a bunch of words in the dictionary, which is not easy for a kid with dyslexia, which is what I have.

  At the beginning of the year, I couldn’t use the dictionary at all. But I’ve been working with our school learning therapist, Dr Lynn Berger, after school. She’s taught me how to sound out some words so I can look them up. When I do find a word in the dictionary, I feel really proud.

  After I had checked every word I wasn’t sure of in the dictionary, my list looked like this:

  By the way, I spent almost an hour looking for the word “knuckle” in the dictionary. Did you know that there is a “k” at the beginning of that word? I swear to you, I don’t know what it’s doing there. It just sits there silently, waiting for you to start looking it up under “n”. Luckily, Frankie is a really good speller and told me about that sneaky “k” so I could find the dumb word in the dictionary. Otherwise, our knuckle-cracking contest never would have made the list.

  When I was finished with the list, I put my pencil down, sat back and read it over. It sounded great to me. If I were Yoshi Morimoto and did everything on that list, I would go home thinking that America was the coolest, funniest country in the world.

  When Ms Adolf came over to check my list, I thought her eyes were going to zing out of her head and bounce all over the room like pinballs.

  “Henry,” she said, her neck getting all blotchy with those red spots that show up when she’s really mad. “I hope this is a joke.”

  I didn’t know how to break the news to her that it wasn’t, so I kept my mouth shut … tight.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon rewriting that list, with Ms Adolf breathing down my neck every second. When we were done, our new list included fun-filled, action-packed activities like these:

  Even though I had never met Yoshi Morimoto, I knew he couldn’t be that different from every ten-year-old I’d ever met, including me. I knew that if he ever saw that list, he would go running all the way back to Japan, even if it is an island country surrounded by water.

  I waited until after dinner to ask my parents if Yoshi could stay with us. I thought it would probably be OK with them, but you can never be totally sure when it comes to parents. There’s always the possibility that they’ll come up with some weird reason to say no – like you have to take a tango lesson with your mum or baby-sit your sister’s iguana. Don’t laugh. I had to miss two sleepovers at Frankie’s for just those reasons.

  The minute we’d finished our beetroot soufflé and scrambled tofu with chestnuts, I jumped right up to clear the table. My rule is you can never be too helpful when you’re about to ask your parents something important.

  “Wow,” my sister, Emily, said as I stacked the dishes all the way up my arm. “Look who’s clearing the table without even checking to see if it’s his turn.”

  “Just trying to lend a hand. Isn’t that what family is all about?” I said, flashing a big grin at my mum and dad.

  “Sounds like somebody flunked another maths test,” Emily said. She’s an excellent student and has never failed anything in all her nine years. She doesn’t have to. I do the flunking for both of us.

  “Who wants a cup of tea?” I asked.

  “Why, Hank, what a lovely idea,” my mum said.

  “Did you know they drink a lot of tea in Japan?” I asked, emphasizing the word Japan. Sometimes I surprise myself at how smooth I am. Did you like the way I just eased into the subject?

  I went into the kitchen, put the dishes in the sink and put some water in the kettle.

  “What kind of tea does everybody want?” I called out, looking in the round blue tin where my mum keeps the tea bags. “We’ve got Almost Almond, Mostly Mint or Relaxing Raspberry.” There were three or four other kinds of tea bags in the tin, but I didn’t offer them because their names were too hard for me to read.

  “Whatever sounds good, honey,” my mum shouted through the swing door. “Surprise us.”

  Naturally, I picked Relaxing Raspberry. I wanted my mum and dad to be nice and relaxed when I asked them about Yoshi. How could I face Ms Adolf if my parents said no? It would be totally embarrassing.

  When the tea was ready, I picked up the teapot and cups and pushed the swing door to the dining room open with my bum. Suddenly, Katherine darted out from under the table. She ran right in front of me, her long tail swishing back and forth under my feet. I could feel myself starting to wobble badly. Luckily, I was able to spit out one word before my legs went completely out from under me.

  “Teapot!” I shrieked.

  My dad jumped up and grabbed the teapot from my hands. My mum snatched the cups just in time. As for me, I went flying over the iguana’s tail and landed on the carpet. I lay there, flat on my stomach, eye to eye with the scaly beast. Katherine just flipped her grey-green tongue out and tapped me on the nose with it.

  Emily couldn’t stop laughing. Then she noticed that I was NOT laughing. She got real serious real fast.

  “Hank, don’t you dare yell at Kathy,” she warned. “You know how upset she gets when she thinks you’re mad at her.”

  Excuse me? The iguana gets upset? I was the one who just came in for an emergency tummy landing and got licked with her sandpapery tongue!

  Ordinarily, I would have blasted Emily about her creepy, ugly, scaly, yucky lizard getting under my feet. But I was about to bring u
p an important subject with the parents and this was not the time to pick a fight. So instead, I counted to five under my breath, then reached over and patted Katherine on the snout – even though what I really wanted to do was pound her into the rug.

  “Accidents happen, old girl,” I said. “I hope I didn’t hurt your cute crusty tail.”

  Emily’s jaw fell open so wide that I thought I was going to have to get a tow truck to haul it back up to her face.

  “Wow, Hank. You were so sensitive to Kathy’s feelings,” she said.

  “Hey, if a big brother can’t be nice to his sister’s iguana, then what’s the point of…”

  I had no idea how to finish that sentence. I glanced at my parents out of the corner of my eye. My mum was smiling. She loves it when we get along. Even my dad looked up from his crossword puzzle for a second and gave me a little nod. Well, maybe little is too big to describe the nod. It was more of a slight eye twitch.

  “Here, Dad, let me pour you a cup of tea,” I said, jumping up.

  I poured some of the hot tea into his cup. Then I put my hands together in front of me, turned to him and bowed. I poured my mum a cup of tea and bowed at her too.

  “What’s with all the bowing?” Emily said. “Did you do a silent but deadly or something?”

  “For your information, I am performing the Japanese tea ceremony,” I told her.

  “Well, for your information, we happen to live in New York,” Emily said. “Not Japan.”

  “I thought it would be nice to practise for when Yoshi gets here,” I said.

  “Yoshi who?” my dad asked, barely looking up from his crossword puzzle.

  “Yoshi Morimoto.”

  “Isn’t that the Japanese chef on the cooking channel?” he asked. “Why would he want to stay here?”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “But you just said he did.”

  When my dad is in the middle of doing a crossword puzzle, he only listens with one ear, which means he only gets half of the conversation right.

  “Dad, listen,” I said. “Cancel the whole Japanese chef thought. Yoshi Morimoto is a fourth-grade kid who’s coming to our school for Multi-Cultural Day. We, all of us, have been picked as his host family. He’s going to stay here for two nights later this week if it’s OK with you guys. And I just can’t imagine that you would turn down the educational experience of the century.”

  “It’s a lovely idea, honey,” my mum said, “but I’m worried about the bathroom.”

  “What’s wrong with the bathroom?” I asked.

  “It needs new wallpaper, Hank. We can’t have a visitor from another country experience our peeling wallpaper.”

  See what I mean about parents? You think you know them, then at the last minute they come up with something weird and throw you a total curveball.

  “Mum, the wallpaper is fine. We don’t have to change anything in our apartment. The whole point is for Yoshi to see how a typical American family lives. He’ll love it here.”

  “What do you think, Stan?” my mum asked my dad.

  “I could show the boy my collection of mechanical pencils,” he said. “I’ve got some pretty unique ones, you know.”

  “Great idea, Dad,” I said. “I bet he’s never seen that many mechanicals in one place before.”

  My dad nodded. He’s very proud of his mechanical pencils, which he calls his MPs. He has a whole desk drawer full of them in every colour and every metal known to mankind.

  “You have to ask your sister how she feels about having a visitor, Hank,” my mum said. “It’s her house too.”

  “I think it sounds like fun,” Emily said. “What do you think, Katherine?”

  “Wait a minute,” I complained. “Since when does the lizard get a vote?”

  “She’s a member of this family,” said Emily. “But it’s OK, because she votes yes. Don’t you, Kathy?”

  Emily took hold of one of Katherine’s paws and raised it up in the air like she was voting. Katherine hissed. I guess iguanas aren’t big fans of democracy.

  Just then, our dog, Cheerio, who was asleep on the sofa in the living room, woke up and ran over to our fireplace. He started to bark at the bricks, which is one of his hobbies when he’s not licking the bricks or chasing his tail.

  “I think Cheerio wants to vote too,” Emily said.

  “Hey, boy,” I said as I sat down next to him. “How do you vote? Say yip if it’s yes.”

  Cheerio rolled over on his back and I scratched him on this little white spot under his chin where he loves to be scratched. He yipped, softly, but it was a definite yip.

  “Then it’s unanimous,” my mum said. “The whole family votes yes to have Yoshi stay here.”

  I ran to my backpack and got the permission slip. My dad signed it with his red metallic mechanical pencil and then we all hugged.

  Yoshi was coming to our house. It was a done deal. And done in Zipzer style too. That meant two parents, two kids, one hissing iguana and one dachshund barking at the fireplace bricks. Just your typical American family.

  The next day was Tuesday and our class spent the day preparing for Yoshi and his dad to arrive. They were coming on Wednesday morning and staying until Friday. Yoshi was going to spend Wednesday in our class and then sleep over at my house. The next day, Thursday, was the big Multi-Cultural Day celebration for the whole school. Yoshi and his dad, Mr Morimoto, were the guests of honour. Everyone in my year had been told to bring in a dish from another country. We were going to put all the dishes out for a huge buffet lunch in the Multi-Purpose Room and have a celebratory meal.

  On Tuesday morning, Ms Adolf made us clean out our desks for Yoshi’s arrival. Personally, I didn’t see why we had to. It’s not like they don’t have messy desks in Japan.

  When I asked her why we had to clean our desks, Ms Adolf said, “We are putting our best foot forward, Henry.”

  I thought that if we were putting our best foot forward, then she should take off those icky grey shoes she wears every day and put on some cool green and yellow Nikes – or at least spray the insides with odour eaters.

  Ms Adolf walked up and down the aisles with her register and put a tick next to your name when she thought your desk was clean enough. I was the last one to get a check. I’d filled up a whole bin with the stuff she made me throw away. There was some really good stuff in my desk too. A half-eaten granola bar that I was saving in case of emergency. Hey, you never know when hunger will strike. A dried-up blueberry-scented marker that still smelled a tiny bit like blueberries. I was going to miss that marker. Oh, and the seven paper clips bent into triangles that I use to play desk hockey.

  After lunch, Mr Love came to our class to give us a lecture on how we were supposed to behave around Yoshi. Mr Love is a short bald man, but his voice sounds like he should be an NBA player with bushy black hair.

  “Each of you is representing not only this school, but this city, this state – all of America!” Head Teacher Love said in his tall man, bushy hair voice. “You are representing us when you walk, when you talk, when you skip and when you hop. You are representing us when you raise your hand, but not when you don’t raise your hand.”

  Oh, in case this isn’t making any sense to you, don’t worry. I forgot to tell you that no one ever understands what Head Teacher Love is saying. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t either, because there is always a look of confusion in his eyes when he lectures us.

  I knew I couldn’t look at Frankie or we’d start to laugh. I did glance over at Ashley. She looked like she was hypnotized, just staring at the mole on the head teacher’s cheek. Oh, I forgot to tell you about that too. Mr Love has this mole on his face that’s shaped like the Statue of Liberty without the torch. When he talks, it looks like the Statue of Liberty is doing the hula.

  As Mr Love droned on, Ashley looked over at me and rolled her eyes back until you could only see the white parts. That’s not easy to do, but Ashley can do lots of body tricks like that. I knew I shouldn’t laugh, but
I couldn’t hold it in. A little snorting sound leaked out through my nose. Ms Adolf shot me the death look. I held my nose and pushed that snort all the way back into my brain.

  During art, a bunch of us volunteered to go to Mr Rock’s room in the basement to make a welcome sign for Yoshi. His room is the biggest one in our school, so we had plenty of room to spread out and make a really big sign. Mr Rock is the music teacher at PS 87 and a really cool guy. In fact, he’s the one who first suggested that I be tested for learning difficulties. He has them, too, but he always points out that they didn’t stop him from achieving his dream of teaching.

  Mr Rock rolled out a long sheet of brown paper while Frankie and Hector Ruiz mixed up paints. Ryan Shimozato had brought a slip of paper with the words “Welcome, Yoshi” written in Japanese characters. Ryan’s dad, who was born in Japan, wrote it out for him. We were going to try to copy it on to the sign.

  Those characters looked really complicated. Ryan said there are almost two thousand of them that combine to make up the Japanese language. Boy, it’s a good thing I wasn’t born in Japan. If I’d had to learn to write all those characters, I never would have got out of kindergarten.

  “Mr Rock, can I decorate the sign with rhinestones?” Ashley asked. “I’ve brought some pink ones from home. Maybe they’ll remind Yoshi of the cherry blossoms in springtime in Japan.”

  A blast of dragon breath came shooting in from the hallway door. I knew that breath. It was Nick McKelty breath – the breath of peanut butter turned bad. I spun round and, sure enough, the big jerk was slithering into Mr Rock’s room. Who asked him to help?

  “Rhinestones!” Nick McKelty laughed. “How girlie is that!”

  “Ashley is expressing her creativity,” Mr Rock said to him. “Everyone in here is free to be creative.”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” Ashley whispered to McKelty as she whipped out a bag of rhinestones and her glue stick. “I ought to rhinestone your mouth shut.”