Barfing in the Backseat Page 3

  “Stay cool, Zip,” Frankie whispered to me. “And remember to breathe. Oxygen is power.” Frankie’s mom, who’s a yoga teacher, taught him that, and it works for me most of the time.

  I took a deep breath, then flashed my dad a very sincere and gigantic smile.

  “No problem, dude,” I said to him.

  I thought my dad’s eyes were going to pop out of his head.

  “Dude?” he said.

  “Dad, I mean. No problem, Dad. Not dude. I’m on top of that packet.”

  “Yeah, but sitting on it doesn’t count,” Emily piped up. “I saw it lying beneath your underpants in your suitcase. You haven’t even opened it.”

  “First of all, what was your nosy nose doing in my suitcase? And second of all, I only got it today,” I snapped. “Just because I’m not like you and I don’t do my homework on the walk home from school is no reason to bark at me. That’s Cheerio’s job.”

  Frankie and I both laughed. I have to admit, I crack myself up sometimes.

  When Cheerio heard his name mentioned, he spun in a circle under the table and started licking my ankle. Without anyone seeing, I slipped him a big spoonful of my Rice Dream Supreme. He barked again, which I think meant, “If you eat enough of it, this stuff starts to taste like chalk.”

  “Here is my rule, Hank, which is now your rule,” my dad said, giving me the big serious stare down he’s perfected over the years. “If that packet is not completed by the time we reach the Colossus Coaster Kingdom, there will be no rides for you. Not even the merry-go-round.”

  “Now that’s an excellent rule, Dad,” Emily said.

  “No, here is an even better excellent rule,” I said to her. “Little sisters should keep their mouths shut when they don’t know what they’re talking about, which is pretty much all the time.”

  “Hank, don’t talk to your sister like that,” my dad said. “She’s just trying to help you.”

  “Hankie,” Papa Pete said, giving my shoulder a big squeeze. “Just do a little bit every day, and before you know it, it’ll be done.”

  “Easy as pie,” I said, flashing a thumbs up to my dad. “I’ll be on top of it, don’t you worry.”

  I tried to look confident on the outside. But inside, I had this sinking feeling as I thought about all of those pages of schoolwork. What a rip-off. I was getting no break from homework, even on winter break. This was not a vacation—this was a workation.

  Oh, Ms. Adolf! Who invited you along on the Zipzer family road trip?

  I DON’T KNOW HOW many of you have ever taken a road trip with an iguana in the car, but just in case you ever find yourself in that sorry situation, here’s something you need to know.

  Iguanas are very fussy about where they sit.

  At least, that’s what my sister Emily told us the next morning when we were ready to leave.

  It was early Sunday morning, and my dad had brought the minivan to the front of our apartment building from the garage where we keep it a couple blocks away. It was freezing cold, so we loaded our suitcases into the back of the car in a big hurry. I couldn’t wait to get inside, where it was nice and toasty from the car heater.

  “Okay,” my dad said once the suitcases were stacked neatly in the luggage compartment. “Everybody in. Frankie and Hank, you guys sit in the middle seat. Emily and Katherine in the way back.”

  “That’s not going to work for Kathy,” Emily said. “She gets carsick in the way back.”

  “How do you know?” I asked. “She’s never even been in the car.”

  “Oh yes she has,” Emily answered. “Remember that time we drove to Aunt Maxine’s out on Long Island? Katherine rode in the way back and she turned all green in the face.”

  “That’s because she is green,” I said. Frankie started to laugh.

  “Hank, why don’t you and Frankie sit in the way back and let Emily and Katherine have the middle seat,” my mom suggested.

  “That’s not going to work for Kathy, either,” Emily said. “There’s a draft in the middle seat that comes in through a crack in the window. I don’t want Katherine catching a cold and getting a stuffy nose.”

  “Neither do I,” I answered. “If her big snout blows, we’ll all get slimed by lizard snot.”

  “Hey, then Katherine will be just like Robert,” Frankie said, laughing so hard he spit out a bite of bagel he was munching on.

  “You boys are disgusting,” Emily said.

  “Oh, and your scaly iguana isn’t?”

  I looked inside Katherine’s crate, just to check. She was just lying there on some clawed up newspaper, munching on a brownish piece of wilted lettuce. Yup, she was still disgusting, all right. No doubt about it.

  “Emily,” my dad said, getting a little impatient with her, which is something that doesn’t happen very often. “Where do you suggest Katherine sit?”

  “I think she and I should ride shotgun, next to you.”

  “Oh no!” I shouted. “That’s definitely not happening. If anyone’s going to ride shotgun other than Mom, it’s going to be me. After all, I am the oldest child.”

  “I’m making a decision,” my dad said, shivering from the cold and pulling his earmuffs down over his ears. “Hank and Frankie ride in the way back from here to Philadelphia. We’ll have lunch there, then after lunch, Emily and Katherine will ride in the way back until we get to Washington, D.C.”

  “I think your father has made a very fair decision,” my mom said.

  “Fine,” said Emily. “You can tell that to Katherine when she barfs in the backseat.”

  Frankie and I climbed into the way back. Emily got into the middle seat, and put Katherine’s crate in the space next to her. My dad started the car and we pulled away from the curb. We were on our way!

  “Hey, Em, fasten Kathy’s seat belt,” I whispered, just to drive my sister crazy. “In case of a sudden stop, we don’t want her to get lizardy whiplash.”

  “Mom, did you hear what he said?” Emily whined.

  “I thought I said no whining,” my dad hollered from the front seat.

  “Hank started it,” Emily whined again.

  “No, you started it when you invited your four-legged reptile along,” I shot back.

  “That’s enough!” my dad yelled.

  And just as quickly as he had pulled out, he steered the car back to the curb. We had gone about ten feet, maybe twenty max. So much for being on our way!

  “Everybody out,” my dad said, opening the car door.

  “But we just got in.”

  “Stanley,” my mom said. “Really, is this necessary?”

  “Yes, it is,” my dad answered. “I don’t want to spend the next week listening to them arguing. Now, if I hear any bickering for the rest of the day, I’m canceling the trip. Do I make myself clear, kids?”

  The one thing you can say about my dad is that he makes himself very clear. When he says no, he means no. And when he says no bickering, it means keep your lips zipped if you don’t have anything nice to say.

  We didn’t say a word all the way downtown. We rode in total silence. But as we entered the Holland Tunnel, which takes you out of Manhattan under the Hudson River, my stomach growled really loud. Not just a little grrrrr, but a long, loud rumbling that sounded like I had swallowed an actual lion. And then a miracle happened. Emily burst out laughing. Then Frankie cracked up and I did, too.

  We laughed like hyenas all through the tunnel, and by the time we came out of it and hit the New Jersey Turnpike, we were having the greatest time in the world.

  My mom turned on the radio to her golden oldies station, and started to sing along to “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” in her loud rock ’n’ roll voice. Frankie and I joined in, and Emily, too. Get this: Even my dad started to sing. The only one who wasn’t singing was Katherine, but I think I saw her blinking her eyes in time to the music.

  If you could have seen us, you would’ve thought, Now there’s one nutty family. But we didn’t care. We were on a road trip, and
we were having fun.

  PHILADELPHIA DEFINITELY ROCKS. At least the part that I saw.

  We got there at about eleven o’clock in the morning. My dad said we should go directly to the Liberty Bell. I was pushing to go directly to Pat’s for cheesesteaks, but he said, “Learn first, eat second.”

  As it turns out, the Liberty Bell is a pretty cool thing to see. It would have been cooler if I hadn’t been standing next to my know-it-all sister who blabbed Liberty Bell facts the whole time we were there. Her brain is like a sponge. It just soaks up information and never seems to get full. My brain soaks up infor-mation, too, but then it dribbles out like a leaky faucet.

  “The Liberty Bell is made of seventy percent copper and weighs over two thousand pounds,” Emily blabbed as we walked up to the glass building that housed it.

  “So does a baby whale,” I said. I had no idea if that was true, but let her try to prove me wrong.

  While we waited in line, we watched a video that told the history of the bell. It was made in London over two hundred years ago, and was then sent over to America to be hung in the Pennsylvania State House. Hey, I can throw a few facts around, too, if I watch them on a video. When information comes into my brain through my eyes, like when I’m reading, it doesn’t seem to stick around too long. But I usually remember most of what I see on TV or hear on a tape.

  The video lasted seven minutes, which I know because Frankie was timing it on his digital watch. After it was finished, a guide led us into the room where the Liberty Bell is enclosed in a glass case. Frankie and I moved up real close to get a good look at it.

  “Hey, that thing is cracked!” I said.

  “If you were watching carefully, you would have learned that the bell cracked shortly after its arrival in America,” Emily said. “It was repaired, but cracked again in 1846.”

  Wow, I guess my mind must have wandered during that part of the video. Oh, yeah. I think it was when those pigeons flew up to the window and were looking in at us. I remember wondering if pigeons are really pigeon-toed.

  “Who can read the inscription on the bell?” my dad asked. “Hank, why don’t you give it a try?”

  There were a bunch of words carved on the bell. I looked at the first one. It started with a P, but after that, I didn’t have a clue what it said. I noticed a couple of teenage girls watching me through the glass. No way was I going to mess up in front of them.

  “You know, Dad,” I said. “I think Frankie could use the reading practice more than me, so I’m going to turn the stage over to him. Take it away, Frankie Townsend.”

  Frankie knew what I was doing, and like the true friend that he is, stepped right up to help. “‘Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof,’” he read. “Isn’t that what it says, Zip?”

  “I couldn’t have read it better myself,” I said.

  And boy, was that ever true.

  After we were finished checking out the Liberty Bell, we got back in the car and drove to Pat’s. Well, we didn’t drive right there. We got lost for about a half an hour first, going up and down narrow streets crowded with red brick row houses. My dad got a little snappy, like he always does when we get lost. My mom kept rolling down the window and asking random people for directions. But before they could answer, my dad would press the automatic window button on his side and roll up her window. He’d rather be lost than ask for directions.

  “I know where I am, Randi,” he said.

  Then he’d drive the wrong way on a one-way street and start tapping his fingernails on the steering wheel. That fingernail tapping is def-initely a sign that he’s about to blow.

  My stomach was screaming for food by the time we finally arrived at Pat’s. But within ten minutes, my stomach was one very happy camper. I’ve had plenty of sandwiches in my eleven years on earth, but this was far and away the best sandwich that has ever made the trip into my little mouth.

  It all starts with a big, crusty Italian roll. Then they load it up with strips of delicious beef that has been grilled with a mountain of onions. Then comes the cheese. You can have your choice of American or provolone or Cheez Whiz. I got the Cheez Whiz, just like Papa Pete had suggested.

  That sandwich was so delicious that even my mom, who is not an eater of greasy meats, had to take a bite. Actually, she took two bites. Then she broke down and ordered her own sandwich. I’m telling you guys, the Queen of Tofu ate an entire Philly cheesesteak. And licked her chops afterward.

  We were all crowded around the little outside table huddled close to the outdoor heater, chowing down on our sandwiches. Even Katherine, in her crate next to Emily’s feet, was slurping up a few grilled onions while hissing at the pigeons that were strutting on the sidewalk. I was right in the middle of my sandwich, at the part where all the juices are running up and down your arm, and thinking that this was one of the greatest days of my life, when my dad spoke up.

  “So, Hank,” he said, rolling up the paper his sandwich had come in. “What’s the plan of attack for finishing your homework packet?”

  I almost gagged on my sandwich right there in front of all those nice Philadelphia people and their pigeons.

  Dad, who talks about homework in the middle of a cheesesteak?

  “Can we talk about this another time, Dad? Like, say, never?”

  “You’ve got to tackle some every day,” my dad went on, as though he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “You don’t want to get behind and then have to play catch-up. That’s a serious amount of work you have there.”

  Boy, he must have gone to a special school to study how to make a guy lose his appetite.

  “I promise you, Dad. I have the situation under control. I plan to start on the packet tonight, when we get to the motel in Washington, D.C.”

  “That’s not realistic, Hank,” my dad said. “It’ll be after dinner when we get there, and we’ll all be exhausted.”

  “Then I’ll start it tomorrow night,” I promised. “And I’ll do at least half of it.” Frankie shot me a look, as if to say, “You’re laying it on pretty thick, dude.” But apparently, my dad didn’t think so.

  “Good, Hank, that’s what I like to hear. Tomorrow we’ll go sightseeing, and then we’ll leave the whole evening free so you can do nothing but homework, homework, homework.”

  Trust me. Any sentence that has the word homework in it three times in a row is not a sentence you want to hear.

  I looked over at Katherine. She was just lying there in her crate, sucking down a few more slices of onion. For that minute, I actually envied her. True, she is a lower life form. But then, lower life forms don’t have to do homework packets. And that, I thought, was a definite plus for them.

  After lunch, we drove about three more hours to Washington, D.C. and checked into the Comfort-For-U Motel. Frankie and I got a room of our own that connected to my Mom and Dad and Emily’s. And of course, they wouldn’t let us lock the door. We all went to bed right after dinner, because my dad wanted to get an early start the next day. We were going to the Library of Congress in the morning, and he wanted to be full of energy to look through all those dictionaries and card catalogs and other boring things.

  As I settled down on my pillow, I thought about how my dad loved books and words and reading and puzzles.

  I sure don’t take after him was the last thing I remember thinking before I fell fast asleep.

  I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING totally nervous about my homework packet. I had dreamed that it had arms and legs and a mean, nasty face and was chasing me down a dark alley and yelling, “I’m going to get you, Hank. You’ll never escape me!”

  While Frankie was still sleeping, I tiptoed to my suitcase and took the packet out from under the pile of underwear. I was relieved to see that it didn’t actually have arms and legs. Just a gold clasp and the words Henry Zipzer written in Ms. Adolf’s handwriting on the front. I tossed the packet on my bed. Well, you have to admit that was a start. It was out. I picked it up. Wow, I had forgotten
how heavy it was. I opened the clasp and glanced inside. When I took a serious look at how many sheets of paper were in it, I knew I had to get to work. That thing was going to take me forever and a day.

  At breakfast, I actually tried to talk my dad into letting me stay in and skip the Library of Congress so I could work on my packet.

  “Hank, the Library of Congress is the largest library in the world,” he said. “I think you should see it.”

  “It has approximately 530 miles of bookshelves,” Emily explained.

  Oh no, there she goes again. Miss Fact Head.

  “Not to mention 29 million books, 2.7 million recordings, and 12 million photographs,” she added.

  Will someone please stop this girl? Her head is going to explode. She is a danger to herself.

  Even though my dad said he appreciated my responsible attitude, he insisted that we all go to the Library of Congress together. And who was I to argue with my dad?

  I can definitely say this about the Library of Congress. There are a whole lot of books in that place.

  My mom wandered around admiring the architecture and ended up in a section about food and nutrition. My dad headed straight for the dictionary shelves. Emily went with him because, of course, she likes everything my dad likes. Frankie and I didn’t know what else to do, so we trailed after them. My dad looked at medical dictionaries, foreign language dictionaries, slang dictionaries, scientific dictionaries, and even an official rap dictionary. I’ll bet in that hour, he picked up at least a hundred new words for his crossword puzzle competition. He was as happy as a puppy chasing a stick.

  “Look, Hank,” he said, practically jumping up and down as he took out a dusty old volume. “A Swedish rhyming dictionary.”

  “Wow, Dad. That’s really…uh…who even knew there was one of those?”

  “You don’t see a thing like this every day.”

  Yeah, thank goodness.

  Fortunately, I had a sneezing fit from the dust and I was asked to leave. You know, libraries are very quiet places.

  Frankie and I got to wait for the rest of the family on the steps outside. We made up a game to see who could hop on one foot all the way down the steps and back up again. It was way more fun than sniffing dictionaries.