The World's Greatest Underachiever and the Soggy School Trip Page 3

  “Please, Ms Adolf,” I said, thrusting the permission slip practically in her face. “I did my super-speed walk all the way here, even though I have a big blister on my left heel and really shouldn’t be speed-walking at this moment in time. And, besides, Head Teacher Love stopped me in the corridor.”

  Ms Adolf took the slip and looked it over. My heart was beating fast. I glanced over at Frankie and Ashley. They looked like they were hardly breathing.

  “All right, Henry. I’ll make an exception this time,” she said.

  “Does that mean I can go on the trip?” I asked.

  “Yes, Henry. You may go.”

  “Thank you, Ms Adolf! Thank you so much!”

  I was so happy, I could have hugged her. Wait. I take the hugging part back. But I was really happy.

  To my complete shock, everyone in the class burst into applause.

  “Way to go, Hank,” all my friends said.

  Wow, that made me feel really good.

  CHAPTER

  7

  I don’t know if you’ve ever been in New York City at Christmas time, but it’s unbelievable. The best thing about it is that everybody’s in a great mood. Just walking down the street, looking at the decorated shop windows and watching the snow fall makes everybody happy. No one in the whole city is mean or grumpy.

  Well, that’s the way it felt that day in Ms Adolf’s class. We were all so happy to be going on the Pilgrim Spirit and so excited about the trip that no one was mean or grumpy. And, yes, that included Nick McKelty. The big idiot actually turned nice.

  In the afternoon, we discussed all the jobs us kids were going to be assigned on the ship. Some people were going to be on the cleaning crew or on the ropes crew. Some were going to be line handlers. Other kids were going to work in the galley, which is what they call a kitchen on a ship.

  Nick McKelty said that his big brother Joseph had been on the Pilgrim Spirit three years before and he had thought that the most fun job was the captain’s assistant. The captain’s assistant got to accompany the captain on his rounds and help give orders. That sounded so cool. I could see myself doing that.

  Just to show you how good a mood everyone was in during our class discussion, Nick actually suggested that I should be the captain’s assistant. He said he thought I deserved it since I almost hadn’t got to go. At first, I thought I was hearing things. I mean, ever since we were in preschool, Nick McKelty had only said mean things to me.

  “What’s up with you, McKelty?” I whispered to him.

  “Can’t a guy do something nice every once in a while?” he said. “I feel sorry for you, Zipzer. You had a rough morning.”

  Hey, I’d take his pity, if it meant I’d get to be captain’s assistant. I’m not too big for that.

  The class took a vote and I got the job. Only one person voted against me, and believe it or not, it wasn’t Nick McKelty. It was Luke Whitman, who felt that he deserved the job more because he owned a real pirate hat with a big feather. When Ms Adolf explained that the Pilgrim Spirit wasn’t a pirate ship, Luke changed his mind and voted for me. He said he only wanted to be a captain’s assistant on a pirate ship, anyway.

  This was too good to be true. I was spending the night on the Pilgrim Spirit and I was going to be the captain’s assistant.

  Some days start out bad and just wind up perfect.

  CHAPTER

  8

  School finished at three o’clock, but we had to be back by five o’clock sharp with our bags. It would take us about a half hour by school bus to reach the South Street Seaport, where the Pilgrim Spirit was docked. Even though we weren’t scheduled to go on board until six, we had to leave time for New York City traffic. Once we were aboard the ship, we’d be under the command of the captain until nine-thirty the next morning, when our parents were coming to pick us up at the dock.

  I had a lot to do to get ready, so I was nervous when Frankie’s dad didn’t show up at exactly three o’clock to walk us home.

  There were five of us waiting in front of the school. Frankie, Ashley and I all live in the same block of flats on 78th Street. We always walk to and from school together. Then there was my sister, Emily, who unfortunately lives in the same apartment I do.

  The fifth person was the supremely annoying Robert Upchurch, the biggest third-grade nuisance that ever tried to breathe. I say tried because his nasal passages are always clogged with mucus. My sister Emily’s nasal passages are in the same clogged-up condition, so the two of them have bonded, nasally speaking. Robert hangs out with us a lot, because my mum says it’s not polite to leave him out since he lives in the building too.

  Robert is the kind of kid who wears a white shirt and tie to school just because he feels like it. He’s not even in the orchestra or anything. Lately, we’ve been lucky because Robert has been spending a lot of time with Emily. They share a deep interest in iguanas and geckos and snakes and many other nerdish things.

  Frankie’s dad arrived a few minutes past three. It’s only a few blocks to our building, but he set out at a really fast pace. We had to take four steps for each one of his.

  Dr Townsend is a professor at Columbia University and he uses so many big words that I have trouble following what he’s saying. As we walked, he talked a lot about our trip that night. Even though he teaches African-American Studies, he seemed to know a lot about sailing ships.

  “I hear that the Pilgrim Spirit is an accurate replica of the brig that Richard Henry Dana sailed,” he said as we passed Kim’s Grocery. I could smell all the flowers in their buckets of water that were lining the front of the shop.

  “What’s a brig?” I asked. “And while we’re at it, could you tell me what a replica is as well?”

  “A replica means that the ship you’re staying on is an exact copy of Dana’s original,” Dr Townsend said. “And a brig is a type of ship.”

  “Actually, a brig is a two-masted vessel with square sails on both masts,” piped up Robert. “And a secondary definition is that it is a military jail.”

  Dr Townsend looked very surprised that Robert would know something like that. The rest of us weren’t surprised. We have to listen to Robert all the time, and he’s like a walking encyclopedia of useless information. Without asking, he will tell you the main crop of Outer Mongolia, besides rocks. Every time he opens his mouth, something boring leaks out.

  “Was Richard Henry Dana a pirate?” Emily asked. “I’d like to be a pirate.”

  “Oh yeah, you’d look a lot better with an eye patch,” I said.

  She wrinkled up her nose at me, and I wrinkled up mine back at her. Two can play that game.

  “Richard Henry Dana was a writer,” said Dr Townsend. “He wrote the classic book Two Years Before the Mast. It described what life was like on a merchant sailing ship almost two hundred years ago.”

  “Actually, his book was published in 1840,” Robert said.

  “How do you know that, Robert?” Dr Townsend asked. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or annoyed. As for me, I was in the annoyed category.

  “I read all about the Pilgrim Spirit during library period today,” said Robert. “I have many more facts I’d be happy to share with you.”

  “Thanks, dude, but my ears are closed for business right now,” Frankie said.

  “When do they reopen?” the clueless one asked.

  “Uh … when we get back from our sea-faring,” Frankie said.

  “Besides, we won’t be able to hear you over the traffic,” Ashley added.

  “Good one, Ashweena,” Frankie whispered.

  “I’d love to hear what you learned,” my sister, Emily, piped up. See what I mean about Emily and Robert sharing an interest in super-nerdy things? There was no turning Robert off now. And, believe me, I looked for the switch.

  “Richard Henry Dana’s ship set sail from Boston and sailed around Cape Horn, which is the tip of South America,” said Robert.

  “Everybody knows what Cape Horn is, dude,” Frankie snapped
.

  Everyone but me. I didn’t know. So I kept my mouth shut.

  “The ship picked up animal hides in California,” Robert droned on. “Then it sailed all the way back to Boston, where the hides were made into shoes and other leather goods.”

  “I don’t believe in making shoes from the skins of animals,” said Emily. “Just think of my beautiful Katherine made into a pair of shoes.”

  “You don’t have to worry about her,” I said. “Katherine’s too ugly to be made into anything. Who’d want a pair of scaly, grey shoes with a long, snapping tongue?”

  “That’s not funny, Hank,” said Emily. “I happen to love Katherine.”

  “Sorry, Em,” I said. “I hope Katherine lives a long and happy life. Just not in my bathtub.”

  Hey, I know what I’m saying. She loves to poo in there. Katherine, that is, not Emily.

  With Dr Townsend setting the pace and all of us running away from Robert, we reached our apartment building in world-record time. As we approached the front door, we ran into Papa Pete and my mum. They were just coming up the street from the other direction. I could tell that my mum had been working all day, because she was wearing one of her big headbands. She puts them on to keep her curly hair out of her face so it doesn’t get all crusty with her food experiments. Before she discovered that trick, she always used to have little chunks of soylami or mock tuna in her hair at the end of the day.

  “Hi, everyone,” my mum said. “Big night tonight, huh?”

  Then she sang, “Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.” My mum has a song for every occasion.

  She rubbed me on the head as I held the door open for her. I wondered if Carlos had told her about my phone call.

  “How’re my grandkids?” Papa Pete said, giving each of us a pinch on the cheek as we walked past him into the lobby area. Papa Pete wasn’t just talking about me and Emily. He calls Frankie and Ashley his grandkids too, because he likes them so much. I can’t imagine he feels that way about Robert, but Papa Pete would never leave him out. He even gave his bony little face a pinch. Ick and double ick.

  As I pressed the button for the lift, Ashley checked her watch.

  “It’s three-thirty,” she said. “We have to be at the bus at five. That gives us an hour and a half to pack, snack and get back to school.”

  “Hank,” my mum said. “Make sure you remember to pack your sleeping bag.”

  “I will, Mum.”

  “In fact, before we leave for school, I want to check your duffel bag to make sure you have it.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Mum,” I said.

  “You know how you always forget things,” Emily said to me. “You’re such a brainless one.”

  I really didn’t feel like letting her get away with that.

  “Oh really, Emily? Tell me, when was the last time I forgot something?”

  I looked over at Papa Pete, but he said nothing. He just kept looking at the numbers above the lift. Frankie and Ashley did the same.

  “OK, I take it back,” Emily said.

  “Good.”

  It wasn’t until we were inside the lift, tucked against the back wall, that Papa Pete looked over at me and winked.

  CHAPTER

  9

  “Mum, do you know where my Mets sweatshirt is?” I hollered from my bedroom.

  I must have yelled a little too loud, because I startled Cheerio, who was sleeping underneath my desk. He jumped up and started to spin round, chasing his tail like crazy, and spun himself right out of my room. He moves pretty fast, considering that he’s going in circles.

  “Your sweatshirt should be in your bottom drawer, where it always is,” my mum hollered back from the kitchen.

  I had already pulled everything out of my bottom drawer. My Mets sweatshirt was missing. It was the one thing I really wanted to take for the sleepover on the Pilgrim Spirit. It made me feel warm, both inside and out. As if you couldn’t tell, I’m a major New York Mets fan.

  “I can’t believe it! It’s not here, Mum,” I yelled.

  My dad appeared at the door of my room. He was in an excellent mood, having come second in the All New Jersey Crossword Puzzle Competition. Apparently, he was the only one who knew that a “plover” was a six-letter word for a round-bodied, short-tailed wading bird. If that doesn’t put a guy in a great mood, I don’t know what will.

  “Hank, sweatshirts don’t just get up and walk away,” he said.

  No sooner had he said those words than I looked down and saw my sweatshirt walking away. I’m not kidding. It was heading out the door of my room and down the hall.

  “Want to bet?” I said, and ran after it. By the time I reached it, it had walked right into Emily’s room.

  “Come back here!” I cried, grabbing the sweatshirt with both hands. Underneath it was Emily’s lovely iguana, Katherine.

  “Hank, what are you doing to her?” Emily wailed.

  “What? What am I doing? I’m taking back what’s mine,” I said. “And please tell your scaly lizoid to keep her claws out of my drawers.”

  “Kathy likes to snuggle up in soft clothes,” Emily said. “You know that.”

  “Then let her curl up in your sock drawer. My Mets things are off-limits.”

  Emily patted Katherine on the snout. “It’s OK, sweetie,” she said in her baby-talk iguana voice. “Hank doesn’t mean it.”

  “Yes, I do!” I shouted. “Don’t believe her, Katherine. I mean it.”

  The bathroom door opened and Papa Pete came out. “What’s all the commotion about?” he asked. “A man can’t concentrate in there.”

  “Why do you have to concentrate in the bathroom?” asked Emily.

  “I was reading,” said Papa Pete. “For your information, young lady, a bathroom is an excellent place to catch up on fine reading material.”

  He held up a booklet. It was the instructions for his new mobile phone.

  “I tell you, Stan,” he said to my dad. “I need a college degree in mobile phone-ology to understand this.”

  Boy, I couldn’t agree more. I’ve never been able to understand one word of any instructions manual. That’s a problem when every single toy or electronic device you get comes with a book of instructions. Fortunately, Frankie likes to read instruction books, so he figures out how something works, then shows me. I can work anything once I’ve seen see how to do it.

  “Technology,” my dad said to Papa Pete. “It’s a ten-letter word for the future.”

  Sometimes I think my dad actually thinks in crossword puzzles.

  “What are you trying to learn, Papa Pete?” I asked.

  “I just want to set up my voicemail on this phone. Think you can do it, Hankie?”

  “Sure,” I said. Frankie and I had done it on his dad’s phone. “I’ll take a look as soon as I finish packing.”

  I took his mobile phone and stuffed it in the pocket of my jacket. Then I went back into my room to finish packing my duffel bag.

  “Got everything?” my mum said, sticking her head round my door.

  “Yup,” I answered, checking off each item as I put it in. “Change of shoes. Travel pillow. Mets sweatshirt. Clean socks. Woolly hat. Toothbrush. Striped toothpaste. Torch.”

  “Snack,” she said, and handed me a bag with something inside that didn’t look like it belonged to any food group I know.

  “What’s this, Mum?”

  “Tofu jerky.”

  “Sounds … uh … interesting.”

  I put it in my bag, stuffing it way at the bottom so I would never have to see it again.

  “Where’s your sleeping bag?” my mum asked.

  “Oops. I was just going to get it. And you thought I’d forgotten it, didn’t you?”

  My mum gave me a look, but was nice enough not to say anything.

  I went to my wardrobe and dragged out my sleeping bag, the blue one with the plaid flannel inside. I had shoved it in there last weekend after Frankie slept over. I’m supposed to put it back in its stuff
sack, but I can never get it in. I don’t know why they make stuff sacks so small. I mean, you have this huge puffy sleeping bag and a tiny bag it’s supposed to fit in. Every time I try to stuff it in the sack, a huge clump of it is left hanging out.

  My mum tried to help me, but even she had trouble. By the time we got the sleeping bag jammed in its stuff sack, my dad was in my room pointing to his watch.

  “Time to go,” he said. “The Townsends called and I told them to go on ahead with the Wongs.”

  I added the sleeping bag to my bag, zipped it up, and dragged it out into the living room. Papa Pete gave me a hug goodbye. It’s more of a lift than a hug, because my feet always leave the floor. He was staying at home with Emily while we walked to school.

  “Good luck, Hankie,” Papa Pete said. “I wish I was going with you. I was quite a sailor in my navy days, you know. What you want to watch out for are high winds and pea soup fog. Those are dangerous conditions.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” I answered. “We’re not even leaving the dock.”

  “You’re not? What kind of ship is this?” he asked.

  “It’s a floating classroom,” I said. “We’re going to experience what life at sea was like in 1840, but we’re not actually going out to sea.”

  “That sounds like an exciting way to learn,” said Papa Pete.

  “And guess what?” I added. “I’m the captain’s assistant, which is a pretty important position.”

  “I’m impressed,” said Papa Pete.

  Papa Pete put his hand up to his forehead and saluted me. “Well, Captain’s Assistant. Anchors aweigh.”

  Then he pinched my cheek, like always.

  As we were leaving, I bent down to say goodbye to Cheerio.

  “So long, boy,” I said, scratching him behind his ears. “I’m not going to see you until tomorrow.”

  I’m pretty sure he understood me, because he started to whimper in a way that made me so sad. Then he rolled over for me to scratch his stomach like he always does before I leave.

  “Can he come?” I asked my dad. “Not on the boat, just to school.”