Who Ordered This Baby? Definitely Not Me! Read online

  “I can understand that,” Robert said. “I mean, the diaper problem alone poses a difficult environmental issue. Not to mention the odor factor, which actually makes me dizzy.”

  I really didn’t like the way this conversation was going. It was making me dizzy, too.

  “Robert, I think if you moved to another table, you would enjoy your fish sticks even more,” I suggested. “There’s something about being alone with your food that makes the taste really come alive.”

  “But they’re delicious right here,” Robert said. “Don’t you just love the crunch?”

  Two things were clear. One, the nerd wasn’t moving. And two, he would eat a fried shoelace and find it delicious.

  “So, Hank,” he said, completely unaware that he was unwanted at our table. “Tell us your decision. America wants to know.”

  He laughed his snorty rhino laugh at his own little joke. And let me emphasize the word “little” here.

  “I’ve decided that the best way to figure this thing out is to experience it for myself,” I said.

  “Great idea,” Robert said. “What thing exactly?”

  “If you would shut up for five seconds, Roberto, you might actually find out,” Frankie said, running out of patience with the little guy in the tie. That’s right, Robert Upchurch wears a tie to school every day. And I’m not talking about a clip-on.

  “Great idea,” Robert said. “I’m going to start right now.”

  “Well, in thinking about this new baby thing, I’m assuming it’s going to be terrible,” I began, “but I don’t really know that for sure. And as Papa Pete always says, don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”

  “So what, you’re going to have a baby yourself?” Ashley said. “This I’d like to see.”

  Frankie’s nose exploded again and milk came shooting out of both nostrils. Poor Frankie, we kept getting him mid-sip. And we literally lost Robert with that one. He laughed so hard, his bony butt slid right off the bench and we heard his rhino snort coming up from under the table.

  “Robert Upchurch, place yourself back on the bench,” came a familiar crabby voice from in back of me. It was Ms. Adolf, on lunch duty. Why could I never escape her?

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Adolf,” Robert said, picking himself up from under the table. “But I just heard the funniest thing.”

  Ms. Adolf turned to me and shot me a look from her beady grey eyes through her grey-rimmed glasses that sat on her greyish nose.

  “Henry,” she said. “You know I don’t approve of humor anywhere in the school building.”

  “Oh, do I know that, Ms. Adolf. And trust me, I don’t, either.”

  “Then why would you spread your silliness here in the lunchroom?”

  I was about to explain that it wasn’t me, but I would never tattle on Ashley, ever. So instead I said, “It just slipped out, Ms. Adolf. As if my tongue stepped on a banana peel.”

  That made Frankie laugh again. But I saw him shoot his fingers up to pinch his nostrils to make sure that no milk would come out in front of Ms. Adolf. He stopped the milk just in time.

  “Just remember, Henry, that in the lunchroom we use our tongues only for those activities associated with eating and not for jolly childish remarks.”

  With that, she turned on her grey heels connected to her grey shoes attached to her grey legs, which were covered by her grey skirt which were…well, you get the grey picture. And she stomped off to go harass Luke Whitman, who was marching around with fish sticks in his ears and two fingers stuck up his nose. That guy has got some big nostrils.

  “Where was I?” I asked, which is pretty typical of me. I’m an expert at losing focus. I can lose focus faster than a speeding NASCAR car.

  “You were about to tell us your idea, Zip,” Frankie said.

  “Right. I’ve decided that I’m going to get a substitute baby,” I said.

  “I can loan you one of my old Cabbage Patch dolls,” Ashley said.

  “Not a doll,” I said. “A living, breathing baby substitute.”

  “Like a baby iguana,” Robert said, who was a reptile fan just like Emily. “Oh, this will be so wonderful for Katherine. I sense her loneliness, sometimes.”

  “Can it, Robert. It won’t be an iguana, either. I’ve had enough of reptiles for the rest of my life.”

  “So what are you going to get, specifically?” Ashley asked.

  “And then once you get it, dude, what are you going to do with it?” Frankie added.

  “I’m going to take care of it,” I said. “I just don’t know what the it is yet. But I figure whatever it is, I’ll find out for myself what it’s like to be a big brother to a baby.”

  “You having a baby, Zipperbutt?”

  Oh, no, it was Big Ears Nick McKelty. And of all the sentences that large-mouthed bully could have overheard, it had to be the one about me being a big brother to a baby. If there was anyone in the world I didn’t want to have that information, it was Nick the Tick. He is the school bully, and has been using me for target practice since kindergarten or even before. I know you know him, because there has got to be a Nick McKelty in your school, too. Maybe he’s not tall and blond and thickheaded like this one, but you’ll know him by the spit that comes flying out of his mouth when he’s insulting you.

  “No one said anything about a baby, McKelty,” I said. “You must be hearing things. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His beefy hand swooped down over my shoulder and grabbed the chocolate cupcake off my tray. In the same arm motion, he brought the cupcake to his face and stuffed the whole thing into his oversize mouth, without even taking the paper wrapper off first.

  “I think he’s talking about the fact that your mom is going to have a baby,” Robert said. For a guy with a little pencil neck, that guy sure had a big mouth.

  “Sshhhh, dude,” Frankie whispered to him.

  But it was too late. Big Ears McKelty had heard the news. He opened up his mouth, showing a pile of soggy chocolate slop that he was grinding the cupcake into.

  “The last thing this world needs is another little Zipzer,” he laughed, spewing bits of the cupcake wrapper all around the lunchroom.

  And you know what? For the first time ever, I had to agree with McKelty.

  CHAPTER 8

  I had already arranged for Papa Pete to meet me after school. That worked out really well, because he could take me to the pet store, where I could start putting my substitute baby plan into action. That made me feel terrific, because when I have a great idea, I want to get going on it right away.

  “Hey, Hankie,” Papa Pete called out when I came walking out of the front door at three o’clock. “Over here.”

  Unfortunately, “over here” meant that he was standing by the mural on our school wall, talking with Leland Love, the principal of PS 87. Trust me, you don’t really want your principal chatting with your family, unless you’ve just won a big award or you’re sure the conversation has nothing to do with you. Unfortunately, in my case, that is never the case. It seems like the big guns at school always have something to say about me, and most of it isn’t what you’d call good.

  “Principal Love and I were just talking about you,” Papa Pete said. “He says he thinks it would do you good to be working with a peer tutor after school.”

  See what I mean?

  “I was just expressing to your grandfather the benefits of good solid peer interaction in the studying process, because without it, there is no peer studying process to interact with,” Principal Love said.

  If you’re worried about why you don’t understand this sentence, you can quit worrying. No one in my school ever understands anything Principal Love has to say.

  My head whipped around to see how Papa Pete was going to respond to the Leland Love talk-a-thon. I mean, we’re used to not understanding him. But Papa Pete is a good listener, and he probably actually cared about understanding both sides of the conversation. We kids gave that up in kindergarten.

&nbs
p; “Well now, Principal Love has made a very interesting and deep observation,” Papa Pete said. “So deep that I need some time to let it sink in.”

  Wow, Papa Pete was good at this adult conversation thing. Maybe that’s why everyone likes him.

  “So, Hankie,” he said, turning to me. “What do you say we discuss the importance of solid study habits over a slice of pepperoni-and-cheese pizza?”

  “I like the pizza part,” I said.

  “And believe me, young man, you’ll like the study part, too, once you incorporate it into your routine,” Principal Love added.

  That’s what he thinks. I’m here to tell you otherwise.

  Principal Love turned to talk to his next victim, Ryan Shimozato’s mom, who looked like she was trying to avoid him. But he was too quick. He took a couple of giant steps over to her, so she couldn’t get away, and started flapping his jaw right in her face. Maybe that’s why he wears those Velcro sneakers—to sprint after parents who don’t happen to have three and a half hours to have a conversation with him. Anyway, although I was sorry for Ryan and his mom, it was a great opportunity for Papa Pete and me to sneak away.

  “How about stopping in at Harvey’s for that slice I promised you?” Papa Pete said.

  “That’s a great idea, Papa Pete, but could we please just stop by the pet store first? Pets for U and Me is right up on Amsterdam Avenue, next door to our library.”

  “Oh, are you getting a new chew toy for Cheerio?”

  “Actually, I have a plan that I really want to put into action. And I need to get something at the pet store to do it.”

  “So clue me in.”

  “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “Why would I laugh, Hankie? You have great ideas.”

  “Well, I’m going to get a baby animal,” I explained to him. “And hang out with it for a week or so. Just to give me some practice in being a big brother to a baby.”

  “What a creative idea,” Papa Pete said. “What kind of baby did you have in mind?”

  “I’ll know it when I see it,” I told him.

  “Remember you live in an apartment,” Papa Pete said. “Which immediately rules out a baby elephant.”

  “So I guess a baby camel is out of the question, too.” I laughed.

  “Definitely,” said Papa Pete. “You could never fit that second hump through the door.”

  We laughed about that for two blocks, which brought us right to the front door of Pets For U and Me.

  Just before we walked in, I made a mental list of all the animals inside and which ones would definitely not be good candidates for a practice baby.

  TEN PETS THAT WOULD DEFINITELY NOT BE GOOD PRACTICE BABIES AND WHY

  An iguana (because I already have one of those in the house, and that is one more than any eleven-year-old guy should have to hang out with).

  A goldfish (because I don’t want to wear scuba gear and swim around the bottom of a fish tank all day).

  A turtle (because it takes them an hour and a half to follow you into your room, and who has that kind of time?).

  A hamster (because it pays no attention to you while it spends all its time running in circles around that stupid wheel).

  A snake (because who wants to watch it digest a mouse for three days?).

  A parrot (because if I want to hear a creature talk non-stop all day, I’ll go into my sister’s room).

  A gerbil (because the fur on their face…)

  “Hankie! Hankie!”

  It was Papa Pete’s voice, pulling me out of my list-making.

  “Come on, you’re daydreaming,” he said. “I can’t stand here in front of the pet store all day. Are we going in or going home?”

  “Oh, thanks, Papa Pete,” I said, opening the door. “I guess my mind went on a wild animal safari. Sorry.”

  Most stores have a bell that goes off when you enter, but Pets for U and Me has a tape of jungle birds and monkeys chattering to welcome you. It’s cool because the minute you’re inside, you feel like you’re out of New York City and into the rain forest of South America.

  “How can I help you, Hank?” George, the owner, said. “Are you here for more dog treats for Cheerio?”

  “Not today, George. I’m here on non-Cheerio business.”

  George had some sawdust on his furry beard because he was cleaning the gerbil cages. I don’t mean this in a mean way, but he looks a lot like the gerbils in his shop, without the tail, of course. And his front teeth are shorter, so that saves him from being a total gerbil face.

  “That sounds intriguing,” George said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to see an animal in a baby size, please,” I said.

  “And may I ask what for?” George asked.

  “It’s an experiment,” I said.

  “Oh, so are you interested in a rat or a mouse? They make great pets.”

  “No, I’m looking for something that’s more like a baby. I’d like it to be annoying and spit up occasionally.”

  George scratched his beard and a couple of big chunks of the sawdust dropped down to his apron. He didn’t notice them there, either. He seemed to be deep in thought about my request. I was glad that he didn’t laugh at me. That was nice of him. I find that people who are nice to animals are usually nice to kids, too.

  “How about a parakeet?” George suggested at last. “Their chirpiness can be annoying to some people.”

  “Yeah, but what if it flies away? You don’t sell bird leashes, do you?”

  “No, I’ve never heard of one. But you could invent the first one,” George said.

  Papa Pete had wandered off and was over in the reptile section.

  “Hankie, look at this,” he called out. “It’s a baby Katherine.”

  I walked over to where he was. He was pointing at a little green iguana that, I hate to say, was actually kind of cute.

  “No thanks, Papa Pete. One iguana in the house is one too many.” I looked into the case at the little guy. “Sorry, buddy, nothing personal,” I added. Last year, Katherine laid almost fifty eggs in our cable box and all the babies nested in my Mets sweatshirt. I think that experience finished off my interest in having more than one iguana in the house at any one time.

  George had followed us over to the reptile section.

  “We have a great selection of fish,” he said. “They don’t spit up, but they do pick up bits of gravel in their mouths and then spit them out again. Would that work for you?”

  “No,” I said. “I want a baby, and babies don’t live in water.”

  “Baby fish do,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah, but you can’t take them out of the water to play with them. And teaching them to crawl is really hard. And if you overfeed them, they explode.”

  Now George looked really confused.

  “Hankie,” Papa Pete said. “You have to tell George something more specific about what you want, or we’ll be here all day.”

  “Well,” I said. “I’d really like it to be baldish, like a baby.”

  “I’ve got it!” George said. “Follow me.”

  He walked around the fish tanks, past the lizards and snakes, went to the corner of the store, and stopped in front of a few small glass tanks. Inside were the hairiest and biggest spiders I had ever seen.

  “These are the tarantulas,” George said. “This is Rosa. She’s a Mexican red-knee tarantula.”

  “Buenas dias, Rosa,” Papa Pete said. And we both cracked up.

  Rosa was pretty big as far as spiders go. Her body was brown with red markings all over her legs. If you looked closely, you could see that she had eight eyes, two on top of her body, and three on each side. Boy, with that many eyes, there’d be no way to sneak up on her.

  “Poor Rosa, no one wants her,” George said, “so she’s been with me for three and a half months.”

  “No offense to Rosa,” I said, “but she’s not exactly bald.”

  “Ah, that’s the surprise,” George said, his furry face lighting
up like the neon lights of Times Square at night. “She’s hairy and bald at the same time.”

  He reached into the tank and picked Rosa up.

  “Watch out,” I said. “She’ll bite you.”

  “Tarantulas are scary looking, but they’re actually sweet tempered and docile,” George said. “And did you know, they don’t spin a web. They catch their prey by chasing them. Don’t you, Rosa girl.”

  He held her gently in his hand and flipped her over. Wow, he was right! She had a big bald spot on her stomach.

  “Why’d her hair fall out there?” I asked.

  “It’s part of their defense system,” George explained. “When a tarantula is attacked, it rubs its hind legs over its stomach and brushes irritating hairs into its enemy’s eyes.”

  “Now that’s what I call a smart spider,” Papa Pete said.

  “I’ll take her,” I said. “How much does she cost? I’ve got three dollars and seventeen cents.”

  “Unfortunately, she’s forty-five dollars,” George said. “Mexican red-knee tarantulas don’t come cheap.”

  “Could I rent her for a week?” I asked.

  “Sorry, Hank. The animals in my store aren’t for rent.”

  “Could you excuse us a moment?” Papa Pete said to George. “My grandson and I need to have a pet conversation.”

  Papa Pete put his hand on my shoulder and led me a couple of feet away.

  “I like this idea of yours,” Papa Pete said. “There’s a lot to be learned about taking care of a person from taking care of a pet.”

  “Thanks, Papa Pete. I like it, too, but I don’t have forty-five dollars.”

  “But you do have a birthday coming up next week,” he said. “And I’ve been wondering what to get you for your present. Rosa sounds like a perfect gift. Do you agree?”

  “You mean you’d buy her for me?”

  “You’d have to take care of her. And not just for a week. But I think there’s a lot you could learn from her. Like how to rub your hind legs on your stomach.”

  Papa Pete laughed. He cracks himself up, which is a very fun thing for a senior citizen to do.

  I looked across the aisle at Rosa in her glass tank. She was walking back and forth, her red knees bouncing along like she was strolling down Amsterdam Avenue. I liked her. But did I like her enough for her to be my little sister?