The World's Greatest Underachiever and the Soggy School Trip Read online

  “I guess so,” my dad said. “He could do with some fresh air. I’ll get his lead.”

  We went down in the lift and walked up 78th Street across Amsterdam Avenue to my school. Cheerio kept stopping to sniff every little thing. The pink carnations outside of Mr Kim’s grocery store. The wheels of the hot pretzel stand on the corner. And let’s not forget the old French fry he dug out of a crack in the pavement. And the fire hydrants, every single one of them. His nose was working overtime, but, boy, was he happy.

  I got really excited when we got close to the school building. I saw the big yellow school bus parked in front. My whole class was there, saying goodbye to their parents and climbing on board.

  Ms Adolf was standing by the door, checking each person off in her register. Wow, I didn’t think that book had ever been that far from the top drawer of her desk. She was wearing jeans and tennis shoes and a pink knitted hat with a pom-pom on top. She looked almost normal without her all-grey outfit.

  “Hello, Henry,” she said. “I see you’re late.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ms Adolf,” my mum said. “We had trouble getting the sleeping bag in the stuff sack. I’m sure you understand.”

  “No, I don’t,” Ms Adolf said in her usual sourpuss voice.

  The thing about Cheerio is that he either likes you or he doesn’t like you. If he likes you, he wags his tail and nips at your ankles and makes the cutest little yipping sounds. But if he doesn’t like you, he points his nose straight up in the air and starts to howl like a coyote. Then he runs in circles around you and won’t stop until either he falls over or you do.

  He did not like Ms Adolf. No sir. Make that a definite dislike.

  The minute he heard her voice, he stuck his nose up in the air and howled like a werewolf in a horror movie. Then he broke free from my dad, who was holding his lead, and started circling her like his feet were on fire.

  “Can you please stop him,” said Ms Adolf. Her teeth were clenched really tightly together.

  My dad lunged for Cheerio’s lead, but he missed. This made Cheerio run faster and howl louder. I saw Frankie and Ashley out of the corner of my eye. They were hanging out of the bus window, covering their mouths so they wouldn’t laugh.

  “Cheerio,” I said. “Come here, boy.”

  Cheerio stopped and looked me right in the eye. He was thinking hard about it.

  “Get this animal away from me!” Ms Adolf yelled. “We’ve been through this once before on the ball field.”

  That did it. Cheerio just did not like the sound of her voice. He howled louder than before and started circling again. Ms Adolf tried to jump away, but her feet somehow got caught up in Cheerio’s lead.

  Boom! Down she went on to the pavement.

  Rip!

  What was that?

  I’ll tell you what it was. It was Ms Adolf’s jeans, ripping right down the rear end. It wasn’t a little rip, either.

  “My underpants!” she screamed. “Don’t look, pupils!”

  As if any of us would want to. Well, except for Luke Whitman, who reported that they were white.

  My mum handed Ms Adolf a coat to tie round herself. My dad grabbed Cheerio and picked him up.

  “I’m so sorry, Ms Adolf,” my mum said. “I don’t know what’s got into him.”

  “That’s why I don’t approve of pets of any kind,” said Ms Adolf. “Some people find them cute, but I find them unpredictable and much too furry.”

  We all had to wait on the bus while Ms Adolf went inside and changed into different clothes. When she came out wearing her grey school skirt with tennis shoes and her pink pom-pom hat, it was all we could do not to burst out laughing.

  She climbed on to the bus and the doors closed.

  “South Street Seaport, next stop, driver,” she said.

  As we pulled away from the curb, I turned and looked out of the window. My dad was holding on to Cheerio, and as the bus headlights flashed on him, I could see his little face clearly.

  I could have sworn he was smiling.

  CHAPTER

  10

  South Street Seaport is in Lower Manhattan. That’s all the way downtown near the Brooklyn Bridge. Since we live on the Upper West Side, we had to travel down along the West Side Highway to reach the port. The traffic was terrible like it usually is in New York. Everyone was honking and taxis were cutting in and out, but we didn’t care. We could hardly wait to get our first view of the tall ships.

  The sky was turning grey by the time the driver stopped the bus at the port. We got out and walked a little way to the Maritime Museum, which is in the centre of the Seaport Village. Ms Adolf made us stand stiff and still while she read us the plaque in front of the museum.

  The sign told about the history of South Street Seaport. I don’t know how interested you are, so I’ll just give you the short version. In the old days of New York, it used to be a really busy harbour, so busy that they called it the Street of Ships. But when sailing ships got replaced by steamships, people stopped using the harbour, so the South Street Seaport got pretty grungy. Not too long ago, it was restored to what it is now, which is a really cool new place that looks like a really cool old place.

  Ms Adolf had to stop reading a couple of times because Luke Whitman kept talking to the seagulls. He can make this sound in his throat that I swear sounds like he’s a bird. A whole bunch of seagulls were circling around us.

  “Luke,” Ms Adolf finally said, “unless you’d like a flock of seagulls to do their business on your head, I suggest you stop making that sound.”

  Boy, that shut him up fast. Nothing like the threat of bird poo dripping down your face to straighten a guy out.

  By then it was getting dark, but I could see pretty well with the light of the old street lamps. We were surrounded by winding cobblestone streets. No cars were allowed, probably to make it seem like it used to be back in the old days. I noticed that even the shops and restaurants were replicas of old buildings. Then I thought how proud Dr Townsend would be if he knew that the word “replica” was just floating around in my brain with other normal words like “home run” and “bird poo”.

  We walked about two blocks down to the waterfront. Another yellow school bus was parked in the car park and a group of kids about our age was getting out.

  “Watch out! Pirates!” Nick McKelty yelled.

  Everybody laughed except you-know-who-with-the-pink-pom-pom-hat. After she had told us to stop laughing immediately, Ms Adolf explained that we were sharing the Pilgrim Spirit with a fourth-grade class from PS 9. We were supposed to show them our best manners.

  Frankie tugged at the sleeve of my coat.

  “You’re facing the wrong way, Zip. Check it out.”

  I turned round and looked towards the water. Man oh man oh man oh man. There she was, the Pilgrim Spirit. It was the coolest ship I had ever seen.

  I’m not kidding you. The Pilgrim Spirit looked just like one of those old ships you see in a glass bottle, only big. I mean really big. They don’t call it a tall ship for nothing. The masts were as tall as telephone poles, and the sails were the size of ten bed sheets. Ropes were strung everywhere, tied in big knots to shiny brass rings.

  “He’s beautiful,” Ashley whispered.

  “She’s beautiful,” I corrected her. We had learned that you always refer to a ship as she, even though they’re not officially girls. Like you’d say, “The Queen Mary, she’s a fine ship, that she is.” I was surprised that Ashley hadn’t remembered that.

  “I’m not talking about the boat,” Ashley said. “I’m talking about him.”

  Ashley was staring at the busload of kids from PS 9. Actually, she was staring at one boy – a tall good-looking guy with a really thick head of blond hair. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  “Ashweena, what’s wrong with you?” Frankie said.

  “Nothing.”

  “Then what are you staring at?”

  “Collin Sebastian Rich the Fourth,” she said.

 
; “Do you know that dude?” Frankie asked her.

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know his name?” I said. We had never seen Ashley like this before.

  “He went to football camp with me. He was voted most valuable player every day.”

  “So the dude can kick. What’s the big deal?” Frankie said.

  “No big deal,” Ashley said. “He’s just perfect, that’s all. He’s really smart too.”

  A girl I had never seen before came running up to Ashley. They looked at each other and screamed.

  “Ashley!” squealed the girl. “I haven’t seen you since football camp!”

  “Chelsea!” Ashley squealed right back. “Are you staying on the ship? This is so awesome!”

  They hugged each other and jumped up and down like baseball players who had just won the World Series.

  “Come and meet my friends from my school,” Chelsea said.

  “Is he one of them?” Ashley asked, pointing to the guy with the big head of hair.

  “Collin?” said Chelsea. “He’s great. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  Ashley turned to Frankie and me. “Do you mind, guys?”

  “Go right ahead,” I said.

  “Yeah, Hank and I have knots to tie and sails to trim and important stuff like that. Don’t we, my man?” Frankie didn’t seem too happy.

  Ashley ran off with Chelsea. I could see her being introduced to Collin. He seemed to be staring at Ashley’s rhinestone hat with a sea-blue rhinestone tall ship that she had made especially for our trip. He was smiling and looked like he had just stepped out of one of those Teen People magazines that are on the coffee table in my orthodontist’s office.

  I stared at the guy for a long minute. I thought about what it would feel like to be him instead of me. I do that sometimes.

  If I were Collin Sebastian Rich the Fourth, I’d be really happy with my great head of blond hair that was perfectly cut.

  OK, Hank. Yours is blond and pretty messy, but if you put enough mousse in it, it can look decent, at least for a while.

  I’d be tall and everyone would look up to me.

  OK, Hank, so you’re a little on the short side. You’ll grow. Maybe.

  If I were Collin, I’d be a great football player. But I’d be really modest about it when I won the game every time.

  Don’t feel bad, Hank. You are definitely above average at archery.

  My wardrobe would be filled with Gap clothes. Yup, it’d be Gap all the way.

  So what if the Zipzers don’t care where they shop? My dad always says clothes are good as long as they cover the body.

  Along with being great-looking and a great athlete, I’d be really good at school.

  You have dyslexia, Hank, but you can get Cs if you focus, work hard and, hey, even smart guys like Albert Einstein didn’t do well in maths.

  Wait a minute. Can I be honest with you for a minute? As I stood there at South Street Seaport wondering what it would be like to be Collin Sebastian Rich the Fourth, I had only one thought.

  I’d give anything to be him.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Before they let us on the ship, a man from the Coast Guard came and talked to us about boat safety. He told us where the life jackets were and how to signal if we were in distress and what to do in foul weather. I don’t know why we had to hear all that stuff. It wasn’t like we were even leaving the dock.

  After he left, we waited in line to go on to the ship, which wasn’t so bad because it gave me time to take a good look at the Pilgrim Spirit. She was painted black on the bottom and made entirely out of wood. The sails were mostly square, except for three big triangular ones at the front and one at the back. Excuse me. I meant to say fore and aft. There was a gangplank, which is a ramp, leading from the dock on to the ship.

  Ms Adolf and Mr Lingg, who was the teacher from PS 9, went on board first. We couldn’t see where they went, but someone said they went below deck, where there are special quarters for the teachers.

  They let the kids go on board one at a time. Just before you stepped on the deck, you had to say your name to the sailor at the top of the gangplank and salute.

  Ashley had gone off with Chelsea and some kids from PS 9, including Collin “Mr Perfect” Rich. Frankie and I were among the last kids to get on board. I had arranged it that way because I figured the last ones to go on were going to be closest to the front. When you’re on the short side like I am, you always have to figure out how to be at the front. That’s one of my rules. Otherwise, you spend a lot of time looking at the back of someone’s head.

  Heather Payne was standing behind us as we waited to board.

  “I think I’m seasick,” she said.

  “Heather, get it together. We’re on dry land,” Frankie pointed out.

  “Then I think I’m landsick,” she answered.

  We let her go ahead of us, just in case she barfed. Never stand in front of someone who’s about to barf. That’s another one of my rules.

  Although the Pilgrim Spirit was tied to the dock, it was still bobbing up and down in the water. You couldn’t tell it was moving from looking at it. But when it was my turn to walk up the gangplank to get on board, I could feel the motion. In fact, the boat swayed so much, I had to grab on to the rope so I wouldn’t fall over into the water.

  “Ahoy there, you scurvy dog!” I heard a man yell. I looked around. Was he yelling at me? He couldn’t be. I hadn’t done anything yet!

  “That’s right! I’m talking to you, you lily-livered flea.”

  I looked up and standing on the deck of the ship was a large man with a ponytail and a bright red beard. He was wearing a ruffled shirt and a black sea captain’s jacket with those gold fringy things on the shoulders. There was no doubt about it. He was definitely talking – make that yelling – at me.

  “Aye, I’m talking to you, landlubber,” he yelled, putting his face right next to mine. “Did you forget to bring your sea legs, you little worm?”

  “No, your honour. I’m sure I packed them.”

  “You’ll call me sir when you speak to me or speak not at all!” he yelled. He wheeled round and faced the other kids. “And that goes for all you scurvy dogs. You’re a sorry lot, and you’ll respect your captain or I’ll have you flogged!”

  None of us could tell if he was being serious or not. Wow. Ms Adolf had told us that the captain would be acting like real captains had back in the old days. I had no idea it would be this real, though.

  “I am Captain Josiah Barker,” he said. He pointed to another man, much shorter and chubbier, who was dressed in a leather waistcoat like an old-time sailor. “This is my first mate, Theodore Gladson. We run this vessel and you don’t breathe without an order from Officer Gladson or myself. Is that clear?”

  We all looked at our feet and muttered something like, “Yes, sir.” I noticed that Collin, who was standing right across from me, answered, “Aye, aye, Captain.” I figured he’d know the right thing to say.

  “Go below and stow your bags,” Captain Barker shouted. “And step lively. I want all hands on deck in five minutes. Anyone who’s late will pay dearly.”

  We all hurried down a little flight of stairs and put our bags away. There wasn’t much time to look around, but I could see two big rooms filled with bunk beds. I assumed one was for the boys and the other was for the girls.

  “You’ll each be assigned a job,” said the captain as we gathered up on the deck. It was cold, and a nippy breeze was kicking up from the river. “Mr Gladson, take over. See if you can shape this ragged crew up.”

  The first mate stepped forward. He wasn’t nearly as scary.

  “We’ll be travelling round the Cape to pick up a load of hides from California,” he said. “It’s going to be a rough voyage. Every man and woman aboard needs to work in order for us to complete the voyage.”

  Luke Whitman put his hand up.

  “I don’t like to work,” he said. “It makes me gag. I thought this was
supposed to be fun.”

  “Mr Gladson, put that man on first watch,” the captain bellowed. “We’ll teach him a lesson about working on a tall ship. Fun does not live on my ship.”

  “You there!” Mr Gladson said, pointing at Frankie. “You’ll join this man in the first watch. He looks like he needs a strong hand next to him. Watch out for pirates and looters who may come aboard and raid us in the middle of the night.”

  Pirates and looters! This was fun. It was like a movie, but for real.

  “Each of you will stand watch,” said the first mate. “We work in two-hour shifts. When you’re not on watch or asleep, you’ll be working in a crew. We’ll need galley crew, bilge crew, hide gatherers, deck scrubbers and line handlers.”

  “Any of you rats and dogs have a problem with that?” the captain interrupted. He flashed us a crazed smile and I noticed that his teeth were yellowish brown, the same colour as the sand at Jones Beach.

  I saw a hand shoot up in the air.

  It was Nick McKelty. “Sir, what about the job of captain’s assistant?” he asked.

  “Aye,” said the captain. “I’ll be needing assistants.”

  “This is the man we’ve chosen from our class,” Nick said, giving me a little shove.

  “Let me see your face,” the captain growled.

  I strutted over to him, trying out my most confident walk.

  “Pleased to be of service to you, sir,” I said, saluting at the same time.

  “Did I speak to you, maggot?” he roared. “No one speaks on this vessel unless I give him permission. Is that clear?”

  I didn’t know whether I had permission to answer or not, so I just nodded like a nodding dog. This was getting a little less fun.

  “Any other volunteers?” said the captain.

  “I have been chosen from my class, sir.” It was Collin Sebastian Rich the Fourth.

  Oh no. Of all the assistants in the world, I had to get partnered with Collin.

  I mean, if you were the captain, who would you like better – Mr Perfect or me?