Who Ordered This Baby? Definitely Not Me! Page 6

  “Bye, Mom,” I hollered as I left the apartment.

  As I pushed the elevator button, I realized that my left hand…or maybe it was my right hand…that’s a difference I’ve never been able to figure out…anyway, one of my hands was completely empty. I got the key back out of my pocket, opened the door, went in, and shouted, “Hello, Mom!” Then I went back to my room, where I had left all the party supplies in the bag on my desk. Welcome to Hank-land, home of the brain that forgets everything except my name.

  On the second try, I made it out of the apartment, down the elevator, and out onto 78th Street. It was really cold, and you could smell that it was going to snow. The wind was coming up my street from the Hudson River, and I had to bend into it to make my way down to Broadway. I didn’t want Rosa to get too cold. Even though her legs were pretty hairy, I wasn’t sure it was a winter coat. She was from Mexico, after all, and I hear it’s hot there. So I unzipped my jacket partway and tucked her small plastic tank inside as far as I could to protect her from the gusts of New York wind.

  My first stop was Babka’s Bakery, which is three doors down from Harvey’s. You’re probably thinking that I was going there to get a birthday cake. But surprise! You’re wrong! I had changed the cake plan at the last minute. Why not? I am an independent party planner and goer, you know. I could change plans whenever I felt like it.

  I pushed open the door and pulled a number from the customer machine that tells you what your place in line is. Wow. It was eleven, my favorite number. That was good news already. And even better news was that they were already on number ten, so I only had to wait one minute.

  “Who’s sick, Hank?” Trudi said. She’s worked at Babka’s all my life, and my mom and I have bought lots of after-school treats from her.

  “No one,” I said. “Everyone’s fine. Why do you ask?”

  “Um…the balloon,” she said, nodding her head at my wrist.

  The “Get Well Soon” balloon was so light and floaty that I had forgotten it was tied around my wrist.

  “Oh, that!” I said. “No one’s sick. No one that I know, that is. But I’m sure someone is sick somewhere, so I figured why not send them a get-well wish?”

  “That’s very sweet of you, Hank,” Trudi said. “More people in the world should have your kindness. Now, what can I get for you? No, don’t tell me. Your favorite, right?”

  “You got it. One black-and-white cookie, which I have been thinking about since seven forty-five this morning.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. They were baked fresh this morning. I’ll get you one.”

  “Make that two,” I said to her. “One for now, and one for later.”

  “Wow. What are you celebrating?”

  “As a matter of fact, Trudi, I’m celebrating my birthday.”

  “Nothing like a black-and-white to do that,” she said. “Wait here. I’ll go in back and get you two fresh ones.”

  While she was gone, the door opened and a woman came in pushing a stroller. I didn’t even have to turn around to know that she had a stroller, because I heard the little kid screaming and crying all in gibberish.

  “Sshhhh, pookie, Mommy’s just going to get dessert for dinner, and then we’ll go home for a nice nap,” she said.

  Good plan. It sounded like the kid needed a nice long nap. I turned to catch a glimpse of this Pookie guy. You know exactly what he looked like. Soggy Cheerios plastered on his face, little corduroy pants that snapped up the inside of his leg. And there was no stopping this kid’s wail. Wow, did he have a set of lungs on him.

  Then a thought came to me.

  Maybe he’d like to meet Rosa, I thought. I’ll bet he’s never seen a real tarantula. And who’s not interested in that?

  I reached into my jacket and pulled out Rosa’s plastic tank.

  “Hey, Pookie. Check this out. Aren’t spiders funny?”

  I held the plastic tank up in front of him. Wow, I thought Pookie’s mom’s eyes were going to detach from her head and fly through the glass door without opening it.

  “Get that thing away from my baby,” she gasped. She was so freaked out, she couldn’t even get enough air to speak in a normal voice.

  “Rosa’s really friendly,” I said. “And maybe she could get Pookie there to calm down. Not that he needs to, of course, but if you’d like him to.”

  “A spider should not be around little children,” she said, almost throwing herself in front of Pookie’s stroller. “It’s terrifying!”

  “Excuse me,” I said in my most polite voice, “but have you noticed something?”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed that you brought a spider into a bakery.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “But have you noticed something else? The Pookster there has calmed down. He’s stopped crying.”

  We both turned and looked at the stroller. Pookie was leaning as far out as he could, trying to get a better look at Rosa. The mom looked totally surprised. And to tell you the truth, I was kind of surprised, too. I thought maybe Rosa would give the baby something to think about other than the soggy Cheerios on his face, but I didn’t really think she would work so well. That baby was not only not crying, he was smiling at Rosa. And by the way, there were a few soggy Cheerios stuck to his front four teeth as well.

  I felt pretty good about that smile. My idea about Rosa had really worked, and in Hankville, that doesn’t happen all that often. I have more bad ideas than good ones. But I’m here to tell you, when I have a good idea and I get to see it in action, it feels pretty darn good.

  “You’re excellent with little children,” Pookie’s mom said to me. “You must have a baby brother or sister.”

  “Not yet,” I said, “but one’s coming soon.”

  “Well, when that baby comes, he or she is going to be awfully lucky to have you as a big brother,” she said.

  Score one for the Hankster.

  Put that compliment on top of the two piping hot, right-out-of-the-oven black-and-white cookies that Trudi had just brought out, and this was turning into a pretty tasty way to start the day.

  CHAPTER 18

  When I pushed open the door from Babka’s and stepped onto Broadway, I held the open bag with the black-and-white cookies close to my nose. The cookies were just out of the oven, and the delicious smells coming out of that bag were more than any normal nose could ever want. The minute the door closed, I reached into the bag and took out the top cookie, lifting it very carefully so I wouldn’t squish the second cookie’s icing.

  I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into that cookie, so I leaned up against the building to get my balance and peeled the wax paper off the top of the cookie very carefully so I wouldn’t pull any of the icing off with it. There it was in my hands, the king of cookies, the emperor of all desserts. For sure, there was no better way to kick off a birthday party.

  Then I had to decide whether to break the cookie in half so that one side was all chocolate and the other was all vanilla. Or, I could split it in two the other way so that each half had some chocolate and some vanilla. This is a decision I go through every time I get a black-and-white. This time, I decided to split it right down the middle, half chocolate, half vanilla. I had made up my mind that I’d take a bite of one side, then the other, and let the two flavors mix in my mouth like a blender.

  Just as I was putting the chocolate half up to my mouth for the first bite, a shadow crossed in front of me and the cookie was snatched out of my hand.

  “Here, let me help you with that,” a familiar thick-tongued voice said.

  Oh, no. There was a cookie monster loose in New York, and his name was Nick McKelty.

  “Hey, give that back to me, McKelty. It’s mine.”

  McKelty opened his mouth to show the ground-up cookie crumbs and chocolate icing creating brown saliva that was drooling through the gap in his front teeth.

  “Here it is,” he said. “Still want some?”

  “Why don’t you do us both a favor and close your mouth?”

&nb
sp; “I love these, don’t you?” McKelty said. I could hardly understand him. His words were getting lost in his overstuffed mouth. Fortunately, I knew enough to duck when the crumbs from my cookie came flying out of his mouth like mini missiles.

  “Yeah, I love them, which is why I bought them. For me to eat, not you, you gorilla.”

  He reached out to grab the vanilla half, but I was too quick for him. I jumped back and held the cookie up over my head, just out of his reach. He swiped at it like a dancing bear in the circus.

  “Gimme,” he repeated.

  “No way.”

  The door to the bakery flung open, and Trudi stepped outside. She had her jacket on and her scarf wrapped around her neck.

  “You still here, Hank?” she said. “I thought you’d be off celebrating your birthday by now.”

  I winced as Trudi said that. I didn’t want McKelty to know that I was giving myself a birthday party. I think you’ll agree it’s not the kind of thing you want to share with the class bully.

  “See you later, Trudi,” I said, hoping she’d leave before revealing any more private information. Luckily, she left without saying another word, turning left and heading toward the coffee shop on the opposite corner.

  “This your birthday, Zipperbutt?” Big Ears McKelty said. I knew he wouldn’t miss a gem like that. “And you’re all alone? Figures. You’re such a loser.”

  “I’m definitely not alone.”

  “I don’t see any friends here, except that stupid bug.”

  “This is Rosa, and she’s a tarantula, not a bug. And for your information, she’s the guest of honor at my party.”

  “Well, I can’t come, because my dad rented out the entire ice-skating rink at Rockefeller Center for just him and me to have a little hockey game.”

  There it was, the McKelty factor at work—truth times a hundred. There was no way McKelty’s dad rented out the ice-skating rink. The only ice-skating McKelty was probably doing that day was on a video hockey arcade game at his dad’s bowling alley. And he probably skates on his ankles, if he can skate at all.

  “That works out perfectly for me, because you’re not invited, anyway,” I said.

  “See you, birthday loser,” McKelty said, swiping the vanilla half of the cookie as he lumbered off. “And thanks for the birthday cake.”

  Even though I was down to one black-and-white, I was trying really hard to keep a positive attitude about the day. I mean, the whole point of giving yourself a birthday party is to have a good time, isn’t it? One cookie is plenty, I told myself, and it will taste even better after I’ve had my piping hot slice of pepperoni.

  “Rosa, don’t ever forget what I’m about to tell you,” I said to her, giving her tank a little shake to make sure she was paying attention. “Always keep a positive attitude.”

  I thought I saw her listen for half a second before she turned her backside to me and crawled on top of her rock. I actually had more to say on the subject of keeping a positive attitude, but turning her backside to me was a definite sign that she had heard enough. That was okay with me. A good big brother can give useful advice without launching into a whole parent-style lecture that goes on and on and on…and on.

  I felt pretty proud of myself as I headed down the street to Harvey’s.

  Was I sulking because my parents were having a new baby?

  No, I was not.

  Was I kicking up a fuss about my parents ignoring my birthday?

  No, I was not.

  Was I telling myself this was going to be the worst birthday of my life?

  No, I was not.

  Was I embarrassed to be carrying a silver balloon that said “Get Well Soon” down one of the busiest streets of New York City?

  Yes, I was.

  Hey, what do you expect? I’m only human.

  CHAPTER 19

  Before I went into Harvey’s, I peeked in the glass window to see if there was anyone I knew inside. I confess, my experience running into Nick McKelty on the street had made me a little uncomfortable. It’s one thing to throw yourself a birthday party. It’s another thing to do it in front of your classmates.

  It’s a good thing I checked. Sitting on the front two stools at the counter, right next to the window, were Joelle Atkins and her mom. Joelle Atkins is Nick McKelty’s girlfriend and the thing she loves best in the whole world, other than Nick McKelty, is her cell phone. I knew that if she saw me with Rosa and my “Get Well Soon” balloon, she’d be on the phone to everyone we know, giving them the full-blown scoop on my party-for-one.

  That’s okay. I could wait. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet, so I had lots of time before the lunch rush at Harvey’s.

  I leaned up against the beige concrete building and just watched the people hurrying by on the sidewalk. It was cold and I could feel my nose starting to turn red. To pass the time, I decided to count all the people who were wearing scarves. I quit when I got to forty-three. Or maybe it was thirty-four. There were too many of them going by too fast, and the numbers were starting to get all jumbled up in my head. So I decided to count all the people who were wearing sunglasses, instead. I quit that game when I was still at zero, fifteen minutes after I started. It turns out not too many people wear sunglasses when it’s February in New York City and it’s grey and cloudy outside. I guess there’s no surprise there.

  Whoops. There was one person wearing sunglasses, and she was looking right at me. It was Joelle Atkins, staring me down, almost nose-to-nose.

  That’s what happens when you daydream, folks. The Joelle Atkinses of the world stick their noses in your face when you least suspect it.

  “Tell me that’s not a spider,” she barked. She sounded like a yappy, bad-tempered little dog. “Because if it is, I’m going to scream.”

  “Then scream away,” I said, “because you’re about to meet my pet baby tarantula, up close and personal.”

  I held Rosa’s tank up to Joelle’s face. Rosa took one look at Joelle’s crabby, mean expression and instantly started flicking stomach hairs at her.

  “Aaaagggggghhhhhhhhhhh!” Joelle shrieked. It was loud, I mean screechy, ear-splitting, spine-tingling loud. I heard taxis slamming on their brakes all up and down the street. It was pretty funny to see Joelle take off down Broadway, running like a wild cheetah was chasing her.

  “Young man,” her mother said, turning to me with a nasty look on her face. “There should be a law against taking a spider for a walk.” Then she bent down to pick up the phone Joelle had let slip out of her hand when she took off.

  “Here, honey, you dropped your cell phone,” she called.

  As her mother reached her, Joelle grabbed the phone and started dialing with all ten fingers. She was probably calling the tarantula police.

  “Good work on the hair flicking, Rosa,” I said to her. “But now we’re going into Harvey’s, so I’m going to need to see your restaurant manners.”

  Rosa flicked a single stomach hair at me.

  “No, that is not okay, Rosa. I need your cooperation, and I need it now.”

  I stared at her, but she looked away, hanging on to the side of the tank and pulsating up and down. I took that as a sign she was blowing me off.

  “Rosa, if you don’t behave, I’m going to have to take you home and you’ll lose your going-out privileges. I don’t want to do that, but if you force me, I will.”

  Hank Zipzer, did you hear yourself? You just sounded like your dad.

  Wow, that was a shock. Did being a big brother mean I was going to turn into my father? Was I suddenly going to start talking about losing television privileges and never running with a toothpick in your mouth and clearing your own plate after dinner? Oh, boy. I made a mental note to pull back on the Stanley Zipzerisms.

  I opened the door and went into Harvey’s.

  There are only three tables in Harvey’s, and exactly twelve seats at the counter. I know this because I’ve sat in every one of them, enjoying the perfect slice of pepperoni pizza with extra cheese.
Harvey knows exactly what I want so I never have to order when I am there. I look at him, he looks at me, and says, “The usual for the kid.” Before you know it, Miguel, the cook, delivers me a piping hot slice on a double paper plate with a pink lemonade on the side.

  Harvey was behind the counter wearing his usual white apron over his white shirt with his name embroidered over the pocket. You can tell that Harvey likes all of the food he makes because his apron only fits halfway around him. His stomach looks like he swallowed five basketballs. He wears a mini chef’s hat on his head, which doesn’t completely cover his very neat black hair that never moves. He must use lots and lots of hair cream to keep it like that. It’s like he’s wearing a white hat on top of a black hat.

  “Hey, kid,” Harvey said. “Just get your hair cut?”

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “You got a balloon there. Don’t you get one after every haircut?”

  “Yeah, but this is my birthday balloon. I couldn’t think of any other place I’d rather celebrate than right here.”

  “Great,” Harvey said, taking out a wet cloth and starting to wipe down the counter space in front of me. “How many places do you need…I’ll set them up special for you.”

  “Just one,” I answered. “Well, make that one and a half.”

  “That bony little pal of yours coming in?”

  “You mean Robert?” I said, laughing almost to the point of snorting. “No, he’s probably at the library studying the fact that animals that lay eggs don’t have belly buttons.”

  “Last time he was in here he asked me if I knew that a shrimp’s heart was in its head,” Harvey said.

  “That sounds like Robert, all right. His head is full of that kind of stuff, and you know he’s not too shy to share it.”

  “I’ll remember that. So if it’s not the brainiac, who’s the half?”

  I lifted Rosa’s little tank and held it up so Harvey could see her.

  “You’re having a birthday party with that thing?” Harvey didn’t look too happy to see Rosa.