The World's Greatest Underachiever and the Killer Chilli

by Henry Winkler

  Frankie and Hector finished mixing the paints and brought them over to the paper. Ryan and I were ready to start outlining the Japanese letters. McKelty reached over, stuck his beefy arm in front of everyone and grabbed a paintbrush, almost knocking the jam jars of paint over.

  “I’m one of the best artists on the Upper West Side,” he said, like anyone believed him. “I won an art trophy once, and it’s so big, I can hardly fit it in my room.”

  We call that The McKelty Factor: truth times one hundred. No one pays attention when he brags like that. But since no one has ever been to his house for a play date – except Luke Whitman once – we couldn’t really catch him in the lie this time.

  “Oh, by the way, dude, we’re painting in Japanese,” Frankie said to him. “You know how to do that, don’t you?”

  McKelty squinted down at the Japanese letters on Ryan’s paper. When he looked up, his big face was even blanker than usual. He didn’t have a clue what to do. His eyes scanned the room for someone to pick on.

  “Hey, Zipperhead,” McKelty shouted over to me. “This is a good job for you. Your handwriting looks like Japanese even when you’re writing in English.”

  “That’s enough of that kind of talk,” Mr Rock said to McKelty. “We don’t make fun of anyone in this room.”

  I told you Mr Rock was cool.

  “I’m just saying what’s true,” McKelty said with a shrug of his beefy shoulders. “Zipper Boy’s writing looks like he does it with his big toe.”

  Mr Rock walked over to Nick and took the paintbrush out of his hand.

  “The door is this way,” he said, pointing to the hall.

  “Huh?” said Nick. “I know where the door is.”

  “Then use it and leave,” said Mr Rock. “When you can stop making fun of people, you’re welcome back.”

  McKelty turned all red in the face. He just stood there, but so did Mr Rock. Finally, Nick the Tick muttered something under his disgusting breath and stomped out.

  I wanted to jump up and down and shout. Man, was it ever good to see McKelty sent out of the room.

  Mr Rock came over to me and handed me a paintbrush.

  “Now, Hank, I believe you’ve got some painting to do,” he said, giving me a pretty firm shoulder squeeze.

  I took the brush and started to paint. I decided then and there that as soon as I got the chance, the first person I was going to introduce Yoshi to was Mr Rock.

  He’s what I call putting your best foot forward for America.

  I was so excited about meeting Yoshi that I couldn’t sleep all night. By the time the school bell rang the next morning, I was already glued to the window of my classroom, staring out at 78th Street. Every time a car pulled up in front of my school, I was sure Yoshi and his dad would step out of it. I couldn’t wait for them to get there.

  I don’t know if you’ve already got a picture in your mind of what Yoshi would look like, but I sure did.

  In my mind, he would be smallish, probably about my height. (Some people might call that short, but I like the word smallish better.) Of course, he’d have jet-black hair that would probably be cut in floppy bangs straight across his forehead. I had seen that hairdo in all the pictures in the books Ms Adolf had bought us on Japan. I thought he’d probably be wearing a uniform. Ms Adolf told us that most Japanese kids wear uniforms to school. He’d be walking quietly and respectfully next to his father because Japanese children are taught to be very well-behaved around older people.

  But I’m here to tell you that Yoshi Morimoto was nothing like what I expected. Not even a little bit.

  When I first caught sight of him rounding the corner from Amsterdam Avenue on to 78th Street, Yoshi was whizzing along the pavement on a black skateboard with bright orange flames. He had some pretty cool moves too, shooting ahead of his dad and then doing a 360 to give his dad time to catch up. He was taller than me, maybe even taller than Frankie. And that was no uniform he was wearing. He was dressed in denim jeans and a New York T-shirt with a Big Apple on it, the kind you can buy in Times Square. He had on silver trainers that looked like they had just been flown in on a spaceship from another galaxy. They might have been the coolest shoes I’d ever seen.

  And forget the floppy bang thing I talked about before. His hair was gelled into a porcupine. A really good-looking porcupine.

  “Here he is!” I shouted.

  Everyone in the class rushed over to the window. Katie Sperling was the first to get there. She pressed her face against the glass and looked out.

  “Wow.” She sighed. “He’s hot.”

  “Yeah,” Frankie said. “He’s cool.”

  “That’s an awesome skateboard,” Hector Ruiz said.

  “I wonder if I could get my hair to do that,” said Luke.

  “Ms Adolf, can we go downstairs and say hi to Yoshi?” I asked.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, Henry,” she said. “Mr Love is there to welcome him and escort him up here.”

  “But Mr Love is the most boring person on earth,” I answered.

  Hank Zipzer, did you just say that?

  I slapped my hand over my mouth. What was I thinking? You can’t just insult your head teacher in front of your teacher. But the words had fallen out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

  Everyone in the class was laughing hysterically. I closed my eyes and waited for Ms Adolf to get really mad.

  “You have a point,” Ms Adolf said. “He is a tad on the long-winded side. Actually, boring is a good word.”

  Wow! Maybe there is a human being underneath all those grey clothes.

  Ms Adolf let us go downstairs to greet Yoshi, all thirty-two of us.

  “That was an awesome thing to say,” Frankie said to me as we hurried down the stairs. “My man Zip, telling it like it is.”

  My big mouth is always getting me into trouble. For once, it had done something right.

  When we got downstairs, Head Teacher Love was standing on the steps by the school entrance, making his welcome-to-our-school speech. I’m no fashion expert, but even I could tell he had some pretty weird clothes on. Head Teacher Love usually wears these nerdy black Velcro shoes that squeak when he walks down the lino corridors. Those are bad enough. But on special days, he wears another pair of trainers that he’s painted in our school colours, blue and yellow. I’m not kidding. One shoe is blue and the other is yellow. He had hauled out those beauties especially for Mr Morimoto and Yoshi’s arrival.

  As if wearing the blue and yellow shoes wasn’t goofy enough, Mr Love was also wearing a fluffy blue and yellow scarf that his wife had knitted for him. It had long, hairy tassels on the ends that reached down almost to his knees. He looked more like a crazed clown than a head teacher, especially compared with Mr Morimoto. He was wearing a black overcoat and black leather gloves, and his hair was all slicked back and classy.

  I kept watching Yoshi as Mr Love yapped on and on like he was the president of New York City. Yoshi was looking down towards Amsterdam Avenue, checking out the kiosk on the corner that sells hot dogs and warm pretzels. I was thinking that maybe I’d ask him later if he wanted to stop by there for a hot dog. Then a thought struck me:

  This kid probably doesn’t speak English!

  I mean, why would he? He lives in Tokyo.

  Wow. This was going to be a problem. The only words I could say in Japanese were ee-chee and nee. Unless Yoshi was really into counting, we weren’t going to have much to talk about.

  Wait a minute, Hankster. You’ve got hands. People talk with their hands all the time.

  I thought I’d give it a try. Yoshi was still watching the guy at the hot-dog kiosk who was grilling up a new batch of hot sausages with onions. I coughed really loudly to get Yoshi’s attention, then tried to make eye contact with him. Finally, he looked over at me. I flashed him a sign with my hands that I thought said, “Hey, buddy, let’s swing by that hot-dog stand later and chow down.”

  Yoshi looked a little confused, so I flashed him the si
gn again. I thought my sign language was pretty clear. I pointed to the kiosk, then pantomimed squirting mustard on a foot-long hot dog and eating it. I was rubbing my stomach to signal how yummy the hot dog was when I felt Frankie tapping me on the shoulder.

  “Where are you, Zip? He’s talking to you,” he whispered.

  I looked up and realized that Mr Love had stopped his speech and was speaking to me.

  “Do you need to be excused, Mr Zipzer?” he was saying.

  “Who me?”

  “I thought perhaps from the way you were moving, that you needed to – you know – use the boys’ facilities.”

  Facilities? What was he talking about? The science lab? The supply cupboard?

  “The bathroom,” Head Teacher Love said, talking out of the side of his mouth as if no one else would hear him.

  Oh! He thought I had to go to the bathroom!

  No wonder. I realized that my hand was on my stomach and I was rubbing it in big circles.

  Everyone was laughing. I wished I had a huge bottle of invisible ink so I could pour it all over myself and disappear.

  “I’m fine, Mr Love. Really I am. Go on. I’m very interested in what you have to say. We all are. Aren’t we, guys?”

  There was a lot of snorting from the other kids as everyone choked back a laugh. Mr Love went on with his speech. Ms Adolf flashed me an icy look.

  “Can you please act normal for once?” Frankie whispered to me. “She’s watching you. If you keep on screwing up, she’s not going to allow Yoshi to stay at your house.”

  “And if he doesn’t stay over, I’ll die,” Ashley whispered.

  “What’s it to you?” I asked her.

  “What’s it to me?” she repeated. “Look at him. He’s soooo cute.”

  What was going on here? Ashley Wong, my best friend and pal, talking like an airhead?

  It turns out that Ashley wasn’t the only kid in class who was in love with Yoshi. Everyone, boy or girl, immediately thought he was the coolest person they had ever seen. He just had that look about him, the kind of look that says, “I’m me, and there are not many others like me around.”

  When Mr Love had finished his welcome speech, which seemed like it lasted a thousand hours, everyone in my class immediately surrounded Yoshi. Ms Adolf clapped three times to try and get our attention. “Let’s take Yoshi to our classroom, pupils,” she said. “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know him there.”

  Ms Adolf started up the stairs and we all followed her, herding Yoshi into the middle of our group. Hector Ruiz carried his skateboard. Ryan Shimozato walked next to him.

  “Sensei,” Ryan said, pointing to Ms Adolf.

  Yoshi smiled and nodded.

  “Sensei,” he repeated.

  “That means ‘teacher’ in Japanese,” Ryan explained to a bunch of us who were crowding around.

  “It’s so great that you learned Japanese from your dad,” Ashley said.

  “Actually, I learned it from The Karate Kid,” Ryan answered. “That’s what they call the karate teacher, Mr Miyagi.”

  “I love that movie,” Thomas McAndrews said. “I’ve seen it a million times. We’ve got all three on DVD.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, we’ve got ten DVDs of it,” piped up Nick McKelty. “Maybe even twelve.”

  “Right, McKelty. And my name’s Bernice,” Frankie said.

  We all laughed.

  “Karate Kid is a cool movie,” someone said as we trudged upstairs.

  I looked around to see who was talking. I didn’t recognize the voice. I thought maybe it was Luke Whitman doing one of his bad movie star impressions that all sound alike.

  “Mr Miyagi kicks butt,” said the same voice.

  I looked around again, and this time I saw who was talking.

  It was Yoshi!

  Who would have guessed Yoshi could speak Japanese and English? That’s two entire languages, which is pretty amazing when you think about it. I mean, I have enough trouble just with English and I’ve been trying to speak it since I was born. The idea of me learning another whole language is … well … it’s not even an idea.

  Yoshi’s English wasn’t totally perfect, but he could say a lot. He told us that at his school in Tokyo, which is called the Bancho School, kids are taught English from kindergarten. He and some of his friends also learn English with a special tutor after school. That’s like what I do with Dr Berger, who gives me special tutoring in reading comprehension after school. I guess it’s not exactly the same. I mean, those guys have an excuse for needing a tutor in English. They’re Japanese. What’s my excuse?

  It turns out that Yoshi is also a total fan of American movies and TV, and watching them helped him learn English too. After we got to class, Luke Whitman wouldn’t settle down. He kept doing his zombie walk, where he crashes into everybody’s desk like he’s a dead guy. It was funny at first, but then, when he wouldn’t stop, it got annoying. Finally, Yoshi looked at Luke and said, “Oh, behave!” just like Austin Powers says in the movies. We all laughed so much, Ms Adolf had to clap her hands about thirty times to get us to stop.

  Ms Adolf kicked off Yoshi’s day in our class with fun, fun, fun like only she can come up with. She must have gone to the College for Teachers Who Know How to Ruin Fun for Everyone. I bet she was the best student they ever had too.

  For starters, she made us all draw a picture of the Japanese flag. Fortunately, it’s a plain white flag with nothing but a solid red circle in the middle, so we were done with our drawings in about thirty seconds. She made us give them all to Yoshi. The poor guy was sitting there at a desk with thirty-three red circles stacked up in front of him. He didn’t really know what to say. I mean, what do you say to that? Wow, they really are so round. Or, Where’s the closest rubbish bin?

  He was very polite, though, you could tell. He flipped through the red circles and acted like he was really impressed.

  “Cowabunga!” he said, sounding a whole lot like Bart Simpson.

  “Hey, Yosh Man, you watch The Simpsons?” Frankie asked.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t,” Ms Adolf answered. “That youngster Bartholomew Simpson sets such a rude example for children.”

  The last thing you want to do is get into a conversation with Ms Adolf about any TV show, let alone The Simpsons. Once, she told us that she doesn’t think children should ever watch cartoons, because they’re silly. She believes there’s no point in being silly when you can be serious about history or alphabetizing.

  “Bart Simpson kicks butt,” Yoshi whispered to Frankie and me, when Ms Adolf was cleaning the board. I stuck up my hand and he high-fived it.

  This kid Yoshi Morimoto was OK. He was more than OK. He was awesome.

  Heather Payne raised her hand and asked if she could share something she had brought in. Ms Adolf, who loves Heather Payne more than life itself because Heather always does everything right, smiled at her and said of course she could. If I had asked to share something, she would have smiled and said a big, fat no.

  Heather reached into a brown paper bag that she had brought from home and pulled out a black and red flowered dress. Well, it wasn’t exactly a dress, but it was a dress-coat kind of thing.

  Heather walked to the front of the class and put it on.

  “Does anyone know what this is?” she asked, turning round a couple of times like a model.

  “Dracula’s dressing gown?” Nick McKelty shouted out. Then he opened up his gigantic mouth and laughed like he had just told the funniest joke ever invented. You could see bits of his breakfast burrito still wedged in between his two front teeth. No one else in the class even chuckled, and Yoshi looked at him like the moron that he was. I thought Heather Payne was going to cry.

  “That’s not funny, Nick,” she said, which was the first thing Heather Payne ever said that I completely agreed with. Well, that’s not exactly true. Once she said that she was allergic to prawns, and I am too.

  “I know what it is,” Katie Sperling said, before Ms Adolf coul
d even call on her. “It’s a kimona.” She turned to Yoshi and gave him the most beautiful smile you have ever seen. “Isn’t that right, Yoshi?”

  If Katie Sperling ever smiled at me like that, I would melt into a little puddle of cherry jelly right in front of her eyes. But Yoshi actually got embarrassed. He looked down at his feet and shifted around in his chair.

  “Kimono,” he said. “There’s an O at the end.”

  “Oh! Thank you, Yoshi,” Katie said, batting her green eyes at him.

  “The kimono is what traditional Japanese women wear,” Heather said. “My neighbour Mrs Yamazaki let me bring this one in to show you.”

  Heather walked up and down the aisles so we could all see the kimono. Suddenly, the door opened and Head Teacher Love came in with Mr Morimoto right next to him. They were on a tour of the school. Mr Morimoto smiled at Heather.

  “You look lovely in your kimono,” he said, bowing to her. “My wife, Yoshi’s mother, was married in a white kimono with cherry blossoms on it, which is worn in the springtime.”

  Ashley’s hand shot up in the air.

  “Did it have any pink rhinestones on it?” she asked.

  Mr Morimoto smiled. “No, it did not,” he said. “But that sounds like a very beautiful idea.”

  “Speaking of beautiful ideas, I saw a package of Mallomars in the teachers’ lounge this morning,” Mr Love said to Mr Morimoto.“How about if we head over there for a mid-morning snack? Like I always say, the Mallomar is the classic American cookie. Yes sir, the Mallomar is the classic American cookie.”

  Mr Love always says everything twice. We’re used to it, and we just stop listening after the first time he says something – sometimes even before.

  “There are so many ways to eat a Mallomar,” Head Teacher Love went on, raising his voice so we could all hear – as if we wanted to. “Personally, I like to peel off the chocolate first and then suck the marshmallow into my mouth, flattening it with my tongue until it’s nice and gooey. I save the cookie part to be dunked into cold milk.”