Don’t do this to me, brain. Fire up! Kick in! How much chilli powder? Just read the number. Please, help me out here!
There was nothing cooking in my head. The only thing I could think was that I didn’t want Yoshi to remember me as the kid who had to ask what a fraction was. But I had no choice.
I turned to the camera and was about to speak when—
“Watch out!” Emily yelled.
Her voice startled me back into reality. I jumped so high, I thought I was going to hit my head on the ceiling.
“What? Watch out for what?” I screamed.
“Kathy! She’s under your feet.”
I looked down and there she was again. Katherine the lovely lizard was darting across the room and making a dash for the open cupboard where we keep the pots and pans.
“This is great!” Ashley said, turning the video camera from me to Katherine. “An action scene!”
Katherine dived into the cupboard and banged around in the pasta pots. I guess she wasn’t a fan of Italian cooking, because she was out of there in a flash. I bet she saw her reflection in one of the pans and scared herself silly. She scurried across the kitchen floor, practically leaping from the refrigerator to the oven and back again. She must have been having a flashback to that afternoon and her lino nightmare, because let me tell you, she was one freaked-out lizard.
Emily ran after her, waving her arms and chasing her around the kitchen. Ashley followed with the video camera.
“A director’s dream!” she shouted. “A chase scene!”
This was my chance. The camera was off me, and no one was looking. I picked up a spoon and grabbed the jar of chilli powder. I looked at the recipe book one more time. What did it say? Maybe this time I’d get it!
Is it three spoonfuls? Or one third? Or one thirty-third? Or thirty-three one hundredths?
I pushed the spoon deep into the chilli powder and dug out a heaping pile of the bright red spice. I threw it into the tomato sauce. It didn’t look like enough to me, so I threw in another heaping spoonful. Then I added a few pinches more with my fingers, just like I had always seen my mother do.
There, that looks right to me. I don’t know how much I put in – it was something involving a three. Close enough.
By this time, Katherine had dashed back into the cupboard and was hiding behind the omelette pan. Emily started to cry.
“Don’t be scared, Kathy,” she said. “Mama’s here.”
Katherine was all out of breath. She just stared at us with her beady little eyes. When Emily tried to reach for her, she hissed and poked her long tongue out. She wasn’t coming out of there for anyone any time soon.
That is, until Robert showed up.
He had come in with my mum and dad on hearing the commotion.
“Let me try to get her,” Robert said. “I have a way with the reptile kingdom.”
Robert got down on his hands and knees in front of Katherine. He stuck his tongue out at her, and I swear, the two of them looked alike. Except Robert didn’t have a tail. At least, not that I knew of.
Robert and Katherine continued their weird communication for what seemed like way too long for me. Then he started to make strange sounds in his throat. Iguana sounds.
“Coo roo ca ca shoo,” he said. “Coo roo ca ca shoo.”
What does that mean – “Get out of there right now, you scaly beast?!”
Katherine blinked her eyes and stared at Robert. As a matter of fact, we were all staring at Robert, Yoshi especially. I hoped he wasn’t thinking that this was a typical night in a typical American family. Even for the Zipzers, this was extraordinary.
“Coo roo ca ca shoo,” Robert repeated softly. He stuck his tongue out a couple more times. Then, slowly, he reached into the cupboard and picked up Katherine. She didn’t do anything. She seemed really peaceful as she snuggled up against his bony chest. Maybe she thought she was leaning against tree roots.
“She’s safe now,” he whispered to Emily.
“Oh, Robert,” Emily said with a sigh. “You saved her.”
Emily was so happy, she reached out and gave Robert a kiss. I’m not going to describe it, because why gross all of us out? It’s bad enough that I had to see it with my own eyes. But I will tell you this: Robert turned bright red from his ears to his fingertips. He was as red as … well … chilli powder.
Robert stood up, still holding Katherine.
“I’ll go and put her in her cage,” he said. “She’s had a hard thirty minutes.”
Robert, Emily and Katherine practically floated out of the kitchen. Just a boy, a girl and a blissed-out reptile.
I looked over at Yoshi. He gave me a thumbs-up, and I could see how relieved he was. Wouldn’t you be if my sister Emily fell out of love with you? She fell out of love so hard, you could almost see her hit the floor.
“I can’t believe I got all that on videotape,” Ashley said. “The cooking show is going to seem pretty dull after the Big Kiss.”
“Can we not talk about that ever again, Ash?” I groaned.
“I’m with you on that one, Ziparooney,” said Frankie. “Some things are meant to be forgotten and I’m pushing that K-I-S-S out of my brain as fast as I can. Now where were we?”
“Zing,” said Yoshi.
“Good thinking, Yosh Man,” Frankie said. “Hankster was just about to tell me how much chilli powder to put in the enchilada sauce.”
“I already put it in,” I said, saying a silent thank-you to Katherine for saving me.
“How much did you put in?” Frankie wanted to know.
“Just the right amount. The amount couldn’t be more perfect.”
“And how much was that?” Ashley asked. “Not that we don’t trust you, Hank.”
“Hey, did I tell you how to shoot your video?” I asked her.
“No.”
“Good. Then don’t tell me how to cook my enchiladas.”
“Have it your way,” Ashley said with a shrug.
Now all I could do was hope that what I hoped was the right amount really was the right amount.
Papa Pete called me first thing the next morning.
“I’m coming to pick you up to take you to school,” he told me. “Your mother said you made a big pan of enchiladas. It’s probably too heavy to carry.”
“But, Papa Pete, you don’t have a car,” I pointed out.
“Hankie, why would something like that stop me?” he said, and hung up.
We waited for him outside our apartment block. Frankie held my backpack while Yoshi and I balanced the pan of enchiladas between us. Robert and Emily were there too, making goo-goo eyes at each other. After a few minutes, a long black limousine pulled up. I couldn’t see who was in it because the windows were blacked out. I thought it was probably a movie star. Either that or a Met player. I was wrong, though.
It was Papa Pete! He is full of surprises.
When he rolled down the passenger window and asked if we needed a ride, I thought Yoshi’s eyeballs were going to fall out of his head. Actually, I thought mine were too. I had never ridden in a limousine in my life!
“Meet Dave Waxman,” Papa Pete said, slapping the driver of the car on the back. “He’s the second-best bowler on The Chopped Livers, after yours truly.” Papa Pete’s bowling team is called The Chopped Livers. They’re first in their league. “When I told Dave about Yoshi, he volunteered to take him for a spin in this sweet little buggy of his.”
“Thank you, ojiisan,” said Yoshi. “You too, Waxman-san.”
“My pleasure, kiddo,” said Dave. “Hop in.”
We all climbed in the rear door of the limo. Inside, there was a telephone and neon lights, and smooth leather seats that felt like butter. It was so big in there that you could have played hide-and-seek, which by the way, we did. If you ever get a chance to ride in a limousine, I highly recommend playing hide-and-seek.
“I could drive all the way to Japan in this car,” Ashley said.
Robert cleared his throat. �
�Actually, you couldn’t, because Japan is—”
“We know, Robert,” we all groaned. “An island country surrounded by water.”
“Dude, don’t you have any other topics?” Frankie asked.
“Actually, I could speak about the spiny tailed iguana of Costa Rica. It is the fastest reptile on the planet and is able to run twenty-one miles per hour.”
“Oh, Robert, you’re so interesting,” my geekoid sister said.
Attention! Calling all nerds! There’s a meeting in the back of our limo!
It’s only six blocks to my school, and we were really sorry our ride was so short. When we pulled up outside, we saw Yoshi’s father waiting on the steps, talking to Ms Adolf. Boy, were they shocked to see us get out of that car.
Yoshi gave his dad a hug and started blabbering to him in Japanese. I hoped he was talking about the limousine ride and not giving him an earful about Katherine’s nervous breakdown in our kitchen last night.
Ms Adolf gave me one of her nastier looks.
“What’s the purpose of this vehicle? It is so extravagant,” she said as the limo pulled away.
“Hmmm, the purpose.” I thought it over. “It’s a fun way to get somewhere?”
“Fun is not appropriate, Henry. I won’t have my pupils just going about willy-nilly, having fun whenever they feel like it.”
I had never heard the word fun sound so un-fun. I switched to a topic I thought she’d like better.
“We made chilli enchiladas for the Multi-Cultural Day Lunch,” I said, sticking the pan under her nose.
She looked into the pan like there were worms crawling around in there.
“They look extremely cheesy,” she said. “Are they spicy?”
“They have a little zing,” Ashley answered.
“Not too much zing, I hope,” Ms Adolf said. “I don’t respond well to spicy Mexican food. I’m sure our guests don’t, either. We don’t want to make them sick.”
That was a scary thought.
What if I’d put in too much chilli powder? Will the enchiladas be too spicy? Will they make Yoshi sick? Will he go screaming out of the room, begging for water? Worse yet, what if they make Mr Morimoto sick?
Stop it, Hank!
My thoughts were making me sick.
I looked at the enchiladas in the pan. Exactly how zingy were they? There was only one way to find out. I had to taste them.
As the bell rang and everyone went inside, Ms Adolf told me to take the enchiladas to the Multi-Purpose Room. That gave me an idea. I’d put them down and, when no one was looking, take one little bite. If they were too spicy, I’d throw them out right then and there. At least that way I’d be sure I wasn’t going to give the whole school a stomach-ache.
Frankie held the front door open for me.
“Frankie, Ashley, come along to class,” Ms Adolf said. She and her grey shoes were already halfway up the stairs. “It doesn’t take all of you to deliver your tamales.”
“They’re enchiladas,” I corrected her.
“Whatever.”
Obviously, Ms Adolf wasn’t big on Mexican food. Probably because it wasn’t grey.
“Are you sure you can make it there without dropping the pan?” Frankie asked me.
I was wondering the same thing myself.
“Come along,” Ms Adolf said, pointing to the steps that led to our classroom.
“Put our dish where everyone can see it,” Ashley whispered to me as she headed upstairs. “I think it looks delicious.”
“It kicks butt,” Yoshi said.
And then they were gone, leaving me alone with one heavy pan of killer cheesy enchiladas.
I hoped I wasn’t going to have to throw them away. All my friends were counting on seeing our dish, front and centre. How would I explain it if I had to throw it out?
Sorry, guys. Guess who couldn’t read a recipe? That’s right. Me.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like my friends wouldn’t understand. Frankie and Ashley know all about my learning difficulties, and they are very understanding. Ashley always helps me count out the right change when we stop at Harvey’s to get a slice of pizza. And Frankie helps me in a million ways. He puts new toys together for me when I can’t figure out the instruction booklets. He set up my e-mail when I got my new computer. He even quizzes me on our spelling words when we walk to school.
But here’s the part even Frankie and Ashley wouldn’t understand: they wouldn’t get why I just didn’t say, “Stop the camera. I can’t read the recipe.” To them, that’s not a big deal at all. But it is to me.
I don’t think even my best friends really know what it feels like to be me. I hate feeling that I’m not as smart as other people. I hate feeling ashamed of myself all the time. And I hate that I can’t count on my brain to get it right. Sure, Dr Berger says there’s nothing to be ashamed of, that we all learn differently and in our own time. But that’s easy for her to say and very hard for me to believe. She isn’t the one who has to say, “Stop the camera. I can’t read.”
I walked down the main corridor towards the Multi-Purpose Room and past the trophy case. I noticed a picture of Mr Love right in the centre of all our school trophies. Don’t ask me why it was there. You sure wouldn’t want to win him in a game.
I passed the attendance office, where Mrs Crock was sitting at her desk, squinting at her computer screen.
“Hi, Hank,” she called out. “What do you have there?”
“Cheese enchiladas. For Multi-Cultural Day.”
“Isn’t it yummy to be multi-cultural?” she said.
Wow, she was in a good mood. In fact, everybody I passed in the corridor was too. There was a feeling of a party in the air. The kids in the kindergarten room were busy making paper plates into African masks.
“I’m going to dance at the lunch today,” one of the little guys said as I passed by. “Wanna see?”
He burst into a wild and crazy dance, shaking his butt and making up weird steps as he went along. I remember doing that in kindergarten. Frankie and I danced like total goofballs in front of the whole school and we weren’t ashamed or embarrassed even a little bit. Those were the good old days.
By the time I reached the Multi-Purpose Room, I was dying to put down the pan of enchiladas. It’s a long corridor, and my arms were aching. The first person I saw was Mr Rock. He was on a stepladder, hanging up the welcome sign we had made for Yoshi. I noticed Ashley’s pink rhinestones on the sign, sparkling out at me like cherry blossoms.
“Hi, Hank. That’s a mighty big load you’re carrying,” Mr Rock said.
“I didn’t know enchiladas were so heavy,” I answered.
“Here, let me give you a hand with that,” Mr Rock said, hopping off the ladder. Before I could object, he had grabbed the pan from my hands.
“You make these yourself?” he asked.
“A bunch of us made them together,” I said.
“Well, since these were made by kids for kids, I think they should go right in the middle,” he said, plopping them down smack in the centre of the table.
I had been hoping to slide the enchiladas on to a side table so I could sneak a bite without anyone noticing. This centre table development put a minor wrinkle in my plans, but I could deal with it. Mr Rock would go back to his sign hanging in a minute and I’d creep over there and do my taste test.
Squeak, squeak, squeak.
Oh no. There’s only one person in the school whose shoes squeak like that. And that person could put a major wrinkle in my plan.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mr Zipzer,” said a tall man, bushy haired voice.
I turned round and there they were – the three of them: Mr Love, his hairy blue and yellow scarf and his mole. They all looked happy to see me. I was not happy to see them.
“Mr Morimoto reported that his son had an excellent evening last night,” he said. “Good job, young man.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Could you leave now? Please?
&n
bsp; “Remember this, Mr Zipzer, because I’m not going to say it twice. We build bridges between people so boats can sail under them.”
I counted to ten, waiting.
“Yes, sir,” he repeated, right on schedule. “We build bridges between people so boats can sail under them. Do you understand, Mr Zipzer?”
“Yes, sir. Every word.”
I did understand every word. I just didn’t understand what they meant when you put them all together.
“And might I inquire why you’re here and not in class?” Mr Love asked me.
“We made a dish for the Multi-Cultural Day Lunch,” I answered. “I was dropping it off.”
“Hank contributed those fine-looking enchiladas there,” Mr Rock said.
“Ah, enchiladas,” Mr Love said. “A delicious tasty treat from south of the border. There is no such thing as a bad enchilada. No, sir. There is no such thing as a bad enchilada.”
I hoped he was right about that. I was afraid that I had just cranked out a whole pan of really bad enchiladas.
“Now that your mission is accomplished, I’ll take you back to your classroom,” Mr Love said. “I was just heading there to check on young Mr Morimoto.”
“Oh, uh, th-thanks, sir, but I still have m-more to do here,” I stammered.
“There’s nothing for you to do here,” said Head Teacher Love. “None of the other dishes have even arrived yet.”
“I’d like to stay,” I said.
“And I’d like to ride a yak through Tibet,” said Mr Love. “We can’t always do what we like.”
But I HAD to stay. I hadn’t had the chance to taste the enchiladas yet. My mission was not accomplished.
Mr Love was heading for the door. He stopped and waited for me to join him.
“I have to stay, sir.”
“No, you don’t. Now come with me right now.”
Think of something, Hankster. Let your mouth do the talking.
The World's Greatest Underachiever and the Killer Chilli Page 6
