The World's Greatest Underachiever and the Killer Chilli

by Henry Winkler

  “Sir, I really want to go back to class with you,” I began, “but the reason I have to stay involves my friend Ashley Wong, who worked long and hard to glue all those pink rhinestones on that sign over there.”

  “What does that have to do with you?” Mr Love asked in a gruff voice. This wasn’t going so well. I had to kick it up a notch.

  “Well, sir,” I whispered. “She asked if I could stand guard because – I don’t mean to alarm you – but rhinestones have been disappearing from that sign in record numbers. We suspect two or three of the kindergarteners. Have you noticed how sparkly they have been lately?”

  It wasn’t my mouth’s best work, but it was all I could come up with at the time.

  “This is ridiculous,” Mr Love said, rubbing his face with his hand. His index finger brushed across the Statue of Liberty, poking her somewhere between her rump and her armpit.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, young man, but I’m not going to let you do it. Come with me. I’m taking you back to class.”

  I looked over at Mr Rock. Even he couldn’t help me now.

  Head Teacher Love dropped me off in Ms Adolf’s room and picked up Yoshi. He was taking him to spend the morning with the fifth-grade classes and then on an exciting tour of the library. Yoshi wasn’t going to be back with us again until the buffet lunch.

  I was stuck in class all morning. Three times I asked Ms Adolf for a hall pass to go to the Multi-Purpose Room. Three times she said no.

  She said I had to stay in my seat and work on our assignment. We had to write an in-class essay on Multi-Cultural Day. This is what mine said:

  Because our class was hosting the lunch, we had to go to the Multi-Purpose Room a few minutes before lunchtime to make sure everything was all set up. I was nervous as we walked down the corridor. I knew it was too late to sneak our enchiladas out of there. That ship had sailed, as Papa Pete likes to say. There was nothing I could do now but hope they weren’t going to be hotter than firecrackers.

  Calm down, Hank. It’s not like you put the whole jar of chilli powder in the sauce. OK, maybe you put a little too much in. Then again, maybe you didn’t. I hate that I don’t know.

  Most of me truly believed the enchiladas were going to be OK. I just wished I could get all of me to believe that.

  When we walked into the Multi-Purpose Room, I was completely blown away. Wow, did it look different from how it had earlier this morning.

  It was wall-to-wall food. There were probably twenty tables set up, covered with tastes from all parts of the globe. Next to each dish was a sign explaining where it came from. Kidney pie from England. Squid floating in its own ink from Spain. I wondered if you ate it with a fountain pen. Puffy bread called naan from India. Olives from Greece. Bird’s nest soup from China – without the bird, of course. And our very own, very cheesy Killer Chilli Cheese Enchiladas from Mexico. Next to them were pigs in a blanket from Kansas. I think we all know what fool brought those in. Good old Nick McKelty. He still thought Kansas was a foreign country near Brazil.

  The room was an amazing sight. This wasn’t just a multi-cultural lunch. It was a multi-multi-multi-cultural lunch. There was food from countries I hadn’t even heard of, like Tonga and Burundi, and it was so colourful. Red and green and chocolate-brown sauces were practically waving at you, saying, “Come on, try me. I’m delicious!”

  “Look! Snails!” shouted Luke Whitman about two seconds after we had walked in.

  He had found them straight away, like a heat-seeking missile. They were over by the crêpes filled with apricot jam from France. A whole plate of snails, just lying around in their shells, with some butter and garlic and parsley on top. Wouldn’t you know, Captain Disgusto grabbed one and popped it into his mouth, shell and all? The crunching sound was so loud, everyone in the room stopped talking.

  “This tastes awesome,” Luke said, spitting bits of shell out into his hand. “But they could use a little more slime.”

  “Eeuuww!” Katie and Kim screamed. They went running over to the cake and pie section, which they were sure would be a slime-free zone.

  Our enchiladas were still right there in the centre of the main table. I could see that there was steam rising up from the pan and the cheese was all nice and melted. One of the parents must have warmed them up while we were in class.

  Ms Adolf had told us to wander around the room and arrange all the dishes nicely on the table. She was doing the same thing herself. At least, that’s what she was pretending to do. I noticed that she was sampling a taste here and there. She wasn’t fooling me. I saw her pop that Greek olive in her mouth and swipe a sweet-and-sour prawn.

  “Look, there’s the Yosh Man,” Frankie said, pointing across the room.

  Yoshi was just entering the room, with Head Teacher Love on one side of him and his dad on the other. He looked like he was asleep on his feet. Obviously, the library tour hadn’t been all that exciting for him. So many books and so hard to read.

  When he saw us, his face lit up.

  “Cowabunga, dudes!” he hollered from across the room.

  “Why don’t you jerks teach him something new to say?” Nick McKelty shouted. “He’s getting annoying.”

  If anyone knew about being annoying, it was Nick the Tick. He was the master, the commander, the prince of annoying.

  Frankie, Ashley and I ignored McKelty and went to say hi to Yoshi.

  “Hey, you’ve got to see our enchiladas,” Ashley said. “They’re over there on the centre table.”

  “Ah, enchiladas,” Mr Morimoto said. “Yoshi and I love them. I’ll have to taste one.”

  I wished I knew how to say, “I’d think twice about that if I were you,” in Japanese, but since I didn’t, I just smiled and said, “Ikeru, Morimoto-san.”

  “Oh, you speak Japanese.” Mr Morimoto smiled. He turned to Mr Love. “This is a very impressive young man.”

  “That he is. That he is,” Mr Love said, giving me a friendly slap on the back. I was so unprepared for his sudden display of affection that I almost fell over into Ryan Shimozato’s beef sukiyaki.

  Suddenly, we heard a commotion coming from the centre of the room, near the table with our enchiladas. Several of the parents had gathered in a circle, surrounding someone.

  “Step away and give her some air,” one of them was saying.

  When the parents moved away, we saw who it was they were surrounding.

  Ms Adolf!

  Oh, she didn’t look good. Not that she ever looks good, but at that moment, she looked especially not good. Her face was turning bright red. I had never seen colour in her face before.

  The next thing we knew, Ms Adolf let out a noise that wasn’t like any human sound I had ever heard. It was somewhere between a cough and a hiss and a gasp.

  “Water!” she hissed. “Get me water!”

  She sounded like Golem in The Lord of the Rings. She was hissing pretty loudly, and her face looked like a tomato about to explode. Then she started hopping around the room, like a kangaroo with its feet on fire.

  “You go, girlfriend,” Frankie whispered under his breath as he watched her hop.

  Ashley burst out laughing. I didn’t want to laugh, so I just concentrated on smiling very, very hard. Sometimes that keeps the laugh inside.

  “What happened to that poor woman?” Mr Morimoto asked.

  “Must have been something she ate,” Mr Love said. Then he turned and looked directly at me. “I hope it wasn’t your enchiladas.”

  That wiped the smile off my face really fast.

  “No, sir,” I said. “Like you always say, there’s no such thing as a bad enchilada, sir.”

  Man, oh, man. If only that were true.

  Ms Adolf grabbed an ice cube from the punch bowl and rubbed it all over her tongue. Then she rubbed it on her face too, eyebrows and all. Then it went back on her tongue again. Face. Tongue. Face. Tongue. She couldn’t slide that cube around fast enough. And then her face started to drip.

  A
shley had tears in the corners of her eyes. That happens to her when she’s dying to laugh but has to hold it in.

  As I watched Ms Adolf mambo around the room, I started to think how interesting it was that she had been standing right next to our pan of enchiladas when her tongue attacked her. I wasn’t the only one to be thinking about that little fact. Frankie shot me a suspicious look.

  “How much chilli powder did you put in, dude?” he whispered to me.

  “I told you,” I whispered back. “The absolute right amount.”

  By now, Ms Adolf’s tongue was hanging out of her mouth. She looked like Cheerio after he’s gone for a long run in the park. She was leaping around the room, fanning her tongue with her hands.

  “Are you all right?” Ryan Shimozato’s mum asked her.

  “Shiiicy,” Ms Adolf panted.

  “What?” asked Ms Shimozato. “I’m sorry, but I can’t understand you.”

  In case you haven’t noticed, it’s hard to understand people who are talking with their tongues hanging out of their mouths.

  “Spicy!” Ms Adolf screeched. She had shoved her tongue back in her mouth long enough to say that one word. Then, with two fingers, she grabbed the tip and pulled her tongue back out into the air and started fanning it with her grey silk scarf.

  “I think she ate something too spicy,” Ms Shimozato said to the group of people who were standing around.

  Frankie looked over at me and raised an eyebrow.

  But before he could say anything, Ms Adolf started to do this thing like she was whistling, but instead of blowing air out, she was sucking it in. That was followed by these horribly loud grunts, like my dad makes when he snores. A bunch of kids burst out laughing. It wasn’t the nicest thing to do, but if you were there, you would have been laughing too. I promise.

  Ms Adolf got a really weird look on her face. She came to a full stop. What was going to happen now? Whoosh! Suddenly, she started to move across the floor, wiggling her rump like she was doing the tango.

  I don’t know how to tell you what happened next without using the fart word. So let me put it this way. Ms Adolf propelled herself across the Multi-Purpose Room as if she had a rocket in her skirt. And there was a certain sound that went along with that move. Once again, I can only refer you to the fart word.

  “Eeuuww!” Katie and Kim screamed. “Gross.”

  “Watch out, she’s letting loose another one,” Luke Whitman cried out as Ms Adolf came shooting across the floor in the opposite direction. One hand was on her stomach and the other was covering her mouth. As she flew by me, I thought I heard her say, “Oh, excuse me. I’m so sorry.”

  “Let’s get you to the ladies’ room,” Ms Shimozato said to Ms Adolf. Ms Adolf just nodded. We could hear her erupting as she was led off to the bathroom.

  Frankie gave me The Look.

  “Zip,” he whispered. “Now I’ve got to know. You have to come clean about the chilli powder.”

  “See, there was this fraction in the recipe – or at least I think it was a fraction – and I couldn’t exactly tell if—”

  “Zip, talk to me.”

  “I’m trying. I couldn’t read the recipe,” I answered honestly. “So I guessed. But it didn’t seem like that much. Just enough to give the enchiladas a little zing.”

  “A little zing!” Frankie said. “Did you see Ms Adolf, dude? It looked to me like she had enough zing to dance down to the Brooklyn Bridge. It sounded like it too.”

  “What do we do now?” I asked. I was starting to feel embarrassed about the whole situation.

  “Now that’s a good question,” Frankie said. “I just wish I knew the answer.”

  We all hung around waiting to see if Ms Adolf was going to explode through the ladies’ room door.

  “Attention, everyone,” Ms Shimozato said when she finally walked back into the Multi-Purpose Room. “I’m happy to report that Ms Adolf is feeling much better. She has a delicate stomach and had a little reaction to something she ate.”

  “If that was a little reaction, I’d hate to smell a big one.” McKelty laughed.

  He was stuffing a black forest gateau from Germany into his mouth that was as big as the whole country of Germany. When he laughed, you could see the frosting shoot out from between his big front teeth. It landed everywhere, including on his dad, who had made the mistake of standing too close to him.

  “She wants you all to go on and enjoy yourselves,” Ms Shimozato said. “She’ll be back with us soon. She’s just recovering in the … uh … uh … well, she’s just recovering.”

  The adults in the room sighed with relief and went back to the buffet. A bunch of kids started to giggle. I mean, you can’t hear about your teacher kicking back in the toilet and not find that funny, can you?

  “Well, where were we?” Head Teacher Love asked, turning to Mr Morimoto.

  “I was just about to try one of those delicious enchiladas,” Mr Morimoto said. “Come on, Yoshi, let’s get one before they’re gone.”

  Before I could say a word, Mr Morimoto was heading over to the centre table. Yoshi and Ashley were right behind him.

  “He can’t eat those,” I said to Frankie.

  “You know what you have to do,” Frankie said.

  “What should I tell him?”

  “You’ll come up with something, Zipa-rooney. You’ve got ten seconds and counting.”

  I went charging after Mr Morimoto. He had taken a paper plate and handed another one to Yoshi. They were already at the enchilada pan.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said to him. “But may I suggest you try the squid in its own ink? Or how about a plump, tender snail swimming in buttery snail juice?”

  “Perhaps later, Hank,” Mr Morimoto said. “My mouth is watering for a nice, spicy enchilada. It’s not easy to find good Mexican food in Tokyo.”

  There’s the good kind of spicy. And then there’s the get-me-to-the-hospital-because-my-mouth-all-the-way-to-my-stomach-is-on-fire kind of spicy. Our enchiladas were in the second category for sure.

  What if they make Mr Morimoto sick and he winds up in the hospital? No, Hank. That can’t happen. Stand up! Be a man!

  I had no choice. I had to stop Mr Morimoto from eating the enchiladas. Period. End of thought. And that meant telling him the truth. That I had dumped in too much chilli powder because I couldn’t read the stupid recipe.

  Why can’t my learning difficulties just go away, vanish like the magic scarves Frankie makes disappear up his sleeve?

  Suddenly, there was Frankie at my side, standing next to me like always in times of trouble. He took me by the arm and pulled me far enough away so we could talk in private.

  “Let’s just go and tell Mr Morimoto the truth, Zip.”

  I don’t want to! I hate the truth!

  “He’s a cool guy. He’ll understand.”

  That’s not the point. I don’t want to feel stupid in front of everyone … again.

  “You’ve got to tell him now, dude. Check it out. He’s already got the enchilada on the fork.”

  I can come up with another reason why Mr Morimoto shouldn’t eat that enchilada. I know I can!

  “Let’s go, Zip. Now.”

  Think, Hank, think!

  TEN REASONS WHY MR MORIMOTO SHOULD NOT EAT THAT ENCHILADA

  BY HANK ZIPZER

  1. In America, it is considered extremely rude to eat red and yellow foods on a Thursday.

  2. It’s a little known fact that chewing chilli powder will make you go bald.

  3. This is National Don’t Eat Foods Beginning with “E” month.

  4. That enchilada is the earth home of a band of miniature alien beings. I know this because I saw their spaceship land in the cheese.

  5. Luke Whitman has already licked them with his snail-slime tongue.

  6. Many people are allergic to enchilada juice. If they eat it, their bottom lips blow up, fall off and try to find Mexico.

  7. Yikes! I’m out of time. Mr Morimoto is about to take the first b
ite! Mr Morimoto! Stop! Stop!

  “Stop!” I shouted out loud.

  Incoming! Mr Morimoto’s mouth was open and the enchilada-filled fork was heading into it.

  “Wait!” I hollered, just before the fork touched his lips. “Don’t eat that enchilada.”

  It seemed like everyone in the Multi-Purpose Room went quiet and turned their eyes on me.

  “What’s your problem, Zipper Boy?” said Nick McKelty. “You put rats’ tails in those enchiladas?”

  “I think I put in too much chilli powder,” I said, hating to admit it but knowing I had to. “When Ms Adolf got sick a few minutes ago, that was all my fault.”

  “How was it your fault, dear?” asked Ms Shimozato.

  “I wasn’t sure how much chilli powder to put in,” I said. “So I put in a pinch. Then another. And another.”

  “That sounds fine, dear,” said Ms Shimozato.

  “It was. Until I put in two more whole spoonfuls,” I went on. “Then another pinch. Or three. Or four. Or five.”

  “Why didn’t you follow the recipe, young man?” Mr Love asked.

  There it was. The Big Question. I stared at his “Statue of Liberty without the torch” mole. Was she laughing at me? It sure looked like it.

  The room was even quieter than before. Everyone was waiting for my answer. There was only one truthful answer to Mr Love’s question: I didn’t follow the recipe because I couldn’t read it and I couldn’t figure out what on earth that fraction meant.

  But the other real truth was, my learning difficulties were not something I wanted to discuss right then in front of the whole world. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be chatting about your personal brain problems in front of a room full of people either. But everyone was waiting for my explanation, so I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

  “Breathe, Zip,” Frankie whispered to me. “Oxygen is power.”

  I took a deep breath, then spoke.

  “To be honest, I had trouble reading the recipe,” I said. There, at least I had begun.