“For how long?” Ashley asked.
“Until I say you can say,” I said.
We put our hands out in front of us, one on top of the other, and yelled out “Magik 3” to seal the deal. That’s the name of our magic act that we’ve had for over a year now. We take our Magik 3 oaths very seriously.
It was getting late, and we all had homework to finish. Actually, I had homework to start and finish. Because of my learning challenges, I’m not exactly fast in the homework department. Or in any department involving books, paper, pencils, erasers, words, letters, or numbers. I could go on, but I think you get the idea.
We left the clubhouse and hurried to the elevator.
“Hey, Hank,” Ashley whispered as she pushed the up button. “Do you think it will be longer than a month? I’ve never kept a secret more than thirty-one days.”
“Hard to say, Ash,” I answered. “But I’m counting on you.”
The elevator door opened, and my mom came out carrying a basket of dirty clothes to take to the laundry room down the hall. Cheerio was with her. When he saw me, he came running over and let a Ping-Pong ball drop out of his mouth in front of my feet. It rolled down the hall, clicking and clacking as it bounced along the linoleum floor.
“Ashley and I are cool with your secret,” Frankie said. “But it looks like your dog’s a blabbermouth.”
Cheerio wagged his tail and started running in circles. He may not be able to keep a secret, but he sure is cute.
CHAPTER 24
“GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” Robert said, clutching the microphone in his bony little fingers. “Welcome to the Parade of Athletes.”
He was holding the mike so tight that you could see his white knuckles all the way in the bleachers, where my mom and dad and Papa Pete and I were sitting.
Our gym was packed with parents, teachers, aunts, uncles, older sisters, younger brothers—all there to cheer on their favorite athlete. The kids who were participating were warming up on the gym floor, wearing shorts and blue and green T-shirts that said PS 87. I, on the other hand, was sitting in between my mom and dad, not warming up, and not wearing athletic clothes.
Wait. I do have on my Mets sweatshirt. I wonder if that counts?
I have to admit, I was feeling pretty bad about my decision not to participate in the Parade of Athletes. I just couldn’t risk the embarrassment of showing my lousy hand-eye, hand-foot, foot-knee, eye-elbow coordination to everyone.
Papa Pete leaned across my mom and put his big hand on my knee. “Hankie, there’s Sam Chin warming up with his dad,” he said. “Maybe it’s not too late for you to sign up for the Ping-Pong demonstration.”
“Papa Pete! Please! Don’t say the P. P. word in public.”
“What’s wrong with saying Ping-Pong? Hankie, I was just trying to . . .”
Before he could finish, he was drowned out by Robert tapping on the microphone.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he repeated. “I’d like to start the festivities with a little joke.”
No, Robert! Don’t do it! Don’t do it!
“I’ve selected a joke with a sporting theme,” Robert said.
“Just do the joke already, idiot!” McKelty yelled from his place on the floor where he was warming up for his soccer drill.
“Okay, here goes,” Robert said. “Why can’t you play basketball with pigs?”
“Because they stink, like you!” McKelty yelled. No one laughed but him.
McKelty’s dad got up from the stands, went over to Nick, and had a little heart-to-heart with him.
Good. It’s time somebody put that jerk in his place.
“The reason you can’t play basketball with pigs,” Robert said, “is because they HOG the ball.”
The only person who laughed was my sister Emily. The rest of the people in the gym were dead silent. If I were Robert, I would have run away to Mongolia to live with wild camels and never come back to PS 87. But not Robert. He hung in there.
“Maybe you didn’t get it,” he said. “I can do it again.”
“Thank you, that will be quite enough, Robert,” I heard Ms. Adolf say.
Where was she? I didn’t see her anywhere. And then I did.
Oh, my crazy eyes, tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.
But I was. There was Ms. Adolf, all decked out in her fencing gear. No joke. She had on a jacket that looked like a bulletproof vest (it was grey, of course), a full mask with a mesh face that looked like a screen door, short pants with buttons at the knees, and tights like George Washington always wore in pictures. And she was carrying a long silver sword. She looked like Blackbeard the Pirate. Except she was in grey and didn’t have a beard, so I guess she looked like Grey Bun the Pirate.
“To begin the festivities, I am about to give a brief display of my advance-and-retreat thrusting technique,” Ms. Adolf said through her screen-door mask.
“You go, girlfriend,” I heard Frankie call out.
“Without further ado, I will demonstrate the lunge, the thrust, and the parry,” she said.
And without further ado, whatever ado is, she leaped onto the rubber mat that ran alongside the bleachers and starting lunging forward, forward, forward—then retreating backward, backward, backward. She looked like a crazed musketeer.
“Wow,” Papa Pete said. “She’s got some command of the blade. Is she married?”
“Are you kidding, Papa Pete?” I said, whipping my head in his direction so fast, it nearly took off.
“Yes, I am.”
“Thank goodness. You scared me for a minute.”
When she was all thrusted out, Ms. Adolf pulled off her mask, held it under her arm, and saluted the crowd with her sword. “Thank you, friends of the foil,” she said.
The audience sat there in silence at first, then Papa Pete started to applaud. Soon, everyone joined in, and Ms. Adolf took another bow. As quickly as she was up, she was down—back on the bench reserved for the teachers.
Before anyone could stop him, Robert grabbed the microphone again. “Maybe I should present another comedy moment,” he suggested.
“No!” all the kids shouted.
“All right, then, I’ll save it for after intermission.” Boy, that Robert. He doesn’t take a hint.
After that, the evening really took off. There was equipment of all kinds spread out over the gym floor: a trampoline, a line of soccer cones and a goal net, a portable basketball hoop, a pummel horse and a mat for gymnastics and karate. Two rings and a long rope hung from the ceiling.
I noticed that a Ping-Pong table had been set up right in the middle of the gym floor. Just looking at it made me itch to play, but I was determined not to. Any Ping-Pong embarrassment was going to be between me and my pals at the Ping-Pong Emporium.
The Parade of Athletes began. Christopher Hook did backflips, front flips, seat drops, and a fantastic double twist on the trampoline. He was terrific for a third-grader. Actually, he was terrific for an any-grader.
A lot of kids shot baskets. A whole team of girls did a slam-dunk demonstration on one of those toy plastic basketball hoops. The big surprise during the fifth-grade demonstration was Heather Payne, who turned out to be a short, blond, girl-type version of Michael Jordan. I mean, wow, she had a sky hook. Who would’ve guessed that underneath all that perfect penmanship and straight As there was a hoop star waiting to be born.
Another huge surprise was that Joelle Adwin was able to detach herself from her cell phone long enough to actually do a gymnastics routine. At least, I think that’s what it was. The official name of what she did is rhythmic gymnastics. It involves a stick with colorful ribbons tied to it and a lot of hopping around on the mat.
To be totally honest, it didn’t look like a real sport to me. But since I know that’s exactly how a lot of people feel about Ping-Pong, and since I know it is a truly difficult sport, I decided to give Joelle all the credit she deserved. When she twirled her last twirl, I stood up and applauded until my ha
nds tingled. Even McKelty turned around and gave me a look like I had lost my mind.
That’s okay, Mister. You wouldn’t understand us athletes who choose unusual sports.
“In case anyone is wondering, which I’m sure you are,” Joelle said when the applause had died down, “I designed this costume myself. It’s called Black of Night with Red Flower.”
And in case you’re wondering, which I’m sure you’re not, it was a black leotard with a red flower on it.
I was amazed to see how many kids were good at some sport. Sarah Stern actually had a black belt in karate, which I think is excellent for a third-grader. Even Katie Sperling and Kim Paulson were impressive as they wrapped their legs around the climbing rope and shot to the ceiling to ring the bell. And Luke Whitman got his fingers out of his nose long enough to grab the rings and do an Iron Cross. You have to be pretty strong to pull that off.
“Look over there, Hankie,” Papa Pete said, tapping my hand again to get my attention. “Sam Chin is getting ready to play.”
I looked at the Ping-Pong table and saw Sam’s dad, Winston, setting up a box for him to stand on. Sam was taking his paddle out of his case. He didn’t look too happy. As a matter of fact, he looked downright scared.
I felt a little hand pulling at my shirt. “Hi, Hank. It’s me.”
“Mason!” I said. “You’re supposed to be down there, doing your soccer demonstration.”
“My mommy says it’s after the inter-something. I forget the word.”
“Intermission.”
“Yeah, that word. Bye.”
He ran off and went back to his mother, who was sitting in the front row next to Sam Chin’s mom. Mason made me smile. Every time I get to help him learn something, no matter how small—even if it’s just a word—it makes me feel great.
I turned back to the gym floor. Frankie and Ashley and the other jock soccer players were kicking the ball around the cones, warming up for the dribbling and kicking and passing demonstrations.
“That’s what you should be doing, Hank,” my dad said, pointing to them. “I still can’t understand why you didn’t sign up for tonight.”
“Let him be, Stan,” my mom whispered.
I ask you, where would we kids be without moms?
By now, Sam was standing on his box and Winston Chin had taken his place at the other side of the Ping-Pong table. He was going to rally with Sam.
Okay, serve it up, Sam. Show them how the game is played.
But Sam just stood there, holding his paddle in one hand and the ball in the other. He looked out at all the people watching him, and I thought he was going to cry. He father went over to him and kneeled down to say something, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
“Come on, you baby. It’s only Ping-Pong,” a voice shouted from the front row of the bleachers.
I’ll bet you can guess whose voice it was. You’re right. Who else but Nick the Tick McKelty would harass a cute little kid who was scared to death?
Sam Chin looked over at McKelty. I could see his face start to scrunch up. He was trying hard not to cry. McKelty cupped his hands over his erupting volcano of a mouth.
“Hurry up, kid. No one wants to see Ping-Pong, anyway.”
Ms. Adolf got up and walked over to McKelty. She looked mad, and for the first time in my life, I was on her side.
Sam Chin couldn’t hold it in anymore. When he heard McKelty’s nasty remark, he burst into tears, jumped off his box, and ran to his mom’s arms like a little duckling swimming to his mommy duck.
“Come with me,” Ms. Adolf said to McKelty. “Your evening is over.”
“You can’t do that,” he answered her. “I’m a key man in the soccer demonstration.”
“Not tonight, you aren’t. This is the Parade of Athletes. A true athlete possesses good sportsmanship. Now parade yourself right out of the gymnasium.”
There is no messing with Ms. Adolf when she gets that tone of voice. McKelty got up and shuffled out of the gym. We all cheered, every single one of us. Sam Chin didn’t care that McKelty was gone. He was still sitting with his face buried in his mom’s neck. Poor little guy.
Mr. Rock picked up the microphone for an announcement. He’s so nice, I’m sure he didn’t want everyone to be staring at Sam.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone the Ping-Pong demonstration for another evening,” he said.
“Unless there’s someone else who’d like to show us his Ping-Pong moves,” said a voice from the floor. It was Ashley.
Ashweena, we talked about this. DON’T YOU DARE.
“Maybe there’s another person here who’s really good at Ping-Pong,” she went on. “Like, say, one of the fifth-graders.”
“Ashley, do you have someone specific in mind?” Mr. Rock asked her.
She looked up at me without moving her eyes. I shook my head at her without moving my head. When you’ve been close friends for as long as we have, you know how to communicate without saying a word or without making a move.
I knew that she knew the answer was no.
I wasn’t playing any public Ping-Pong. And that’s all there was to it.
CHAPTER 25
AFTER INTERMISSION, it was soccer time. The little kids went up first. Mason did a kicking-for-accuracy drill that would have blown your mind. That little guy kicked twenty power shots right into the net: ten with his left foot and ten with his right. Not many five-year-olds can do that and draw a perfect Brooklyn Bridge in the sandbox, I can tell you that.
When he was done, I jumped to my feet and whistled. “Atta boy, Mason!” I hollered.
“Come down here, Hank!” he shouted. “It’s fun.”
“The child has a point,” Papa Pete whispered to me. “Fun is fun.”
“We’ve already gone over this, Papa Pete. No, no, and no.”
Mason went over and sat down next to his mom in the front row. Sam Chin was still there. He wasn’t exactly buried in his mom’s neck anymore, but he was still clinging pretty hard to her.
I wondered if he was going to remember this night for the rest of his life. Probably. You never forget the really embarrassing moments. I still shudder remembering the night I burst out crying in the kindergarten talent show singing “This Land Is Your Land.” I ran into the coat closet and didn’t come out until everyone else had gone home.
By the time Ashley and Frankie got up to do their demonstration, everyone was ready to see something spectacular. Let’s face it. Who doesn’t love to watch a great soccer player? They’re fast and skillful and light on their feet. And, I have to tell you, two of the best ever are my good buddies, Frankie Townsend and Ashley Wong.
Ashley did a kicking demonstration that was awesome. She set up five basketballs so each one was balanced on an orange cone of a different height. Then she kicked the soccer ball at each cone. If she hit it squarely, she’d knock the basketball down. If she didn’t, the basketball would remain on the cone.
“First, I’ll kick from fifteen feet away,” she announced to the crowd.
She did, and she knocked down all five basketballs, one after another.
“Now I’ll kick from thirty feet away,” she said.
“Impossible,” whispered my dad.
“Show them, Ashweena,” I called out. She gave me a thumbs-up and took aim. I held my breath as she kicked. One, two, three, four, five. All five basketballs went flying off their cones.
Next it was Frankie’s turn. He was demonstrating his dribbling and passing technique. First he dribbled around a long row of cones in less than ten seconds, ending with a perfect pass to Ashley. Then he did the same thing, but this time he dribbled only with his right foot. Do you have any idea how hard that is?
For his grand finale, he dribbled around the row of cones using only his left foot, and he finished off with a perfect aereial shot into the goal net.
Talk about your standing ovations! Everyone was on their feet. I was jumping around so much that I almost didn’t feel the little hand
tugging on the back of my shirt.
I thought it was Mason again, but it wasn’t. It was Sam Chin. “I’ll play if you’ll play,” he said to me.
“What?” I asked. It was hard to hear him with all the noise. I bent down closer. “What are you talking about, Sam?”
“I got scared. Mason said you’re scared too. Maybe we won’t be so scared together.”
Oh, wow. This is big.
I knew how important it was for Sam to go back onto the floor and play. I always wished that I had come out of the cloakroom and finished my song way back in kindergarten. At least I would have known that I could do it. To this very day, when I hear “This Land Is Your Land,” I get sick to my stomach.
“You’re a big boy, Sam. You can go by yourself and play with your dad.”
“No, I can’t.”
Sam Chin gave my hand a tug. “Let’s play Ping-Pong, Hank. You’re good.”
I looked over at Papa Pete. I looked at that room full of people. I looked at the double doors to the gym and saw Nick McKelty’s eyes peering into the room, watching everything that was going on.
I looked at Sam Chin. How could I say no to that face? “Sure, why not?” I said.
CHAPTER 26
PING! SAM CHIN HIT A FAST SERVE down the middle of the table.
Pong. I returned it, smooth as glass.
Ping! Sam sent me a topspin return.
Pong! I answered it with my own backhand spin.
We rallied for five minutes in that gym. Back and forth, steady and even, in a rhythmic groove. Sam standing on his box, me bouncing in my Nikes. When we finished, everyone in the gym was on their feet, clapping.
Sam turned to the crowd and took absolutely, positively the cutest bow you’ve ever seen. That kid had a smile on his face that was as big as the sun. When he ran to his mom, this time he didn’t bury his face in her neck. Nope. This time, he pumped his arms over his head and danced around like a wild man.
Way to go, Sam Chin, I thought as I waved at the crowd and hummed a little bit of “This Land Is Your Land.”
The Secret Life of a Ping-Pong Wizard Page 8
