The Zippity Zinger #4
Page 8
The entire Yellow Team on the field watched that ball, shielding their eyes with their gloves. The Blue Team on their bench jumped forward and pressed their fingers through the fence to see where the ball would land.
The ball ... instead of heading toward the left field fence, had sailed straight up and was falling toward Earth, right over my head.
One thing I know for sure is that I can’t catch under pressure. So I darted off the pitcher’s mound and moved toward first base to clear the way for Frankie. He came running from home plate just in time to catch the ball. In a single movement, we both spun around to Nick McKelty and yelled in one voice, “You’re out!”
The only thing Ms. Adolf could do was yank her thumb in the air, which was her sign for “you’re out!” McKelty looked at her in disbelief.
Oh, yeah!
I had made Nick the Tick hit a pop fly and that fact made me fall down in excitement, pride, and disbelief.
Everyone on the Yellow Team came running up and jumped on me, yelling and screaming. I was on the bottom of the pile with just my head sticking out. Ashley was lying down on the ground in front of me. Her glasses were crooked and her baseball cap was on sideways.
“Hank, you did it! You did it! I’m so proud of you!” she laughed.
“Hey, I can’t breathe down here,” I tried to yell.
One by one, the kids got off the pile. I imagined that by the time they were all off, I would be flatter than a pancake—for real.
Frankie helped get the kids off and then lifted me back to my feet.
This is what good pals we are. He did not have to say a word to me. He looked me in the eye and I knew every thought he had and I felt the same way.
I was really glad to be his friend, too.
CHAPTER 24
WE SAT ON THE STAGE of the auditorium, the Blue Team on the left and the Yellow Team on the right. All the parents and guests were in the audience, and the teachers were lining the walls. Everyone was waiting for the same thing—to find out which team won the Olympiad.
Principal Love was going on about how competition was good for the growth of character. I was too excited to listen to him. All I wanted to know was if the Yellow Team was going to win so I could get that medal around my neck. I know you’re not supposed to care about winning and losing, but when there’s a gold medal involved, I don’t see how that’s possible. Who doesn’t want a medal? Nobody I know.
“I’m keeping my fingers crossed,” I whispered to Frankie. And was I ever. In fact, my fingers were turning blue from being crossed so tight.
“And so,” Principal Love was saying, “our competition today is part of a chain that can be traced all the way back to the roots of competition, when human beings first realized that competing was the very nature of competition.”
If they gave a gold medal for sentences that clog up your brain because you can’t figure them out, I think Principal Love would have a neck full of them.
“And now for the results of today’s Olympiad,” he said.
“Finally,” Ashley whispered to me. She had put on a white baseball cap that said GIRL MANAGERS RULE in yellow rhinestones.
“No matter what happens, you made history today,” I said to her.
“You made it into the record books yourself,” she said with a smile. “The first ever Zippity Zinger. No one will ever be able to do it again.”
“Including me,” I said.
“That’s for sure,” said Frankie, “or my name isn’t Bernice.”
“Frankie, your name isn’t Bernice.” I said. And all three of us laughed.
“I’d like to call to the stage our faculty coaches,” Principal Love said. “Mr. Michael Sicilian for the Blue Team.” Everyone on the Blue Team applauded like crazy. “And for the Yellow Team, Ms. Fanny Adolf.”
Frankie, Ashley, and I looked at one another and our mouths fell open.
“Fanny?” we all said at once.
“As in rear end?” Ashley said.
“As in tush?” I said.
“Ms. Buttocks Adolf,” said Frankie. “That is too funny to be true.”
Ashley started singing in a tiny whisper. “Fanny, Fanny Bo Banny, Banana Fanna Fo Fanny, Me My Mo Manny, Fanny.”
We tried not to laugh, and trust me, we were not the only kids in that auditorium trying not to laugh.
I looked out in the audience and saw my parents. My mom was giving me the Look. You know the one. It’s that same look you get if your aunt farts at the dinner table and, even though it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard, you have to pretend it didn’t happen.
“We’ve tabulated the scores,” Principal Love said. “As we all know, the Blue Team, led by Emily Zipzer, won the Brain Buster part of the Olympiad, earning one hundred points.”
I looked over at Emily. She looked so happy. I was really glad for her. Honestly and truly. I glanced at Robert, who was sitting with our team, and he had the same grin on his face that Cheerio gets after we give him a biscuit.
“In the Softball Competition,” Principal Love continued, “the victory goes to the Yellow Team, earning them one hundred points. A special hats off goes to the Yellow Team’s secret weapon, Hank Zipzer.”
Everyone in the auditorium started to applaud. I thought my ears were going to drop right off my head. It was the best sound I had ever heard. I never thought I would be able to do what I did today, and here was a room full of people applauding for me. I looked around the room at the people clapping, and mostly it was a blur. But I did see Dr. Lynn and Mr. Rock, who were both smiling directly at me and clapping really hard. My parents looked so proud, and Papa Pete actually got out of his chair and raised his fist in a victory salute.
“Hankie,” he yelled in his big voice. “Atta boy!”
I felt Frankie’s elbow in my ribs.
“Zip, look over there.”
He pointed over to the center of the stage, where Ms. Adolf was standing next to Principal Love. She was clapping, too. I repeat. Ms. Fanny Adolf was clapping for me.
And they say miracles never happen.
CHAPTER 25
BY THE WAY, did I mention that the Yellow Team won the Olympiad and that I’m now wearing a gold medal around my neck?
Well, we did. And I am.
It was a tight race for us, though. The deciding factor was the Triple C event, the Clean and Clutter-Free Competition. Our team scored really well on that, thanks to Robert. In the Clean Desk category, he blew the judges away by bringing in a mini-vac and sucking up all those little pencil shavings that fall out of the pencil sharpener and collect in the corners of your desk. We got bonus points for that.
That Robert, he does come in handy sometimes.
You won’t believe what lost it for the Blue Team. Picture this. The judges are at the Blue Team’s desks and they come to Luke Whitman’s. While they’re checking his desk to see if it’s orderly and uncluttered, he reaches into his back pocket where he keeps a half of peanut butter and jelly sandwich because he never wants to be without a snack. Luke had to sneeze and couldn’t find a tissue, so he took his sandwich out, unwrapped it, and get this, blew his nose in wax paper.
If that wasn’t bad enough, when he took the wax paper away from his honker, there was a mixture of chunky peanut butter and boogers spread like silly putty across his face.
If you’re going to lose a Clean and Clutter-Free Competition, that’s the way to do it. If it were up to me, I would have given Old Luke extra points for grossness, but the judging committee didn’t see it that way. Which I guess is good, because in case I didn’t mention it before, I am wearing a Yellow Team gold medal around my neck.
CHAPTER 26
AFTER THE MEDAL PRESENTATIONS, Papa Pete offered to take everyone out for a celebration. We walked over to McKelty’s Roll ’N Bowl, where Papa Pete is a regular at the coffee shop. We were a big group—Frankie and his parents, Ashley and her parents, Robert and his mom, Emily and me and our parents, Papa Pete, and, of course, Cheerio.
Papa Pete made a toast to all the kids, not just for winning, but for participating in the Olympiad. Then I clinked my spoon on my glass to get everyone’s attention, and stood up.
“I want to thank the two best friends any winning pitcher could have,” I began. “First of all, my manager, Ashley, who wouldn’t take no for an answer.” I turned to Ashley. “Ash, I don’t know how you knew that I could do this, but because you did, I feel better than I’ve ever felt in my whole life.”
“Better than when we got that stink bomb and threw it down the elevator shaft while Mrs. Fink was in the elevator?”
“Ashley,” I whispered. “What are you, nuts?”
I turned to my mom and tried really hard to laugh. “That Ashley,” I said. “She has such a wacky imagination.”
My mom gave me another one of her “we need to talk about this” looks. I thought I had better go on with my speech really quickly, before there was time for any questions from the parent section.
“Frankie, you are the man,” I said. “It’s amazing how you talked me through that last inning. Without you, I would never have been able to do what Ashley knew I could do but I thought I couldn’t do.”
“Zip, if I understood one word of what you just said, I think I would be deeply touched,” said Frankie.
Everyone at the table laughed.
“To the good Doctors Wong, and to Dr. and Mrs. Townsend, and to Mrs. Upchurch, thank you for having great kids,” I went on. “And to Papa Pete, who has been playing catch with me for as long as I can remember, I’d like to make you the honorary inventor of the Zippity Zinger.”
“Hankie,” said Papa Pete, wiping some whipped cream off his mustache. “Of all my inventions, and that includes the Knockwurst with Baked Beans and Sauerkraut on Corn Rye with Only Yellow Mustard Special Sandwich, the Zippity Zinger is the one I’m most proud of.”
I looked over at my sister. She was sitting next to Robert. Don’t gag or anything, but they were holding hands.
“Emily, none of this would have happened without your lucky monkey socks, so thank you for having them in the first place. And congratulations on winning the Brain Buster. I really do appreciate how smart you are, especially since it takes a lot of pressure off me. At least Mom and Dad got one smart kid.”
Emily reached over to try to give me a hug, but, fortunately, I was quick enough to avoid her arms. Wrapping herself around me was not necessary. Plus, it was completely unacceptable in a crowd.
“And, last but not least, I want to thank my mom and dad for showing me that you don’t need a lucky charm to launch a Zippity Zinger.”
My mom smiled and blew me a kiss, which I’d rather she wouldn’t do in public, but I’ve learned that there’s no stopping her. My dad took the pencil out from behind his ear and waved it at me. That was big because unless he’s going to write a word down or across, his pencil lives behind his ear full-time.
Suddenly, I felt a hot wind on my neck. Then I smelled onions burned in a tar pit. I turned around and looked directly into the mouth of Nick McKelty. His teeth headed in every direction—north, south, east, west—except up and down. He was laughing like a hyena.
“The Zippity Zinger, that’s a laugh,” he said, spraying small drops of saliva on my chin. “There’s no such thing. You’re just one lucky little dude.”
“You’re right, McKelty,” I said. “I am lucky. And I am little. But guess what, big guy? I won.”
I held up the gold medal. The reflection from the disco ball caught it and a ray of golden light flickered on McKelty’s face.
“Nick, I’ll bet yours looks great in the light, too,” Ashley said.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. “You don’t have a medal. What a shame.”
“Hey, there’s always next year when you repeat fourth grade,” Frankie added.
I picked up my root-beer float and clinked glasses with Frankie and Ashley. McKelty stomped away to where his father was waiting for him at the shoe counter. The last thing I saw before I turned back to the table was him spraying foot deodorant into a pair of size nine red-and-tan bowling shoes.
He does that so well. There’s a future for everybody.
“This calls for a toast,” I said. I raised my glass high in the air. Unfortunately, I raised it too high. Way too high.
The thing I’d like to mention here about root beer with ice cream floating in it is that when you fling it in the air, it sails out of the glass, goes straight up, and lands with a big plop on the front of your pants—in the immediate area of your zipper.
When I looked at the root beer spreading like a wild river across my pants, it looked like one thing and one thing only. I am sorry and embarrassed to have to bring this up, but the truth is, it looked like I had peed in my pants.
If I had thought my mom blowing me a kiss in public was embarrassing, you can imagine how I felt when I saw her hands moving toward me with a napkin.
“Mom,” I shouted. “Stop right there. Think about what you’re doing!”
She froze. I froze. My zipper froze.
Man, that ice cream was cold.
CHAPTER 27
TEN WAYS TO GET OUT OF A BOWLING ALLEY WITHOUT PEOPLE NOTICING YOU HAVE A ROOT-BEER FLOAT RUNNING DOWN YOUR PANTS
1. Put your hands over your stomach, double over, pretend you’re about to throw up, and run out.
2. Drop to the floor as if you’re looking for a quarter that fell out of your pocket and crawl to the front door.
3. Take your friends’ drinks and pour them on you, too, and then tell everyone you’re going to a costume party as a root-beer float.
4. Pull your shirt out of your pants, pull it down over your knees, and hop out of the room like a rabbit.
5. Bowl yourself out of there. Get a running start, dive belly-first onto the oil-slick lane, put your hands in front of you, and head for the ten pin. Exit on the other side of the pins. This is a little dangerous, so don’t try it unless it’s an extreme emergency—and then, don’t forget to keep your hands stretched out in front of you.
You know, I could keep going with this list, but Papa Pete ordered me a fresh root-beer float, and it just arrived, so I think you should finish the list yourself. Let me know what you come up with.
By the way, did I mention to you that I won a medal today? I’m pretty sure it’s real gold. But even if it isn’t, I’m so proud.
About the Authors
HENRY WINKLER is an actor, producer, and director, and he speaks publicly all over the world. In addition, he has a star on Hollywood Boulevard, was knighted by the government of France, and the jacket he wore as the Fonz hangs in the Smithsonian Museum in Washington, D.C. But if you ask him what he is proudest of, he would say, “Writing the Hank Zipzer books with my partner, Lin Oliver.”
He lives in Los Angeles with his wife, Stacey. They have three children named Jed, Zoe, and Max, and two dogs named Monty and Charlotte. Charlotte catches a ball so well that she could definitely play outfield for the New York Mets.
LIN OLIVER is a writer and producer of movies, books, and television series for children and families. She has written over one hundred episodes of television and produced four movies, many of which are based on children’s books. She is cofounder and executive director of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, an international organization of twenty thousand authors and illustrators of children’s books.
She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Alan. They have three sons named Theo, Ollie, and Cole. She loves tuna melts, curious kids, any sport that involves a racket, and children’s book writers everywhere.