“So I sort of let you guys down,” he began. “I’m really sorry.”
“I guess your mind-reading skills weren’t working today,” Ruby said, gathering up the name tags and putting the plastic holders in the recycling bin. “Is that what happened?”
“They were never really working,” Billy said. “I can’t read minds. It was a little trick I developed.”
“Want to tell us how you did it?” Ricardo asked.
There it was. The question he had been dreading. Billy hesitated. He didn’t want to lie, but there was no way he could tell them about the Hoove. Then he remembered a magic show he had seen on television that had interviews with all the great magicians.
“A good magician never reveals his secrets,” he told Ricardo, repeating what he had heard the Amazing Cardini say when asked how he did his tricks. He hoped it would be enough to satisfy Ricardo and Ruby. And it was.
“Well, I messed up, too,” Ruby said.
“It happens,” Ricardo said. “You can’t expect to be perfect. Even the great baseball players only get a hit thirty percent of the time.”
“So you’re not mad at me?” Billy asked Ricardo.
“Forget it, man. Nobody hits a home run every time at bat. By the way,” Ricardo said as Billy helped him haul the chairs to the storage closet, “that was a fun sleepover. Maybe we can have another one this weekend. No trips to Dodger Stadium, but we can hang out. Is that cool with you?”
“Very cool,” Billy said.
He looked calm on the outside, but inside Billy was jumping up and down. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time. He never knew making friends could be so easy.
When Billy got home from school that afternoon, he headed straight for his room. The hallway had the strong smell of orange juice, so he knew Hoover was nearby, probably waiting to yell at him.
“Hoove,” he called once he was safely inside with the door closed. “Come out. I know you’re here.”
“What’s it to you?” came the muffled voice from inside the closet. “It seems my advice is no longer needed by a certain someone who thinks he knows more than I do.”
“Don’t be a pain. I have stuff to tell you.”
“I’ve already seen this movie, Billy Boy. You made a fool of yourself because you didn’t listen to me, and now you want to apologize. That’s getting to be a habit with you and me. Well, this time, it’s too late. I’m sure the Higher-Ups are writing down the F on my report card as we speak.”
“Why would they fail you?”
“In case you forgot, I get graded for Helping Others. You refused to let me help. And if you look bad, I look bad. End of story.”
Billy walked over to the closet and pulled the door open. The Hoove was floating in midair, his head resting on a stack of T-shirts and his feet draped over the hanger that held Billy’s brown dress-up suit pants. He held his hand up to shield his eyes from the sunlight that flooded in.
“Easy there, buddy. My baby blues are going into shock. I left my sunglasses back in the 1940s and have been looking for them ever since.”
“Hoove,” Billy said. “I didn’t look bad. I did fine.”
“Did you win?”
“No.”
“Then I’m here to tell you, you looked bad.”
“Hoove, the other team deserved to win. They were better. And I felt good because I competed the honest way. Without pretending to be something I’m not. I had to do it my way, not yours.”
“The fact remains that you ignored me, Billy Boy. Just like the other night when you ignored me and went off with what’s-his-name-the-baseball-star to Dodger Stadium. Your new best friend. That hurt me.”
“I’m sorry I did that. I didn’t realize that it would make you feel so bad. I tried to apologize.”
“Yeah, I heard you, when you were having that convo with the squirrel.”
“That was you?”
“Who you calling a rodent? I was on the branch above him.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“I wasn’t ready. I had a good mind to leave you forever, to tell the Higher-Ups that I’m done trying, that I can no longer be of any help to you.”
“So why’d you come back?”
“Met a guy. He said it’s not over ’til it’s over.”
Billy couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You met Yogi Berra?” he said, his eyes wide with wonder.
“I got friends in high places. Anyway, let’s get back to the subject at hand. I think it is over between us. You got your new friends. You don’t need me. So I’ll just be heading out. Maybe there’s another kid on the block who needs a personal ghost.”
“Wait, Hoove. I got something for you. I want you to have it.”
Billy went over to his pink desk and slid open the top drawer. He took out a small silver metal box and handed it to the Hoove.
“Breath mints?” the Hoove said, looking at the box label that showed little blue mints tumbling down a waterfall. “You sure know how to pick swell presents.”
“Just open it,” Billy said.
The Hoove pried open the lid and looked inside the box. It was filled with dirt, packed down solid all the way to the rim.
“Dirt?” Hoover couldn’t hide his disappointment. “You got me a box of dirt. This is how you say thank you and good-bye?”
“It’s from Dodger Stadium,” Billy said. “I felt so bad that you couldn’t go with me that I borrowed this box from Ricardo’s uncle. Then I snuck out to the pitcher’s mound, dug up some of the ground right next to the rubber, and packed it in here for you. I figured that if you can’t go to Dodger Stadium, at least I could bring a little bit of it to you. There’s enough dirt there to put your toes in.”
Hoover Porterhouse III was rarely at a loss for words. He had a smart remark for every occasion. But as he stood there holding the box that Billy had brought him, he didn’t have anything clever to say. He touched the dirt with his transparent fingers.
“This is really from the pitcher’s mound?”
“The same one that Sandy Koufax stood on when he pitched that perfect game against the Chicago Cubs.”
“September 9, 1965. I remember it well. I watched it on TV. The family that lived here then, the Norberts, still had a black-and-white set. It didn’t matter, though. It was a beautiful thing to watch in any color.”
For a moment, it was as if the Hoove was a real boy, and he and his best friend were having a conversation about a special moment they both loved.
“I don’t get many presents,” the Hoove said, closing the little metal box and putting it in his pocket. “But I can tell you right now, Billy Boy, this is the best one I’ve ever gotten.”
He looked toward the window, then back at Billy.
“I wish you’d stay,” Billy said. “I could still use your help.”
“Well, your wardrobe is pretty weak,” the Hoove said. “And your personal grooming definitely needs some improvement. And you have a lot of work to do on that baseball swing. And I can’t even go into your fielding right now.”
“So?” Billy asked. Even though he only said one word, his voice was filled with nervousness.
“I guess I could give it another shot,” the Hoove answered. “And you’re going to listen better. Right?”
Billy nodded. “Sit down and I’ll show you all the pictures I took for you at Dodger Stadium. Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll get to go there together.”
“I’d like that,” the Hoove said. “No one I’d rather go with.”
The two boys were so busy poring over the photos of Dodger Stadium that neither of them noticed the glowing words that were etched with an invisible finger on the window of Billy’s room. They said:
Helping Others: B-(but shows improvement).
Can’t get enough of Billy and the Hoove?
Read on for a sneak peek at their next crazy adventure!
GHOST BUDDY
HOW TO SCARE THE PANTS OFF YOUR PETS
>
Billy awoke with a jolt, not because of the sound of Hoover’s voice, but because of the sudden change in Stormy’s position. The cat was no longer curled in Billy’s lap, but standing on all four paws, her back arched and her mouth open, exposing all her teeth. The hair on her back stood straight up.
“Relax, Stormy,” Billy said. “That’s just the Hoove. He’s your new friend.”
Apparently, Stormy didn’t think so. She let out a long, low hiss and sprang from Billy’s lap, flying through the air in the direction of the Hoove. Her ears were flat against her head and her claws were out. If Hoover Porterhouse had been a real person, she would have landed smack on his chest. But since he was a ghost, she flew right through him and landed on the curtains covering Billy’s window. Hissing and growling and showing her teeth, she clutched onto the curtains, never taking her green eyes off the Hoove.
“She’s really sweet,” Billy called to the Hoove. “Reach out and pet her.”
“No way, Billy Boy. In case you hadn’t noticed, cats hate me. And I’m not a big fan of theirs either.”
“But this is Stormy. She’s going to live with us. And you’re going to grow to love each other.”
The Hoove looked over at the cat dangling from the curtains who was still hissing at him, batting the air with her sharp claws, and showing him her razor-sharp teeth. This sure didn’t look like love to him.
HENRY WINKLER is admired by audiences of all ages for his roles as the Fonz on the long-running series Happy Days and in such films as Holes and The Waterboy. He is also an award-winning producer and director of family and children’s programming, and the author (with Lin Oliver) of the critically acclaimed Hank Zipzer series. He lives in Los Angeles, California.
LIN OLIVER is a television producer and writer, who co-authored (with Henry Winkler) the New York Times bestselling series, Hank Zipzer: The World’s Greatest Underachiever, and Who Shrunk Daniel Funk? Lin resides in Los Angeles, California.
Copyright © 2012 by Henry Winkler and Lin Oliver.
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc.
SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First printing, July 2012
Cover art by Sam Nielson
Cover design by Steve Scott and Yaffa Jaskoll
e-ISBN 978-0-545-46950-0
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012
Mind If I Read Your Mind? Page 10
