Everybody Is Somebody

by Henry Winkler

  “Me too,” Ashley said. “They’re not that hard, Hank. Try it. Open the book and read the first couple of sentences.”

  I took the book off my tray and opened it to Chapter One. I stared at the first sentence for a long time. Here is what was written:

  Dressed in their white space suits, Sarah and James looked out the portal of their rocket and gazed down at Jupiter.

  I cleared my throat and read aloud.

  “Dressing in whale steamships, Susan and James grazed out the pothole at Jupiter.”

  Frankie and Ashley looked at each other without a word.

  “How’d I do?” I asked. Judging from the looks on their faces, I wasn’t too hopeful.

  “Well, it was definitely interesting,” Frankie said.

  “And very creative,” Ashley added.

  “But I wasn’t trying to be creative,” I explained. “I was just trying to read the words on the page. And I didn’t, right?”

  Ashley and Frankie shook their heads.

  “See,” I said. “I told you I can’t read.”

  I heard a loud rhino snort from the table next to us.

  “That’s because you’re stupid, Zipperteeth,” McKelty yelled. “You can’t do anything right.”

  Ashley and Frankie jumped up and marched right over to Mrs. Crock, who was on lunchroom duty.

  “Nick McKelty is calling Hank names,” Frankie said. And before you could say Fish Stick Delight, Mrs. Crock was escorting Nick McKelty out of the cafeteria. There is no name calling allowed at PS 87.

  “Don’t pay any attention to McKelty,” Ashley said after he was gone. “You can do anything you want to do, Hank.”

  “Except be on the welcoming committee for Paula Hart.”

  “That’s not the worst thing in the world,” Frankie said. “The only thing you’ll miss is not getting your picture on the big bulletin board.”

  I nearly choked on my diced peaches.

  “What did you say?” I asked Frankie.

  “I said that the welcoming committee gets their picture on the big bulletin board by the entrance. It says so on the poster for tryouts.”

  The poster! There’s another thing I can’t read.

  “Oh man, I want my picture up there more than anything,” I said. “Just once, I’d like to show Emily that I can get a special honor, too.”

  “Hey, we’re here to help,” Ashley said. “What’s the plan?”

  “Well, Mr. Rock said we could be a trio. How about if you guys try out with me and help me do what I can’t do?”

  “There’s not much time. The tryouts are tomorrow,” Frankie said.

  “What are you doing after school today?” I asked.

  “I was going to make dumplings with my grandma,” Ashley said.

  “And I was going to play catch with my brother,” Frankie said.

  “Well, say goodbye to dumplings and baseball,” I said. “Let’s meet in the basement clubhouse. Are you in?”

  “In!” Frankie said. “I’ll tell my brother that we’ll play catch tomorrow instead.”

  “And I’ll tell Grandma something really important came up,” Ashley said. “She always understands.”

  “Great. Then the first meeting of the Get-Our-Pictures-on-the-Bulletin-Board Club will start at four o’clock sharp.”

  I had no idea what we were going to do at that meeting.

  All I knew was that I would bring my mom’s chocolate-chip cookies and a jar of Papa Pete’s pickles, and that was a good start.

  CHAPTER 5

  At exactly four o’clock that afternoon, we met in the basement of our apartment building. Our clubhouse is really a storeroom next to the laundry room. People keep furniture and boxes there that they don’t want in their apartments. There’s also a comfortable old flowered couch we love to sit on. The only thing is, if you flop down on it too hard, you could disappear in all the dust that flies out of its cushions.

  I put a tin of chocolate-chip cookies and a jar of pickles down on the cardboard box we use for a table.

  “No one eats cookies and pickles together,” Frankie said, making a face.

  “You don’t eat them together,” I explained. “First, you take a mouthful of cookie. You swallow it, then go in for the pickle. Sweet, sour, sweet, sour. Trust me, your tongue is going to stand up and dance.”

  Frankie and Ashley tried my cookie-pickle combo, but it wasn’t a big hit.

  “Ewww,” they both said at once.

  “Okay then, let’s get down to business,” I said. “Mr. Rock said that for the tryouts, we have to say what we liked about Journey to Jupiter. I actually have a couple of things I did like.”

  “That’s a good start,” Frankie said. “Like what?”

  “Yes, tell us, Mr. Zipzer,” Ashley said, imitating a teacher’s voice.

  I stood up and held the book in my hands like I was giving an oral report.

  “First of all, I like the color of the cover,” I began. “I think books with purple covers have the best stories. And I like the smell of the paper. I also like that there are illustrations. Most of all, I like that when you put this book down on top of a bunch of papers, it stops them from blowing away in the wind.”

  “But, Hank,” Ashley said in a supportive voice. “You have to tell what the story is about.”

  “That’s a problem, because I haven’t read the book,” I said, flopping down onto the couch. That created a dust storm right there in the storage room. We all sneezed at once.

  “We can help you with that, Zip,” Frankie said. “Just start reading it aloud, and we’ll help you with the words you don’t know.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “We’ll be done with the book about two years from next Christmas.”

  “That’s a good point,” Ashley said. “We are up against a time crunch here. So maybe we should just tell you all about the book.”

  “Yeah,” Frankie said. “Knowing the story will make it much easier for you to read it on your own.” Ashley began.

  “The book starts when Sarah and James arrive at the first space colony on Jupiter,” she said. “Before they can settle in, they come face-to-face with a horrible creature they’ve never seen before.”

  “It’s huge and angry,” Frankie went on, “and chases them into the center of a superstorm. All of a sudden, it grabs them and holds them close to its sticky chest.”

  “Wow, that sounds so scary,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Ashley agreed. “But the funny part is that the creature is sucking on a baby bottle filled with purple slime. And when the creature burps, it splatters the slime all over Sarah’s helmet.”

  “Which means that she can’t see the glowing space pirate riding toward her on a giant spoon,” Frankie added.

  The story was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “There’s a space pirate at the door,” I said, with a shiver.

  It wasn’t a space pirate. It was Ashley’s grandma, and by the way, she wasn’t riding a spoon.

  “Ashley, I’ve been looking all over for you,” she said. “The dumplings are ready to be stuffed.” Then she turned to Frankie. “And your mother said for me to tell you your brother is waiting to play ball.”

  “Looks like we have to go,” Ashley said.

  “But what about the rest of the story?” I asked.

  “Zip, we’re so sorry,” Frankie said. “Ask someone in your family to help you read the rest of the book. Ask your dad.”

  Right. There’s a good idea. His other name is Mr. Patience.

  We all rode up in the elevator together. Ashley and her grandma got off at the third floor. Frankie got off at the fourth, and I rode all the way to the tenth floor by myself.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said as I walked into the apartment. “Can you help me with somethi
ng?”

  He was sitting at the dining-room table in front of his computer. That’s where he works.

  “I just have a minute,” he said, never taking his eyes off his computer screen. “I’ve got to get this report in today.”

  I knew reading Journey to Jupiter would take more than a minute. In fact, it might take more than a year.

  “That’s okay, Dad. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

  I slipped into my room. Cheerio followed me.

  “Okay, Cheerio, it’s you and me,” I said, taking Journey to Jupiter out of my backpack. “This is called a book. I know you want to chew it, but you can’t because I have to read it.”

  Cheerio sat down on the rug, and I sat down in my desk chair.

  “This book takes place on Jupiter,” I began.

  Cheerio yawned.

  “I’m going to ask you not to yawn again,” I told him. “It’s not good for my confidence.”

  I pointed to the picture on the cover.

  “This is Sarah. And this is James.”

  Cheerio yawned again, this time letting out a little yip.

  “Cheerio, didn’t I just ask you not to do that? Come on, give a guy a break. Now, pay attention because I’m going to read the first page. And after that, I only have one hundred twenty-seven more to read.”

  I cleared my throat and began. “Journey to Jupiter by Paula Hart, with illustrations by Scott Green.”

  That’s as far as I got. All of a sudden, Cheerio keeled over onto the rug. I mean, he went from being wide awake to snoring like a bear.

  “Okay, Hank,” I said to myself. “You can read this book on your own. Other people do.”

  I moved from my chair to my bed, fluffed up my pillow, and put it behind my back. I took the book in my hands and turned to Chapter One.

  That’s the last thing I remember, because in no time, I was snoring like a bear, too.

  CHAPTER 6

  If you’re wondering if I finished Journey to Jupiter, you can stop wondering now. The answer is a big fat no. It’s not that I didn’t want to read it. I saw the letters on the page; I just couldn’t sound them out.

  That’s why when Frankie, Ashley, and I walked into the tryouts the next day, I wasn’t feeling my most confident. We took our seats on the big colorful carpet in the middle of the library, the place where Mrs. King holds all our reading assemblies.We whispered to one another, making a plan that we hoped would work.

  “I’ll start,” Ashley whispered, “because I can summarize the story really well.”

  “I’ll go next,” Frankie said. “I’ll tell all about the main characters. Zip, you can wrap it up.”

  “What am I going to say?” I whispered in a panic. “You know I haven’t finished the book yet.”

  “Where are you up to?” Ashley asked.

  “The middle of page one,” I answered.

  The library door opened, and the judges walked in. There was Ms. Adolf, who, as always, was dressed all in gray. Her skirt was gray, her shoes were gray, her hair was gray, even her knees were gray. Principal Love followed her, his Velcro sneakers squeaking all the way across the library floor. Last was Mr. Rock, who smiled and waved at all the kids as he bounced in.

  They sat down and called up the first person. She was Grace I-don’t-remember-her-last-name, a third-grader who used so many big words she sounded like a walking dictionary. Ms. Adolf was so impressed that I thought I saw a smile trying to escape from her lips.

  The next people to try out were two girls from the third grade. They giggled from the moment they stood up until Principal Love asked them to step into the hall to get control of themselves. They never came back.

  After them was Luke Whitman, who is actually a very good reader. It’s one of the few things he can do with one hand while picking his nose with the other. After Luke was Heather Payne, the tallest girl in our class, who does everything perfectly. Of course, she did a perfect job.

  “How are we going to follow that?” I whispered to Frankie and Ashley, sinking lower in my seat.

  “Do you want to get your picture on that bulletin board or not?” Frankie asked.

  That’s all I needed to hear. I got fired up and ready to go, which was a good thing, because we were next.

  When we stood in front of the judges, I flashed my best smile, the one filled with my Zipzer attitude. Ms. Adolf stared at me like she had just licked a sour lemon. Ashley and Frankie each did an amazing job of describing the plot and the main characters. Then it was my turn.

  “You don’t need to hear me discuss Journey to Jupiter,” I began, “because my teammates already covered that. Instead, I’m going to discuss how we can show Paula Hart the best time ever, here at PS 87.”

  Mr. Rock gave me an encouraging smile.

  “First of all, we could give her some pickles from my mom’s deli, because everyone loves a dill pickle. We could be very polite and thank her for visiting us. We could make her laugh. For instance, I have a great joke about Jupiter. Want to hear it?”

  “No,” said Ms. Adolf.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Rock.

  I didn’t wait for Principal Love to answer.

  “Knock, knock,” I said.

  “Who’s there?” said Mr. Rock.

  “Jupiter,” I said with a grin.

  “Jupiter who?”

  “Ju-pi-ter hurry, or you’ll miss the bus.”

  Mr. Rock cracked up. I could tell Principal Love liked it because the mole on his cheek did the hula. The other kids in the library laughed out loud. Only Ms. Adolf didn’t crack a smile.

  “There is no laughing in the library,” she growled. “In fact, this team is out of the running for being too silly.”

  “Not so fast, Ms. Adolf,” Mr. Rock said. “I know Paula Hart, and she’s a very funny person. She puts humor in all her books. I think she’d get a big kick out of Hank and his team. They’re my first choice.”

  Wow. I couldn’t believe my ears. My eyes moved to Principal Love. He was going to be the deciding vote. I wish I understood what he said next.

  “Humor is also known by the word ‘comedy,’” he began. “It is the opposite of drama, which is serious and does not involve laughter. Yet it seems to me that the visit of Paula Hart is an appropriate occasion for laughter, which also helps with the digestion of vegetables.”

  “Is he saying yes or no?” I whispered to Frankie and Ashley.

  “Whatever he’s saying, he’s taking a long time,” Ashley whispered back.

  “While I usually agree with Ms. Adolf,” Principal Love went on, “in this case, I have to go with Mr. Rock.”

  It was a yes.

  Three of my favorite letters.

  Y. E. S.

  I could already see that bulletin board in my mind. There was my picture, grinning at everyone who passed by.

  Get ready, bulletin board. Here I come!

  CHAPTER 7

  On Friday, Frankie, Ashley, and I got all dressed up in our best clothes, the ones that our parents make us wear when we go out to dinner with them. It was very uncomfortable sitting in class wearing my blue suit. It made me feel like I wanted to scratch all over.

  Finally, at eleven o’clock, Ms. Flowers dismissed us so that we could go welcome Paula Hart. We hurried down the hall to the entrance of our school.

  Principal Love stood on the steps with us as we waited for Paula Hart to arrive. I was excited to meet a real author. I was nervous, too, knowing that I hadn’t finished her book yet. In fact, I still hadn’t finished Chapter One.

  A yellow taxi pulled up in front of our school. Before the door opened, a woman with purple streaks in her hair poked her head out of the window.

  “Hi, kids!” she shouted. “Is this PS 87?”

  “Yes, it is,” we shouted back.

  “Well, then I’m in the right
place,” she said with a big laugh.

  The taxi door flew open, and out came Paula Hart. The first thing I noticed was her shoes— pink, glittery army boots with purple shoelaces. She had silver rings on every finger and a long dress with giraffes all over it. You couldn’t miss her earrings, which were sparkly books covered with red rhinestones.

  “Oh my gosh,” Ms. Hart said, walking right up to Ashley. “I love your rhinestone glasses. As far as I’m concerned, a person can’t sparkle enough.”

  Ashley giggled so much, she forgot what she was supposed to say. Frankie stuck his hand out and jumped into the conversation.

  “Welcome to our school,” he said to Ms. Hart. “I’m Frankie Townsend, and this is Ashley Wong and Hank Zipzer. We’re the welcoming committee. We are all looking forward to hearing you speak.”

  “My oh my, you have a great handshake,” Ms. Hart said, pumping Frankie’s arm so hard it made his head jiggle.

  “Hey, look,” I said to her. “You turned my best friend into a bobblehead doll. Maybe I can put him on the shelf with my baseball-player collection. I have six bobbleheads. I got the last one when my grandpa took me to a Mets night game.”

  I felt Principal Love’s hand land like a jet plane on my shoulder.

  “Hank,” he said. “I’m sure Ms. Hart does not want to hear the details of your toy collection.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Ms. Hart said. “I am a huge fan of bobblehead dolls. I have a really cool hula dancer standing right next to my computer and a jiggly wiener dog on my kitchen windowsill.”

  “I have a wiener dog, too,” I said. “But he’s real. And his name is Cheerio. I named him that because when he chases his tail, he spins in a circle and looks like a Cheerio.”

  Ms. Hart laughed so hard that I thought the sixth-grade class on the third floor could hear her.

  “I like you, Hank,” she said. “You’re funny. I was a funny kid, too, which always got me into trouble with my teachers.”