A Brand-New Me!

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GROSSET & DUNLAP
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Doodles by Theo Baker and Sarah Stern

 

Text copyright © 2010 by Henry Winkler and Lin Oliver Productions, Inc. Illustrations copyright © 2010 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. S.A.

 

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-17177-6

Call me crazy, but when Ms. Adolf handed me the envelope that said
Hank's Graduation
, I thought it was going to contain a note that said I was getting some kind of special prize. In my imagination, it said:
Because of your great Zipzer attitude and outstanding contribution to PS 87, we've chosen you to give the opening speech at your graduation. Congratulations!

Or if not a speech, at least I thought they were giving me a statue of Principal Love that ran on batteries so when you switched it on, the Statue of Liberty mole on his cheek would light up and dance the hula.

But that's not exactly what the note said.

What it exactly said was this:

Just reading that note alone made my stomach flip around like an Olympic diver jumping off the high board. But the note continued, with even more stomach flipping news.

Unless you complete your community service,
it said,
you will not be able to graduate with the rest of your class. Please set up an appointment with Principal Love as soon as possible.

So there it was. The one thing I had been looking forward to since I was born, which was graduating from PS 87 and getting out of there and leaving Ms. Adolf far, far behind, was kaput. Kaput . . . as in not happening. As in how did I get myself into this mess?

I just sat there staring at the note. I was so stunned that I didn't hear the bell ring, I didn't see Ms. Adolf pick up her roll book and leave the classroom, and I didn't notice that my best friends, Frankie Townsend and Ashley Wong, were standing in front of me, waiting for me.

“Community service?” I said to them. “Please tell me when anyone said anything about community service?”

“Uh, in the first grade,” Ashley said.

“And in the second grade,” Frankie added. “And the third grade, and the fourth grade.”

“And five times in the fifth grade,” Ashley continued.

“And they expect me to remember?” I said.

“And the last time they sent home a pink piece of paper that you were supposed to have your parents sign. Remember? It listed some choices for those who hadn't finished their community service.”

“Like litter clean-up or graffiti removal or volunteering at the animal shelter. Is this ringing any kind of bell, Zip?”

“I think I'm hearing a tiny tinkle. It's a very small bell, but I'm sure it's there.”

“Hank, did you lose that pink slip?” Ashley asked.

“I certainly did not, Ashweena. As a matter of fact, I put it to great use. It's protecting all of my favorite pieces of chewed bubble gum.”

I reached into the pocket of my Mets jacket and pulled out a wadded up piece of pink paper and pulled it open as best I could. This wasn't easy because it was filled with little wads of A.B.C. Double Bubble. I'm sure you know this, but A.B.C. stands for Already Been Chewed.

I tried to read the note, working around the gooey splotches of hardened gum that covered most of the words.

“Look,” I said to Ashley and Frankie. “It doesn't say anything about community service. It just says ‘Dear ank.' And then down here it says ‘nity serv.' And at the end it says ‘wil graduate.'”

Frankie took the letter from my hands, very carefully, to avoid the A.B.C. parts.

“Okay, genius,” he said. “Your gum wads are covering half the letters. It doesn't say ‘nity serv,' which as far as I know is not English. If you look under the gum wads, you'll see it says ‘community service.'”

Ashley, who was looking over his shoulder at the letter, chimed in.

“Yeah, and for sure it doesn't say ‘wil graduate.' It actually says ‘will not graduate.' See the not? It's right under that little clump of Juicy Fruit.”

“Impossible. I hate Juicy Fruit. That's tropical-kiwi burst.”

“Zip,” Frankie said, handing the letter back to me. “The point is, you never took care of business and did your community service. So now your graduation is in jeopardy. You're toast, dude.”

I stuffed the pink slip back in my jacket and walked over to my desk to pick up my backpack. As I slipped it on and started for the door, I realized that I had forgotten my math book, which would only have been the seven billionth time I had forgotten it.

Frankie, Ashley, and I headed out of the classroom and down the hall, past the painted banner that had just been put up congratulating the graduating fifth-grade class. It said:
Middle School, here you come!
There was a picture of each one of us fifth-graders, with our faces glued onto gold stars. The stars were pinned to a blue velvet cloth that I think was supposed to be the sky. I stopped and looked at my picture. I had my best Zipzer smile going in full force across my face, the one where I show my top and bottom teeth. I looked really happy. But that was when I still thought I was graduating with my class.

Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I was so deep in thought, I jumped about forty feet in the air. When I landed back on the linoleum, I turned around to see Principal Love wagging his finger at me. His Statue of Liberty mole was not lit up, but he was grinding his teeth so much, it made his mole look like it was dancing the cha-cha. I hate when the mole dances the cha-cha, because it means . . . you're in trouble, Hank.

“Principal Love,” I said. “I was just coming to see you.”

“Really?” he answered. “That's funny because my office is in the other direction.”

“I know that, Principal Love. I was taking the long way to give myself an extra opportunity to get some exercise. Kids today just don't get off the couch enough. Isn't that right, Frankie?”

“Yeah, we're total couch potatoes,” Frankie agreed, giving Principal Love his famous one dimple smile.

“But not Hank,” Ashley said. “He is one hundred percent committed to good health practices.”

I flashed her a look that said, “Cool it, Ashweena. That's going a bit too far.”

Principal Love wasn't buying one syllable of it. He was all business.

“Young man,” he said. “Stop this chitter chatter instantly and accompany me to my office where we will discuss your future, or lack of same, the future being where you should go as opposed to your present direction, which is where you should not go, but you're heading there, anyway.”

If you're having trouble following good old Principal Love, imagine how I felt. I didn't understand one word after “young man.” When he talks, I feel like I need a translator from the United Nations.

Principal Love didn't even wait for me to answer. He spun in a very tight circle on his black Velcro sneakers and headed down the hall in the direction of the stairs that led to his office. I love that move of his, and I tried to imitate it, spinning around in that same tight circle. When I finished the spin, I was facing Frankie and Ashley. I stuck my hands out and said, “Ta-da!”

Both of them said the same thing at exactly the same moment.

“Don't be cute, Hank. Just go.”

“No problem,” I said. “This is me, heading toward Principal Love's office. He and I are just going to talk this through, man-to-man.”

“No, Zip,” Frankie said. “He talks, you listen.”

“I have things to say. Important things.”

“Hank. Not now. Your graduation is at stake. So just shut it and do what he says.”

The thing about Frankie and Ashley is that they worry way too much. Me, I don't worry. My grandfather, Papa Pete, always says, “Worrying doesn't make it better.” And I couldn't agree more. So whenever possible, I try to limit my worry time.

But as I caught up to Principal Love, followed him into his office, and watched him slam the door closed behind us, I thought to myself, “Wow, this might be a really great time to start worrying.”

“Young man,” Principal Love said before I had even put my butt in the chair across from his desk. “This is probably the last time that you and I will meet like this to discuss your inability to complete the tasks required of someone such as yourself that will allow you to leave the hallowed halls of a school such as this.”