The Zippity Zinger #4 (6 page)

1. I have a right to finally win. Don't I?

2. Emily is so smart, she doesn't really need the socks.

3. It really isn't right to keep them, but Emily has to understand I am the one who needs them.

4. It really isn't right.

5. Boy, it really isn't right.

6. Oh, I really want it to be right, but it isn't.

7. Why couldn't it be right?

8. Because it isn't.

OH
,
DO I HATE BEING GOOD.

Why couldn't I be Nick the Tick? Not only would he have not given his sister the monkey socks, he would have burned them and buried the ashes in the sandbox at school.

I walked around and around my bedroom, making a ring in the carpet from pacing.

No matter how closed my door was, I could still hear Emily crying up a storm because her precious little red-and-pink socks were lost.

Who was she kidding? She couldn't fail if she tried.

I flung my door open, ran into the hall, and threw the socks at my sister. One landed right in front of her face and the other fell in the middle of the back of her head, so it looked like she had a third pigtail. Pigtails fit her perfectly. They go so well with her snout for a nose.

I went back in my room and slammed the door. Wow! I didn't know I had so much power. It felt as if the wall shook. My teeth shook.

My mom came running out of the kitchen. “Is everything all right? What's going on?” she asked.

Emily didn't answer.

I didn't answer either. I was in my room walking in that circle again, trying to figure out how I could be so stupid as to give up the socks.

“What were you thinking, Hank?” I kept saying over and over again.

“Henry,” my mom called out. “You get out here this instant!”

Maybe one day I will be able to not listen to my name, to not march into the hall and face the firing squad, but today was not that day.

I threw my door open, went into the hall, and I said the shortest sentence I could think of.

“What?” I said, not looking at either of them.

“Don't what me, young man,” my mom said. “Where exactly did the socks come from?”

“Well, first they have to pick the cotton to make the material, and then they dye it red. Now once it's out of the dye ...”

“Henry, cut that out right now,” she said in her stern voice. When my mother uses “Henry,” no joke in the world can calm her down.

“Okay,” I started. “It was a mistake. I wasn't paying attention.”

“Big surprise,” Emily said.

“Emily, not now,” Mom said.

“I wasn't paying attention because I didn't want to keep Papa Pete waiting, Emily. So, I grabbed the first pair of socks on top of the laundry basket. We went to have our catch in the courtyard because I wouldn't be caught dead in those monkey socks in the park. Except they made me pitch better than I ever have before and I really, really need them for tomorrow's game. But, no, Miss I-Do-Everything-Right would never let me borrow them.”

“Boy, are you right,” Emily interrupted.

“See, what's the use?” I yelled as I ran back into my room and slammed the door again.

A millisecond later, I opened it and screamed from the door jamb. “I think that stinks worse than you stink, Emily Zipzer! And that's that!”

I kicked the door closed. It slammed so hard, it was as if it was shouting to everyone, “Keep out of my room! Keep out of my life! And I really mean it!”

I WAS SO MAD, there was steam coming out of my ears. I flopped down on my bunk bed, put the pillow over my head, and started to scream. I would tell you what I said, but if your parents read those words they would take this book away from you and tell you that you couldn't read it until you were eighteen-and-a-half.

Even through the pillow, I could hear my mom's voice.

“Stan! I need you here.”

“I'm busy, Randi,” my dad called back. “I found a hair on my earlobe and I'm pulling it out with tweezers.”

“That can wait, Stanley.”

Oh, no it can't. Dad
,
keep doing what you're doing.

Apparently, he either got the hair quicker than he expected or gave up the search for others, because ten seconds later, my dad pushed the door to my room open.

“What's the problem?” he said.

“There's no problem. Emily gets her way, as usual. She's got her monkey socks and I won't be able to pitch for the rest of my life.”

“Hank, I have no idea what you're talking about,” my dad said.

My mom stuck her head in my room.

“I'm calling a family meeting,” she said.

“Why not?” I was still screaming mad. “Let's all sit around and talk about how great Emily is. As a matter of fact, I can't wait. Why don't I just start right now?”

“Calm down, Hank,” my dad said. “Let's talk this over like reasonable people.”

We sat down at the dining room table. We took the same places we sit in at dinner—my dad at the head, my mom in the one nearest the kitchen, Emily on her left, and me on her right. Or maybe it's me on her right and Emily on her left. Wait a minute, let me figure this out. I know that the pinky finger on my left hand is a little shorter than the one on my right, but I'm on the other side of the table, so I have to stand up and turn my back and then see where the short pinky finger is. Yup, she was on my mom's left.

Emily put Katherine down on the middle of the table.

“Who invited the lizard to our family meeting?” I asked.

Katherine must have known that I was talking about her, because she stared at me with her beady little eyes and then stuck her tongue out at me, as if to say, “I'm here, what do you want to do about it, Zipper Boy?”

“I don't see why we need a family meeting,” Emily began. “The creep took my socks. They're my socks, not his socks.”

“Hank, your turn to express yourself,” said my mom. She believes in expressing yourself.

“I didn't take her socks,” I said. “They must have known I needed them and they wound up on my feet. All I'm asking is to wear them for one day and one day only. Not even a day. Just for two hours during the Olympiad softball game. I don't see why that's such a problem.”

“Because those are the same two hours that I'm participating in the Brain Buster Competition. And I need my lucky socks to lead the team on to victory.”

“What about my victory in the softball game?”

“What victory is that?” Emily the Perfect said. “It would take more than monkey socks to get you to do anything right.”

“That's enough, you two,” my dad said. “First, let me say that I don't believe monkey socks bring luck.”

“Of course,” my mom chimed in. “We all know there's no such thing as a lucky charm.”

“Although,” my dad said, “I do have a silver mechanical pencil, the one I got for being a six-year subscriber to
TIME
magazine. And I do seem to complete my crossword puzzles faster with that particular pencil.”

“Stanley, this isn't about your crossword puzzles,” my mom pointed out.

“You're right, Randi,” he agreed, running his hands through his hair, which was already in its usual messy condition.

“Trust me, Dad,” I pleaded. “I need them more than I've ever needed anything in my whole life.”

“Not as much as I need them,” said Emily.

My dad held up his hand, letting us both know that we were to stop talking. He looked out at us over the top of his glasses the way he does when he's thinking of an especially hard word in his crossword puzzle.

“Well,” he began, “since we're talking about a PAIR of socks, a very clear solution presents itself. There are two children in this family. There are two socks in a pair. We are one family, and one for all and all for one. Are you following my line of thinking?”

“No,” I said. “You lost me after ‘Well'.”

“All right, let me try this,” he continued. “Two kids. Two socks. Two divided by two is what?”

“How should I know, Dad?” This conversation was driving me crazy. “Check back with me after sixth grade. Maybe I'll know division by then.”

“Two divided by two is one,” said Emily. I looked at Katherine, and I know this sounds weird, but she shot me a look as if to say, “Even I knew that, dodo brain.”

I couldn't say this out loud, but I was wondering if I could be dumber than a lizard?

“Stanley, that's a wonderful solution,” my mom said. “Each of the children gets one sock.”

“It won't work,” said Emily the Cheerful.

“Let's put it to a test,” said my dad.

My mom was holding the socks that she had scooped up from the hallway where Emily tossed them in her hissy fit. She handed one to each of us. Emily put hers on her left foot. Or maybe it was her right foot. I could do the short pinky finger thing again, but you'd probably stop reading, so let's just say she put it on a foot.

I was a little nervous, because I remembered that last time I put the sock on, her mad-cow iguana attacked my ankle.

“Can you put Katherine in her cage?” I asked Emily.

“And have her miss this?” said Emily.

I rolled my eyes and put the sock on.

“Good,” said my dad. “Now let's test this out. Emily, what is your best subject for the Brain Buster Competition?”

“Geography,” Emily answered.

“Fine,” my dad said. “Emily, name the two longest rivers in the world.”

“That's easy,” Emily answered. “The Nile and the... and the... and the ... I only know one.”

“Let's try another question,” my dad said. “What is the largest state and what's its capital?”

“The largest state is Alaska. Its capital is ... is ... is. I can only answer half the question. See, Daddy, it's because I only have one sock. Hank, give me that sock immediately.”

Emily dove for my ankle, but I was quicker than she was. She landed on the carpet, clutching at air.

“Now it's my turn to test out the one sock theory,” I said. I grabbed a softball and my glove. “Come on, Dad. Science in action.”

We all took the elevator down to the courtyard. Everyone except Katherine. She doesn't like elevators. Once, she freaked out and bit the button for the fifth floor. We had to have my dad pry her off. If you come to my building, you can still see her teethmarks on the button.

When we reached the courtyard, I went to my place and my dad stood on the metal water drain that we were calling home plate. I did my windup, just like I had done with Papa Pete. The ball left my hand and flew. But, instead of flying into my father's glove, it took off like a wild thing, spun around, and lodged itself in the metal gate that leads to 78th Street.

“Try again,” my dad said as he pried the ball loose.

I went through my windup again, and let the ball go. This time, it sailed through the air and was heading for my dad's glove. But then, just before it got there, it took a sudden turn and headed for the clay flowerpot on Mrs. Seides's window ledge.
Bam.
The next thing I knew, the flowerpot was in a million pieces on the courtyard cement.

Mrs. Seides stuck her head out the window.

“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Seides,” I said. “I didn't mean to hit your flowerpot, but I couldn't help it, because I only have on one monkey sock.”

Mrs. Seides looked confused.

“We'll replace the flowerpot, Miriam,” my mom said. “Hank didn't mean to break it.”

I turned to my dad.

“You saw it with your own eyes, Dad. Proof that I can't pitch without the socks.”

“And I can't remember geography facts without those socks,” said Emily.

“Those socks really are lucky,” I said.

“I agree,” said Emily.

It was the first time ever that my sister and I had agreed on anything.

“Therefore, I NEED the socks,” I said.

“I disagree,” said Emily.

There we were, disagreeing again. At least we were back to normal.

I SPENT THE HOUR before dinner in my room, trying to figure out how to tell Ashley that I was quitting the team. It's not easy to tell Ashley something she doesn't want to hear. Like if she has a tangerine for lunch and wants to share it with you, and you say, “Tangerines are a little too tangy for me.” She won't just say, okay, not everybody likes tangy. She will explain to you why your tongue needs tangy, because it wakes all of your taste buds up so they can appreciate all the tastes that are non-tangy. And the next thing you know, you're eating the tangerine and thinking how lucky you are that Ashley decided to share this wonderful fruit with you.

I took out a piece of paper and wrote this down:

1. My sister won't let me wear her lucky red-and-pink monkey socks.

I read over what I had written and a bolt of terror shot through me.

That was not a sentence a fourth-grade guy such as myself would want anyone else to see. It gave me the creeps to read it, so think what it would be in the hands of—oh my gosh—I can hardly say it, Nick the Tick McKelty.