The Secret Life of a Ping-Pong Wizard (2 page)

5. I'm double-dead rat meat with only one claw.

6. Wait a minute. Let me rub my eyes and check again, because maybe what I'm seeing isn't real.

7. Nope, it's her. Ms. Adolf in the flesh.

8. You can handle this, Hank. It's only a year.

9. That's 365 days.

10. Let me get out my calculator. That is 8,760 hours. 525,600 minutes. 31,536,000 seconds.

11. I'm going to spend the next 31 million seconds with Ms. Adolf.

12. Oh, yeah. I'm rat meat times 31 million.

13. Stick a fork in me. I'm done.*

*I know, I know. This is more than ten things. But give me a break, will you? If you just found out that you had Ms. Adolf again, you wouldn't be able to count, either.

MS. ADOLF MARCHED right to her desk and unlocked the top drawer with a key she wears on a lanyard around her neck. She reached in the drawer, pulled out a navy blue roll book, and began calling roll. As each student said “here,” she made what she thought was a welcoming comment.

Let me just say this: Her comments weren't exactly welcoming. She could have said, “Hey, great to see you, kids. Did you have a terrific summer?”

Nope. That's not the Ms. Adolf we know and don't love. Here's what she said instead.

To Ryan Shimozato, she said, “Spit out your gum and leave the rest of the pack with me.”

And to Ashley, she said, “No hats in class, Ms. Wong. You know that.”

To Luke Whitman, she said, “Go to the restroom immediately and wash your hands.” Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea.

To Joelle Adwin, she said, “If I see that cell phone again, young lady, I'll take it away for good.”

And to Frankie, who is a perfect student, she said, “Sit up straight, Mr. Townsend. You are in school, not in your living room.”

Even the new kid, Marcus, didn't get a “nice to have you with us.” Instead she told him his transfer paperwork was not in order.

When she called my name, which was last as usual because my name starts with a
Z
she took off her glasses and stared at me like I was a fly on her macaroni and cheese lunch.

“Mr. Zipzer, I hope we won't have a repeat of last year,” she said.

“You and me both, Ms. Adolf,” I said. “I'm going to try my best every day.”

“Trying is not enough, Henry. I am looking for excellence.”

“I'm looking for it too,” I answered. “I just haven't found it.”

Everyone started to laugh, which I wished they wouldn't have, because kids laughing is one of the things that really makes Ms. Adolf mad.

“Fifth grade is no laughing matter,” she said, putting down her roll book and strolling up and down the aisles. “It's not fun and games like fourth grade was.”

Fun and games? Did I miss something? I don't remember any fun in the fourth grade, and the only games we ever played were spelling games, which don't exactly zoom to the top of my fun list.

“Fifth grade is serious business, and I expect you will all find it extremely challenging.”

Challenging.
That's teacher talk for really hard. Dr. Berger uses that word a lot. She is the learning specialist at my school who works with kids like me who have learning issues. She always tells me that reading is
challenging
for me. What she's saying is that it's harder for me than for a lot of other kids. I don't mind it when she says it, because she's trying to be nice. But when Ms. Adolf said that fifth grade was going to be
extremely challenging
, I minded it. It made those goose bumps pop up behind my knees again.

“Of course, we will have many pleasant times as well,” Ms. Adolf went on as she circled the class and arrived back at the front. “For instance, I plan to have spelling bees every Friday.”

“And, of course, there's Math Bingo.”

“And we will have the occasional special event.”

“To start our schedule of special events, I'm happy to announce that the Parade of Athletes will be held in the gymnasium a week from Friday night.”

“What's the Parade of Athletes?” Heather Payne asked. She was already taking notes. “I didn't see it on the master calendar when I was reviewing it last night.”

Whoops. We were supposed to review the school calendar. I forgot. Come to think of it, I forgot to take the master calendar home last June.

“The Parade of Athletes is a new school event to honor the many sports that people play,” Ms. Adolf said, making it sound as much fun as a dentist appointment.

I put up my hand.

“Will there be punch and donuts?” I asked.

“The purpose of the evening is not to consume sugary foods that overstimulate the child,” Ms. Adolf said. “The purpose is to have those of you who participate in sports demonstrate your skills.”

“I'm going to show everyone my ace soccer moves,” McKelty blurted out. “I was All City last year. The mayor of New York gave me his own personal congratulations.”

Ashley and Frankie rolled their eyes at me. There it was on the very first day of school: the McKelty Factor. Truth times one hundred. First of all, McKelty is a world-class klutz. And second of all, the mayor of New York City doesn't even know he exists.

“Everyone is encouraged to join in the fun,” Ms. Adolf said. “I, for one, am looking forward to participating.”

“What sport do you play?” Ashley asked.

“I am a fencer,” Ms. Adolf said. “I happen to be extremely skillful with the foil and saber.”

Ms. Adolf suddenly picked up the stick that she uses to point out the right answers on the overhead projector.
“En garde,”
she shouted and, using the pointer like a sword, she lunged at the classroom door! I swear, if she had been wearing green tights, you would have thought she was Robin Hood.

Just as she lunged at the door, it swung open and Mr. Rock, our really cool music teacher who was also my summer school teacher, came in.

“Whoa, Fanny!” he screamed. “Where are you going with that thing?”

“I was demonstrating my thrust and parry,” Ms. Adolf said. “I got carried away.”

“It's good to get carried away,” Mr. Rock said with a laugh. “Don't you think so, kids?”

Ms. Adolf put down the stick, and tucked a few loose strands of her grey hair up into the bun that she wears on top of her head. “Don't encourage them,” she said to him. “Now how can I help you, Mr. Rock?”

“I just wanted to make an announcement about soccer tryouts tomorrow,” he said. “Everybody who wants to play can come out to the Sheep Meadow in Central Park after school. The volunteer soccer coaches will be there to check out your skills and put you on a team.”

Mr. Rock is such a nice guy, he always winks at kids in the hall for no reason at all.

“Thank you, Mr. Rock,” Ms. Adolf said. “And now, if you don't mind, we have work to do.”

“Far be it from me to get in the way of work,” he said. Just before he reached the hall, he stopped and said to all of us, “By the way, guys, we'll have punch and donuts.”

Then he winked and walked out, leaving us there to face the year with the winkless, punchless, donutless Ms. Adolf.

MS. ADOLF DRONED ON for the longest two hours in the history of the human race. It was first-day-of-school stuff like how many lines our notebook paper had to have and how many sharpened number-two pencils had to be in our zipper bag at all times. There were also exciting details about how to make up homework assignments, and other things that are so boring that if I even mentioned them now, you'd close this book and never pick it up again.

When the recess bell rang, I felt like getting up and dancing for joy. In fact, I did. It wasn't a big-deal dance but just a little butt-shaking number that went along with a whooping sound.

“What are you doing, Zip Head?” McKelty said as he shoved by me and headed for the stairs. “It looks like you have a buzzing bee in your pants.”

“I think he looks cute,” Kim Paulson said. “Maybe you should demonstrate that dance at the Parade of Athletes, Hank.”

Frankie gave me a friendly elbow in the ribs as we hurried down the three flights of stairs to the yard.

“You are aware, dude, that one of the finest girls in the class just called you cute,” he pointed out, as if a thing like that needed any pointing out.

“Maybe there's hope for this year after all,” I whispered.

We had barely reached the schoolyard when my sister, Emily, came running up to us, her braids flapping in the air like crow's wings.

“Hank! You're not going to believe it. We have the greatest fourth-grade teacher ever!” Emily said all in one gulp. “Her name is Ms. Andrews and she thinks it's fascinating that I love reptiles and she's really pretty too.”

“Actually, she was a former Miss Alabama,” Robert Upchurch chimed in. He follows Emily around like a shadow. A bony shadow with a white shirt and tie.

“We're going to do a gigantic unit on the tidal marshes of Alabama,” Emily gushed on.

“With an emphasis on the life cycle of the brown water snake,” Robert added.

“Man, some people get all the luck,” Frankie said.

My sister Emily loves reptiles as much as Joelle Adwin loves her cell phone. You should see how Emily acts with Katherine, her pet iguana. She shares her secrets with her, and tells her how she understands her deep reptile feelings. Honestly, you'd think they were soul sisters, which come to think of it, they probably are. Emily's got a long snout and scaly skin, too.

“Bet you can't guess what other marsh creatures we're going to study,” Emily continued on.

“Creatures that look like you, only they slither on their bellies.” I smiled. I was happy with that little zinger.

“Fine, Hank. Be that way. I'm never going to tell you one thing about the courtship habits of swamp alligators, no matter how much you beg.”

“Why don't we change the subject?” Ashley suggested.

“So who's your teacher?” Emily asked as we strolled out to the handball court in the middle of the yard.

“Don't ask, girlfriend,” Frankie said.

“But I already did,” Emily answered. She may be smart in the book area, but she's a little thick in the slang area.

“I'll give you a hint,” I said, returning a red rubber ball to the little kids who were playing on the handball court. “Our teacher was supposed to be your teacher, until the world spun off its axis.”

“Actually, the world could never fly off its axis,” Robert said. “Because if it did, we would fall outside the gravitational pull of the sun and splinter off into space.”

“Robert, doesn't it worry you that your mind is filled with this stuff?”

“Actually, it gives me a great sense of pride.”

“It gives me a great sense of headache,” Frankie laughed.

“I'll tell you who our teacher is, Emily,” I said, seeing that she was getting frustrated with our joking around. “Our teacher is Ms. Adolf.”

“No, she
was
your teacher. I'm talking about this year.”

“We got her again,” Ashley explained.

“Isn't that against the law?” Emily asked. “You can't have the same teacher twice.”

“Which tells you everything you need to know about Ms. Adolf,” Frankie said. “She's willing to break the law just to make our lives miserable.”

“It's the pits,” I said.

“Deep pits,” Ashley sighed.

“Bottom of the bottom,” Frankie added.

Emily reached into her pocket and pulled out a health-food granola bar. “Here, Hank. You can have my snack,” she said. “You need it more than I do.”

That's the thing about sisters. They're a total pain in the neck and then, just when you least expect it, they turn out to be really nice.

I was taking the wrapper off the granola bar when McKelty came charging up to me and grabbed the bar out of my hand. He stuck it in his oversized mouth and bit down with his scraggly teeth.

“What is this crud? It tastes like birdseed.”

“It's a whole-grain oatmeal energy bar with flax and sunflower seeds,” I told him.

McKelty handed what was left of the bar back to me. “Here, you eat it,” he said. “You look like you need to bulk up before soccer tryouts tomorrow.”

“You're not supposed to be bulky for soccer,” Ashley told him. “You're supposed to be lean and mean.”

“Trust me, McKelty,” Frankie said. “Zip here has what it takes on the soccer field.”

Frankie's a good friend, and he likes to say nice things about me. But I have to be honest with you. What he said was not true. Well, I am lean. And sometimes I'm mean, especially to Emily. But I definitely do not have what it takes on the soccer field. When I run down the field, I look like a wobbly old bike with loose wheels. But none of us—not Frankie, or Ashley or me—was about to share that sweet little picture with Nick McKelty.