Niagara Falls, Or Does It? #1 Read online

  My father shook his head no.

  “I’ll help you with forty-three down,” Robert offered. “Oh, I also happen to know three across.”

  “I’m afraid Hank has to learn his lesson,” my father interrupted. “There’ll be other magic shows.”

  He stood up, went to the front door, and held it open. You couldn’t get a much more final “no” than that. Frankie, Ashley, and Robert left. My father closed the door and started back to his chair. The doorbell rang again. My father spun around and yanked the door open.

  “Now listen, kids,” he began. Then he stopped suddenly. The next thing I heard was him saying, “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

  I got up to see who was at the front door.

  What is Mr. Rock doing here? Oh no. I bet I broke the drum and he’s here to tell my parents. I hit myself on the forehead with my fist. Not hard, but like I do sometimes when I’m frustrated with myself. How could I have been so stupid?

  “I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner,” Mr. Rock said. “I’m Donald Rock, the music teacher from PS 87. I was wondering if I could talk with you for a moment?”

  My father opened the door wider and led Mr. Rock into the living room.

  I was surprised to see him. I had never had a teacher pop in before. But then again, Mr. Rock wasn’t like other teachers.

  “What’s he doing here?” Emily whispered to me. “You must have messed up big-time.”

  My mother came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a green checkered dish towel. She picked up a plate from the dining room table and offered Mr. Rock a cracker with some of her new soy cheddar cheese spread. He popped it into his mouth before I had a chance to warn him. His lips stuck together when he tried to talk.

  “I had the pleasure of spending last week with your son during his detention,” Mr. Rock began. He scraped some of the soy cheese spread off the roof of his mouth, trying to smile at the same time. My mother offered him another cracker but, smart guy that he is, Mr. Rock said no thanks.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to talk with Hank and to observe him. I’ve noticed that he is somewhat frustrated about his schoolwork,” he said.

  “Very frustrated,” my mother added.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Zipzer, I believe Hank might benefit from being tested—to see if he has any learning differences.” Mr. Rock waited for their answer.

  “There’s nothing wrong with Hank,” my father said. “If he spent as much time doing his schoolwork as he does daydreaming and puttering around his room and building things, he’d be an A student. Hank is just lazy.”

  “Maybe that’s not the case,” Mr. Rock said. “You know, many children have learning challenges. Every child’s brain is wired differently.”

  Every brain is wired differently? What was he saying? That my brain is messed up? Oh that’s great. Now everyone will really think I’m stupid!

  “What does that mean, ‘wired differently’?” my mom asked.

  “Different kids learn in different ways,” Mr. Rock said. “I know that because I myself had difficulty in school.”

  “Hank’s sister, Emily, is an excellent student,” my father said. “She doesn’t seem to have any school problems.”

  Emily held an iguana pellet in the palm of her hand. Katherine whipped out her long tongue and snapped it up. I’ll tell you one thing—Emily may not have school problems, but she has weird taste in pets.

  “I’m sure you’re very proud of Emily,” Mr. Rock continued, “but having a sister who excels adds to the pressure on Hank.”

  “What pressure?” said my father. “Hank doesn’t worry about anything. That’s his problem.”

  My mother was studying me very carefully. My leg was bouncing up and down again. She was watching it.

  “Stan, can we at least talk about this?” she asked.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Mr. Rock said. “You have a lot to think about. I just thought it was better to have this conversation in person rather than on the phone. Give me a call if you want to talk further.”

  Mr. Rock turned to me.

  “Hank, we’ve been talking about you but not to you. Do you have any questions?”

  “Just one,” I said. “Let’s say a person in the fourth grade might have learning challenges. And that person wanted to do something that was very creative, like for example a magic show, which included earning, let’s say, a ten-dollar bill. Don’t you think that person should be allowed to do it because he tries so hard at everything?”

  “I think creativity should always be encouraged.” Mr. Rock smiled.

  He stood up to go. He shook hands with everybody, including Katherine. She must have liked him too, because her tongue shot out and gave his hand a sticky lick.

  As soon as Mr. Rock was gone, I turned to my parents.

  “You wouldn’t go against the advice of a teacher, would you?” I asked. I had great hope in my heart. “Please... can I just do the magic show?”

  My mother and father looked at each other for what seemed like a year and a half.

  “We’ll get back to you on this,” my father finally answered.

  CHAPTER 18

  THEY GOT BACK to me the next morning.

  They said yes.

  The show was on!

  Magik 3 was back in business. I was so excited that if you hold this book to your ear, you can hear me jumping up and down.

  CHAPTER 19

  AT EXACTLY SEVEN O’CLOCK Saturday night, we pushed the giant hat through the swinging doors of McKelty’s Roll ’N Bowl. If I do say so myself, the hat was awesome. It was big and black and it had wheels. We even built the secret pocket inside, where Cheerio could hide until it was time to pull him out. To keep him happy, we put doggie treats inside the pocket with him.

  McKelty’s was jammed with people. It was opening night for bowling league season. There were twelve teams. Each had their own lane and their own shirts. Papa Pete and The Chopped Livers were on Lane Five, warming up. In the middle of the bowling alley, where they usually serve pizza at birthday parties, my mom had put out sandwiches. Papa Pete had warned her that anything with soy was out of the question. It had to be the real thing. I could smell the hot pastrami on fresh rye. My mouth started to water, but I knew we had more important things to do before we ate.

  “Attention bowlers,” came a voice from the loudspeaker. I knew that voice.

  “Magik 3 couldn’t be with us tonight because one of its members was grounded for being too stupid to write his essay,” the voice said.

  The McKelty Factor strikes again.

  “Instead we have something much better—a thrilling, unbelievably death-defying bowling exhibition that stars me.”

  Leave it to Nick McKelty to put together a show starring only himself.

  “That slimy toad thinks he’s taking our spot,” Ashley said.

  “Yeah, well, I hope that slimy toad can swim because I’m going to flush him down the toilet,” Frankie growled.

  The loudspeaker crackled again. “For my first feat, I’m going to bowl a strike with my left hand. Blindfolded.”

  Before we knew it, Nick appeared on lane ten. The jerk was actually wearing a blindfold. Everyone watched as he brought the ball up to his chest. On his bowling ball was a big picture of his slimy face. Unbelievable!

  He took one, two, three steps toward the line and let the ball fly off his fingers. It landed on the lane with a thud and rolled smack into the gutter. The crowd moaned. I knew this was our opportunity.

  I jumped up onto one of the benches and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, how about that Nick McKelty, the bowling whiz. Doesn’t he look great in a blindfold? Let’s give it up for him.”

  Everyone laughed. I motioned for Frankie and Robert to wheel out the hat.

  Nick looked stunned. He tried to take off his blindfold, but he had tied the knot too tightly.

  “While we’re setting up for the real entertainment, take a moment to enjoy the mouth acrobatics of Miss Ashley Wong, as she
tries to tie not one, but two cherry stems into a knot, never once using her hands,” I said with pride.

  I handed Ashley two cherries from the bar. She popped them into her mouth, scrunching up her face and moving her tongue a mile a minute. As she worked, she strolled around the audience, showing off her T-shirt with the red rhinestone cherries. By the time she got back to where she began, she had produced two knotted cherry stems, connected at the top. They looked like a small Christmas tree. Papa Pete led the applause.

  Frankie gave me the nod. He was ready to go.

  “Now, ladies and gentlemen, for the main event, I’m happy to present the freestyling magic of Frankie Townsend and Magik 3,” I announced.

  “Hey, what about my bowling tricks?” Nick McKelty shouted. He had finally managed to untie his blindfold. His eyes looked blazing mad. “I’m not done yet.”

  “Yes, you are,” the crowd yelled back.

  Nick ran into his father’s office to sulk.

  Frankie moved right into his act. He pulled scarves from his sleeve, cut a rope into three pieces and put it back together, and pushed a pencil through the center of a quarter that he borrowed from Papa Pete. That truly is one of my favorite tricks. And Frankie, that rat, won’t tell me how he does it.

  Ashley and Robert wheeled out the hat while I kept watch on Cheerio, trying to keep him calm. He was getting that look in his eye, his pre-spinning look.

  “Not now, Cheerio,” I whispered to him, scratching him between the ears. He loves that. “Don’t go crazy on me, boy.”

  “And now, for my grand finale,” announced Frankie. “At the special request of Papa Pete, I will pull a small, live, furry thing from this magical top hat!”

  “It’s probably a stuffed teddy bear,” McKelty shouted from the office doorway. “I’m sure everyone would rather see me throw a strike backward, between my legs, again using my left hand. Wouldn’t you?”

  It was his father who gave him the answer everyone else was thinking.

  “Be quiet, Nick,” he said, “and enjoy the show.”

  “Here we have a hat,” Frankie began, pointing to our giant top hat. “My assistants will show you the inside of the hat.” Ashley and I tipped the hat forward so everyone could see in. Cheerio was tucked in his secret pocket so you couldn’t see him. I thought I heard a tiny yip as he slid against the side.

  “Notice that it’s actually empty,” Robert said with this kind of goofy smile. We had decided to give him a line.

  “I will now take my cape and cover the hat,” Frankie said. He showed the audience both sides of the cape, and laid it over the hat like a tablecloth. The place was silent, except if you stood close enough to the hat, you could hear the crunch, crunch, crunch of doggie treats inside Cheerio’s mouth.

  “Hank, the magic words, if you please,” Frankie said.

  I stepped forward, closed my eyes, and waved my hands over the cape. We hadn’t rehearsed that part, but I thought it added a lot to the moment. I chanted:“Something live, something furry,

  appear now, in a hurry.”

  “Zengawii!” Frankie shouted, as he pulled the cape off of the hat. People in the audience moved to the edge of their seats. Everyone was completely quiet. Frankie reached into the hat. Suddenly there was a sound! It was the growl of one very angry little dog. Frankie pulled his hand out of the hat really fast. Cheerio stuck his face out, his paws hanging over the brim of the hat. He looked at the audience. I don’t think he’d ever seen so many people in one place.

  The audience burst into laughter and applause, which must have really scared Cheerio, because he dove back into the bottom of the hat and started to spin. And I don’t mean just regular spinning. No, this was mega-spinning. He was going so fast that the hat started to move down a lane.

  “Is this part of the trick?” I whispered to Frankie.

  “He’s your dog, Zip. Don’t ask me,” he answered.

  By that time, the hat was rocketing down the lane. It turned around and around, picking up speed from the oil on the wood. In no time, it was at the end of the lane. Smack! The hat crashed into the pins, sending them flying in every direction. Nine pins went down. The last one teetered back and forth, back and forth. Almost... yes... no ... yes... finally, it fell.

  The crowd gasped.

  “How about that for a strike!” Papa Pete yelled.

  The place went wild. Everyone was applauding—everyone but Nick McKelty. He just stood by the sandwiches, scowling.

  “Hey, doesn’t anyone want to see my world-famous left-handed trick shot?” he yelled.

  “Give it up, Nick!” I said to him. “You can’t top the hat!”

  He was so mad, his face turned bright red.

  “Fine,” he said. “Then I’m getting a Vanilla Coke. And you can’t have one!”

  “Is he the comeback king or what?” Ashley said. We all laughed as he stomped off.

  Cheerio was out of the hat by now, sliding down the lane as he tried to make his way toward me. He looked like he was on ice skates. I think he was still feeling dizzy, because his eyes were spinning in opposite directions. I scooped him up and gave him a big hug.

  I turned around. All the people in the bowling alley were on their feet cheering—for Cheerio and for us, the Magik 3.

  Frankie, Ashley, Robert, and I joined hands and took a bow. It was the greatest feeling of my entire life.

  CHAPTER 20

  THERE’S A LITTLE BALCONY off our living room. It’s my favorite place because at night you can see the moon from there. As I sat on the balcony and looked up at the moon, I thought about how great it feels to actually do something right.

  Papa Pete slid the door open and brought out two pickles—my favorite bedtime snack. Mine was an old dill, and his was a crunchy garlic. He sat down next to me and said, “You should be very proud tonight, Hank.”

  “I really am,” I said.

  We were quiet for a while, just sitting there, enjoying our pickles.

  “They want to test me,” I said finally

  “In what, math?” Papa Pete asked.

  “A teacher came over to our house. He said I might have learning challenges. He said my brain might be different.”

  “We’re all different,” said Papa Pete. “That’s what makes us great.”

  “But what if the test shows that I’m stupid?”

  “Grandson of mine, there is nothing stupid about you. Didn’t you build that project for school? Didn’t you figure out how to make the hat work? Didn’t you amaze every one of my friends tonight at the bowling alley? You’re a winner, Hank.”

  “But I’m different.”

  “Take pickles,” said Papa Pete. “There are big ones and little ones, smooth ones and bumpy ones, very crunchy ones and not-so-crunchy ones. There are bread-and-butter pickles, gherkins, hamburger slices, half-dills, full-dills ...”

  “Okay, Papa Pete, I get the picture.”

  “The point is this,” he said. “They’re all different and they’re all delicious to someone. And you, my grandson, are positively delicious.”

  I looked down at the little bit of pickle I had left. I popped it into my mouth. It was really good.

  Then I looked at Papa Pete. He really knows a lot about everything. I sure hope he’s right about me!

  About the Authors

  HENRY WINKLER is an actor, producer, and director, and he speaks publicly all over the world. In addition, he has a star on Hollywood Boulevard, was knighted by the government of France, and the jacket he wore as the Fonz hangs in the Smithsonian Museum in Washington, D.C. But if you ask him what he is proudest of, he would say, “Writing the Hank Zipzer books with my partner, Lin Oliver.”

  He lives in Los Angeles with his wife, Stacey. They have three children named Jed, Zoe, and Max, and two dogs named Monty and Charlotte. Charlotte catches a ball so well that she could definitely play outfield for the New York Mets.

  LIN OLIVER is a writer and producer of movies, books, and television series for children
and families. She has written over one hundred episodes of television and produced four movies, many of which are based on children’s books. She is cofounder and executive director of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, an international organization of twenty thousand authors and illustrators of children’s books.

  She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Alan. They have three sons named Theo, Ollie, and Cole. She loves tuna melts, curious kids, any sport that involves a racket, and children’s book writers everywhere.