CHAPTER 7

I poked my nose into the library, where Mr. Rock was holding the Reading Gym. But since I needed to see what was going on, and not smell what was going on, sticking my nose in didn’t do me much good. So I stuck my whole head in.

About seven or eight kids were sitting around a large square table. To be completely and totally honest with you, I didn’t even see who all the kids were because my eyes locked on one of them as they have never locked before. My stomach started to jimble-jamble like when you think you might have the stomach flu but you’re not sure. My mouth went dry like I was lost in the desert. And I wanted to move, but my feet felt like they each weighed a ton and I couldn’t take a step.

I thought I heard Mr. Rock calling my name, but his voice sounded like it was hundreds of miles away.

Meanwhile, my eyes hadn’t blinked once since my head entered the room. And here’s the weirdest part. What they were staring at was a girl. Not a Mets play-off on TV. Not a video game. Not a Swampman cartoon marathon. But an actual girl.

Did you hear me folks? I said a girl.

Now why would I, Hank Zipzer, be staring at a girl? Because she was beautiful, that’s why. I don’t know if you would think she was beautiful, because she wasn’t like regular, magazine beautiful. But to my own personal green eyes and frozen brain, she was really something.

I could only see half her face because she was wearing a hat. Not a baseball hat, but a real hat like my grandpa, Papa Pete, would wear with what he calls a business suit. But the half of her face that I saw had an eye that was so blue it looked like the chest of the bright blue parakeet named Leo that lived with our neighbor Mrs. Fink until she became allergic to him and had to give him to her son, Franklin.

The girl with the blue eye was wearing a red T-shirt with suspenders holding up her checkered pants. She had a look, this girl, that said, “Talk to me, I’m interesting.”

If I could just get my feet to take a step into the room, maybe I could start that conversation. But my feet were not cooperating. They clung to the floor like tree frogs hanging on to the trunks of trees in the rain forest.

Hank to feet. Hank to eyes. Hank to ears. Hank to all of Hank. Could any of you come to life? You’ve been in this doorway for a long time now, looking mighty goofy.

Fortunately, Mr. Rock came to my rescue. He walked up to me with a big, friendly smile.

“Well, Hank, I see you’ve made the decision to come halfway in,” he said. “Do you want to complete that decision and come all the way in?”

“Most of me wants to,” I said. “But my feet seem to be the holdouts here. They have a mind of their own.”

I saw all seven kids crack up, but I could only hear her laugh. She had turquoise braces on her teeth, and I noticed that they matched her eyes perfectly.

Hank to brain. Are you actually thinking these thoughts? What is going on?

“Well, let me help your feet get started,” Mr. Rock said, “and escort you to a chair.”

The Angel of Empty Chairs must have been smiling down on me, because the only available chair was right next to her. I broke free of Mr. Rock’s hand on my shoulder and bolted over to that chair like a cheetah. Before I could even say, “I’m so happy I have a reading problem,” my butt was in the chair and settling in next to her. I glanced over at her and noticed something amazing. She had a set of drumsticks sticking out of her back pocket.

A blue-eyed, hat-wearing, learning-challenged drummer. Is that the girl of my dreams or what?

My heart almost stopped when I noticed she was turning around and looking at me. That could mean only one thing. I was going to have to talk to her. What would I say? And worse than that, she was looking right at me, close-up. Did I remember to use a napkin after lunch, or did I have chunks of tuna sandwich crusted on the side of my mouth? I started to reach up and do a tuna check, but stopped suddenly. What if I found something? What then? If I brushed it off, it would just fall down on the table and stare us both in the face. What would I say then?

Excuse me, beautiful girl, but I seem to have saved some of my sandwich. Are you hungry? Would you like a bite?

That’s terrible, Hank. You can’t say that!

Luckily, I was pulled away from this nightmare thought by the sound of someone talking to me.

It was her.

“I used to do martial arts,” she said, looking at my gi. “I have an orange belt.”

A blue-eyed, hat-wearing, learning-challenged, drumstick-carrying roundhouse kicker! This was just getting better and better.

“My name is Zoe,” she said. “For your information, it means ‘life’ in Greek.”

“Hi,” I said. “My name is Hank. I have no idea what it means, but it rhymes with tank. Also stank.”

Hank Zipzer! What are you saying? Stop it right now. Wad up a piece of paper and stuff it in your mouth and don’t say another word until you get control of yourself!

I was too embarrassed to even look at her, but I heard her. And she was laughing. In a really nice way.

There it was. The old Zipzer attitude. And guess what, guys. It was working!