That night and the next morning, I went about my business as though I had never heard the words “new baby.” I did my homework, sort of. I watched television, sort of. I brushed my teeth, sort of. I ate breakfast, actually very well because I was really hungry, having lost my appetite at the dinner table the night before. You try eating after your mom gives you the “good news” that you’re going to be sharing everything you own with a squealy, throw-uppy, bald, nose-drippy baby.
In class, Ms. Adolf’s words swirled around my head but never quite made it inside my ears. All I kept thinking about was that my mother was going to the baby doctor and the baby they would be discussing was someone I was going to be related to for the rest of my life. That thought really blocked my brain, so that the only thing I heard for sure was the bell that announced lunch.
It was Thursday, which is fish stick day in the hot line at the cafeteria. In the cold line, it was cold fish stick day. I am not a fan of fish sticks, hot or cold, for two reasons. First of all, I have never seen a fish shaped like a stick. And second of all, what kind of fish actually goes into that stick? And even more important, what parts of the fish? That has always been a complete mystery to me. But not the kind of mystery that I actually want to solve by taking a bite.
It was definitely push-your-food-around-on-your-plate day, which means that both Frankie and Ashley had to give me a half of a half of their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And here’s my question. Why would Ashley want a banana on her PB-and-J sandwich? But let’s face it, when you’re the guy mooching the sandwich, beggars can’t be choosers. So I ate it with my lips smiling but my taste buds yelling, “What do you think you’re doing, Hank?” I wanted to tell the buds to shut up, but everyone would have thought I was nuts, talking to my tongue.
“I’ve made a decision,” I said to Frankie and Ashley.
“What is it?” asked Robert Upchurch, fourth-grade super nerd and occasional boyfriend of Emily Grace Zipzer. “I’m dying to know.” It was hard to understand him since his fish sticks filled his mouth like an entire school of guppies.
Robert had wedged himself into our table because he thought we wanted him there, which we really didn’t. He’s just one of those kids who doesn’t get it. I’ll bet you know one like that.
“Really, Robert?” I said. “That’s interesting, because I don’t remember giving you a ticket to enter my personal space.”
Milk started to dribble out of Frankie’s nose, because I got him right in mid-sip with that zinger. Then Ashley burst out laughing, too, because we all know that seeing milk come out of a guy’s nose has got to be one of the funniest things on the earth.
“Oh, look at that,” Robert said. “Your milk has found the canal that connects your mouth, your throat, and your nose. It’s called the passage of the sinus.”
This was classic Robert Upchurch. He has a way of inserting his brainful of boring science facts into every conversation and bringing everything to a grinding halt. The other day, when he was at our house playing Scrabble with Emily, he just casually let loose the fact that fingernails grow four times faster than toenails. I mean, what kind of person says a thing like that during a playdate? What kind of person even knows that? Robert Upchurch, that’s who.
Robert picked up his fork and took a bite of the fish stick.
“Congratulations about the baby,” he said. “Emily told me the good news.”
“Maybe it’s good news to Emily, but it’s not to me.”
“I can understand that,” Robert said. “I mean, the diaper problem alone poses a difficult environmental issue. Not to mention the odor factor, which actually makes me dizzy.”
I really didn’t like the way this conversation was going. It was making me dizzy, too.
“Robert, I think if you moved to another table, you would enjoy your fish sticks even more,” I suggested. “There’s something about being alone with your food that makes the taste really come alive.”
“But they’re delicious right here,” Robert said. “Don’t you just love the crunch?”
Two things were clear. One, the nerd wasn’t moving. And two, he would eat a fried shoelace and find it delicious.
“So, Hank,” he said, completely unaware that he was unwanted at our table. “Tell us your decision. America wants to know.”
He laughed his snorty rhino laugh at his own little joke. And let me emphasize the word “little” here.
“I’ve decided that the best way to figure this thing out is to experience it for myself,” I said.
“Great idea,” Robert said. “What thing exactly?”
“If you would shut up for five seconds, Roberto, you might actually find out,” Frankie said, running out of patience with the little guy in the tie. That’s right, Robert Upchurch wears a tie to school every day. And I’m not talking about a clip-on.
“Great idea,” Robert said. “I’m going to start right now.”
“Well, in thinking about this new baby thing, I’m assuming it’s going to be terrible,” I began, “but I don’t really know that for sure. And as Papa Pete always says, don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”
“So what, you’re going to have a baby yourself?” Ashley said. “This I’d like to see.”
Frankie’s nose exploded again and milk came shooting out of both nostrils. Poor Frankie, we kept getting him mid-sip. And we literally lost Robert with that one. He laughed so hard, his bony butt slid right off the bench and we heard his rhino snort coming up from under the table.
“Robert Upchurch, place yourself back on the bench,” came a familiar crabby voice from in back of me. It was Ms. Adolf, on lunch duty. Why could I never escape her?
“I’m sorry, Ms. Adolf,” Robert said, picking himself up from under the table. “But I just heard the funniest thing.”
Ms. Adolf turned to me and shot me a look from her beady grey eyes through her grey-rimmed glasses that sat on her greyish nose.
“Henry,” she said. “You know I don’t approve of humor anywhere in the school building.”
“Oh, do I know that, Ms. Adolf. And trust me, I don’t, either.”
“Then why would you spread your silliness here in the lunchroom?”
I was about to explain that it wasn’t me, but I would never tattle on Ashley, ever. So instead I said, “It just slipped out, Ms. Adolf. As if my tongue stepped on a banana peel.”
That made Frankie laugh again. But I saw him shoot his fingers up to pinch his nostrils to make sure that no milk would come out in front of Ms. Adolf. He stopped the milk just in time.
“Just remember, Henry, that in the lunchroom we use our tongues only for those activities associated with eating and not for jolly childish remarks.”
With that, she turned on her grey heels connected to her grey shoes attached to her grey legs, which were covered by her grey skirt which were…well, you get the grey picture. And she stomped off to go harass Luke Whitman, who was marching around with fish sticks in his ears and two fingers stuck up his nose. That guy has got some big nostrils.
“Where was I?” I asked, which is pretty typical of me. I’m an expert at losing focus. I can lose focus faster than a speeding NASCAR car.
“You were about to tell us your idea, Zip,” Frankie said.
“Right. I’ve decided that I’m going to get a substitute baby,” I said.
“I can loan you one of my old Cabbage Patch dolls,” Ashley said.
“Not a doll,” I said. “A living, breathing baby substitute.”
“Like a baby iguana,” Robert said, who was a reptile fan just like Emily. “Oh, this will be so wonderful for Katherine. I sense her loneliness, sometimes.”
“Can it, Robert. It won’t be an iguana, either. I’ve had enough of reptiles for the rest of my life.”
“So what are you going to get, specifically?” Ashley asked.
“And then once you get it, dude, what are you going to do with it?” Frankie added.
“I’m going to take care of it,” I said. “I just don’t know what the it is yet. But I figure whatever it is, I’ll find out for myself what it’s like to be a big brother to a baby.”
“You having a baby, Zipperbutt?”
Oh, no, it was Big Ears Nick McKelty. And of all the sentences that large-mouthed bully could have overheard, it had to be the one about me being a big brother to a baby. If there was anyone in the world I didn’t want to have that information, it was Nick the Tick. He is the school bully, and has been using me for target practice since kindergarten or even before. I know you know him, because there has got to be a Nick McKelty in your school, too. Maybe he’s not tall and blond and thickheaded like this one, but you’ll know him by the spit that comes flying out of his mouth when he’s insulting you.
“No one said anything about a baby, McKelty,” I said. “You must be hearing things. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His beefy hand swooped down over my shoulder and grabbed the chocolate cupcake off my tray. In the same arm motion, he brought the cupcake to his face and stuffed the whole thing into his oversize mouth, without even taking the paper wrapper off first.
“I think he’s talking about the fact that your mom is going to have a baby,” Robert said. For a guy with a little pencil neck, that guy sure had a big mouth.
“Sshhhh, dude,” Frankie whispered to him.
But it was too late. Big Ears McKelty had heard the news. He opened up his mouth, showing a pile of soggy chocolate slop that he was grinding the cupcake into.
“The last thing this world needs is another little Zipzer,” he laughed, spewing bits of the cupcake wrapper all around the lunchroom.
And you know what? For the first time ever, I had to agree with McKelty.