Before I went into Harvey’s, I peeked in the glass window to see if there was anyone I knew inside. I confess, my experience running into Nick McKelty on the street had made me a little uncomfortable. It’s one thing to throw yourself a birthday party. It’s another thing to do it in front of your classmates.
It’s a good thing I checked. Sitting on the front two stools at the counter, right next to the window, were Joelle Atkins and her mom. Joelle Atkins is Nick McKelty’s girlfriend and the thing she loves best in the whole world, other than Nick McKelty, is her cell phone. I knew that if she saw me with Rosa and my “Get Well Soon” balloon, she’d be on the phone to everyone we know, giving them the full-blown scoop on my party-for-one.
That’s okay. I could wait. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet, so I had lots of time before the lunch rush at Harvey’s.
I leaned up against the beige concrete building and just watched the people hurrying by on the sidewalk. It was cold and I could feel my nose starting to turn red. To pass the time, I decided to count all the people who were wearing scarves. I quit when I got to forty-three. Or maybe it was thirty-four. There were too many of them going by too fast, and the numbers were starting to get all jumbled up in my head. So I decided to count all the people who were wearing sunglasses, instead. I quit that game when I was still at zero, fifteen minutes after I started. It turns out not too many people wear sunglasses when it’s February in New York City and it’s grey and cloudy outside. I guess there’s no surprise there.
Whoops. There was one person wearing sunglasses, and she was looking right at me. It was Joelle Atkins, staring me down, almost nose-to-nose.
That’s what happens when you daydream, folks. The Joelle Atkinses of the world stick their noses in your face when you least suspect it.
“Tell me that’s not a spider,” she barked. She sounded like a yappy, bad-tempered little dog. “Because if it is, I’m going to scream.”
“Then scream away,” I said, “because you’re about to meet my pet baby tarantula, up close and personal.”
I held Rosa’s tank up to Joelle’s face. Rosa took one look at Joelle’s crabby, mean expression and instantly started flicking stomach hairs at her.
“Aaaagggggghhhhhhhhhhh!” Joelle shrieked. It was loud, I mean screechy, ear-splitting, spine-tingling loud. I heard taxis slamming on their brakes all up and down the street. It was pretty funny to see Joelle take off down Broadway, running like a wild cheetah was chasing her.
“Young man,” her mother said, turning to me with a nasty look on her face. “There should be a law against taking a spider for a walk.” Then she bent down to pick up the phone Joelle had let slip out of her hand when she took off.
“Here, honey, you dropped your cell phone,” she called.
As her mother reached her, Joelle grabbed the phone and started dialing with all ten fingers. She was probably calling the tarantula police.
“Good work on the hair flicking, Rosa,” I said to her. “But now we’re going into Harvey’s, so I’m going to need to see your restaurant manners.”
Rosa flicked a single stomach hair at me.
“No, that is not okay, Rosa. I need your cooperation, and I need it now.”
I stared at her, but she looked away, hanging on to the side of the tank and pulsating up and down. I took that as a sign she was blowing me off.
“Rosa, if you don’t behave, I’m going to have to take you home and you’ll lose your going-out privileges. I don’t want to do that, but if you force me, I will.”
Hank Zipzer, did you hear yourself? You just sounded like your dad.
Wow, that was a shock. Did being a big brother mean I was going to turn into my father? Was I suddenly going to start talking about losing television privileges and never running with a toothpick in your mouth and clearing your own plate after dinner? Oh, boy. I made a mental note to pull back on the Stanley Zipzerisms.
I opened the door and went into Harvey’s.
There are only three tables in Harvey’s, and exactly twelve seats at the counter. I know this because I’ve sat in every one of them, enjoying the perfect slice of pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. Harvey knows exactly what I want so I never have to order when I am there. I look at him, he looks at me, and says, “The usual for the kid.” Before you know it, Miguel, the cook, delivers me a piping hot slice on a double paper plate with a pink lemonade on the side.
Harvey was behind the counter wearing his usual white apron over his white shirt with his name embroidered over the pocket. You can tell that Harvey likes all of the food he makes because his apron only fits halfway around him. His stomach looks like he swallowed five basketballs. He wears a mini chef’s hat on his head, which doesn’t completely cover his very neat black hair that never moves. He must use lots and lots of hair cream to keep it like that. It’s like he’s wearing a white hat on top of a black hat.
“Hey, kid,” Harvey said. “Just get your hair cut?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“You got a balloon there. Don’t you get one after every haircut?”
“Yeah, but this is my birthday balloon. I couldn’t think of any other place I’d rather celebrate than right here.”
“Great,” Harvey said, taking out a wet cloth and starting to wipe down the counter space in front of me. “How many places do you need…I’ll set them up special for you.”
“Just one,” I answered. “Well, make that one and a half.”
“That bony little pal of yours coming in?”
“You mean Robert?” I said, laughing almost to the point of snorting. “No, he’s probably at the library studying the fact that animals that lay eggs don’t have belly buttons.”
“Last time he was in here he asked me if I knew that a shrimp’s heart was in its head,” Harvey said.
“That sounds like Robert, all right. His head is full of that kind of stuff, and you know he’s not too shy to share it.”
“I’ll remember that. So if it’s not the brainiac, who’s the half?”
I lifted Rosa’s little tank and held it up so Harvey could see her.
“You’re having a birthday party with that thing?” Harvey didn’t look too happy to see Rosa.
“That thing is my baby sister substitute, Rosa. And she’s the guest of honor.”
“She’s locked up in there, right?”
“Absolutely, Harvey. Tight as a drum.”
“Well, ordinarily, I don’t allow web-spinning things in here, but since it’s your birthday party and I don’t want to be a party pooper, I’ll make an exception this time.” He leaned up close to me and whispered, “Could you do me a favor, though, and sit at the last stool at the counter, so you don’t upset the other customers?”
Actually, that turned out to be a fine suggestion, because it gave me room to tie my balloon under the seat of my stool and to set up the wrapped party favors between me and the jukebox on the counter. After they were set up, I reached into the plastic bag and pulled out the two hats and horns, one for me and one for Rosa.
I put my hat on and sat there staring at Rosa, trying to figure out exactly how a person straps a party hat on a tarantula. Somehow, I didn’t think she’d like the idea of having a rubber band under her belly. And then it hit me. I pulled the elastic band as far as it would go and slid it around the plastic tank, so the hat was resting right on top of the lid.
I noticed that the man next to me had put down his meatball sub sandwich that was dripping with tomato sauce and was watching what I was doing.
“I didn’t think the spider would be comfortable in an elastic chinstrap,” I explained.
“That’s very inventive,” he said.
I wasn’t exactly sure what “inventive” meant but I was pretty sure it was a compliment, and that made me feel really good. So I said “thank you” on instinct. He nodded, so I assumed I had guessed correctly.
While I was waiting for my pizza, the place started to fill up. When I came in, only one table had people at it, but by the time Harvey slid my slice in front of me, all three tables were full, and so were at least half the seats at the counter.
“Here you go, kid,” Harvey said, sliding the double paper plates in front of me. “Since it’s your birthday, consider this on the house.”
“Thanks, Harvey.”
As much as I wanted to take a bite, I knew I had to let the pizza cool for a minute so I wouldn’t burn the roof of my mouth. While I was waiting, I took a second to look at what I had created. There I was, with a birthday hat on, a great party favor waiting to be opened, a balloon flapping in the breeze every time someone opened the front door, and a new family member enjoying the day with me.
Hank Zipzer, you know how to throw a party! As a matter of fact, you could open a business doing this. I could see it before me. My business cards that read, “Hank Zipzer, Party Planner Extraordinaire.” Except I don’t have a clue how to spell “extraordinaire,” so maybe the cards could say, “Hank Zipzer, Party Planner Who’s Really Good.”
I was almost finished with my pizza slice when I realized that I was being rude. I mean, here was Rosa, smelling the fabulous combination of pepperoni and cheese and toasty crust aromas that were drifting into the airholes of her tank. She was obviously hungry, because she was running in circles in her tank, up and down the sides and across the top. She was definitely dying for a taste, and I hadn’t offered her even so much as a crumb.
“Okay, Rosa,” I whispered to her. “It’s your turn now.”
I tore off a piece of my pizza, about the size of my thumbnail. I made sure that I had gotten crust, cheese, and pepperoni on the tiny bite. My plan was to slide the lid off just enough to drop the piece of pizza in, then close it really fast and lock it back up again.
But sometimes plans don’t always work out like they do in your mind.