In case you couldn’t tell from that list, I was boiling mad at Nick McKelty. He had no right to make fun of my costume. He had no right to make fun of my sister. He had no right to make fun of me. And most of all, he had no right to call me stupid in front of the whole school and neighbourhood.

And I told all that to my grandpa, Papa Pete, as he walked me home from school that day. I’m really lucky to have a grandpa who understands when I’m mad and lets me spew it all out and doesn’t tell me to watch my language and not use angry words.

“Who is he to make me feel like a jerk in front of everyone in the whole school?” I said to Papa Pete as we headed to Harvey’s, our favourite pizza restaurant on the corner of Broadway and 78th. “He’s just a big bully who thinks it’s cool to make fun of everyone else.”

“That’s what bullies do,” Papa Pete said. “They attack first. And think later.”

“Not in McKelty’s case,” I said. “He never thinks at all.”

We crossed the road and walked by the West Side Bagel Shop and Wonder Nails Salon, which meant that we were only a couple of doors away from Harvey’s. I could feel my nose being attacked by the delicious smell of pizza, my favourite smell in the whole wide world.

“Papa Pete, I would never think of making someone else feel so bad all the time.”

“That’s because you have a good heart,” Papa Pete said. “And you care about other people’s feelings. Maybe your learning difficulties have helped with that.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, right in front of the glass door to Harvey’s. No one, and I mean no one, had ever even hinted that my learning difficulties could be good for anything except frustrating me.

“How would my learning difficulties help me with anything?”

“Well, Hankie,” Papa Pete said, smiling at me from below his furry moustache, “you are very aware of how difficult things can be, and because you know that about yourself, it makes you sensitive to how other people are feeling. That’s a lesson you can’t learn in a book.”

Papa Pete gave my shoulder a big squeeze with one hand, then opened the door to Harvey’s with the other one.

I thought about what he’d said as I slid on to a stool and breathed in the wonderful smell of Parmesan, tomato and pepperoni all sizzling in the oven. Papa Pete did have a point. Not to brag, but a lot of people tell me I’m a pretty nice guy. Frankie and Ashley always say that I’m a good friend. And my mum says that I have a kind streak as wide as the whole Atlantic Ocean.

Wow. Maybe if I had been born with a perfect brain, I’d be cranky like Ms Adolf. Or mean like Nick McKelty.

I made a mental note to think about that more another time when my stomach wasn’t screaming out for pizza.

I did a three hundred and sixty degree spin on the shiny silver stool – it’s part of my Harvey’s tradition – before ordering my usual: a slice of pizza with mushrooms and extra cheese. But before I could even order, Harvey came up and brought me a really gooey slice loaded with mushrooms and extra cheese. The great thing about having a local pizza place is that they know what you want before you even say it.

“Thanks, Harvey,” I said.

“I’ll be right back with your Sprite,” he said to me. “And your coffee,” he said to Papa Pete, who had already helped himself to one of the doughnuts they keep on a cake stand on the counter.

I took a bite of my pizza, but before I could even swallow it, I had an idea that was so powerful I had to blurt it out loud with my mouth full, even though this is not allowed in the Zipzer family.

“I really want to scare Nick McKelty out of his socks,” I said, spitting a few crumbs out into the air in front of me.

“Getting even, are you?” Papa Pete said.

“I just want to prove to that guy that I’m not the wimp he thinks I am.”

“Don’t you know that on your own?”

“The only thing I know is that the guy made fun of me, and of Emily too. And the other kids laughed, so they must’ve agreed with him.”

“Not necessarily. Maybe they just thought he was funny.”

“Listen, Papa Pete,” I said, pulling a long string of cheese off my lower lip and popping it into my mouth. “McKelty thinks I’m a wimp, and I think I acted like one. That makes me feel bad.”

Papa Pete took a sip of his coffee. He looked at me and nodded. Then he put his hand on my head and tousled my hair like he used to do when I was little. He doesn’t do it that much now I put gel in my hair.

“Feeling bad is not good,” he said. “Feeling good is good. Eating pizza is good. Bowling three strikes in a row is good. Having a fun Halloween is good.”

“So far, this Halloween hasn’t been much fun,” I told him.

Papa Pete took a big bite of his doughnut. He can polish off a doughnut in two bites. He chewed for a moment, took another sip of coffee to wash it down and then turned to me.

“Why don’t you make a haunted house?” he suggested. “The best Halloween I can remember was when your mother and her sister, your Aunt Maxine, created a haunted house in the garage. The local kids came from all around to see it.”

Papa Pete described how they put wet grapes in a bowl and told the kids they were eyeballs. I thought to myself, Hank, you could do that.

He told me how they boiled spaghetti until it was mush, and told the kids it was ghoul brains. I thought to myself, Hank, you could do that.

When he described how they had got their dog, Annie, to howl into a tape recorder until she sounded like a ghost living in the subway tunnels of New York, I thought to myself, Hank, Cheerio could do that.

My mind raced as my mouth chewed.

Sure, we didn’t have a garage to use for a haunted house. But we had a living room and sheets we could use to make walls. And I could turn out all the living-room lights to make it dark and creepy. Wait! My parents even had that black light they had used for a sixties party once that makes everything white glow in the dark.

This was it! This was how I could turn the most awful Halloween ever into the most amazing Halloween of my life.

All I had to do was put together the scariest, creepiest haunted house ever. Sure, it would be fun to invite a bunch of kids from my class. But I have to confess, I was thinking of fun second. I was thinking of revenge first!

Wouldn’t it be great to invite one very special guest and scare him out of his mind?

You’ve guessed it.

Nick “The Tick” McKelty.

Hey, Nick. BOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!