CHAPTER 6

The next day, school seemed to drag on even more than usual. We had a spelling test. I got three words out of ten right, and two of those were my name. I had to give an oral report on parakeets, but my brain was so busy thinking about basketball practice that I forgot to mention that parakeets are birds. Luckily, I did remember to mention that they have beaks and wings.

After school, Frankie, Ashley, and I ran all the way to the gym. Ms. Adolf was already standing at the entrance, clipboard in hand.

“See how prompt we are, Ms. Adolf?” I said with my best grin.

“There is no need for you to celebrate what is your responsibility,” the old sourpuss said. You’d think she could come up with a little tiny smile, even a twitch of her upper lip. But nooooooooooooooo, all she said was, “Practice begins now.”

The other kids arrived, and we spent the first few minutes warming up together on the court. I loved the squeaky sound our sneakers made against the polished wooden floor. I loved the echo of the ball bouncing on the court. I loved passing the ball and watching everyone take a shot. I was having so much fun, I didn’t even get nervous when Ryan Shimozato passed me the ball and it was my turn to shoot. It didn’t go in, but the ball actually touched the backboard.

“Why don’t you try shooting with your eyes open, Zipper Butt,” Nick McKelty shouted from across the court.

“Because if my eyes were open, I’d have to see you,” I shouted back to him.

The big creep had no comeback for that. It feels really good to put a bully in his place. But the good feeling didn’t last long. It ended when I saw my dad walk into the gym, wearing his street shoes, which left a trail of black scuff marks all over the floor.

Ms. Adolf spoke to him before I had a chance to stop him.

“Pardon me,” she said, “but parents are not invited to practice. You may come to the game on Friday.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” my dad said. “It will only take a moment of your time.”

I closed my eyes and wished that I could fly. I would fly to Iceland and stay there until my father left.

“I practiced with my son, Hank, last night,” my dad said, “and I saw major improvement.”

“I have yet to see any improvement,” she answered.

“I believe Hank will surprise you,” my dad went on, “if you just let him play. People can’t improve unless you give them a chance.”

“Mr. Zipzer, the point is, we are trying to create a winning team, not a losing one.”

I was so embarrassed! I had to stop this conversation any way I could. I ran over to my dad and took him by the arm.

“Thanks for stopping by, Dad,” I said, leading him toward the door. “Be sure and tell Mom I said hi.”

I held the door open for him, but he didn’t leave. Instead he stopped, turned to Ms. Adolf, and gave her his grumpy stare. I know that stare very well, because I get it every report-card day. And every left-my-homework-at-school day. And every forgot-to-make-my-bed day.

But Ms. Adolf didn’t care. She just stared right back at him. That woman could stare down a snorting moose.

“Bye, Dad,” I said, practically shutting the door in his face.

As soon as the door was closed, I ran back to Ms. Adolf. Like I said, she is not a person who likes being told what to do, and I knew my dad’s little visit had probably made her mad. I was right. By the time I reached her, you could almost see the steam shooting out of her ears.

“My dad loves to kid around,” I said, before she could say one word. “That part about letting me play was just a joke. You don’t have to do that.”

“Let’s see just how improved you are,” she said. “Please join your teammates for a passing and shooting drill.”

Each person had to pass the ball to another team member, who then got to take a shot at the basket. We went around and around the circle. Each time I got to shoot, I missed the basket entirely, and felt worse and worse. I noticed Ms. Adolf shaking her head, and it was definitely not in the up and down direction. Side to side is not the kind of shake you want.

Frankie and Ashley were good shooters, but Heather Payne was amazing. She’s so tall that when she jumped and lifted her arms, she could almost touch the bottom of the basketball net. But she was having trouble catching the passes from Nick McKelty. He threw the ball so hard that it smacked her in the belly and knocked the breath out of her.

“Here, Hank,” she said, throwing the ball to me after she’d made a shot. “You pass it. My belly can’t take another McKelty toss.”

I caught the ball, dribbled a couple of times, and then passed to Heather. She caught it, spun around, and made a perfect basket.

“Wow,” she said. “You’re great at passing. That was an amazing assist.”

I turned to Ms. Adolf as fast as I could, to make sure she had seen that. And of course, she hadn’t. She had her nose buried in her clipboard, no doubt making a note that I was the worst player on the team.

At the end of our drill, Ms. Adolf called the team together.

“In preparation for our game on Friday, I have ordered special team jerseys for you,” she said. “As you’ll notice, each has a number.”

Oh boy. A team jersey with my own number on it. My lucky number is five. I hoped I’d get that number on my jersey. This was going to be so great.

She pulled the jerseys out of a box. They were blue with white numbers on the back. That was cool because blue and white are our school colors.

“Frankie Townsend, number 22,” she called. Frankie went up and got his jersey.

“Ashley Wong!” she said. “Number 15.” Ashley picked up her jersey and did a happy fist pump.

One by one, each member’s name was called. Shimozato, number 7. Sperling, number 9. Patel, number 30.

At last, she had called everyone but me. That was okay. For a great moment like this, I could wait. I stood there proudly.

“Hank Zipzer,” she said. I walked up to her. “Unfortunately, I ordered the jerseys before Principal Love suggested that you be on the team. Therefore, I don’t have a jersey for you. However, I was able to locate a T-shirt left over from last year’s team. It’s number 13.”

“But 13 is an unlucky number, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Perhaps that’s why it was left over from last year,” she said. “In any case, it’s all we have. It might be a bit large, but I trust you can make it work.”

“But this T-shirt doesn’t look like everybody else’s,” I said.

“Let’s be honest, Henry,” she said. “It doesn’t really matter, since you won’t be on the court during the game.”

I took the T-shirt without looking at it. Even though I was embarrassed, I tried to smile to cover it up, but I couldn’t make myself.

“Everyone put on your jerseys for a team picture,” Ms. Adolf said.

I slipped the T-shirt over my head. It came down below my knees. I wanted to run away. I sure didn’t want to be in the picture wearing that thing.

Suddenly, Frankie and Ashley were there by my side. They know me so well.

“Come on, Zip,” Frankie said. “I feel like standing in the back row.”

“Me too,” said Ashley. “Let’s go.”

So we took the team picture. If you looked at it quickly, you might not notice that I was the only one without my own team jersey.

But I noticed.