I Got a D in Salami #2 (12 page)

“They're going to tell me I'm stupid,” I whispered to Frankie.

“Right, and my name is Bernice,” he whispered back.

I took a deep breath and walked into the office.

My mom was holding a yellow pad with her notes on it. My dad had a report in a blue cover. My name was printed on the outside. It was thick—probably twenty pages long. Wow, someone had a lot to say about me.

“We've had a nice chat with your parents,” Dr. Berger began. “I want to begin by telling you how much I appreciated your cooperation during the testing process, Hank. You put out your best effort, and I'm proud of you for that.”

This wasn't sounding good at all. I've played enough soccer to know that when the coach talks about a good effort, he's usually talking to the losing team.

“We've gone over your test results,” Dr. Berger went on. “You have exceptional verbal and reasoning skills, an outstanding vocabulary, great creativity, and a superior intelligence.”

“You mean I'm smart?” I asked. I felt all the tension going up my spine and out my third eye.

“Yes, Hank, you are. But along with that...”

No,
I thought.
Don't say anything more. Just stop right there.

“The tests also show that you have some learning challenges that have been getting in the way of your school performance,” she said.

Well, there it was. I have learning challenges. The truth was out.

I didn't know what to think.

“So what you're saying is that I'm smart and stupid at the same time,” I said.

“Absolutely not. You're not stupid at all, Hank,” Dr. Berger answered. “Everybody learns in different ways. Our job is to find the best way for you to learn. And I think we can do that.”

“How?”

“Oh, there are lots of ways,” she said. “We're going to start by working on your study skills so we can help you focus better.”

Okay. That didn't sound too bad.

“Sometimes I learn something and then forget it all overnight,” I said. “Is that because I don't focus?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “We're also going to talk to your teacher about letting you get information in different ways, like listening to tapes, for example.”

I like tapes. This was actually sounding pretty good.

“Listening and watching,” I said. “I can do that.”

“Good,” she answered. “And we'll give you all the time you need to take your tests.”

Extra time on tests?
Man, I felt like I wanted to jump out of my chair and give Dr. Berger a big kiss on the cheek.

Wait a minute. As I thought more about that, I wasn't sure how I felt about it. I mean, Frankie and Ashley would be finished and at home having dinner, and I'd still be at school, taking a test.

I noticed that my parents had been very quiet during all this.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked them.

“For what?” my mom asked.

“For having learning differences.”

My mom reached out and took my hand.

“Of course not, honey. We're going to help you every way we can.”

“Good,” I said. “How about two real chocolate puddings—not carob—every night for dessert. I think that would help me a lot.”

“Same old Hank,” my father said. He sounded grumpy, but he was actually smiling.

“We'll all be keeping close track of your progress,” said Principal Love.

Uh-oh. That sounded to me like I was going to be putting in extra mole time with Principal Love and the Statue of Liberty there on his face.

“Does that mean I'll be coming to see you more often?” I asked. “Not that I don't enjoy our visits, of course.”

“I hope that as your schoolwork improves, we'll see an improvement in your behavior,” said Principal Love.

I noticed that I had stopped sweating.

“If you have questions about any of this, don't be afraid to ask,” said Dr. Berger. She stood up.

I put out my hand, in the basic handshake position Papa Pete had taught me. She took my hand and shook it.

“Thank you,” I said to Dr. Berger. “Thank you for everything.”

And you know what? I meant it.

THAT NIGHT WE made a homework chart and taped it on the bedroom wall over my desk. On one side, we wrote the name of every subject I study in school. Next to each subject, we made boxes for every night of the week. When I finished my homework in each subject, I would get a sticker in the box.

“That's not fair,” said Emily. “I want stickers, too.”

The next night, Papa Pete came over with a surprise. He brought two big rolls of stickers. The ones with the snakes on them were for Emily. The ones with the Mets baseballs and Shea Stadium were mine.

“You're going to make it to the World Series of homework,” Papa Pete said.

Papa Pete and I went outside on the balcony and sat down. It was cold, but we felt warm with our big jackets on. Papa Pete took out a plastic bag from his pocket. He took out two pickles, our favorite snack. He handed me a garlic dill and took the other one for himself. They were so juicy that they squirted when we bit into them.

“Hankie, let me know if I get any seeds in the old handlebars,” he said.

I looked at his mustache. “You're all clear, Papa Pete.”

We sat there for a minute, crunching on our pickles and enjoying the air.

“Look at that moon,” he said.

If you crane your neck and look around the corner of our balcony, sometimes you can see the moon.

“It's so round. Guess what it reminds me of?” Papa Pete asked.

When most grown-ups ask you to guess at something, they don't really want you to. Papa Pete does.

“Give me a clue,” I said.

“It's something you eat.”

“A ball of cheddar cheese.”

He shook his head no.

“Give me another clue.”

“Something your mother makes.”

“A matzo ball.”

He shook his head no.

“One more clue,” I begged.

“Something your mother specializes in.”

“A slice of soy salami.”

“Bingo,” he said.

I was quiet. I still felt really terrible about ruining my mom's chances at that big order for Mr. Gristediano. I hadn't been able to say the words
soy salami
since.

“I really messed up her chances, didn't I?” I asked. “And she was so excited about it, too.”

“The good thing about mistakes,” said Papa Pete, “is that sometimes we have a chance to make them right.”

“I can't fix what I did,” I said. “There's no way.”

Papa Pete didn't answer. He just sat there and finished his pickle. Then he got to his feet.

“If you were to think of some way,” he said, “I happen to be free tomorrow afternoon. You're a smart boy. Think it over.”

I thought in the shower. I thought while I was putting on my pajamas. I thought while I was brushing my teeth. By the time I had put my head on the pillow, I was done thinking. I had thought of a plan.

PAPA PETE MET me after school.

“Where to?” he asked.

“The ninety-nine-cent store,” I answered.

The ninety-nine-cent store is on Amsterdam Avenue, right under McKelty's Roll 'N Bowl. I do a lot of my gift shopping there, because ninety-nine cents is just the right price range for my gift budget.

We walked inside, and I went up to the woman at the cash register.

“Excuse me, do you have chess sets?” I asked.

“Aisle thirty-seven,” she answered.

You don't get much in the way of a chess set for ninety-nine cents. There were only two choices: a flimsy cardboard one with plastic pieces or a small one that was made for traveling. I liked the small one. It looked like it was made in China, because the faces on the pieces were dragons. I bought the chess set and a silver bow to put on top.

“Where to now?” asked Papa Pete.

“Follow me,” I said.

We walked to Riverside Drive. When we reached number 451, the doorman with the shiny gold buttons on his jacket came outside.

“Well, look who's back,” he said. “The boy with the exploding salamis.” He had himself a good laugh. I couldn't blame him, really.

“Would you please ask Mr. Gristediano if I can come up?” I asked.

“I'll warn him,” the doorman said, “so he can put away anything valuable.” He laughed again. “Hey, I'm just kidding with ya.”

I invited Papa Pete up, but he said that he'd wait downstairs in the park. I walked through the lobby, past the mostly naked lady on the wall. Why is it that both times I'd been there, I didn't have time to stop and admire the artwork, as Robert would say? It wasn't fair.

Mr. Gristediano and Nina were waiting for me at the door. Nina sniffed my clothes. She must have smelled Cheerio, because her tail started to wag like crazy.

“This is for you,” I said to Mr. Gristediano, handing him the chess set with the silver bow. “I picked it out myself. It's not much, but I wanted to say thank you for suggesting that I get tested.”

“How did that go?” he asked.

“It turns out I do have some learning challenges,” I said. I hadn't told anyone that before, but I figured it was time to start. “The woman who tested me says we're going to work on them.”

“Good for you,” said Mr. Gristediano. “It takes a brave man to be honest with himself.”

He looked at the box in his hand. “Should I open this?”

I nodded.

“Why, this is a perfect gift, Hank,” he said. “You know how much I like chess. Would you like to come in for a game?”

I was hoping he'd ask.

We sat down at the table by the picture window. I set up the board, and we started to play. It was a nice place for a chess game. When it wasn't your turn, you could look out the window and watch the boats going up and down the Hudson River.

“I skipped lunch today,” I said to Mr. Gristediano. “Do you mind if I have a little snack?”

I reached into my backpack and got out the sandwich my mom had made for lunch. I don't think I have to tell you what kind it was. I took a bite.

“What kind of sandwich is it?” Mr. Gristediano asked.

I lifted up the top piece of bread and showed him. “It's soy salami,” I said.

I took another bite.

“Mr. Gristediano, do you want to try this? It just might make your taste buds stand up and salute. I can't honestly say it has that effect on me, but it does for a lot of people.”

Mr. Gristediano laughed, and I silently thanked Papa Pete for teaching me that expression.

“You're making it sound awfully tempting,” he said.

I took the other half of the sandwich and handed it to Mr. Gristediano. He took a bite.

“It's really good for you,” I said. “No preservatives, no artificial colors. I've heard soy salami called the lunch meat of the twenty-first century.”

“This is quite good,” said Mr. Gristediano. “It wouldn't happen to be from your mother's deli, would it?”

“You mean The Crunchy Pickle at Seventy-seventh and Broadway?” I asked. “The one that's open until six tonight? Why, yes, it is.”

I moved my queen across the board.

“By the way, I believe that's checkmate,” I said.

I had caught Mr. Gristediano by surprise.

“You're a smart boy, Hank,” he said. “I like you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

He took the last bite of his half of the sandwich.

“And I like your mother's soy salami, too.”

“GUESS WHO CAME INTO THE DELI TODAY!” my mom said as she rushed into our apartment that night.

“King Kong,” said Emily. She and Papa Pete were reading a pop-up book on gorillas.

“Mr. Gristediano!” Mom said. She took off her hat, threw it up in the air, and let out a scream. “He just walked in and said he wanted to place an order.”

“How big an order?” my dad asked, looking up from his crossword puzzle.

“One hundred cases!” Mom said.

“That's one thousand nine hundred and twenty salamis!” my father said. He jumped out of his chair, grabbed my mom, and spun her around the room.

Papa Pete flashed me the kind of grin that said we knew something they didn't know.

“Mr. Gristediano said that any woman who can invent the lunch meat of the twenty-first century and raise a fine son like Hank Zipzer deserves to get a great big order!”

“He said that?” I asked.

“Word for word,” my mom said. “We have you to thank for this, Hank.” She was so happy that she was crying.

My mom gave me such a huge hug that I couldn't catch my breath. Then our whole family started to hug. My dad hugged Emily. Papa Pete hugged my mom. My dad hugged me. Emily hugged Katherine. Cheerio tried to hug himself. I hugged Emily…but just for a second. We went hugging crazy, there's no doubt about it.

“Here's to Hank,” Papa Pete said.

“Here's to Hank,” everyone repeated.

I took a bow.

“You should be very proud of yourself, Son,” my dad said.

“Me?” I asked. “What'd I do, Dad?”

“You've brought your grades up—way up.”

“I did?”

“Just a few days ago, you had a
D
in salami,” he said. “And now look. I'm giving you an
A
in salami!”