Holy Enchilada (7 page)

“Peter!” Mrs. Fink called out when she saw us coming. “I'm over here.”

Papa Pete handed me the bag of groceries.

“You carry these, Hankie,” he said. “I'm taking off before she invites me up for her poppy seed upside-down sponge cake. Everything she bakes is cockeyed.”

“You can't leave,” I said to him. “You need to help us make the enchiladas.”

“Hankie,” Papa Pete said, taking my face in his hands. “I would fly to the moon for you. I would pluck a star out of the sky for you. I would catch a whale with my teeth for you. But I'm sorry, darling boy, I cannot spend another evening watching Mrs. Fink gum her poppy seed cake into mush.”

“Look on the bright side, Papa Pete,” Frankie said. “At least none of the poppy seeds gets stuck in her teeth.”

“I need you to back me up on this, young man,” Papa Pete said to Frankie. “You have all the ingredients you need. And I'm sure you kids can find a recipe for cheese enchiladas somewhere.”

“Mom has hundreds of cookbooks,” Emily said.

“No, I meant with real cheese, not soy cheese,” Papa Pete said. “Maybe try the Internet.”

“I'm quite good at research, if I do say so myself,” said Robert, puffing up his skinny little chest at Emily, who couldn't take her eyes off Yoshi.

“We'll be fine, Papa Pete,” Emily said. Easy for her to say—she wasn't the one bringing in the enchiladas for the whole school to eat.

“Just be careful your mother doesn't slip any mung beans in when you're not looking,” Papa Pete warned.

Mrs. Fink had taken a white handkerchief out of her sleeve and was waving it at Papa Pete. He went into a whole big pantomime, pointing to his watch like he was really late for something. Quickly, he kissed Emily and me on the heads, and pinched Frankie, Yoshi, and yes, even the cheekless wonder, Robert. Then he took off down Amsterdam Avenue like a bolt of lightning.

“Ojiisan
is cool,” Yoshi said. “I like your family, Hank.”

Emily grinned at Yoshi with that same goofy smile she'd had all afternoon.

“Don't get carried away,” I whispered to her. “I'm sure he wasn't talking about you.”

“How do you know?” she snapped.

“Fourth-graders know these things.”

“Yeah,” Robert piped up, his nasal voice cracking really badly. “We do.”

“Yoo-hoo, little man,” Frankie said to Robert. “You're in the third grade.”

“But not for long,” Robert said. He had a point there.

Cheerio was on a leash, standing next to my dad. The minute he saw us walking toward them, he went completely nuts. He's already pretty nuts, so he didn't have far to go. He started spinning in circles around my dad's legs until my dad was all wrapped up in his leash like one of those old Egyptian mummies.

My mom had to undo the leash to get my dad untangled, so Cheerio took off and came running to us. He sniffed at Yoshi, then started nipping at his ankles. That's what he does when he likes someone. Yoshi bent down to pet him, and Cheerio licked his face like it was a liver-flavored doggy biscuit. Boy, if Ms. Adolf could have seen my little Cheerio with Yoshi, she'd take back what she had said about him being dangerous. He is without a doubt the sweetest dog on four short legs.

Finally, after saying hello to everyone in the apartment, we were able to get into the elevator and ride up to the tenth floor, which is where we live. My mom unlocked our apartment door, and we all went into the living room. Everyone but Yoshi, that is. I stuck my head back out in the hall and saw him sitting on the floor, taking his shoes off.

“You get mud on your feet or something?” I asked him.

“In Japan, we take our shoes off before coming into the house,” he said. “It's a sign of respect.”

Boy, did I feel like an idiot, multi-culturally speaking.

There wasn't time for me to be embarrassed, though. The Zipzers had zipped into action. Everyone in my family wanted a piece of Yoshi, and he was being pulled in a million different directions.

My dad nabbed him first and showed him his mechanical pencil collection.

“Ikeru,”
Yoshi said, politely touching a couple of the shiny silver pencils.

My dad broke into a big smile.

“Ikeru,”
he repeated. “A five-letter word meaning ‘It's good!' in Japanese. That was in my crossword puzzle last week and I missed it! Thank you, Yoshi!”

If you're Stanley Zipzer, life just doesn't get any better than that.

While my dad was demonstrating to Yoshi how you change the lead in a mechanical pencil, my mom kept interrupting.

“Feel free to use the bathroom anytime,” she told Yoshi about a million times. I knew she really wanted him to check out the new wallpaper she had put up. I think she was very proud of it. It was yellow, with green pagodas.

Emily dragged Yoshi into her room to meet Katherine, who didn't even hiss at him. She didn't look at him, either. I think Old Kathy was still recovering from being glued down to the kitchen floor. A thing like that has got to affect you, even if you are a lower life-form.

To make the evening totally perfect, my mom even made a good dinner. Well, that's because she didn't really make it. She picked it up from the deli. Vlady put together an assortment of mile-high sandwiches for us—roast beef, pastrami, chicken salad, and turkey with Swiss. There was enough for Frankie and Ashley and Robert to come, too.

“What are you children going to do after dinner?” my mom asked.

“Homework,” I answered.

“I'm dreaming,” Emily said. “Hank Zipzer is going to do his homework. No way.”

“Maybe Hank is turning over a new leaf,” my dad said. He loves that expression. Every time I get a really, really bad grade like a D on my report card, which is every time I get a report card, he tells me it's time to turn over a new leaf. I've turned over so many new leaves, my tree is almost naked. By the time I get to sixth grade, that tree will be completely bare.

“We're going to make enchiladas,” I announced to one and all.

“You just said you were going to do homework,” my dad pointed out.

“This is our homework, Dad. We're supposed to bring in a dish for the Multi-Cultural Lunch. Our group has decided to bring enchiladas.”

“Oh, I have a lovely recipe for enchiladas with mung beans,” my mom said.

I was in the middle of taking a sip of apple juice. When I heard the words mung beans, I burst out laughing and sprayed poor Robert all over the front of his white shirt. Even though I accidentally sprayed some of the apple juice on our new place mats, too, no one got mad at me. Not even my dad. We were all just in a great mood. In fact, if you had been standing outside our apartment and listening, all you would have heard was the sound of us laughing.

Oh, yeah, and my mom saying, “Yoshi, feel free to use the bathroom anytime.”

IT DIDN'T TAKE US LONG to find an enchilada recipe. Robert found a site that had seventy-two of them. We chose Mama Vita's Killer Cheesy Enchiladas. The recipe was the sixty-seventh one on Mama Vita's Killer Recipe site, right in between her Killer Shrimp Burritos and her Killer Pinto Bean Soup. Personally, I didn't know how anything involving pinto beans can be killer. If you ask me, they're like wet paste that sticks to the roof of your mouth.

After we decided on which recipe we were going to make, we printed it out and called Papa Pete. He thought it sounded fine, so we were good to go. My mom said we could be alone in the kitchen as long as we called her when it was time to turn the stove on.

“I know where the pots and pans are,” Emily said, who was trying to impress Yoshi and act like she cooked all the time.

We all started digging through the cupboards. I pulled out a frying pan. Frankie was reaching for another pot and got shoved by Robert, who stepped on my frying pan. He went sliding across the kitchen floor like he was on a snowboard.

“Attention, everyone,” Ashley said, getting out a wooden spoon and tapping it against the countertop like she was a judge in a courtroom. “This isn't working. We need to get organized.”

Ashley is great at running things. Frankie and Ashley and I have a magic act called Magik 3. Frankie is the magician, and we made Ashley our manager. It was one of the smartest things we've ever done. She's so good at it, she managed us right into earning a grand total of $58.60. And we're not even out of fourth grade yet!

“For starters, everyone can't do the same job,” Ashley said.

“Good thinking, Ashweena,” Frankie said with a nod. “I'll put together all the ingredients.”

“Great. Hank, you read Frankie the recipe and tell him what he needs,” Ashley said.

“I'll do my best,” I said.

It wasn't the best job for me to get, since reading isn't exactly my strong point, but I didn't want to announce that in front of Yoshi.

“What should I do?” Robert asked.

“Disappear?” Frankie suggested.

“Okay,” said Robert. “I'm only in third grade, anyway.” He went into the living room to help my dad work a crossword puzzle.

“Emily, you and Yoshi can be the assistant chefs,” said Ashley.

Ordinarily Emily would have thrown a hissy fit to be the assistant anything, but she was just happy to be next to Yoshi.

I was glad to see that Ashley was acting like herself again. One lovey-dovey girl in a kitchen was plenty for me. I guess Ashley saw how stupid Emily looked staring at Yoshi with her goo-goo eyes, and decided to call it quits. Ashley isn't the goo-goo-eye type, thank goodness.

“What are you going to do, Ash?” Frankie asked. “You can't just stand there and manage.”

“I'm going to be the director,” she said.

She disappeared through the swinging door and came back a second later, holding her dad's video camera.

“This is Ashley Wong, reporting for the Zipzer Cooking Channel,” she said, turning the camera on. “Our special guest tonight is Yoshi Morimoto. Yoshi, what do you have to say to your friends back home?”

“Cowabunga, dudes,” Yoshi said, grinning into the camera.

“Thank you for your words of wisdom,” Ashley said.

“Ash, why are you videotaping this?” I asked her.

“We want Yoshi to remember us, don't we? When he looks at this tape, he can see us whenever he wants.”

See what I mean about Ashley being a good manager? She thinks of everything, even before it happens. I wish I could do that.

“Okay, I'm ready to roll,” Frankie said. “Lay it on me, Zipola.”

“Translation, please, Frankola.”

“Read me the ingredients, dude. I'm ready to cook up a storm.”

I propped the recipe page up on the counter, holding it upright with two cans of tomato sauce and a jar of Papa Pete's pickles.

“Twelve corn tortillas,” I began, reading off the first ingredient listed.

Truthfully, I couldn't read the word tortilla, but there was a picture on the page of Mama Vita's hands rolling up what looked like a tortilla, so I guessed that's what the word was. I do that a lot when I can't actually read something. You might call it guessing, but I like to call it figuring it out. Anytime I can figure out a word on my own and not have to ask someone, it saves me from being embarrassed one more time. By the way, shouldn't tortilla be spelled TOR-TEE-YA? Where did all those L's come from?

“Twelve tortillas. Check,” Frankie said, tearing open the plastic bag and spreading the tortillas out on the counter.

“Three cups of shredded cheese,” I said.

“Cheese, Louise,” said Frankie. “Check.”

It took a little time for Emily to grate the cheese into shreds. Every two seconds she kept saying, “Oh, I nicked my knuckle. Oh, I nicked it again.” When it was finally done, Frankie put a handful of cheese into each tortilla. Yoshi and Emily helped him roll them up so the cheese stayed inside.

“What's next?” Frankie asked.

“One can of tomato sauce,” I said.

“Check,” Frankie said. He handed Yoshi the can opener and the tomato sauce.

“Get busy, Yosh my man,” he said.

“Check, Frankie-
san
,” answered Yoshi.

“Emily, stop staring at Yoshi and look up here at the camera,” Ashley said. “Say something you want Yoshi to remember.”

Emily put her hand over her mouth and started to giggle. I don't think I've ever heard her giggle. Correction. She once giggled in the pet store when George who works there told her she could feed a live mouse to the snake. Yup, that's what the girl giggled at, all right.

“What's next, Zip?”

“Chili powder,” I said. “You're supposed to mix it into the tomato sauce.”

“Oh right, for zing,” Frankie said. “How much, my man?”

I looked back up at the recipe page in front of me. There were a lot of words on that page. The chili powder was way down at the bottom of a long list of ingredients.

Don't tell me. Could that be a fraction?
No,
please don't be a fraction. You know how I feel about them.

Ashley turned the camera on me.

“Come on, Hank,” she said. “Let the camera have it. With feeling. How much chili powder?”

“Uh, let's see.” I squinted at the page. I could feel myself getting confused.

I stared at the numbers next to the words
chili
powder. There was a one and a three and a little black line floating around somewhere in the middle of them. I was getting nervous, which happens to me when I know I don't know what I'm supposed to know. The type on the page was all starting to swim all over the page, like it had a mind of its own.