I Got a D in Salami #2 (6 page)

“
Today
is report card day?” she asked, staring at me with eyes that practically burned a hole in my T-shirt. “I guess that little detail must have slipped your mind, Hank.”

“Mom, you know that happens,” I said. “My mind is slippery.”

I gave her that big smile, the one that shows my top and bottom teeth. Frankie calls it The Attitude Grin. She wasn't buying it.

“I think we should continue this conversation in the back room,” she said.

“No problem.” I tried to sound casual.

“Bring your backpack, Hank.”

It occurred to me that I had better bring my friends, too. I picked up my backpack and motioned for everyone to follow me.

“What are you going to do, Zip?” Frankie whispered.

“I have no idea,” I said with a shrug.

The back room is where all the cooking equipment is: big, shiny ovens for baking, long wood counters for slicing, and big bowls for making potato salad and cole slaw. It's the main kitchen, but it's also my mom's laboratory where she makes up new recipes. I noticed that several of her big meat grinders were going, probably mixing up the recipes she and Papa Pete were working on.

No sooner were we in the back room than my mom spun around on her heels and said, “Let's have it.”

“By
it
, I assume you mean my
report card
?” I asked, stalling for time.

“Hank, don't play with me.”

“Right, okay,” I said. “I'm sure it's here in my backpack.”

I dropped to my knees and started to empty my book bag as quickly as I could. I dumped everything out on the floor. While I was taking everything out, my Mom walked over to check the machines that were grinding up her mystery meat. She mixed the ingredients up with a spatula and then came back.

Of course I knew where my report card was. I had tucked the big, brown manila envelope deep inside the secret zipper pocket in which I keep my pencils. I made believe that I couldn't find it.

The room was quiet, except for the whirring of the meat grinder churning up the mystery meat and sound of papers rattling as I emptied my book bag.

“Oh, there's my science workbook,” I said, stalling for time. “We're learning such interesting things in science. We're almost done with our unit on astronomy. The solar system is so amazing, isn't it, Ashley?”

I motioned for Ashley to talk to my mom to keep her distracted.

“Why, yes, it is, Mrs. Zipzer,” Ashley said. “Did you know that they might have discovered another planet no one even knew was there?” I didn't hear the rest of what Ashley was saying, because I was putting my plan in motion.

I pulled the manila envelope with the report card and Ms. Adolf's letter out of the zipper pocket and slipped it to Frankie.

Frankie gave me a look that asked, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Get rid of it,” I whispered.

I turned to my mom, a look of surprise on my face.

“My report card's not in here,” I said, with shock in my voice. “Maybe I dropped it on the sidewalk while we were walking from school. And, you know, pigeons love to swoop down and pick up paper. They shred it with their beaks and use it to build their nests. I saw one do that on Discovery Kids.”

“Hank,” my mother said, “I'm waiting.”

I rummaged around some more in my backpack. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frankie turn and hand my report card to Ashley.

“Frankie,” I said, “you don't happen to have my report card, do you?”

Frankie held up both his hands to show that they were empty. “Why would I have your report card?”

Ashley took that opportunity to take the report card and pass it off to Robert. Robert took it and looked for someone to pass it off to. But I was out of friends. There was no one left to pass it to. Then Robert did a brilliant thing. Maybe the most brilliant thing he's ever done in his bony little life. He edged over behind my mother and very quietly dropped the entire envelope into the whirring meat grinder. I watched in amazement as my report card disappeared into the beige mixture—all those
D
's becoming the new ingredients of soy salami.

My mother was losing patience.

“Henry!”

“Mom,” I said, “I don't see it anywhere. Honestly, my report card has disappeared before my very eyes.”

And I wasn't even lying.

PAPA PETE RUSHED in, carrying a brown grocery bag.

“Well, if it isn't my grandchildren,” he said, giving us each a kiss on the top of the head. Papa Pete knows that I'm the only one who's actually related to him, but he calls all of us his grandkids anyway.

“Sorry I couldn't pick you up today, Hankie,” he said to me. “I had to come to your mother's rescue.”

“Pop, Hank and I were just having an important conversation,” my Mom said.

“What is so important that it can't wait until tomorrow?” he asked. “Now is not the time to talk, Randi. Now is the time to grind meat. If we don't get some zing into that paste you're calling a salami, your order from Mr. Gristediano is going to go out the window.”

Papa Pete slipped his butcher's apron over his head and began to sharpen his chopping knife.

“Papa Pete, I need to talk to you sometime,“ I whispered. “It's about my grades.”

“We'll talk tomorrow,” he whispered back. “No time to talk now,” he said in a loud voice, so no one could see we were whispering. “I've got to save your mother from ruining her business.”

“Pop, I'm not ruining the business,” my mom said to him.

Papa Pete turned off the meat grinder that was chewing up the last of my report card. He took off the bowl, gave it a sniff, and turned up his nose. I tried to get a look inside the bowl. I could see a few chunks of brown manila paper blended in with the beige soy mixture.

“You will if you try to pass off that soy glue in there as salami,” Papa Pete said, shoving the bowl to the end of the counter. “It looks terrible, and it tastes like nothing.”

“It tastes like soy,” my mother said.

“Which tastes like nothing,” Papa Pete insisted. “I rest my case.”

He reached inside the brown grocery bag and pulled out several long strands of fresh, purple garlic.

“Now, this is the food of the gods,” he said. “Garlic. This will make your taste buds stand up and salute.”

My mother shook her head. “Pop, that much garlic will overwhelm the taste of the soy,” she said.

“Nonsense, Randi,” he answered. “Garlic puts hair on your chest. Isn't that right, men?” He looked at Frankie and me and winked.

We laughed. That's what must have happened to Papa Pete, because he has more hair on his chest than a gorilla—on his face, too. He has a mustache that's so big that he calls it his handlebars.

“Let's get to work, Randi,” he said. “I'll help you whip up a batch of salami that tastes like something.”

“All right, Pop.” My mom sighed. I could tell she had given up the fight. When Papa Pete has a plan, it's pretty hard to talk him out of it. “Hank, we'll continue this conversation tomorrow,” she said.

That was good enough for me. I had bought myself another day to figure things out.

Papa Pete reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. He rolled it up and slipped it into the palm of my hand.

“On the way home, stop in at McKelty's and get yourself and my other grandkids some root-beer floats,” he said. “And tell the Chopped Livers I'll bowl tonight, but I'll be a little late. Your mother and I have some high-level delicatessen work to do.”

“So you and Mom aren't going to use the stuff in there for Mr. Gristediano's salami?” I asked, pointing to the bowl with my report card in it.

“I wouldn't give that to a dog,” said Papa Pete. “The only thing that stuff is good for is to lie at the bottom of the trash Dumpster.”

As we left the back room, I gave Frankie and Ashley a big thumbs-up. My report card was going bye-bye into the trash Dumpster. This had worked out better than I could have hoped for.

“Robert, you're a genius,” I whispered, slapping him on the back so hard that he almost fell over. He acts like such an adult that sometimes I forget that Robert's just a pencil-neck eight-year-old. I could feel the bones in his back. He really should eat some more mashed potatoes or something.

“I have an IQ of one hundred thirty-seven,” Robert said. “Technically, a genius is someone with an IQ of one-hundred forty and above.”

“Do you ever lighten up, Robert?” asked Frankie.

“Actually, no,” said Robert.

My dad walked us home, and we had the greatest afternoon. We stopped and had root-beer floats at McKelty's Roll 'N Bowl. When we got back to our apartment, Emily wasn't there. She was playing at her friend Jenna's house, so we had the place to ourselves. Frankie and I played video games while Ashley made a rhinestone mouse pad for her mom's birthday. Robert helped my dad with his crossword puzzle. When Robert told him that a “spider relative with two pairs of eyes” was a horseshoe crab, I thought my dad was going to blast right out of his chair. Those thirteen letters put him in such a good mood that he let us watch cartoons on TV until it was time for everyone to go home for dinner.

My mom was really happy when she got back from work. She was so filled with her salami dreams that she seemed to have forgotten all about my report card. She could hardly wait until the next day. She said she had a feeling Mr. Gristediano was going to give her a big order. If he did, she promised to take us all on a vacation somewhere. She suggested a weekend in Vermont. My dad wanted to go fly-fishing in Canada. I voted for Costa Rica, because I've always wanted to see a real rain forest. Besides, I figured that if they found out about my report card and got really mad, I could hide in the rain forest and live on bananas. Maybe a monkey family would adopt me. Emily said she wasn't going anyplace where there weren't crocodiles. I suggested we leave Emily at home.

We ate tuna melts and chicken noodle soup for dinner.

“So, when will we find out Mr. Gristediano's decision?” I asked.

“Carlos is delivering the trays of salami to him tomorrow morning,” my mom said. “Mr. Gristediano is having all his managers over for a tasting party. If they like it, we should hear right away.”

“They have to like it,” I said. “I'm sure you and Papa Pete came up with a great recipe.”

“Actually,” my mom said, “I have a little secret. Don't tell Papa Pete this, but I went back to my first version of soy salami. I thought his had way too much garlic.”

I stopped eating.

“You don't mean that original batch of salami,” I said. “The one you were making when I was there at about, say, three-thirty-five?”

“Yes,” my mom said. “That's the one. That's the winner. I asked Carlos to roll it up and put it in the fridge. He'll slice it tomorrow morning and deliver the platter first thing.”

Oh, no
. That was the batch of salami with the special ingredient—my report card. I reached for a glass of water and gulped it down all at once.

“Is anything wrong, honey?” my mom asked.

“Wrong?” I asked. “What could possibly be wrong?”

“MAY I BE EXCUSED?” I asked, trying to sound calm, which I wasn't.

“Don't you want dessert?” my mom asked. “I made carrot pudding.”

“Wow, Mom,” I said. “You really know how to use those vegetables. It's hard to say no to carrot pudding, but I've got to run, if you know what I mean.” I glanced toward the bathroom. Parents never say no to the bathroom.

“Of course, darling,” my mom said.

I shot out of my chair like a rocket and ran down the hall. My socks had no traction on the wood floors, and I went flying like a speed skater right through the bathroom door. I landed on my tush, wedged between the toilet and the tub. I pulled myself up and turned on the cold water in the sink. I had to splash my face with cold water to stop my cheeks from twitching, which they do when I panic.

I needed to think clearly. Too many thoughts were running through my head all at once.
Why hadn't I just told my parents that I got a lousy report card in the first place? Why did Robert have to throw my report card in the meat grinder? What was he thinking? What's wrong with just a regular wastebasket? Would it be against the law for Robert to do a normal thing for once in his life?

I splashed more water on my face. My cheeks had pretty much stopped twitching, except for the right one, which still moved every now and then.

Lying is hard
, I thought. You have to keep everything straight, and that's hard for me normally. Then I had a radical idea. Maybe I should just tell my parents the whole truth—that I'm not cut out for school. That no matter how hard I try, I'm just never going to make it as a student. My mom would be sad, and my dad would be mad, but I'd tell them, “Hey, you got Emily. She's brilliant. I'm wired differently, and my wires are crossed.”

Just thinking about that made my cheeks start twitching all over again. The cold water wasn't helping. I needed a clear head to sort this all out. I slipped out of the bathroom, went to the telephone, and dialed Frankie's number. His dad answered.

“Hello, Dr. Townsend,” I said. “This is Hank. May I talk to Frankie?”

“He's just finishing dinner,” Dr. Townsend said. “Can he call you back?”

“Normally he could,” I said, “but I have an emergency here. Not the kind with an ambulance or anything. It's the kind that could wait, but shouldn't.”