A Brand-New Me! by Henry Winkler Read Free Book Online

characters instead of doing my math homework. They just pop into my head to say hi. My dad says it’s a loss of focus and lack of concentration.”
    â€œI know another word for it,” Mr. Rock said.
    I knew what was coming. I was waiting for any of those words everyone has always used to describe me. Lazy. Unfocused. Distracted. Underachieving. Take your pick.
    â€œIt’s called talent,” Mr. Rock said. “And you were born with it, Hank.”
    Talent? That was definitely not one of the words I was waiting for.

CHAPTER 12
    The next day, I showed up in Mr. Rock’s room actually on time and looking forward to the hour we would spend together. If you had told me two days before that I would enjoy staying after school to do community service, I would have said that your brain had turned into pea soup without the bacon. But just the chance to hang out with a teacher who thought that my imagination wasn’t a nuisance was an incredible and totally new experience.
    â€œHave a red vine,” Mr. Rock said, pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk where he kept a humungous container of red licorice. “I find it perks up your afternoon.”
    â€œThanks, Mr. Rock,” I said as I chomped down on the top of the vine and pulled hard until it stretched to the breaking point and popped off in my mouth.
    â€œAre you ready for the string section?” Mr. Rock asked.
    â€œSure. I’m into string. Are we flying kites or making a telephone out of two tin cans?”
    â€œNeither, although those are both fun things to do. The strings I’m talking about refer to string instruments . . . which are instruments that are played with a bow.”
    â€œHold it right there, Mr. Rock. Are you talking about a violin, because that has to be the worst instrument made by humans. My sister, Emily, took a lesson once in our apartment. The screech that came out of that thing shot into my ear and gave me goose bumps on my brain. It sounded like somebody being bitten by a vampire, not that I’ve ever been bitten by one.”
    Mr. Rock laughed and took a red vine for himself.
    â€œLearning to play the violin can be tricky and painful for anyone who’s listening. My older sister studied violin for years, and when she first began, our dog used to jump into the laundry basket and hide under my dad’s shirts. Now she plays in the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra. That’s what practicing anything can do for you, Hank. You get better at it.”
    I thought about that for a minute. The good thing about Mr. Rock is that he says things that make you think. But my thinking time was interrupted by a familiar, thick voice calling me from the doorway.
    â€œHey, Zipperbutt,” Nick McKelty shouted in. “I just wanted to see what a jerk doing community service after school looks like. And I was right. You look like a loser.”
    He held up his hand in the shape of an L and waved it in front of me. The only thing was he waved the wrong hand, so the L was backward. Even someone with dyslexia like me could see that.
    â€œThanks for the visit, Nick,” Mr. Rock said. “And the next time you feel like visiting, I think you’ll find it more constructive if you keep your negative thoughts to yourself.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I’m going to do,” the big lug said. Then, as he was leaving, he turned back and said, “By the way, I don’t have that many negative thoughts.”
    â€œThat’s because you don’t have any thoughts at all,” I said, before I could stop myself.
    â€œThat goes for you, too, Hank,” Mr. Rock whispered. “Don’t stoop to his level.”
    Mr. Rock took me to the corner of the room where a whole bunch of leather cases were stacked up.
    â€œThere should be a violin and a bow inside each case,” he said.
    â€œCool. Are there arrows in there, too?”
    We both laughed. Mr. Rock really gets my