The Zippity Zinger #4 by Henry Winkler Read Free Book Online Page A

again, trying to figure out how I could be so stupid as to give up the socks.
    â€œWhat were you thinking, Hank?” I kept saying over and over again.
    â€œHenry,” my mom called out. “You get out here this instant!”
    Maybe one day I will be able to not listen to my name, to not march into the hall and face the firing squad, but today was not that day.
    I threw my door open, went into the hall, and I said the shortest sentence I could think of.
    â€œWhat?” I said, not looking at either of them.
    â€œDon’t what me, young man,” my mom said. “Where exactly did the socks come from?”
    â€œWell, first they have to pick the cotton to make the material, and then they dye it red. Now once it’s out of the dye ...”
    â€œHenry, cut that out right now,” she said in her stern voice. When my mother uses “Henry,” no joke in the world can calm her down.
    â€œOkay,” I started. “It was a mistake. I wasn’t paying attention.”
    â€œBig surprise,” Emily said.
    â€œEmily, not now,” Mom said.
    â€œI wasn’t paying attention because I didn’t want to keep Papa Pete waiting, Emily. So, I grabbed the first pair of socks on top of the laundry basket. We went to have our catch in the courtyard because I wouldn’t be caught dead in those monkey socks in the park. Except they made me pitch better than I ever have before and I really, really need them for tomorrow’s game. But, no, Miss I-Do-Everything-Right would never let me borrow them.”
    â€œBoy, are you right,” Emily interrupted.
    â€œSee, what’s the use?” I yelled as I ran back into my room and slammed the door again.
    A millisecond later, I opened it and screamed from the door jamb. “I think that stinks worse than you stink, Emily Zipzer! And that’s that!”
    I kicked the door closed. It slammed so hard, it was as if it was shouting to everyone, “Keep out of my room! Keep out of my life! And I really mean it!”

CHAPTER 14
    I WAS SO MAD, there was steam coming out of my ears. I flopped down on my bunk bed, put the pillow over my head, and started to scream. I would tell you what I said, but if your parents read those words they would take this book away from you and tell you that you couldn’t read it until you were eighteen-and-a-half.
    Even through the pillow, I could hear my mom’s voice.
    â€œStan! I need you here.”
    â€œI’m busy, Randi,” my dad called back. “I found a hair on my earlobe and I’m pulling it out with tweezers.”
    â€œThat can wait, Stanley.”
    Oh, no it can’t. Dad , keep doing what you’re doing.
    Apparently, he either got the hair quicker than he expected or gave up the search for others, because ten seconds later, my dad pushed the door to my room open.
    â€œWhat’s the problem?” he said.
    â€œThere’s no problem. Emily gets her way, as usual. She’s got her monkey socks and I won’t be able to pitch for the rest of my life.”
    â€œHank, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” my dad said.
    My mom stuck her head in my room.
    â€œI’m calling a family meeting,” she said.
    â€œWhy not?” I was still screaming mad. “Let’s all sit around and talk about how great Emily is. As a matter of fact, I can’t wait. Why don’t I just start right now?”
    â€œCalm down, Hank,” my dad said. “Let’s talk this over like reasonable people.”
    We sat down at the dining room table. We took the same places we sit in at dinner—my dad at the head, my mom in the one nearest the kitchen, Emily on her left, and me on her right. Or maybe it’s me on her right and Emily on her left. Wait a minute, let me figure this out. I know that the pinky finger on my left hand is a little shorter than the one on my right, but I’m on the other side of the table, so I have to