“What's all the commotion about?” he asked. “A man can't concentrate in there.”
“Why do you have to concentrate in the bathroom?” asked Emily.
“I was reading,” said Papa Pete. “For your information, young lady, a bathroom is an excellent place to catch up on fine reading material.”
He held up a booklet. It was the instructions for his new cell phone.
“I tell you, Stan,” he said to my dad. “I need a college degree in cell phone-ology to understand this.”
Boy, I couldn't agree more. I've never been able to understand one word of any operating instructions manual. That's a problem when every single toy or electronic device you get comes with a book of instructions. Fortunately, Frankie likes to read instruction books, so he figures out how something works, then shows me how. I can work anything once I see how to do it.
“Technology,” my dad said to Papa Pete. “It's a ten-letter word for the future.”
Sometimes I think my dad actually thinks in crossword puzzles.
“What are you trying to learn, Papa Pete?” I asked.
“I just want to set up my voicemail on this phone. Think you can do it, Hankie?”
“Sure,” I said. Frankie and I had done it on his dad's phone. “I'll take a look as soon as I finish packing.”
I took his cell phone and stuffed it in the pocket of my jacket. Then I went back into my room to finish packing my duffel bag.
“Got everything?” my mom said, sticking her head in my door.
“Yup,” I answered, checking off each item as I put it in. “Change of shoes. Camp pillow. Mets sweatshirt. Clean socks. Wool cap. Toothbrush. Striped toothpaste. Flashlight.”
“Snack,” she said, and handed me a baggie with something inside that didn't look like it belonged to any food group I know.
“What's this, Mom?”
“Tofu jerky.”
“Sounds ... uh ... interesting.”
I put it in my duffel, stuffing it way at the bottom so I would never have to see it again.
“Where's your sleeping bag?” my mom asked.
“Oops. I was just going to get it. And you thought I forgot it, didn't you?”
My mom gave me a look, but was nice enough not to say anything.
I went to my closet and dragged out my sleeping bag, the blue one with the plaid flannel inside. I had shoved it in there last weekend after Frankie slept over. I'm supposed to put it back in its stuff sack, but I can never get it back in. I don't know why they make stuff sacks so small. I mean, you have this huge puffy sleeping bag and a tiny bag it's supposed to fit in. Every time I try to stuff it in the sack, a huge clump of it is left hanging out.
My mom tried to help me, but even she had trouble. By the time we got the sleeping bag jammed in its stuff sack, my dad was in my room pointing to his watch.
“Time to go,” he said. “The Townsends called and I told them to go on ahead with the Wongs.”
I added the sleeping bag to my duffel, zipped it up, and dragged it out into the living room. Papa Pete gave me a hug good-bye. It's more of a lift than a hug, because my feet always leave the floor. He was staying home with Emily while we walked to school.
“Good luck, Hankie,” Papa Pete said. “I wish I were going with you. I was quite a sailor in my navy days, you know. What you want to watch out for are high winds and pea soup fog. Those are dangerous conditions.”
“You don't have to worry about that,” I answered. “We're not even leaving the dock.”
“You're not? What kind of ship is this?” he asked.
“It's a floating classroom,” I said. “We're going to experience what life at sea was like in 1840, but we're not actually going out to sea.”
“That sounds like an exciting way to learn,” said Papa Pete.
“And guess what?” I added. “I'm the captain's assistant, which is a pretty important position.”
“I'm impressed,” said Papa Pete.
Papa Pete put his hand up to his forehead and saluted me.
“Well, Captain's Assistant. Anchors aweigh.”
Then he pinched my cheek, like always.
As we were leaving, I bent down to say good-bye to Cheerio.
“So long, boy,” I said, scratching him behind his ears. “I'm not going to see you until tomorrow.”
I'm pretty sure he understood me, because he started to whimper in a way that made me so sad. Then he rolled over for me to scratch his stomach like he always does before I leave.
“Can he come?” I asked my dad. “Not on the boat, just to school.”
“I guess so,” my dad said. “He could use some fresh air. I'll get his leash.”
We rode down the elevator and walked up 78th Street across Amsterdam Avenue to my school. Cheerio kept stopping to sniff every little thing. The pink carnations outside of Mr. Kim's grocery store. The wheels of the hot pretzel stand on the corner. And let's not forget the old French fry he dug out of a sidewalk crack. And the fire hydrants, every single one of them. His nose was working overtime, but, boy, was he happy.
I got really excited when we got close to the school building. I saw the big yellow school bus parked in front. My whole class was there, saying good-bye to their parents and climbing on board.
Ms. Adolf was standing by the door, checking each person off in her roll book. Wow, I didn't think that book had ever been that far from the top drawer of her desk. She was wearing jeans and tennis shoes and a pink knit hat with a pom-pom on top. She looked almost normal without her all-grey outfit.
“Hello, Henry,” she said. “I see you're late.”
“I'm so sorry, Ms. Adolf,” my mom said. “We had trouble getting the sleeping bag in the stuff sack. I'm sure you understand.”
“No, I don't,” Ms. Adolf said in her usual sourpuss voice.
The thing about Cheerio is that he either likes you or doesn't like you. If he likes you, he wags his tail and nips at your ankles and makes the cutest little yipping sounds. But if he doesn't like you, he points his nose straight up in the air and starts to howl like a coyote. Then he runs in circles around you and won't stop until either he falls over or you do.
He did not like Ms. Adolf. No sir. Make that a definite dislike.
The minute he heard her voice, he stuck his nose up in the air and howled like a werewolf in a horror movie. Then he broke loose from my dad, who was holding his leash, and starting circling her like his feet were on fire.
“Can you please stop him,” said Ms. Adolf. Her teeth were clenched really tight together.
My dad lunged for Cheerio's leash, but he missed. This made Cheerio run faster and howl louder. I saw Frankie and Ashley out of the corner of my eye. They were hanging out of the bus window, covering their mouths so they wouldn't laugh.
“Cheerio,” I said. “Come here, boy.”
Cheerio stopped and looked me right in the eye. He was thinking hard about it.
“Get this animal away from me,” Ms. Adolf yelled. “We've been through this once before on the ball field.”
That did it. Cheerio just does not like the sound of her voice. He howled louder than before and started circling again. Ms. Adolf tried to jump away, but her feet somehow got caught up in Cheerio's leash.
Boom!
Down she went onto the sidewalk.
Rip!
What was that?
I'll tell you what it was. It was Ms. Adolf's jeans, ripping right down the rear end. It wasn't a little rip, either.
“My underpants!” she screamed. “Don't look, pupils!”
As if any of us would want to. Well, except for Luke Whitman, who reported that they were white.
My mom handed Ms. Adolf a jacket to tie around herself. My dad grabbed Cheerio and picked him up.
“I'm so sorry, Ms. Adolf,” my mom said. “I don't know what got into him.”
“That's why I don't approve of pets of any kind,” said Ms. Adolf. “Some people find them cute, but I find them unpredictable and much too furry.”
We all had to wait on the bus while Ms. Adolf went inside and changed into different clothes. When she came out wearing her grey school skirt with tennis shoes and her pink pom-pom hat, it was all we could do not to burst out laughing.
She climbed onto the bus and the doors closed.
“South Street Seaport, next stop, driver,” she said.
As we pulled away from the curb, I turned and looked out the window. My dad was holding onto Cheerio, and as the bus headlights flashed on him, I could see his little face clearly.
I could have sworn he was smiling.
CHAPTER 10
SOUTH STREET SEAPORT IS in Lower Manhattan. That's all the way downtown near the Brooklyn Bridge. Since we live on the Upper West Side, we had to travel down along the West Side Highway to reach the seaport. The traffic was terrible like it usually is in New York. Everyone was honking and taxis were cutting in and out, but we didn't care. We could hardly wait to get our first view of the tall ships.
The sky was turning grey by the time the driver stopped the bus at the seaport. We got out and walked a little ways to the Maritime Museum, which is in the center of the Seaport Village. Ms. Adolf made us stand stiff and still while she read us the plaque in front of the museum.
The sign told about the history of South Street Seaport. I don't know how interested you are, so I'll just give you the short version. In the old days of New York, it used to be a really busy harbor, so busy that they called it the Street of Ships. But when sailing ships got replaced by steamships, people stopped using the harbor, so the South Street Seaport got pretty grungy. Not too long ago, it got restored to what it is now, which is a really cool new place that looks like a really cool old place.
Ms. Adolf had to stop reading a couple of times because Luke Whitman kept talking to the seagulls. He can make this sound in his throat that I swear sounds like he's a bird. A whole bunch of seagulls were circling around us.
“Luke,” Ms. Adolf finally said, “unless you'd like a flock of seagulls to do their business on your head, I suggest you stop making that sound.”
Boy, that shut him up fast. Nothing like the threat of bird poop dripping down your face to straighten a guy out.
By then it was getting dark, but I could see pretty well with the light of the old street lamps. We were surrounded by winding cobblestone streets. No cars were allowed, probably to make it seem like it used to be back in the old days. I noticed that even the shops and restaurants were replicas of old buildings. Then I thought how proud Dr. Townsend would be if he knew that the word “replica” was just floating around in my brain with other normal words like “home run” and “bird poop.”
We walked about two blocks down to the waterfront. Another yellow school bus was parked in the lot and a group of kids about our age was getting out.
“Watch out! Pirates!” Nick McKelty yelled.
Everybody laughed but you-know-who-with-the-pink-pom-pom-hat. After she told us to stop laughing immediately, Ms. Adolf explained that we were sharing
The Pilgrim Spirit
with a fourth-grade class from PS 9. We were supposed to show them our best manners.
Frankie tugged at the sleeve of my jacket.
“You're facing the wrong way, Zip. Check it out.”
I turned around and looked toward the water. Man oh man oh man oh man. There she was,
The Pilgrim Spirit.
It was the coolest ship I had ever seen.
I'm not kidding you.
The Pilgrim Spirit
looked just like one of those old ships you see in a glass bottle, only big. I mean really big. They don't call it a tall ship for nothing. The masts were as tall as telephone poles, and the sails were the size of ten bedsheets. Ropes were strung everywhere, tied in big knots to shiny brass rings.
“He's beautiful,” Ashley whispered.
“
She's
beautiful,” I corrected her. We had learned that you always refer to a ship as
she,
even though they're not officially girls. Like you'd say, “The
Queen Mary,
she's a fine ship, that she is.” I was surprised that Ashley hadn't remembered that.
“I'm not talking about the boat,” Ashley said. “I'm talking about
him
.”
Ashley was staring at the busload of kids from PS 9. Actually, she was staring at one boyâa tall good-looking guy with a really thick head of blond hair. She couldn't take her eyes off him.
“Ashweena, what's wrong with you?” Frankie said.
“Nothing.”
“Then what are you staring at?”
“Collin Sebastian Rich the Fourth,” she said.
“Do you know that dude?” Frankie asked her.
“No.”
“Then how do you know his name?” I said. We had never seen Ashley like this before.
“He went to soccer camp with me. He was MVP every day.”
“So the dude can kick. What's the big deal?” Frankie said.
“No big deal,” Ashley said. “He's just perfect, that's all. He's really smart too.”
A girl I had never seen before came running up to Ashley. They looked at each other and screamed.
“Ashley!” squealed the girl. “I haven't seen you since soccer camp!”
“Chelsea!” Ashley squealed right back. “Are you staying on the ship? This is so awesome!”
They hugged each other and jumped up and down like baseball players who had just won the World Series.
“Come meet my friends from my school,” Chelsea said.
“Is he one of them?” Ashley asked, pointing to the guy with the big head of hair.