Chapter 5

Chapter five, The three of us spent all weekend working on the play. Sometimes we were each in our own apartments. Sometimes we met in the clubhouse. Of course, we took breaks. On Saturday, we went to Riverside Park for a snowball fight. Unfortunately, we ran into Nick the Tick McKelty there. When Frankie and I introduced him to Ashley, the first thing he did was make fun of her purple glasses. Right away, McKelty found out that wasn't such a great idea when she whacked him on the nose with a snowball. It turns out Ashley Wong has the arm of a shortstop. "Hey!" McKelty yelled, a clump of snow

sliding down into his mouth. "Nobody messes with me." "I just did," Ashley said. "You can make fun of my glasses all you want. But they helped me see well enough to hit you smack in the nose." That shut him up. But Ashley wasn't finished. "And as you can see," she added, "there is plenty more snow left." McKelty had no comeback to that. He just ran off whimpering like a hurt puppy. On Monday morning, my mom walked

Frankie, Emily, and me to school. As we left the apartment, we ran into Ashley and her mom, who were on their way to school, too. "Hello, I'm Dr. Wong," Ashley's mother said, extending her hand to my mom. "So nice to meet you," my mom answered. "I'm Randi Zipzer. Silly me. When I saw Dr. Wong written on your mailbox, I thought it was your husband." "He is Dr. Wong. And so am I."

"So your parents are Dr. Wong and Dr. Wong?" Emily asked. "Exactly," Ashley said. "And they want me to be a doctor when I grow up, too. Then we'll be Dr. Wong, Dr. Wong, and Dr. Wong. But I think that's just wrong." Frankie and I cracked up. As we all headed up 78th Street toward Amsterdam Avenue, Ashley asked Frankie if he was ready for the audition. "Sure," he said. "I have my script right here in my backpack with my lines highlighted in yellow." Script! Did he say script? Oh no. Where was my script? Suddenly, I couldn't remember where I'd put it. Was it in my backpack? Or did I leave it on the breakfast table next to the cereal box? I closed my eyes and tried to remember. As usual, my brain came up blank. "Hold it, everyone," I said. "Stop right where you are." I spun around so my back was facing Frankie.

"Unzip my backpack," I asked him. "And please tell me my script is in there." I could feel Frankie tugging on the zipper. Then I could feel his hand rummaging around inside. "Is it there?" I asked. "Give me a minute, Hankster. I'm still digging my way through the cookie crumbs and bubble-gum wrappers. Don't you ever clean this thing out?" "This is not the time to talk about neatness, Frankie."

"But it is the time to tell you that there is no script in here." "You forgot it?" Emily, the Perfect One, said. "Honestly, Hank, we should put a Post-it note on your forehead." "I have to go back and get it," I said. "There isn't time, Hank," my mom said, checking her watch. "Yeah," Emily piped up. "Just because the only thing you remember to pack are cookie crumbs, doesn't mean I have to be late for school." "Emily, did anyone ever tell you your braids are too tight?" I snapped. "Don't worry about it, dude," Frankie said before Emily could answer. "You can use my script when it's your turn to audition." "But mine was all highlighted and everything." "I'll highlight your lines in blue when we get to school," Frankie told me. "I'll be yellow, you'll be blue." "Hey, together you'll make green," Ashley