Chapter 1

Here's hank the soggy, foggy campout

chapter 1 "What rhymes with 'orange'?" I asked my best friend Frankie Townsend. We were sitting in Riverside Park having an after-school snack. "Nothing," he said. "There isn't one word in the English language that rhymes with 'orange.'" "How about 'borange'?" I asked. My other best friend, Ashley Wong, burst out laughing. "Can I just point out that 'borange' isn't a word in any language?" she said. "Then I give up." I threw my hands in the air. "Writing poetry is too hard. I quit."

Our teacher, Ms. Flowers, had told us the day before that everyone in our class had to write a poem about nature. We were going to read them at the We Love Nature assembly on Monday in the auditorium. Frankie and Ashley wrote theirs right away. They never have a problem at school in any subject. I have a problem with every subject. I'm bad at reading, spelling, math, and science. But I'm great at lunch. The night before I had sat at my desk forever, staring at a blank piece of paper. There wasn't a poem in my head or anywhere else in my body. So this morning my mom suggested that we all go to the park after school. She said that maybe looking at the flowers and trees would help me come up with an idea. But it wasn't working. "Hank, you can't just give up," my mom said. "You have an assignment to write a poem. Quitting is not a choice." "Okay, Mom," I said. "I'll try one more time."

"Look around you and enjoy nature," she said. "Something will come to you." I concentrated on some bright purple flowers. They were just starting to bloom. "Okay, I've got the first lines for a poem," I said. "Ashley, would you please write these down when I say them?" Ashley took a pencil from behind her ear and pulled out her little spiral notebook that was covered in rhinestones. "I'm ready. Let it rip." I cleared my throat and began: "Oh pretty flowers so bright and purple... I love your smell, it is so gurple."

When I got to the end, I noticed that Ashley had stopped writing. "I've got to hand it to you, Zip," Frankie said. "'Purple' is the only other word I can think of that doesn't rhyme with anything." "What about 'gurple'?" I said. "That rhymes." "But it's not a word," Ashley said. I sighed loudly. This was just too frustrating. "I think the problem, honey," my mom said, "is that you're not inspired. Do you know what 'inspired' means?" "I do," Ashley said. "It means you're full of thoughts and ideas, and they just come pouring

out." "How am I supposed to get inspired about some purple flowers?" I asked. "I think we need to take you out into real nature," my mom said. "I know a beautiful campsite a few hours north of the city called Harmony Acres. I'll bet you could write a poem there. Maybe we could go this weekend." "Cool! Could we sleep over?" I asked. "In a tent and everything? Can Frankie and Ashley come?" "I can't," Ashley said. "It's my grandmother's birthday this weekend." "But I'd love to come, if it's okay with my parents," Frankie said. "We have to talk to Hank's dad," my mom said. "If he says yes, we'll leave Saturday morning." "Let's go talk to Dad," I said. "This is going to be great." We jumped up and hurried home. My dad was sitting at the dining-room table staring at his computer. He works at home. There's a