Zigzag Zoom

“Not going to give up, right?” Beebe said.

  “I guess so,” Gina said.

  Everyone lined up in the gym.

  Everyone but Peter. He was home with his foot up on a pillow.

  “Don’t forget,” Destiny said. “We have pretzels for sale. They will be on the hall table.”

  “A quick stop for pretzels,” Ramón said. “And then we’re going to run.”

  Gina quick-stepped down the hall.

  She could see a little pretzel dough on her almost-new red-bloop sneakers.

  Too bad they were still stiff as boards.

  And another thing. Her pretzel wasn’t on the hall table.

  It was tucked inside her pocket.

  She’d taken a tiny bite yesterday. She just couldn’t resist.

  Now her pretzel was missing a little bit of his tail.

  The lunch lady was setting up the table. She posted a sign: PRETZELS—5¢ EACH.

  “I could help,” Gina said.

  “Good girl,” the lunch lady said. “Take the tray from the lunchroom. Bring it out.”

  Gina went into the lunchroom.

  Clifton was bent over the tray of pretzels.

  She knew what he was doing. He was sneaking a pretzel off the tray.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “I don’t have any money,” he said. “But I don’t want anyone to eat this guy.”

  Gina nodded. She took the rest of the pretzels out to the hall.

  There was something she could do.

  She reached into her pocket. She took out her pretzel.

  She slid it onto the tray.

  She heard a noise behind her. It was Destiny.

  “Eeeeuuu,” Destiny said. “Did you just put that half-eaten pretzel on the tray?”

  Gina had money in her pocket. Her life savings.

  Four nickels, four pennies.

  “I am buying pretzels,” she said.

  She tried to count.

  How many pretzels could you buy for four nickels and four pennies?

  It was too much to think about.

  “A pretzel for me and a pretzel for Clifton,” she said. “The rest is for the bus.”

  “Great girl,” said the lunch lady.

  “Thanks,” Clifton said. “You’re the best.”

  Beebe nodded. “I know you’re going to win the race. And now you’re even helping with the bus.”

  Gina tried to smile.

  She went down the hall.

  Sumiko tapped her on the arm. “I’m glad you’re a fast runner,” she said.

  “I’m really not,” Gina said. “Not like you.”

  Sumiko smiled. “Sure you are. Everyone knows it.”

  “You’re the best,” Gina said.

  Sumiko shook her head. “I love to run. But I can’t race that day. It’s my uncle Kiyo’s birthday. We’re going to his house.”

  “Oh, no,” Gina said.

  Sumiko looked ready to cry. “His house isn’t far from the Timpanzi School. My cousin Satako goes there. We’re in the same grade.”

  Sumiko wiped her eyes. “We’re counting on you to win.”

  What next! Gina thought.

  Now they were going outside to run.

  In the gym, Ramón blew his whistle. “Here’s what we’ll do,” he said. “We’ll run around the schoolyard. We’ll go down the block. We’ll cross over to Elm Street.”

  That wasn’t such a good idea, Gina thought. Suppose the whole Afternoon Center was run over?

  She raised her hand. “What about cars? What about trucks?”

  Destiny sniffed. “Only about two cars pass Stone Road every day. And I’ve never seen a truck.”

  “Mrs. Farelli and I will stop the traffic anyway,” Ramón said. He tooted his whistle. “Ready?”

  “Get set,” called Mrs. Farelli.

  “Go!” called Ramón.

  They ran in a pack around the schoolyard.

  Huff! Huff!

  Jake the Sweeper was leaning on his broom. He raised one hand and waved.

  They reached the gate. They ran down the street.

  Mr. Oakley stood in front of his house. He was holding his kitten. “Go, Zigzag Zebras,” he called.

  Huff! Huff!

  Sumiko was pulling ahead.

  Next to Gina, Destiny was saying, “Nothing to it, right?”

  Gina couldn’t answer. She didn’t have one breath left.

  She stopped to snap the Velcro on her sneakers.

  Destiny kept going.

  Gina looked up. She was in front of the Sweet Beat Music Store.

  She could see a shiny saxophone in the window.

  There was a set of drums, too.

  “I can’t go another step,” Clifton said.

  Gina grabbed his hand.

  They slid into Sweet Beat together.

  Sweet Beat was huge. One aisle had a stack of harmonicas. Another had drums. Still another had banjos.

  In back was a shiny black piano. It was a perfect place to hide.

  Gina slid in between the piano and the wall.

  Clifton slid in next to her. “I run like a turtle,” he said.

  “It’s all right to be a turtle in kindergarten,” Gina told him.

  “Really?” Clifton looked happy.

  Someone began to play the piano.

  Gina knew that song.

  It was the great thump-thump kind.

  She couldn’t help it. She had to thump-thump sing along with it.

  First she whisper-sang. “Da dum-tee-dum!”

  After a while, she forgot about whispering.

  She sang in a huge opera voice.

  She snapped her fingers.

  She slammed her red-bloop-pretzel-dough-still-stiff sneakers together.

  The bells jingled.

  The piano player kept playing until the end of the song.

  He stood up. “Hey, Gina,” he said. “Hey, Clifton.”

  It was Mr. Sarsaparilla, the music teacher at the Zigzag Afternoon Center.

  He didn’t seem surprised to see them hiding behind the piano.

  Not as surprised as Gina was to see him!

  “How come you’re here?” she asked.

  “I like music,” he said. “I play happy music when I’m sad. I play peppy music to pep myself up.”

  He played a quick ta-tum!

  “How did you know it was me?” Gina asked.

  “I’d know your singing anywhere,” he said.

  “It’s loud,” Clifton said.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Sarsaparilla. “That’s the best part of Gina’s singing.”

  “We’re here because—” Gina began.

  “I’m a turtle,” Clifton cut in.

  “Me too,” said Gina.

  Mr. Sarsaparilla smoothed down his mustache. “Really?”

  He played another ta-tum on the piano.

  He sat back. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

  Gina and Clifton didn’t say anything either.

  They listened to someone playing a clarinet.

  Gina opened her mouth. She told Mr. Sarsaparilla about racing the Timpanzi Tigers.

  She told him about the no-bus-money problem.

  She even told him about the pretzel without a tail and spending her life savings.

  It felt good to tell all that.

  Mr. Sarsaparilla was a great listener. He kept bobbing his head up and down.

  His mustache bobbed, too.

  Gina heard pounding footsteps.

  “Oh, no,” Clifton said. “The runners are coming back.”

  “We have to go,” Gina told Mr. Sarsaparilla. “We’ll run in place to limber up. Then we’ll duck out of the store. We’ll catch up to the end of the line.”

  “Good idea,” said Mr. Sarsaparilla. “Come see me in the music room at the Afternoon Center. We’ll talk about turtles and music.”

  Gina squeezed out from behind the piano.

  Clifton squeezed out, too.

  They ran in place.

/>   Two small, quick steps.

  They ducked out the door.

  They slid in at the end of the line of runners.

  Sumiko was halfway up the block.

  What a great runner she was! Too bad she had to visit her uncle Kiyo on Saturday.

  “No one saw us,” Clifton whispered.

  “That’s because we’re falling behind again,” Gina said.

  There was something in the back of her head, though.

  What was it?

  Something important to think about.

  The runners raced down the hill.

  The school was up ahead.

  Gina turned in at the gate.

  She was still thinking.

  Gina went down the stairs. She headed for the window.

  It had been cloudy all day.

  She crossed her fingers.

  If only she’d see rain!

  Too bad.

  Just a bunch of white clouds.

  They’d be running all over the world again today.

  She looked down at her sneakers.

  There was a red bloop on the right one. Pretzel dough was on the left.

  And last night she’d dropped green toothpaste on both of them.

  Her sneakers didn’t look new anymore.

  They still rubbed against her ankles, though.

  And she was still trying to think about that important thing!

  “I have bad news,” someone said behind her.

  It was Yolanda.

  Gina crossed her fingers behind her back. Maybe they wouldn’t run today.

  “Would you mind not running today?” Yolanda asked.

  Gina shook her head. She tried not to smile.

  But Yolanda was smiling. “You’re the best runner. You don’t need to practice.”

  “I’m not the best,” Gina said.

  She could see Yolanda didn’t believe her.

  “Someone has to help the lunch lady make cookies,” Yolanda said. “It’s for bus money.”

  “I’ll do it,” Gina said.

  “Who else could help?” Yolanda asked.

  “Clifton,” said Gina. “He runs just like me.”

  Yolanda looked surprised. But she went down the hall. “I have to practice every minute,” she said.

  Gina found Clifton. “No running today,” she told him.

  Clifton jumped in the air. “Cool!”

  “We’ll make cookies. But we can’t eat them,” she said. “My life savings are all gone.”

  “Right,” Clifton said.

  The lunchroom lady was waiting for them.

  She helped them mix up the butter and the sugar. She added the flour and the milk.

  “Let me get some vanilla,” she said.

  She went to her cabinet.

  “I like my cookies sugary,” Clifton said.

  “Me too.” Gina wasn’t paying attention, though.

  She looked down at her sneakers.

  A dab of butter had landed on one of them.

  A splat of milk had landed on the other.

  She looked up.

  Clifton was pouring sugar into the dough.

  Lots of sugar.

  “Stop,” Gina said.

  The lunch lady came back. She poured in the vanilla.

  She put the tray of cookies into the oven.

  Gina and Clifton went down to the gym.

  Everyone was running in a circle.

  “Get your hot cookies,” Clifton yelled. “Five cents each. Nice and sugary.”

  Ramón blew his whistle. “Go ahead,” he said.

  Everyone dashed for the lunchroom.

  Gina didn’t dash.

  She thought about all that sugar Clifton had added.

  She was a little worried.

  The lunch lady stood at the door to the lunchroom.

  She looked worried, too.

  “Sorry,” she told everyone. “I don’t know what happened. The cookies are flat. They’re wet.”

  She raised her arms in the air. “They’re ruined.”

  Gina didn’t look at Clifton.

  She didn’t look at anyone.

  Instead she stared at her sneakers. Was that a drop of vanilla?

  She knew what had happened to those cookies.

  Too much sugar!

  “Uh-oh,” Ramón said. “We have only a dollar and forty cents.”

  He shook his head. “Without the cookie money, we’ll have to walk …”

  “All the way to the Timpanzi School,” said Destiny.

  “What can we do?” Destiny asked.

  Ramón looked up at the ceiling. “We’ll have to practice walking,” he said.

  “Good idea,” said the lunch lady.

  “Better than running,” Clifton said.

  Everyone marched down the hall.

  They marched past the gym.

  They climbed the stairs.

  They waved to Ms. Katz in the library.

  Gina marched away from them.

  She went down to the music room.

  Mr. Sarsaparilla was playing the drums.

  Bang-bang.

  He hit the cymbals.

  Shoom-shoom.

  The sound was great.

  Gina lifted one foot.

  Jingle-jangle.

  She lifted the other.

  Jangle-jingle.

  Gina made up a song to go with the jingling, the banging, and the shooming.

  It made her feel a little better.

  When the music stopped, she sank into a chair.

  She told Mr. Sarsaparilla all that had happened.

  “No Sumiko,” she said. “No bus.”

  Mr. Sarsaparilla pulled at his mustache. “That news is not so good,” he said.

  “And the worst news of all,” Gina said. “Everyone is counting on me.”

  Mr. Sarsaparilla pulled at his mustache again. “You’ll have to think hard,” he said. “That’s what I do when there’s trouble.”

  Gina tried to think hard.

  She thought about being in Sweet Beat Music Store.

  There was something she’d wanted to remember.

  But what?

  Mr. Sarsaparilla was playing his harmonica now. It had a tweet-tweet sound.

  A happy sound.

  “That makes me feel a little happy,” she told Mr. Sarsaparilla.

  “That’s why I played it,” he said.

  Outside she heard footsteps.

  All of the Zigzag Afternoon Center was quick-stepping down the hall.

  Beebe poked her head inside the door. “I was wondering where you were,” she said.

  “I was just doing a little singing,” she said. “A little …”

  She tried to think.

  She felt her feet in her sneakers.

  Her sneakers were a mess. But they felt good.

  She told Mr. Sarsaparilla goodbye.

  She had to quick-step down the hall with the rest of the Afternoon Center.

  If only she didn’t have to quick-step all the way to the Timpanzi School.

  If only she could think of that important thing.

  Today was the day of the race!

  Everyone lined up in the gym.

  Gina wore her best blue sweatsuit with the pink zipper.

  She wore her not-new sneakers with the stains and the bells that jangled.

  Clifton stood next to her. “Today is the worst day of my life,” he whispered.

  “Mine too,” Gina whispered back.

  Ramón blew his whistle. “It’s limber-up time,” he said. “Then we’ll quick-step to the Timpanzi School.”

  Gina swallowed.

  “Are you ready to zoom, Zigzag Zebras?” called Mrs. Farelli.

  “I’m ready,” Destiny shouted.

  “Me too,” yelled Habib.

  “Right,” called Yolanda. She waved a flag she’d made.

  Gina and Clifton looked at each other. “Not ready,” Clifton whispered.

  “No,” Gina whispered.


  Gina could feel her heart pounding.

  Something else was pounding … on her arm.

  It was Beebe. “Right on, Gina,” she said.

  Gina gulped. She closed her eyes.

  Ramón blew his whistle again. “One-two-three-four,” he yelled. “Lift those feet. Walk out the door.”

  The Afternoon Center marched out the door.

  Ramón was up ahead. “Five-six-seven-eight. Let’s go, kids. We can’t be late.”

  Mrs. Farelli was in the middle.

  Ms. Katz was in the back.

  They walked up Elm Street.

  They walked down Stone Road.

  It was a long walk.

  Too long.

  Even Mrs. Farelli looked as if she was slowing down.

  Gina was not happy!

  But then she remembered something! The important thing she couldn’t remember before!

  She stopped.

  Clifton bumped into her. They held each other up for a moment.

  Gina thought about Mr. Sarsaparilla.

  She thought about his happy music. His peppy music. She thought about his thump-thump music.

  She began to sing.

  First she sang to herself.

  Her almost-old sneakers slap-slapped against the sidewalk.

  Her bells jingle-jangled.

  Clifton began to sing with her.

  Thump-thump.

  Clifton made believe he had cymbals. “Shoom-shoom,” he said.

  Mrs. Farelli turned her head. “Great song,” she said.

  She began to snap her fingers.

  Ms. Katz called from the back of the line. “It’s a Mr. Sarsaparilla song.” She clapped her hands.

  Soon everyone was singing.

  But Gina was singing the loudest.

  Everyone was marching faster.

  Mr. Sarsaparilla was right. A peppy song makes you feel peppy.

  Gina marched a little faster.

  Everyone else was marching faster, too.

  It looked as if Charlie had flying feet.

  They zoomed along Cromer Road.

  Gina put on a burst of speed.

  She passed Mitchell and Habib.

  She caught up to Beebe.

  “I feel peppy,” Beebe said. “It’s because of your song.”

  “Listen,” Gina told her. “I have bad news.”

  “What could be bad?” Beebe asked. “We’re marching right along. And you’re going to win the race for us.”

  “I’m not a fast runner,” Gina said.