Read Online A Brand-New Me! by Henry Winkler - Free Book Online

wind against my cheek. Cheerio’s corned beef break gave Katherine the opportunity to jump into Emily’s arms and bury her head in her armpit. I’m surprised that stupid reptile didn’t pass out from the fumes.
    Emily immediately ran into her room, and put Katherine back into her glass tank.
    â€œI’m going to play Kathy some classical music,” she said, “to soothe her nerves. Tell me, Kathy. Do you want Beethoven or Mozart?”
    â€œLike that lower life form knows the difference,” I yelled at her.
    Emily slammed the door shut with her foot, which is her favorite comeback to one of my jokes.
    It was at that moment that all the adults in the room finally looked up and noticed that Mr. Rock was in the apartment. My mom turned beet red, like one of her vegetable concoctions, and started to stammer.
    â€œOh my. This is so embarrassing. I didn’t notice you were here. You must think we’re . . . oh my. Well, hello. Hi. I mean hi there. I mean hi there, Mr. Rock.”
    â€œMom, you just said hello eight times,” I pointed out.
    â€œWon’t you come in?” she said to Mr. Rock. “Come into the living room and have a seat.”
    My mom gestured to the couch, and Mr. Rock took a seat. But no sooner had his butt hit the cushion, than he was standing up again. He reached down and picked up a green plastic rattle shaped like a dragon that belonged to my baby brother, Harry.
    â€œI think this belongs to the youngest Zipzer,” Mr. Rock said, handing my mom the rattle.
    â€œI’ve been looking for that,” my mom said, turning beet red for the second time.
    All the grown-ups sat down and there was a moment of tense silence. I could tell my dad was preparing himself for bad news. I mean, when a teacher shows up at your house, it usually is a total disaster.
    â€œHank,” Mr. Rock said, finally. “Why don’t you show your parents what you have in the manila folder that you’re holding?”
    â€œLet me just prepare myself,” my dad said. “Is this another notification of failure?”
    â€œStanley,” my mom said, a little embarrassed at my dad’s gruff tone. “Let Hank explain what he’s got before we jump to conclusions.”
    I looked down at the application and took a deep breath. As I passed the folder to my dad, I noticed that my hands were trembling. Then I snuck a glance at my dad’s face as he opened the folder and looked at the first page. His face instantly transformed into the face I saw when I was four and broke all the lead points on his new set of mechanical pencils.
    Let me just say, this was not a happy man.

CHAPTER 17
    My dad looked over the papers in the manila folder for forty-five seconds, sat back, moved his glasses from his nose to up on top of his forehead, and said his most favorite word in the English language.
    You guessed it. NO.
    â€œNo what?” I said. “I didn’t even ask anything.”
    â€œNo on everything,” my dad said. “All of it.”
    â€œJust like that? Without an example? My teacher always says you have to give examples to support your arguments.”
    â€œAll righty, then,” my dad said. “No, because this Performing Arts whatever it is, is not a normal school with a normal education that you can use for the rest of your life. And no because performing is too hard, nobody makes a living at it. And no, because it’s not what we Zipzers do. We don’t perform like circus cats. We work for a living . . . a concept you will become well acquainted with as you get older.”
    My dad sat back in his chair, satisfied with his explanation.
    â€œBut, Dad,” I said, “that’s only three measly examples.”
    â€œWell, try this one on,” he said without missing a beat. “There has never been a Zipzer in show business or on the stage. It’s all superficial.”
    My mom took my dad’s hand and gave