Free The Zippity Zinger #4 by Henry Winkler

around the kitchen, searching desperately for a solution. The refrigerator, the stove, the bulletin board cluttered with notes and takeout menus, the calendar, the spice rack, the phone. The phone!
    â€œEmily, would you mind leaving?”
    â€œYes,” she answered.
    I should have known. I had to take it to the next step.
    â€œEmily,” I said sweetly. “Katherine was on the windowsill in Mom and Dad’s room this morning. Last time I saw her, she was heading down the fire escape.”
    â€œYou’re kidding?” she said.
    â€œMaybe,” I said. “But if I were you, I’d check it out for myself. I wouldn’t take my word for it.”
    That worked. She tossed down her book and bolted for our parents’ room. I picked up the phone and dialed.
    â€œHello,” Papa Pete answered.
    â€œHi, Papa Pete,” I said. “I’ve got to talk fast.”
    â€œGood,” he said. “Then I’ll listen fast.”
    â€œI need your help,” I began. “Can you come here and pick up Cheerio at eleven o’clock and bring him to my school? I want him to see my softball game, but my dad doesn’t want to bring him because he’s not allowed in the auditorium. But if he stays with you, then he won’t have to go into the auditorium, so can you please do this for me?”
    â€œIs it okay with your father?” Papa Pete asked.
    â€œAs long as Cheerio behaves, he’ll be fine,” I said. “Just keep him on the leash.”
    â€œI assume you mean Cheerio and not your father,” Papa Pete said.
    I laughed.
    â€œWe’ll be there,” Papa Pete said. “One tall, proud grandpa. One short, crazy dog.”
    â€œI love you, Papa Pete,” I said. Which was entirely true.

CHAPTER 20
    THE DAY OF THE OLYMPIAD is a big deal at PS 87. Everything is decorated. The cafeteria has streamers, the bulletin boards have signs that say GO BLUE or YELLOW RULES. Even the trash cans are wrapped in crepe paper. Usually, they’re green, which is our school color. But on Olympiad Day, half of them are blue and the other half of them are, you guessed it, yellow.
    When we walked up to school, Principal Love was waiting outside. Talk about school spirit, he was overflowing with it. I’m not kidding—even his clothes were cheering. For starters, he was wearing a scarf that his wife had knit that was half yellow and half blue. I noticed that the yellow half was hanging down the front of his overcoat, and the blue half was in the back. I wondered if that meant he was a yellow-ie at heart.
    â€œCheck out the feet,” Frankie whispered.
    Principal Love always wears black Velcro shoes that squeak when he walks up and down the linoleum halls. On this particular day, he had replaced those beauties with two other Velcro shoes. One was blue. And the other was, you guessed it, yellow.
    â€œWhere do you even buy shoes like that?” I whispered to Frankie and Ashley.
    â€œA clown store?” Frankie suggested.
    â€œNo, silly, they’re homemade,” said Ashley. “I bet he got white shoes and colored them with magic markers.”
    â€œI hope it doesn’t rain,” Frankie said. “He’ll end up with polka-dot shoes.”
    â€œGood morning, students,” Principal Love said in his loudspeaker voice. “Welcome to the Olympiad.”
    â€œHi, Principal Love,” we all muttered.
    â€œRemember, children, the body, the mind, and the spirit all win today—regardless of whether you actually win or not. There’s no losing in winning and no losing in losing. Isn’t that right, Mr. Zipzer?”
    â€œAbsolutely, Principal Love,” I said, even though I had no idea of what he had just said. Everything he says sounds like it belongs in some really important library book. I’m sure as soon as someone figures out what he’s talking about, they’re going to write it down.
    â€œAnd what