CHAPTER 1

“Emily,” I said to my sister. “When they take your picture, say ‘toenails.’”

“Eeuw, why would I say ‘toenails’?” she answered. “They’re gross.”

“Because saying the word moves your lips into a smile,” I explained. “Which, I might add, you don’t know how to do.”

We were walking down the school hall heading toward the bulletin board where they display the pictures of everyone who wins an award. If you want to be famous, it’s the best bulletin board in the school. Every kid at PS 87 has to pass by it at least twice a day.

And today they were taking a picture of Emily to put up on display. She had been picked as Reader of the Month ... again.

“Hank, you’re just jealous because I’m getting my picture up on the bulletin board and you’re not,” Emily said.

The annoying thing about Emily is that she’s always right. I was jealous. This was the second time she had been picked as Reader of the Month, this time for having finished thirteen books in thirty days. Ask me how many books I’ve finished.

The answer is not one.

I want to read, I really do. But my eyes never seem to make friends with the words on the page. All those letters swim around like fish in a pond.

Just once, I’d like to win an award and get my picture pinned right in the center of the board. It could be for anything. Like being the best tuna-fish sandwich eater. I’m really good at that. Or for falling asleep. I can fall asleep before my eyes are even closed.

But no one gives out awards for those things, especially the head of my school, Principal Love. He’s got a mole on his cheek that looks just like the Statue of Liberty without the torch. Every time he laughs, it looks like the mole is doing the hula. I bet he wishes they gave out awards for the best mole.

When Emily and I reached the bulletin board, my parents were already there. They had come early to be sure they didn’t miss taking even one picture of Emily. They have a whole photo album just for Emily and her awards. Their smiles were so big, you could see every one of their teeth, even the yellow ones in the back.

“Yoo-hoo, kids,” my mom shouted. “We’re over here!”

My mom always calls out to us as though we can’t see her. I don’t know why she does that. My eyes are working fine. It’s my brain that doesn’t work so well.

Both my parents were wearing the green buttons our school gives out that say I’M A PROUD PS 87 PARENT. I wondered if that meant they were proud of both of us or just Emily.

“Oh, look,” Emily said. “The whole family is here for my special day.”

“Not exactly,” I pointed out. “If you notice, Cheerio’s not here.”

“Hank, Cheerio is a dog.”

“To you. To me, he’s my younger furry brother.”

“Well, he shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t appreciate books.”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “He loves chewing on them! And the ones he likes the best, he pees on.”

Principal Love arrived then, his face lighting up when he saw Emily. The mole on his cheek was dancing up a storm.

“Hello, all you Zipzers!” he said with a big grin. “You’re looking very zippy today.”

“It’s a special day for Emily,” my father said.

Principal Love took a key from his pocket and unlocked the glass case protecting the bulletin board. Then he pulled a picture of Emily out of a brown manila envelope.

“Oh, look,” he said. “There are already thumbtack holes in the corners of this picture from the last time we put it up.”

Emily smiled so big, I thought her face was going to crack in half. All I wanted to do was throw up.

Principal Love tacked Emily’s picture onto the center of the bulletin board, right under the big black letters that said READER OF THE MONTH . He was careful to use the pinholes that were already there. He’d probably get to use them twenty more times before the year was up.

“Time for a photo opportunity,” he said as he closed the case. “Your family certainly doesn’t want to forget this proud moment.”

Maybe the rest of them didn’t, but I sure did. My memory is full of proud moments about Emily in school and kind of empty about proud school moments of me.

“Dad, let me take the picture,” I said.

I thought that at least taking the picture would give me something to do, rather than just looking like the loser brother standing next to my winner sister.

“Okay, Hank,” my dad said, holding out his phone. “You take the picture. And try not to cut off our heads.”

I left my mom’s side and took the phone. As I snapped the photo, I wondered if the day would ever come when I would get my own special honor.