The Day of the Iguana by Henry Winkler Page B

always been, he’s turned into Captain Wisecrack.
    â€œActually,” he said, “anyone can get a new box. My mom just got one for the TV in her room.”
    It was the perfect solution. I’d call the cable company right after school and ask them to bring over a new box.
    My dad and Emily arrived downstairs with Cheerio on a leash. When it’s my dad’s day to walk us to school, he always brings Cheerio along for the exercise. He likes to sniff the sidewalk and curbs—Cheerio, that is, not my dad. We headed down Amsterdam Avenue, and I was already feeling much better. It’s great when you find a solution to a problem. It’s like someone has lifted a huge sack of potatoes off your back.
    â€œRobert,” I whispered. “You’re an all right guy, even if you do wear a white shirt and tie to school every day.”
    He reached out with his scrawny little arm and threw me a fake punch in the arm. Boy, is that kid weak.
    â€œBy the way, buddy,” he said, “It costs fifty-eight dollars.”
    â€œWhat does?”
    â€œThe cable box. Actually, fifty-eight dollars and forty cents.”
    â€œRobert, why didn’t you tell me this before?”
    â€œYou didn’t ask.”
    â€œBut I only have ten dollars,” I said. “That means I’m thirty-eight dollars and forty cents short.”
    â€œMake that forty eight dollars and forty cents,” Robert said.
    In case you haven’t noticed, my math isn’t any better than my spelling.
    This was not looking good for the future of my television privileges.

CHAPTER 15
    WHEN WE REACHED SCHOOL, I saw Frankie standing outside on the steps. I went charging up to him and launched into my apology.
    â€œFrankie! Listen, I’ve been thinking about what happened and I’ve got to tell you that—”
    Before I could even finish my sentence, Nick McKelty appeared on the steps next to us. Nick McKelty doesn’t care if you’re in the middle of an apology. He just blurts out whatever he has to say, which is usually something loud and obnoxious. Correction. It is always something loud and obnoxious.
    â€œHey, Townsend,” he hollered at Frankie, not even paying the slightest attention to me. “What did you think of The Mutant Moth That Ate Toledo. Was I right or was I right?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know,” Frankie answered, giving me a dark stare. “I missed it.”
    â€œDon’t tell me you didn’t see it?” McKelty said, his big mouth hanging open in surprise. “The part where the moth ate the policeman’s guts and grew to the size of an apartment building was awesome. A total gross-out.”
    â€œI wish I had seen it,” Frankie said quietly, staring at me until I thought his brown eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. “Someone I know was supposed to tape it for me.”
    McKelty, who is generally not the brightest bulb in the lamp, put two and two together for the first time in his life.
    â€œHey, sounds like Zipzer screwed up again.” He smirked. “What did you do, Zipper Face? Forget what the ON button looks like?”
    I must have looked like someone punched me in the stomach. McKelty saw me flinch. He could tell he had found a sore spot, and now he was going to go for the knockout.
    â€œYeah, those ON and OFF buttons are really hard to push,” he said, putting his huge face right up to mine. His breath was like a dragon who had eaten six onions for breakfast.
    â€œBack off, McKelty.” I could only take so much. “This is none of your business.”
    McKelty grinned, and I noticed he still had some of his breakfast lodged in that big space between his two front teeth. I’m guessing it was waffles, but I couldn’t entirely rule out cinnamon toast.
    â€œDid I tell you girls that my dad is getting the original poster of The Mutant Moth movie for me,” he bragged. “Not a copy, either, but