The tenth mistake of han.., p.1
The Tenth Mistake of Hank Hooperman, page 1
Also by Gennifer Choldenko
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Coauthored with Katherine Applegate
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This Is a Borzoi Book Published by Alfred A. Knopf
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2024 by Gennifer Choldenko
Cover art copyright © 2024 by Chris Choi
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Choldenko, Gennifer, author.
Title: The tenth mistake of Hank Hooperman / Gennifer Choldenko.
Description: New York : Alfred A. Knopf, 2024. | “This is a Borzoi book” | Audience: Ages 8–12 | Audience: Grades 4–6 | Summary: When eleven-year-old Hank’s mother does not come home after a week, he and his toddler sister, Boo, seek out the stranger listed as their emergency contact, even though it means social workers, a new school, and having to answer questions about his mom that he has been trying to keep secret.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023027379 (print) | LCCN 2023027380 (ebook) | ISBN 978-1-5247-1892-3 (hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-5247-1893-0 (library binding) | ISBN 978-1-5247-1894-7 (ebook)
Subjects: CYAC: Family problems—Fiction. | Siblings—Fiction. | Secrets—Fiction. | Resilience—Fiction. | LCGFT: Novels.
Classification: LCC PZ7.C446265 Te 2024 (print) | LCC PZ7.C446265 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
Ebook ISBN 9781524718947
Interior design by Ken Crossland, adapted for ebook
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ep_prh_7.0_147250686_c0_r0
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1: Hooperman and Pooperman
Chapter 2: Winner, Winner, Lunch and Dinner
Chapter 3: Bus Ladies
Chapter 4: You Know What to Do
Chapter 5: Broken Shell
Chapter 6: Adults Like It When You Wear a Tie
Chapter 7: How Long before a Person Stops Being a Stranger?
Chapter 8: The Urinator
Chapter 9: An Apology from the Principal
Chapter 10: The Devil’s Dancing Shoes
Chapter 11: My House, My Rules
Chapter 12: In a Cartoon, Things Get Fixed in Half an Hour
Chapter 13: The Kind of Face People Think They’ve Seen Before
Chapter 14: Half a Burrito
Chapter 15: Adults Mean Well, but…
Chapter 16: Nice Boys Don’t Skateboard
Chapter 17: Zombie Story
Chapter 18: The Hulk’s Cousin
Chapter 19: Practice Is Everything
Chapter 20: Yes, Ma’am, Lou Ann
Chapter 21: Hoop
Chapter 22: A New Lead
Chapter 23: John, Jeffrey, Jeremy, Joel
Chapter 24: Who Invited You?
Chapter 25: The Kids’ Table
Chapter 26: These Are Not My People
Chapter 27: Tadeo
Chapter 28: Ana Lopez’s Birthday Is Tomorrow
Chapter 29: Two Truths and a Lie
Chapter 30: An Ogre Comes to Life
Chapter 31: Kisses Are Complicated
Chapter 32: Bridget Hooperman
Chapter 33: The Winged Leopard
Chapter 34: Everybody Loves Boo
Chapter 35: The Angle of Rain
Chapter 36: Camp to Belong
Chapter 37: A Blinding Storm in My Head
Chapter 38: The Sun Has Fallen from the Sky
Chapter 39: Things Happen Fast
Chapter 40: Things Happen Slow
Chapter 41: A Fresh Start
Chapter 42: Best Kids in the World
Chapter 43: The Car Seat
Chapter 44: Boo Has Rain Boots There
Chapter 45: I’ll Take Control
Chapter 46: It Won’t Happen Again
Chapter 47: The Big Ask
Chapter 48: Loser, Loser
Chapter 49: Hank Hooperman Fails at Everything
Chapter 50: Christmas Eve
Chapter 51: Christmas
Chapter 52: Please Don’t Throw My Skateboard Away
Chapter 53: No Way to Make It Right
Chapter 54: Footsteps
Chapter 55: Remember the Piccolo
Chapter 56: Second Chance
Chapter 57: Where You Go, Pooperman?
Chapter 58: Lou Ann
Chapter 59: Ray 2
Chapter 60: Cinnamon Churro Cake
Chapter 61: She’s My Mom
Acknowledgments
About the Author
_147250686_
To every kid who carries adult responsibilities on eleven-year-old shoulders. You are not alone.
1
Hooperman and Pooperman
My name is Hank Hooperman, but my little sister calls me Pooperman. We are Hooperman and Pooperman, according to Boo. I’d like it to be Hooperman and Superman, but try telling that to Boo.
Boo is three and has pink cheeks and wispy curls that stick up all over the place. She looks like an angel, but she smells like crap. I’ve been trying to teach her to use the toilet, which is why she calls me Pooperman. Unfortunately, it isn’t going well.
Boo pulls her stuffed puppy into the living room. “Beekfast?” she asks.
“Popsicles and saltines,” I say.
Boo claps her hands. She’s easy to please.
“Pooperman,” she announces, “did a stinky.”
“I didn’t do a stinky,” I say.
“I diddin do a stinky.” Boo shakes her head hard. “Elmo did a stinky.”
“It was Elmo,” we decide.
Then I get Boo cleaned up. Grandma Mae taught me how. She said a big brother has to know how to change diapers in case his mom forgets.
“Next time make the stinky in the toilet, okay?”
“Okay.” Boo nods like she always does.
I roll up the dirty diaper and stuff it in the overflowing diaper pail. I need to dump it in the trash behind the building, but I don’t want to run into anyone who might ask about Mom.
Boo waves at the diaper. “Bye-bye, Elmo’s stinky.” Then she heads for our tiny kitchen, skipping in her lopsided way. She’s nailed the skip with her right leg but doesn’t quite have it with her left.
I pry the last Popsicle off the freezer wall, shake the crumbs off the plate, and count out the rest of the saltines. Seven for her. Seven for me. Then I sprinkle on sugar.
I carry the plate to the TV. We’ve just settled in when we hear a sharp rap-rap on the door.
“Mrs. Hooperman, I know you’re in there. Please open up.”
I peek through the front-door peephole. It’s the apartment manager with the saggy face and the tattoos that look like they were drawn by a beginner.
Boo dives for my leg and wraps both arms around it. She holds on as I walk stiff-legged to the bathroom. I close us in so the shouting doesn’t scare her. Mom taught me to do this.
“Open the door. Mrs. Hooperman. Geri! Geri Hooperman.” He bang-bang-bangs. “I know you’re in there, Mrs. Hooperman. And I have every right to enter the premises.” He rattles the doorknob.
Boo puts her hands over her ears and burrows into my leg. We get in the shower stall, but we can still hear.
“You owe six months’ rent, Mrs. Hooperman. I’ve given you multiple warnings. We have started eviction proceedings. I need payment in full by tomorrow morning or you and your kids will be forcibly removed. Did you hear that, Mrs. Hooperman?” He slaps the door.
The knots in my stomach rub against each other.
What if Mom’s not home by then?
2
Winner, Winner, Lunch and Dinner
Mom went out last Wednesday. She said she’d be home early, but when I woke up the next morning, she wasn’t there. That was the day of the sixth-grade field trip. We were supposed to go to the Creativity Lab to build robots, design cars, and make flocks of birds fly by touching the wall.
Mom filled out the permission slip, but forgot to sign, so I did it for her. I was all set to go, except what about Boo?
If I’d had a phone, I would have called my teacher, Ms. LaFleur, and asked her. But since I didn’t, Boo and I watched cartoons until it was too late to go.
* * *
—
That was a week ago. A week is a long time to be without your mom.
* * *
—
During the day, we watch TV, make up games, and draw. But at night car lights flash across the dark living room, sirens wail, the clock in the kitchen tick-tick-ticks, and I think about the terrible things that could have happened to Mom.
* * *
—
When the apartment manager leaves, Boo snuggles next to me in front of the TV. She licks the sugar off her crackers, and I eat my half of the Popsicle, which tastes better than it looks.
But now I can’t stop thinking about the words the apartment manager said.
Evicted. Forcibly removed. Tomorrow.
* * *
—
If only Grandma Mae were here. Then we’d be at her house. She had a bed for me and a crib for Boo and a real drawing desk with a hundred different-colored markers. But Grandma Mae died last year, and things have been bad since then.
I try to think what Grandma Mae would say to do now. Make a list? Grandma Mae liked to write lists. She said it was her superpower.
I find a paper and write down all the places we could go:
C.J.’s house. C.J. is my best friend. It would be fun to have a sleepover at his house, except his mom doesn’t like him having kids over that much. Also, he’s moving, like, this week.
The Blue Door. The Blue Door is our favorite place. But we don’t have money to order anything, and they only give free popcorn if you buy a drink.
My teacher’s house. Ms. LaFleur liked me at the beginning of the semester, but I’ve missed a lot of school, so she doesn’t like me that much now. Also, I don’t know where she lives.
Grace Church. Mom loves singing in choir. Even when she’s been up all night, she still goes Sunday morning to sing. But today is Tuesday and church is only open on Sundays.
The library. We have twin librarians, who wear matching multicolor knit caps. They answer my questions and help me find books. But at closing they want you out fast. It’s like they’re ready to turn into werewolves, and they must get you to leave or you’ll see.
I’m done with my list, but it hasn’t helped. I don’t want to go to any of these places.
* * *
—
It’s lunchtime when the hum of the refrigerator stops, the flashing light on the microwave goes dark, and the TV flickers off.
In the sudden quiet inside, the sounds grow louder outside. The rush of cars on the freeway. The roar of a plane overhead. The lady next door doing jumping jacks.
I try the light switch. Nothing happens.
Boo pushes the buttons on the remote. “Boken?”
I step outside to see if it’s a power outage everywhere or just in our apartment. I hear the TV a few doors down and the whir of a blender next door.
Did the apartment manager turn off our electricity? Or is there a bill we haven’t paid?
Boo runs her hands along the TV. “Elmo?”
“It doesn’t work. No more Elmo.”
“Oh.” Boo sits down with a bump and starts to cry.
I pick up her favorite book and she crawls in my lap. I read to her about the hungry caterpillar, but it doesn’t help.
“Let’s play Winner, Winner,” I suggest.
Boo’s bottom lip puckers, her shoulders droop. “No again,” she says.
Winner, Winner is a game we made up where we look for money in Mom’s stuff. The first day Mom didn’t come back, the game was fun. We found quarters in her coat pocket, a dollar in an old purse, and pennies in the tray in the living room. Every time we found a coin, we’d say Winner, winner, and when we had enough, we’d march to Fred’s, the gas-station store, singing Winner, winner, lunch and dinner, and we’d buy Cheetos and Cheerios.
But now there’s no money left to find. So, it’s Loser, Loser—or Toozer, Toozer, as Boo says it. I tell Boo to cover her eyes, then I hide the pennies we have left. I look for easy places so Boo will find them.
“Ready, set, go!” I call. And Boo starts searching. She jumps up and down when she finds a penny. “Winner, winner, lutch and dinner!” she shouts out, and we imagine all the food we could buy, even though a penny won’t buy anything at all.
“Elmo,” Boo says, walking to the TV with her round hand outstretched as if she were handing the penny to him.
“I wish,” I say as I dig through my mother’s drawers, the shelves in her closet, the junk drawer in the kitchen. I look through the bottles on the counter, the cleaning supplies, and the mass of cords in the bottom of her closet.
I search the stack of mail and papers by the front door. But money doesn’t come by mail. Only bills. I open the drawer in the living room table and shake out each piece of paper, searching for coins caught in the folds.
There’s a coupon for carpet cleaning, Boo’s birth certificate, which says Bridget Chesley—a mistake…she’s a Hooperman just like me—and a bunch of photos and stuff. Then I dig through a box in the closet and find the phone Mom ran over, business cards, and a bus pass.
Wait…a bus pass!
* * *
—
The bus pass has Mom’s name, Geri Hooperman…but there’s no picture on it and Geri could be a boy’s name too. I don’t need a bus pass for Boo. She’s so little they don’t make her pay.
“Boo, look!” I dangle the pass in front of her.
Her face scrunches up. She tilts her head.
“It’s a bus pass,” I explain.
She doesn’t know what a bus pass is, but she sees it has made me happy. She takes my hand, and we do our “nutty up, nutty down” dance around the living room.
When we’re tired, we collapse in a heap.
But now I don’t feel so good.
A bus pass doesn’t help when you have no place to go.
3
Bus Ladies
Sometimes I pretend Mom is home, Grandma Mae’s still alive, and Boo lands every stinky in the toilet.
But I can’t pretend right now. Not with how tight my stomach feels. Forcibly removed. Tomorrow.
On the table is my field trip permission form, covered with orange Cheetos dust. Maybe Boo and I could go to the Creativity Lab. Maybe we could be like the kids in From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and live in the museum. But those kids had money for tickets, and we don’t.
