Champ Hobarth

by Judith Bernie Strommen

Overview

Marty Hobarth feels as if he was born into the wrong family. His dad runs marathons; his mom just graduated from college; his sister is gifted and talented (and she knows it). Marty can't even make the town diving team. He's a zero. An absolute zilch.

Then a big, smelly, friendly stray puppy enters Marty's life, and he doesn't feel like such a loser anymore. Marty's new friend, Leanne, says that Champ is headed for the town animal jail--maybe worse--unless Marty comes to his rescue. Saving Champ means lying to his dad and pretending he's Leanne's brother so he can volunteer at the shelter. But Marty believes it's time for him to follow his heart, even if it's the hardest thing he's ever done.

Judith Bernie Strommen writes with insight and humor about families, self-expression, and the overwhelming need to belong.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781466885158
Publisher:	Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)
Publication date:	11/11/2014
Sold by:	Macmillan
Format:	eBook
Pages:	150
File size:	208 KB
Age Range:	9 - 11 Years

About the Author

Judith Bernie Strommen is also the author of Grady the Great. "A warm-hearted story with some appealing characters, lots of laughs," wrote Booklist in its review. "Kids will want a sequel."

Champ Hobarth is set in the same town as Grady the Great, and there are some cameo appearances by Grady's friends. Judy Strommen is herself a volunteer at her local animal shelter. She's at work on another book about Johnson Falls. She lives on Plum Creek Ranch in Clearwater, Minnesota.

Judith Bernie Strommen makes her publishing debut with Grady the Great. The first chapter of the book was awarded the Loft Prize for Children's Literature in 1988.

Ms. Strommen lives with her husband, Eric, their youngest son, Michael, and their two golden retrievers, Katy and Boomer, on Plum Creek Ranch in Clearwater, Minnesota.

Read an Excerpt

Champ Hobarth

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By Judith Bernie Strommen

Henry Holt and Company

Copyright © 1993 Judith Bernie Strommen
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-8515-8

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CHAPTER 1

The Zilch

Inch by inch Marty Hobarth eased himself out onto the high diving board at the Johnson Falls municipal swimming pool. His feet scraped its sandpapery surface. His heart pounded. His arms, raised like wings for balance, teetered in the breeze.

When he reached the end and there was nothing in front of him but air, he stared down at the ice-blue water below him. He tried to swallow, but the spit was gone from his mouth.

What was he doing trying out for the diving team? Who did everybody want him to be? Mr. Olympics?

"Hey, Hobarth! You about ready?" It was the coach.

Marty looked down and saw him write something on his clipboard. Probably something like "Forget Hobarth. The kid's a zilch."

Well, maybe he was a zilch. But then nobody had bothered to tell him he'd have to try out from the high dive.

He gave a small, testing pump to the end of the board, to show the coach he was almost—sort of—ready. Instantly the board dipped and then sprang up. He flung his arms out to steady himself.

Near the coach stood the other kids who were trying out. David Bock was in the middle of them, huddled in his orange towel. David, who'd been in Marty's class at school and thought everything was a piece of cake. David had already done his dive and, Marty knew, easily made the team. He was the one who should be a Hobarth. He'd fit right in.

David waved up at him.

Marty did not wave back. He didn't want to lose his balance.

Of course, he'd been on the high dive lots of times before ... to do cannonballs. But it didn't seem so high up when you were just doing cannonballs. What if he belly flopped right there in front of everybody? What if he hit the water so hard, it slapped the skin right off his body and they had to call the ambulance and carry him out on a stretcher?

His picture would be on the front page of the Gazette. Underneath it would say:

Lawrence Martin Hobarth, also known as "Marty the Zilch," performed an Olympic belly flop at the municipal pool today. Son of John and Liz Hobarth, brother of Francine the superbrain, Marty the Zilch was unable to speak to our reporter at the scene. His lips were stuck to his teeth. But schoolmate David Bock said no one was surprised by the accident. Lawrence Martin, he explained, was not good at anything.

Marty frowned as he curled his toes tighter around the edge of the board. He listened to the thumping that had started up in his ears and he looked away from David, out across the pool. He saw people splashing in the shallow end and people swimming laps. People lying in the sun and people playing cards. Everyone was having fun but him.

He gulped a fast breath and tried to wriggle the jitters out of his fingertips. In the park beyond the pool fence, things looked quieter. Just trees and grass and a big dog loping along the walking trail.

He wished he was out there, with the dog. Or he wished he was at home. Anywhere. Even the dentist's office would be better than this.

"Hobarth!" It was the coach again.

Marty nodded. If he didn't hurry up and do it, he was going to chicken out. Just like his sister said he would.

Except he wasn't even sure he could chicken out. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, trying to see the board behind him, but he couldn't quite. Which meant, if he decided to chicken out, he would have to back up without seeing, in a perfect straight line, or he would fall off and be a splat on the cement.

Which meant he had to dive.

He raised his arms over his head. He clasped his fingers together, pointing them toward the sky, and sucked in air until his lungs were filled to bursting. He took one last look at the park, then slammed his eyes shut. He pictured himself doing a splashless, smooth-as-a-knife dive. Then, with a lurch of his stomach, he let himself go.

But it was wrong!

Instantly, it was wrong!

His arms were still pointing to the sky! His feet were aiming down! He was not diving! He was going in feet first, arms up. Like the victim of a holdup.

Before he could open his eyes (as if seeing could fix things!) his pointing toes hit the icy water and he slipped in, smooth as a knife. The noise of the world vanished as a rush of bubbles closed over his head.

He shot down through the swirling water with the speed of a torpedo. Chlorine stung the inside of his nose. Muffled sounds of underwater filled his ears. He squeezed his hands into fists.

How could anybody be so dumb? In front of so many people?

When his feet scraped bottom, he did what he had to do. He gave a push up. Because if he hid down there, for even half a minute, they'd send a lifeguard in after him. That would be even worse.

He let himself float to the surface. When his head broke through to the air, he gulped it, bobbing in the middle of the deep end, and opened his eyes.

There they were. David, the coach, all the other kids. Watching him.

Grimly, he turned toward the ladder and began a slow dog paddle to the side of the pool. When he grabbed the top rung of the ladder, David squatted down in front of him. His towel dipped into the water.

"Geez, Marty," he said. "What'd ya do that for?"

"I don't think he meant to," said Ann Louise Miller, in a loud whisper. "It's so embarrassing."

Behind Ann Louise somebody giggled.

And Marty felt his face heat. Without a word to David or Ann Louise or anybody, he hoisted himself out of the pool. What he needed to do was get out of there and never come back. Not ever.

But the coach waved him over.

"Would you like to try again, Hobarth?" he asked when Marty stood in front of him, dripping.

At just that moment the breeze touched Marty's wet skin (which was still there, he reminded himself) and sent tremors down both arms. Try again? Marty shook his head no.

"You sure?"

Dead sure, Marty wanted to say. He nodded instead.

Coach looked at him for a long moment and then went back to his clipboard. "All right then, Hobarth. Have a good summer. Sanders? You're next."

Marty snatched up his towel and his shoes and pressed through the group of kids without looking at any of them. Somebody called after him, but he kept on going. His eyes burned from the pool chlorine.

He hurried past some sunbathers, his left foot bumping their bottle of lotion. "Hey, watch it!" one of them yelled as he rushed by.

His face was steaming now, and he dried it with a swipe of his towel. He really was a Zilch. Zilch with a capital Z, which was Embarrassing with a capital E, and not only because of the people at the pool.

There was his dad to think about. But he didn't want to think about his dad. Not yet. And then there was his sister Francine. When she heard the news, she'd write a letter to Mom, who was in Mexico studying things. Then she'd get on the phone with her finky friends. Lawrence Martin bombed again, she'd tell everyone. How Embarrassing.

He reached the pool entrance and slid through the creaky turnstile. He followed the sidewalk until it ended, at the stairs that led to the parking lot. He looked behind him to see if anyone had followed.

No one had.

So he slumped down on the top step, dropped his shoes, and bent over to loosen the laces. As he shoved his left foot in, the dog he'd seen in the park came lumbering over the hill.

When the dog spotted him, he changed course and trotted over. His fur was speckled with every dog color Marty'd ever seen. On his side one large brown splotch looked like it belonged on a map.

But he, Marty, didn't have time to watch dogs. He needed to get out of there!

He was about to reach for his other shoe when the dog arrived. With a woosh of tail he plopped down on the step in front of Marty and the shoe disappeared under a tangle of fur. The dog looked at Marty. Then he lifted one paw.

It was huge.

In fact, the whole dog was huge. Plus his ears sagged. His eyes drooped. And he smelled like a swamp.

"Hey," said Marty. "You're on my shoe."

The dog pushed at Marty's arm with his paw.

"You wanna shake hands with a zilch?" asked Marty. "Is that it?"

The dog tipped his head, as if he understood, and it reminded Marty of a dog he'd seen in a movie once. A dog that could almost talk.

The paw pressed, insistent, against Marty's wrist.

"Okay. But then you gotta move." Marty took the giant, warm paw in his hand and shook it. He watched the dog's eyes twinkle.

"Guess you don't know about zilches, huh?" he asked, half expecting an answer.

But at that moment a horn honked.

Marty turned.

It was his dad. He'd pulled into the parking lot in his store van, and Marty hadn't even noticed. HOBARTH'S F & A it said in blue letters across the side. FURNITURE AND ACCESSORIES FOR EVERY HOME.

"Hey, champ!" his dad called up to him through the open driver's-side window. "How'd it go?"

CHAPTER 2

The Incredible Shrinking Kid

Marty walked down the pool steps to the parking lot, the dog close behind. When he reached his dad's van, he set one foot on the running board and forced a smile. "Dad. Hi. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to watch you dive, but I see I've missed it. A customer came in just as I was leaving."

"Gee." Marty tried hard to sound sorry. "That's too bad."

"How was it? And where is everyone else? David Bock tried out too, didn't he?"

Marty's dad had met David and his parents the night of the school open house. He liked David.

"David?" Marty pushed the lock button on the van's door down and then pulled it up. Down and then up. Click, click. If his dad saw David, he'd want to say hello. He'd say, "How'd it go, Dave?" He'd want the details.

"He left already, Dad. They all did. I'm the last one."

Marty did not look at his dad when he spoke. He focused instead on the small blue squares in his dad's shirt, because nobody, of course, had gone anywhere yet. But if his dad knew that, he'd want to stay. He'd want to go up and meet not just David but all the divers. He'd want to introduce himself to the coach. The thought of it made Marty's stomach churn.

He looked away, into the van's side mirror, and saw the bike rack, which was only a few feet away. It was full with the bikes of all the divers, including his own. He couldn't let his dad see that! Quickly he covered the mirror with one arm.

"Well then." Mr. Hobarth drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "Hop in. I'll drive you home."

Marty beamed. So what if he had to come back for his own bike? He hurried around the front end of the van.

The dog followed.

Marty grabbed the door handle to climb into the van. "Stay, dog!" he said.

But the dog wouldn't. He pressed closer, his tail wagging, as if he expected to ride along. When Marty opened the door, the dog slipped past him and lunged into the front seat.

Marty watched the dog give his dad a slurpy chomp on the sunglasses. As if they were old friends.

"Marty!" his dad called from somewhere behind the mass of fur.

"I'll get him, Dad."

It took the two of them, Marty pulling and his dad pushing, to get the dog off the front seat, out of the van, and back onto the blacktop.

"He's big as a moose," said Mr. Hobarth. "And he needs a bath. He ought to have I.D. tags on too. It's a city ordinance."

Marty scanned the park for anyone who looked like he'd just misplaced his dog. He listened for a voice calling. But there was no one. (And thankfully, no divers!)

He opened the van door again, but this time just enough to slide himself in sideways. When he yanked the door shut, the dog stood on his hind legs, outside the van, and whined.

"Get him down, Mart," said Mr. Hobarth. "Before he scratches the paint."

Marty looked into the dog's begging eyes and wished he could stay and pet him awhile. But he had to hurry. "Sorry, fella," he said. Then he added fiercely, for his dad's benefit, "Get down!"

When the dog did, Mr. Hobarth stepped on the accelerator and the van pulled away from the curb. Marty buckled his safety belt and leaned back against the seat. He looked out the side mirror for the dog, but the only thing he could see was himself. Hair dripping, eyes red.

The front seat was hot. Marty's skin stuck to the vinyl upholstery. He should have laid his towel down first, before he got in, but in the big hurry he hadn't thought of it. He hadn't thought about how he was going to explain things to his dad, either. And now they were alone together. Where would he even start? He bunched the towel into a ball on his lap and tried to think.

His dad switched the turn signal, and the van rolled out onto the boulevard. Behind Marty's seat tools clanked. A box slid across the floor.

"Okay now, champ," said his dad. "Tell me."

Marty twisted a handful of the towel. Maybe he should start with how high up the diving board was. Or how he'd forgotten his nose plugs.

"I bet you were great," Mr. Hobarth said, not waiting for an answer. "I bet we've got an Olympic diver in the family."

Marty squinted against the glare off the dashboard. This was not going to be easy. "I don't think so, Dad."

"Come on now, Mart. Remember what we talked about?"

Of course he remembered. He'd heard it a million times.

His dad said it anyway. "If you don't expect to succeed, you never will."

"I know, Dad. But—"

"But what?"

Marty swallowed. "But I didn't exactly do real good."

Mr. Hobarth dismissed Marty's words with a wave of his hand. "So what if you weren't perfect? You'll work at it. You'll get better. Do you think I won the first marathon I ran?"

"No, Dad. It was your fifth."

His dad smiled over at him. "The key here is attitude. You've got to start thinking like a winner, Marty. Like your sister does when she competes in the spelling contests."

Marty thought about how Francine's picture had been on the front page of the Gazette the day she won the regionals, and he felt himself begin to shrink.

He wiggled his toes against the wet insides of his tennis shoes. Pretty soon, he imagined, his feet wouldn't reach the floor mat. Pretty soon he wouldn't be able to see over the dashboard. Pretty soon he'd get strangled by the seat belt. He was turning into the incredible shrinking kid.

He looked out the window and saw boulevard trees and kids on bikes and a lady pushing a baby stroller. Everything seemed normal sized outside, which meant it was happening just in the van.

"Marty? Are you listening to me?"

Marty shook his head and drips of pool water showered down from his hair.

"I said, your mother will be so pleased you're on the team. She worried you wouldn't keep busy this summer."

Marty tried to move in the seat, but his back was stuck to the vinyl. If only his mom was home. Then he could tell her about messing up the dive (She wouldn't get so upset!) and she could tell his dad for him. But no. She was out digging up dirt at some place in Mexico that he couldn't even spell. Hunting for old bones and pottery with some people from the college.

He was going to have to handle things himself.

His dad patted his arm. "Don't look so unhappy, Mart. You've got an opportunity here, not a problem. If you don't get discouraged and give up."

"But, Dad—"

"No buts, Marty. Not this time."

Marty squeezed the towel in his lap. His dad was remembering other times. Like the hockey tryouts, when he'd cut his chin on the ice and gotten stitches instead of a place on the team. Or the one week he played basketball. Or his math quizzes at school. There were a lot of possibilities.

He peered at his reflection in his dad's sunglasses. He was shrinking, all right.

They turned onto their own street, Fox Lane, and the tools behind Marty jangled. The box slid back across the floor. When Mr. Hobarth pulled up next to the curb in front of their house, he patted Marty on the shoulder. "Put a smile on, champ," he said. "It's going to be a great summer."

Marty opened his mouth to say something, but his dad waved him out. "Gotta run."

Marty pushed on the door handle. Then, letting the skin on his back pull away from the vinyl seat, he climbed out of the van.

His father gave the horn a see-you-later toot and drove off down the street. Marty stood on the curb and watched him go. Hugging the towel to his stomach, he shuffled across the front lawn. The foam inserts in his shoes squished like sponges. On a tree limb above him a jay scolded.

"Thanks a lot, bird," he said.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Champ Hobarth by Judith Bernie Strommen. Copyright © 1993 Judith Bernie Strommen. Excerpted by permission of Henry Holt and Company.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Title Page,
Copyright Notice,
Dedication,
Acknowledgments,
1 / The Zilch,
2 / The Incredible Shrinking Kid,
3 / Champ Hobarth,
4 / The Big Question,
5 / Mr. Chu's Cookies,
6 / Incognito,
7 / Jail,
8 / Super Double-Top Extra Cheese,
9 / The Family,
10 / Twenty-five Hours a Day,
11 / The Rescuer,
12 / The F & A,
13 / Garbage,
14 / Walking Billboards,
15 / Operation Shutdown,
16 / Back to Krypton,
17 / Discoveries,
18 / Home,
Epilogue: The Johnson Falls Gazette,
Copyright,