Annie Pitts, Burger Kid

by Diane deGroat

  And in the bathroom, Mom placed a pile of fancy paper “hand towels.” When I asked what they were for, she said that some people prefer to use disposable paper towels instead of the regular cloth towels that are hanging in there. By “some people” she meant Aunt Lil, of course, and I was beginning to think that my aunt was one of those weirdos who thought that zillions of germs were out to get her.

  I saw a man on TV once who wore a surgeon’s gloves and mask all the time, and he wouldn’t shake hands with anyone, because he was afraid of germs. The talk-show host brought in a hypnotist as a surprise to help the man overcome his fear. I don’t know if it worked, but hiring a hypnotist for Aunt Lil would probably be easier than having to wipe out every germ in our house.

  Just because Mom got into the whole cleaning thing, she expected Grandma and me to share in her enthusiasm. We helped, but Grandma finally put her foot down when Mom wanted her to remove her bowling trophies that decorated the windowsill. Grandma threw her hands in the air and said, “Lilian is your sister, for Pete’s sake, not the queen of England! I think a house should look like people live in it!”

  My room certainly looked like somebody lived in it, so Mom gave me a list of things to do, like put away my laundry. My laundry was freshly washed and very clean, so I would think that she would be proud to display it, but, no, she wanted it put away.

  And then she wanted everything off the floor so we could vacuum. By “we” she meant “me,” which I did. So after my aunt checks behind the living room sofa for dirt, she can check my floor for cooties—but she won’t find any, because I, Annie Pitts, had VACUUMED!

  When I finished I checked around for anything else besides cooties that might be unsavory to my relatives. Unsavory was my word to learn for Wednesday, and it meant “unpleasant.”

  I stared at the kitten calendar hanging on my wall and wondered if it might be unsavory to someone like Mercedes. I decided to leave it because it covered up a hole I accidentally made in the wall with my softball, and the hole would definitely be unsavory to my mother if she saw it.

  The photo of the kitten sitting in a pile of autumn leaves was kind of cute, but the calendar part was really dull. All of the squares were blank, except for November 23, which said “Thanksgiving.”

  Anyone who saw this might think that I was a really boring person, so I took a marker and started filling in the blank squares with things that a mature and exciting person should be doing in November.

  The Friday after Thanksgiving was no problem. I wrote in “AUDITION.” That left twenty-eight days to go.

  In three of the squares I wrote “PARTY,” and then I wrote “BIG PARTY” in three more squares. In preparation for all these parties, I filled in some of the blanks with “BUY HIGH HEELS” and “GET MANICURE.”

  To make it even more interesting, I wrote on Saturday, November 18, “GO ON DATE.” I don’t really date, but Mercedes probably does, so under “GO ON DATE,” I wrote the first name that popped into my head— “WITH MATTHEW.” The thought of actually going on a date with Matthew was totally unsavory, but Mercedes wouldn’t have to know that. She would think that I led a very mature and exciting life.

  Now my room was ready for her visit. For some reason I wanted her to like me. Even if she is stuck-up, she’s the only cousin that I have. My father doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, so I don’t have any cousins from his side of the family.

  I don’t even see my father very often because he lives in California. He said his girlfriend, Tanya, is an actress. She hasn’t been in a movie yet, but she goes on a lot of auditions. I hope I can meet her someday, because we have so much in common, now that I’m going on auditions, too.

  Someday I’ll visit them and meet all kinds of movie stars doing their food shopping and stuff around the neighborhood just like regular people. Dad said he saw Oprah Winfrey once at a restaurant. He didn’t get her autograph, though. He said it’s not polite to ask a famous person for their autograph when they’re doing personal things, like scarfing down lobster.

  Well, after I win that poster contest, if somebody comes up to me and says, “Hey! Aren’t you that famous Burger Kid?” I, Annie Pitts, will let them have my autograph. Even if it’s Oprah herself.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  On Thursday morning a storm ripped through the city with “freezing rain” and “gusting wind.” That’s how the weatherman described it, and I had to agree that it was pretty nasty. But that didn’t stop the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

  I was glad because my own personal Thanksgiving tradition was watching the parade on TV while Mom and Grandma did the last-minute stuff for the big dinner. I helped by eating breakfast in front of the TV and by not getting in their way in the kitchen.

  My favorite part of the parade is the floats. I could just picture myself on top of the Disney float, lipsynching the songs to Pocohantas, and waving to all the people waving at me. Maybe I’ll be asked to do things like that after I become a Burger Kid.

  I looked closely to see if I could recognize Pocohantas as a former Burger Kid. Suddenly, the giant Spiderman balloon came swooping out of nowhere, almost knocking Pocohantas off her float. With this wind, I wouldn’t be surprised if Spiderman ended up here in Yonkers! The whole Northeast was stormy, and I was happy to be watching the parade from my warm and cozy living room with a nice hot breakfast—oatmeal-on-a-bun with ketchup, lettuce, and tomato.

  I was singing along with Pocohantas, who wasn’t really singing—but I was—when my mother came in with tears in her eyes and a knife in her hand. She looked like something out of The Revenge of the Killer Housewives.

  “Annie,” she said, sobbing. “Could you please bring in the newspaper?” Sob. “It’s getting soaked out there on the sidewalk.” Sniff.

  “You’re crying about a wet newspaper?” I asked, relieved to hear that nobody was dead.

  “Oh,” sob, “I’m chopping onions for the stuffing,” she explained. “That always makes me cry.”

  She went back into the kitchen to finish her chopping and her crying, and I went out to rescue a stupid newspaper from the rain. I mean—how much wetter could it get? But Mom looked so sad—even if it was just the onions—so I couldn’t say no.

  We live on the top floor of a two-family house. So I stomped down the long flight of stairs to the front door. When I peeked out into the rain, I saw something weird on the stoop next to the sopping wet newspaper. It looked an awful lot like a turkey. Not a live turkey, but a plastic-wrapped supermarket turkey sitting right there on my stoop. Attached to it was an envelope that had “The Pitts Family” written on it.

  It just so happened that my word to learn for today was enigma. It means “a puzzle or a mystery.” And this was certainly an enigma.

  I picked up the newspaper, and I tried to pick up the enigma, but it was too heavy. I tore off the envelope and brought that upstairs instead.

  I stood in the doorway, so I wouldn’t drip all over Mom’s shiny clean floor before Aunt Lil got a chance to see it, and shouted, “Hey, there’s a turkey outside on the steps.”

  “Anybody we know?” Grandma asked.

  “I’m not kidding,” I said, waving the wet envelope. “This was tied to it.”

  “That’s strange,” Grandma said, pulling a soggy card out of the envelope. “It says: ‘Wishing you a happy Thanksgiving.’ It’s signed, ‘Your PTA at P.S. 21.’ It’s from your school, Annie. Why would they send us a turkey?”

  “It’s an enigma to me,” I said, practicing my new word. And then I suddenly realized something— “Or maybe it’s because I told the class that we were having hamburgers for Thanksgiving.”

  Mom overheard me all the way from the kitchen and came in. “Why would you say something like that, Annie? You know we always have a turkey.”

  “It’s a long story.” I groaned. I didn’t want to tell her I wasn’t paying attention in class again, so I changed the subject. “What about that turkey down there? Should I try to bring it up?”


  “We don’t need two turkeys,” Mom said. “We can give it to St. Paul’s. The church kitchen is open today for the poor, and they’ll be glad to have the extra food. But you’ll have to take it over there this morning so that they can cook it.”

  I wasn’t anxious to go out into the rain. All I wanted to do was sit and watch the parade like I did every Thanksgiving. But I didn’t argue, because it was really my fault that there was a turkey out there in the first place.

  I couldn’t carry it all the way down the block by myself, so I got out my old doll stroller that was in the back of the closet.

  I put on my raincoat and boots and went down the street, walking my fifteen-pound Butterball in the freezing rain and gusting wind, all the way to St. Paul’s. I felt a little ridiculous, but I didn’t think I was going to bump into anyone I knew strolling around in this weather.

  The church was only a block away, but it took forever to get there, because garbage cans and tree limbs had blown all over the sidewalk. I left the turkey by the drop-off box and folded up the stroller. As I was leaving, I noticed some flashing lights and fire trucks on the next street, near where Matthew lives. Hmmm. Another enigma. I walked up the hill to see what was going on.

  When I got close enough, I could see that a huge tree had blown over—and crashed right through the roof of Matthew’s house! Matthew and his brother, Mark, were standing out on the sidewalk; their parents were talking to the police.

  Matthew saw me coming and shouted through the rain, “Hey, Pitts! You should have seen it! It was awesome! It missed me by an inch! My room is totaled!”

  He was actually happy that an oak tree had almost killed him, and now here he was, standing outside in the rain in his pajamas.

  I pulled my hood tighter as we watched the emergency repairmen unload a ladder from the truck. “What about all your stuff?” I asked.

  Matthew was excited and said, “I can get all new stuff because the insurance is going to pay for it. Dad says I can even get a new skateboard. Isn’t that cool?”

  Before I could answer, Mrs. McGill ran over with an umbrella and said to Matthew, “You’d better come inside, sweetie. You’ll catch cold out here.” She looked very upset.

  “Is there anything I can do?” I asked. I didn’t really think there was, but people always say that when something bad happens, so I said it.

  “We’ll be okay,” she answered. “A good part of the roof is damaged, and Matthew’s room is a mess, but the rest of the house is okay. The worse part is having no electricity. The tree pulled down the wires. I can’t even cook my turkey now.” She looked at the hanging wires and sighed. “Some Thanksgiving,” she said. “At least no one was hurt. I’m thankful for that.”

  I was going to ask Mrs. McGill if she wanted to use our oven, but I knew it wasn’t big enough for two turkeys. They would probably go out for dinner. They could even get hamburgers if they wanted.

  When I got to my house, Mom was waiting for me at the doorway. “What took you so long?” she asked. “I was getting worried.”

  I took off my wet coat and boots and dropped them out in the hallway. Then I explained about the tree and about Matthew almost getting killed. Mom got all upset and called up the McGills right away, saying things like “No, it’s no bother,” “really,” and “I insist.”

  The next thing I heard was Mom saying, “I invited the McGills to join us for dinner. I thought they might as well have their Thanksgiving here, since it’s such a disaster at their house. Mark and his father are helping with the repairs, so it’ll probably be just Matthew and his mother. Could you put out two more plates, Annie?”

  It took a while for all this to sink in, but then it hit me. “Matthew’s coming here for Thanksgiving? At my house?” I plopped down onto the sofa and groaned. “Just what I need—another turkey at the table. Named Matthew.”

  “The McGills are our friends,” Mom said sharply. “How would you feel if you were in Matthew’s shoes?”

  I certainly wouldn’t want to be in Matthew’s shoes—not because his room got totaled, but because he wears the oldest, smelliest sneakers I’ve ever seen. And then it occurred to me that maybe those old, smelly sneakers got destroyed in the crash, and Matthew would have to get new ones. But I bet he would miss the smelly ones because they were his favorites.

  I felt sorry for Matthew, but I felt even sorrier for myself. Not only was I spending Thanksgiving with my stuck-up cousin, but I, Annie Pitts, was spending it with Matthew, too.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  We were planning to eat dinner about three o’clock, so I still had time to get used to the idea that Matthew would soon be sitting in my dining room, eating my food, and generally disturbing my peace.

  Mercedes would be there, too, with her nose up in the air, trying hard not to get cooties from me, or whatever it is she thinks I have.

  It would be great if the two of them could just annoy each other, and leave me out of it altogether. Then I could eat my dinner in peace and quiet.

  I set out two more places at the table and brought a chair in from the kitchen. Mom and Grandma usually sit on the ends. If Mercedes and Matthew could sit together on one side of the table, I wouldn’t have to talk to either of them. But that left me on the other side with Aunt Lil and Mrs. McGill.

  I figured I could handle that as long as Aunt Lil didn’t keep saying that I should get my hair cut or straightened or tied back so it doesn’t keep flying all over the place. She really had this thing about neatness, and it could make a kid nervous after a while.

  I took a shower and washed my hair. I even cleaned under my fingernails to get out all the pumpkin pie batter that had gotten in there while I was licking the bowl. Of course I wouldn’t mind having a pumpkin-flavored finger to suck on all day, but Aunt Lil probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

  I got dressed in very clean underwear, socks that had stains only on the bottoms where nobody could see, and, finally, to top it off, the ugliest dress in the world. I even had a name for it—Ugly Dress. It was a hand-me-down from Cousin Mercedes—a long dress with little blue flowers all over it and a big, stupid bow in the back. It looked like something the Little House on the Prairie girl would wear when she went prancing through the meadow. I figured Aunt Lil couldn’t say anything bad about it because she was the one who actually bought it for her kid.

  The doorbell rang at 2:30. It was either Matthew or Mercedes, and, fortunately, I only had to put up with whoever it was until the other one came. Then, if my plan worked, the two of them could start annoying each other on their side of the table and leave me alone.

  Mrs. McGill appeared at the door with bags of food and a short person in a gray suit.

  “Hello, everybody,” she said. “Thank you so much for sharing your turkey with us. I brought some dessert. Matthew, where are your manners?”

  The short person she called Matthew didn’t open his mouth, but I heard a “Hello” mumble out of it. Who was this person? And where was Matthew? It was another enigma.

  Upon closer inspection, I decided there could be only one explanation. This was Matthew’s body, taken over by well-dressed aliens.

  And it was obvious that Mrs. McGill had fallen right into their trap. She thought that this short person in the gray suit was her son.

  Mom thought so, too, and said, “Matthew, don’t you look nice!”

  The alien grunted something and it sounded an awful lot like the way Matthew grunts when he’s mad about something.

  “All of Matthew’s clothes were soaked from the storm,” Mrs. McGill explained. “But his good suit was protected by the dry-cleaner’s bag. Doesn’t he look wonderful all dressed up?”

  Mom and Grandma agreed that the gray suit was just wonderful. Then the ladies brought the bags into the kitchen and I was left alone with the gray-suited alien. I leaned forward to see if I could spot any antennae when it suddenly mumbled, “You said you were having hamburgers.”

  I jumped back. It sure sounded like Matthew. I stuck my fa
ce close to his. “Who’s in there?” I asked.

  It answered, “Bug off, Slimebreath.” Only Matthew calls me Slimebreath, so this had to be him after all.

  So there we were, the two of us, standing around in our stupid clothes, trying not to look at each other. I’m sure my mother wouldn’t want Matthew and me calling each other names like “Slimebreath,” so I had to think of something else to say.

  “Would you like some cider?” I asked as politely as I could.

  “Apple cider?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I said. “What other kind is there?”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t like apple cider.”

  “We have soda,” I offered.

  “Orange?”

  “No. Cola.”

  “Diet?”

  “I think so.”

  “I don’t like diet soda.”

  “What about milk?”

  “What about it?”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Do you want some?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want anything?”

  “No.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  I thought this polite conversation was going pretty well, so I continued. “So, Matthew,” I said. “Are you trying out for the poster contest tomorrow? Everyone else seems to be.”

  “No way,” he answered. “I don’t want my picture on a stupid poster so people could draw pimples all over it.”

  “Well, I do,” I said. “Besides, you get a free hamburger if you try out.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says nobody. But they take your picture with one, so you probably get to eat it.”

  To that Matthew said, “Well, what if everybody uses the same hamburger and they get their spit all over it?”