Annie Pitts, Burger Kid

by Diane deGroat

  “Excuse me?” I said. Maybe I hadn’t heard her right.

  Mom explained, “Mrs. McGill is trying to clean out Matthew’s room, and Matthew’s whining and carrying on because he doesn’t want her to throw anything out. She’d like him out of the house, so I told her to send him over here. You don’t mind if he tags along with you, do you, Annie?”

  “Yes, I do,” I said grumpily.

  Grandma raised her eyebrows at me. It was her Try-to-Be-Nice-to-Matthew look. Anyway, it wasn’t as if he had a chance to win the contest or anything. Let him come, I thought.

  I got dressed and checked my Learn-a-Word-a-Day calendar. My word to learn for today was moniker, meaning “name.” I tried it out. “My moniker is Annie Pitts. Matthew’s moniker is Creepface.”

  Creepface showed up a few minutes later in his regular clothes—jeans, a sweatshirt, and his smelly old sneakers. I noticed that they were a little soggy. I also noticed that his eyes were red like he’d been crying.

  I didn’t have to talk to him much, because Grandma hurried us out the door to catch the bus. Matthew just sat and grumped the whole ride, mumbling things like, “She’s probably throwing out my baseball card collection right now.”

  And I helped by saying reassuring things like, “Yeah, probably.”

  When we got to the Cross County Shopping Center, we saw some TV trucks in the parking lot. “Look!” I said. “We’re going to be on the news!”

  “Not if we can’t get through that crowd,” Grandma said.

  We followed her toward the Burger Barn, but we couldn’t get near it because of the mob of kids and parents. A policeman directed us to the end of a line that was almost as long as the mall itself.

  “I can’t believe all these kids want to be on a poster!” Matthew said. “What’s the big deal?”

  A boy in line in front of us turned around and said, “The big deal is the free hamburger coupons they give you just for getting your picture taken—ten of them!”

  “All right!” Matthew said.

  So that was it. Free hamburgers. This was a line full of some very carnivorous people, not necessarily photogenic people. I felt a little better.

  I spotted Susan, one of my classmates, coming out of the Burger Barn. When she reached us, she showed us her coupons.

  “It’s fun,” she said. “They give you a burger and then they take your picture.”

  “Is that it?” I asked.

  Susan stuffed the coupons into her mother’s purse and said, “First you have to fill out a bunch of papers. And then someone interviews you.”

  Matthew didn’t look happy about that and said, “What do they ask you?”

  “Well, they ask you if you like Burger Barn burgers, and you have to say, ‘I love Burger Barn burgers’ real loud. Then they write stuff down and take your picture.”

  “That sounds simple enough,” Grandma said.

  I agreed, but just in case, I repeated over and over to myself, “I love Burger Barn burgers, I love Burger Barn burgers, I love Burger Barn burgers …”

  The line finally moved up to the Burger Barn entrance, and I was beginning to get a little nervous. I hadn’t prepared a speech or anything, in case they wanted to interview the winner.

  Bob, the manager, was at the door letting in a few people at a time.

  “You go first,” I said to Matthew. “I want to see what they make you do.”

  When we entered the restaurant, Grandma signed forms for Matthew and then for me at a table that was set up near the door. Then we moved on to table #2, where a grouchy lady asked Matthew some questions.

  “Weight?”

  Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “He’s about fifty pounds,” Grandma said. “Same as my granddaughter here.”

  The lady wrote “50,” then said, “Height?” Matthew looked at Grandma. Grandma guessed, “Four feet.”

  “Eyes?”

  Matthew finally had an answer. “Two.”

  “Two what?”

  “Two eyes.”

  “And what color might those two eyes be?” The lady squinted and took a look for herself. She wrote “brown.”

  “Hair?”

  “Yes.”

  She wrote “blond.”

  “Next!”

  I certainly wouldn’t need any help. I stood up straight and said, “My moniker is Annie Pitts. I’m forty-seven inches tall, and I weighed fifty-two pounds at my last checkup. But that was after eating a few of those DELICIOUS BURGER BARN BURGERS!” I said it real loud in case any of the judges were around.

  I continued, “My eyes are blue with little specks of brown, and my hair is an autumn shade of crimson.”

  The woman wrote down “redhead” and said, “Just like Little Orphan Annie.”

  I froze. I hate it when someone says I look like Little Orphan Annie. People have been calling me that ever since I was a baby. Strangers would come up to my mother in the supermarket and say, “Now doesn’t she look like Little Orphan Annie!”

  Then they would ask me, “And what’s your name, little girl?” And when I said “Annie,” they thought that was the most hysterical thing they’d ever heard.

  “Next!”

  I guess that meant we were all done with table #2, and so we moved on. The man behind table #3 had on a bright plaid jacket and a red bow tie. His name tag said Sam and I could tell he would appreciate real talent when he saw it.

  He nodded to Matthew and Matthew mumbled, “I love Burger Barn burgers” with all the enthusiasm of a dead fish.

  When it was my turn, I smiled one of those smiles I had been practicing—#3—with no teeth showing. Then I turned my tattooed cheek out and shouted, “I LOVE BURGER BARN BURGERS—ESPECIALLY THE DOUBLE-DOUBLE PATTY-PATTY BURGER!” I flung my arms out and I, Annie Pitts, smacked my grandma in the face.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Grandma said, holding her lip. Thank goodness she didn’t make a big deal out of me smacking her, and the interview continued.

  “That’s quite a performance,” Sam said.

  Grandma dabbed her lip with a tissue and said, “That’s no performance. She really does love hamburgers.”

  Sam wrote something in his notes, then said, “You know who you look like?”

  I took a wild guess and said, “Little Orphan Annie?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Now tell me …” He looked at the top of my form. “Tell me … Annie … your name is Annie? I’ll be darned. Tell me, Annie. Why do you want to be a Burger Kid?”

  I clenched my teeth and smiled. It was like the Miss America contest where they ask a contestant one question and she has to come up with a really smart answer or she’ll never win.

  So I said the first thing that came to mind:

  Grease trickles from my lips,

  Ketchup oozes, too.

  I lick it from my fingertips …

  Hamburger! I love you!

  Then I bowed.

  Sam stared at me, long after I was done bowing, probably because he had never seen such an impressive performance.

  I stood with my frozen smile while he finally wrote some more stuff in his notes.

  This is going great, I thought.

  We were moved along to table #4 where a woman handed me a burger all wrapped up, and I could feel that it was still warm. It occurred to me that I hadn’t had a hamburger in almost two weeks. I practically drooled just thinking about it.

  The burger lady then sent me to the photographer where Matthew was just finishing up. One of the restaurant booths was all lit up with special lights and cameras. I felt like a famous person already!

  I also felt a little queasy just thinking about how important that first bite was going to be.

  The photographer said, “Okay, kid. Here’s what you do. You sit in the booth. You take a big bite. Then you give me your best smile. Let’s go.”

  I slid into the booth and smiled my Smile #1 into the camera. “How’s this?” I asked. I wanted it to b
e perfect.

  “Fine,” he said. “Now take a bite.”

  I unwrapped the steaming burger and that’s when I smelled IT. That unsavory smell I had been avoiding since yesterday. I could have sworn it was TURKEY.

  “What’s this?” I shouted, staring at the bun in my hands.

  “It’s a turkey burger,” the photographer said impatiently. “Is there a problem?”

  “I thought it was a hamburger!”

  “Hamburger, turkey burger. What’s the difference? Do you want your picture taken or not?”

  My stomach said no, but my mouth opened wide. I bit off a chunk, but I didn’t chew it or swallow. While the photographer was fumbling with the camera, it took all of my acting skills just to pretend that I was enjoying having this unchewed wad of turkey in my mouth. The seconds grew longer and longer. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead. I kept smiling, even though the smell and the taste of the turkey burger was making me nauseous.

  Flash! The camera clicked. It was over. “Next!”

  I looked for the wrapper so I could spit out the unchewed turkey, but the assistant had removed it already.

  I got up from the booth and almost knocked over the next kid in line as I hurried for the door, looking for someplace to spit. I stepped outside, hoping to find a trash can, when suddenly a microphone was stuck in my face.

  A reporter shouted, “Hey, kid! Do you think you’ll win the contest?” A cameraman was right behind him.

  Of course I couldn’t answer. My mouth was full of turkey burger.

  “Don’t be nervous,” he said. “It’s only national TV with eight million people watching!”

  Eight million people? I coughed and the wad of turkey burger flew out, right in front of the camera. The reporter quickly turned his microphone on to someone else, in case there was more turkey hurling, but that was it.

  “Nice going, Pitts!” Matthew said. He was standing right behind me. “Or should I call you ‘Spitts’?”

  “It was TURKEY!” I said suddenly, now that my mouth was empty. “If I don’t win that contest, it’s because of that stupid TURKEY!”

  “Forget about it,” Matthew said. “You’re not going to win because you are a turkey.” I was about to tell him what he was, but Grandma grabbed us each by the shoulder and led us back to the bus stop.

  By Monday, I was still going over the audition in my mind. I tried to forget about the reporter getting spit on, but Matthew didn’t. He told everyone in school how I grossed him out at the mall.

  Fortunately, it didn’t show up on the six o’clock news. I guess they figured it wasn’t something people wanted to see at dinnertime.

  But I missed my chance to be on TV. If I didn’t have a mouthful of turkey, I could have been properly interviewed. And when the reporter asked if I thought I was going to win the contest, I could have answered, “Yes! I, Annie Pitts, will be the next Burger Kid!”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Two weeks after Thanksgiving, Grandma and I headed for the Burger Barn. The new poster was supposed to be up, and we’d finally see who won the contest. I brought my free coupons, but I wasn’t really hungry. I was too excited.

  I ran from the bus stop, dragging Grandma along with me.

  “Please, Annie …,” she kept saying. “I know how much you want to win, but you may be disappointed if …”

  I didn’t want to hear it. I only remembered how much I impressed Sam, the talent agent.

  But when we reached the Burger Barn, the old poster was still up! The little kid with the mustache and the scars—and now some blacked-out teeth—was still smiling back at us.

  “Where’s the new one!” I shouted.

  “I guess they didn’t put it up yet,” Grandma said. “Let’s go inside and ask.”

  I spotted Bob, taking down the Thanksgiving decorations and putting up Santa Clauses. I ran across the room, waving my arms and shouting, “Where’s the new poster! Who won! Was it me?”

  Bob looked down from the top of the ladder and said, “Take it easy, kid. I just got them in today. When I finish here I’ll get them from the back room. You’re not the only one who wants to know.”

  It was then that I looked around and noticed the larger-than-usual crowd at the Burger Barn. Even Marsha-Miss-I-Never-Eat-Hamburgers was there with her mother.

  When Bob finally brought the package out, the eager crowd formed a circle around him. We leaned in close as he cut the tape with a knife. I held my breath.

  He pulled back the cardboard flaps, and there they were—a stack of posters all shiny and new.

  And totally blank.

  “I guess I opened it upside down,” said Bob, chuckling. Some people in the crowd groaned. I moved in closer as he grabbed the pile of posters and flipped them over. I gasped.

  That face!

  That smile!

  That creep!

  A huge picture of Matthew was staring right back at me!

  “Oh, look—it’s Matthew!” Grandma said, as if I couldn’t tell. Everyone went back to their seats, disappointed, of course, but I couldn’t move. Matthew’s big hamburger-eating head seemed to be laughing right at me—Annie Pitts, loser.

  Grandma put her arm around me and said, “I’m sorry you didn’t win, Annie, but it’s nice that one of your friends did. Matthew is going to be so surprised.”

  “Surprised?” I said. “He’s not even here! He didn’t even want his picture taken—we only brought him along because we felt sorry for him.”

  “Well I guess the judges liked the way he looked,” Grandma said. “He is kind of cute, don’t you think?”

  I wasn’t about to answer that.

  Grandma took my hand and said, “Let’s get a seat. We can have some dinner as long as we’re here.”

  I said, “I don’t want a hamburger.” I never thought I would say those words, but out they came.

  “No?” Grandma asked. She was as shocked as I was.

  “It’s weird,” I said. “But I really don’t feel like eating a hamburger. Maybe I caught something from Mercedes. Is being a vegetarian contagious?”

  “I don’t think so.” Grandma laughed. “But we can get some pizza if you’d like.”

  “Extra cheese?”

  “Extra cheese.”

  I tossed my coupons into the garbage and we headed for the Pizza ‘N’ Pop, my new favorite place to eat.

  The next day Matthew walked into the classroom and sat at his desk, as if he were a normal person instead of a very famous poster boy. Susan congratulated him and Thomas asked him for his autograph. Marsha didn’t say anything, of course.

  When everyone was seated, Miss G. made a formal announcement about Matthew’s good fortune, just in case there was a single person on the planet who hadn’t heard it yet. Then she told us to quietly read our chapter books while she helped some kids with their math.

  Matthew opened his chapter book—just like a normal person—and started to read.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to say something. “Pssst,” I called. He looked up.

  I didn’t want to sound like I was jealous or anything, so I said, “I guess you were pretty excited to hear about your poster. Did you see it hanging up, or did somebody call you?”

  Matthew looked a little shy as he said, “I knew about it a couple of days ago. They sent me some posters in the mail.”

  “You knew? And you didn’t tell anyone?” I said loudly. Miss G. gave me a Please-Lower-Your-Voice look.

  Matthew whispered back, “I don’t really want my face hanging in every Burger Barn in the country. It’s … it’s embarrassing!”

  It’s true. Matthew was actually embarrassed. He wasn’t bragging about it like Marsha-Miss-I-Win-I-Win would have done.

  “You’re right,” I said. “It’s going to be very embarrassing. People are going to draw things all over your face, you know. But congratulations anyway.”

  Matthew stuck his face back in his book, but I could tell that he was worried.

  I
guess it’s not his fault that he won. He can’t help it if somebody thinks he looks cute eating a hamburger. They were obviously not looking for a Little Orphan Annie type that day, so it’s not my fault that I didn’t win, either.

  When I got home from school, I could smell chocolate as soon as I walked in the door.

  “I’m baking your favorite cake to cheer you up, Annie,” Grandma said. “Double fudge chocolate chip.”

  “Thanks, Grandma,” I said, dipping my finger into the batter. “But I’m not really upset about the contest anymore.”

  “No?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” I said. “Eating a hamburger does not require talent. I’ll just wait to audition for something that does.”

  “Of course you will,” Grandma said, and smiled. She cleared off the counter and picked up an envelope that was stuck to the bottom of the mixer.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. This came for you today,” she said.

  I thought it might be a Christmas card from my father because he’s the only one who writes to me. The postmark was from California, but I didn’t see his familiar handwriting on the outside. I opened it and read out loud:

  Dear Ms. Pitts,

  I thoroughly enjoyed meeting you at the Cross County Shopping Center for the Burger Barn poster contest. I’m sorry you were not one of the winners, but I’d like you to keep my card. My talent agency can always use another “Little Orphan Annie” type. Please look me up if you’re ever out this way.

  Sincerely,

  Sam Schmuze

  I picked up the card that had fallen out of the envelope and onto the floor. Sure enough, it said, Super Star Talent Agency, Sam Schmuze, director.

  “It’s from that Sam guy who was at the audition,” I said in disbelief. “He says I should look him up if I’m ever out there.”

  Grandma rolled her eyes and said, “California is three thousand miles away, Annie. I don’t think you’ll be out there very soon.”

  That wasn’t going to stop me. I said, “Dad lives in California, and Mom said I could fly there when I’m older. I’m older now—I’m almost nine!”