Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers

by Gretchen Kelley

  I think about Dude, and how he’d handle a guy like Coach. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the other guys have stopped their warm-up drills and now stand, watching us.

  “I … I’ll try, sir,” I stammer. “I promise.”

  “You’ll what?” He practically squeals. “You’ll try?” His mouth grows so wide, I think it might split his face in two. “Well, how about that?” He looks around in disbelief. “Did you guys hear?” He looks at my teammates, who stand like statues. “Burger here has promised to try.” He starts to clap. “Maybe we should give him a medal.”

  A whistle blows on the field, signaling we have two minutes before the start of the game. My teammates run over and grab their gear bags, avoiding eye contact with both of us. I reach down to grab my stuff, but Coach grabs my forearm instead.

  “Not so fast,” he repeats, snarling. “You may be a decent athlete, Burger, but your attitude stinks. Why don’t you sit this one out today.”

  I stare at him. Surely he’s joking.

  “But, Coach,” I say. “We’re playing the Hurricanes. I’m your best—”

  It’s no use. He’s already walking toward the field, barking out the names of the starters and their positions. Grant glances over at me, a look of worry spreading across his face.

  I pick up my gear bag. There’s nothing I can do. I turn and start toward home.

  * * *

  It takes me less than thirty minutes to make it to my driveway, even though I walk slow. When I get there, only my dad’s minivan is parked out front.

  I smack my forehead, remembering. My mom is coming for the second half. She’s probably pulling up to the soccer field right this minute, expecting to see me out there. What is she going to think when she realizes I’m not even there?

  I’m trying to come up with a good excuse when the front door swings open and my dad walks out. His BURGER’S BEST VEGGIE BURGER apron is coated in pumpkin, and he’s still carrying his spoon in one hand and the car keys in the other. He’s mumbling to someone behind him.

  “Come on, now,” he murmurs, “it’s just a short car ride. We won’t be gone long, I promise.”

  “Dad?”

  “Charlie?’ He squints into the semidarkness, then smiles when he sees it’s me. “You’re already home.”

  “Uh, yeah,” I stammer, glad it’s too dark for him to see my face. “It was getting late, and we were really clobbering them, so the center ref called the game early.” It’s a crummy lie, but my dad seems to buy it. His face relaxes.

  “Oh, thank goodness. Your mom called and said her meeting was running longer than she planned. I’ve been trying to come watch the second half, but I’m having a heck of a time getting Lucy out of the house.” He looks back toward the door. Lucy squats next to it, whimpering. When she sees me, she pulls her lips back, showing me her canine teeth. I take a step backward.

  “You okay?” My dad looks down at me. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “Maybe I’m coming down with something,” I tell him. “I don’t feel so good.”

  My dad puts his arm around my shoulders.

  “Well, something must be going around. The way your sister’s been acting tonight, I’m pretty sure she’s caught something, too.”

  You don’t know the half of it, I think as we walk back toward the house.

  * * *

  That night, after dinner, I take the phone to my room.

  She answers on the first ring.

  “Franki?”

  “Yeah?”

  Relief washes over me. “Your phone. It’s working.”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Aunt Carol saved the day again.” Franki’s aunt lives in Boston with her girlfriend and a bunch of foster dogs. She’s always helping Lila out of jams.

  “You don’t sound too good, Chuck,” Franki says. “What’s up?”

  It feels good to be talking to Franki again. I decide to tell her about Coach.

  For a long time, she doesn’t say anything. When she finally does, her voice is softer than normal.

  “You know what I sometimes wish?” she says.

  “What?” I press the phone closer to my ear.

  “I wish that someone would invent a machine that could suck up all the jerks in this world and shoot them into outer space, far away from the rest of us.” She pauses. “Charlie?”

  The sound of her voice is making my eyelids heavy. “Yeah?”

  “Will you do me a favor?”

  I lean back on my pillow. “Okay.”

  “Make us a machine like that, will you? When you become a scientist?”

  I close my eyes. “Sure. First thing I’ll do when I get my own lab.”

  She giggles. “It’ll probably make you famous.”

  “I’ll get the Nobel Prize.” I giggle, too. “When they give it to me, they’ll say, ‘To Charles Michael Burger … for ridding the world of worthless and unnecessarily mean, air-sucking scumbags.’”

  She really cracks up at that, but then her voice gets all muffled, like she’s holding her hand over the receiver. A second later, she’s back, sounding like her regular Franki self.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah, now.”

  “Okay. Want to go to the beach on Saturday?”

  “Can’t.” She sighs. “I’ve got to babysit Rose. Lila’s doing hair and makeup for a whole wedding party. She’s going to be at the shop most of the day, and I have to make sure Rose stays out of Carl’s way.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Hey, Frank?”

  “Yeah?”

  I pause. “Do you believe in magic?”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  She takes a deep breath. “I guess I used to. When I was a kid.” I hear someone call her name. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

  “Yeah, in the morning,” I repeat, but she’s already gone.

  I reach over and pick my science journal off my desk.

  I think about Coach and the things he said to me on the field today.

  I think about Franki and her machine.

  I think about magic.

  I start to write.

  October 1

  Episode 4: The Cockroach Gets Creamed

  The rumor was spreading quickly. Planet Splodii was about to be invaded by the grossest of creatures. Its ability to survive under the most impossible conditions gave it an advantage over most of the universe’s inhabitants.

  His name was Croach the Cockroach. But he wasn’t just a cockroach. He was head of all insects throughout the galaxy, and his mission was to travel the universe looking for humans whose organs were considered a delicacy among oversize invertebrates. Once he found them, he’d stun them with his poisonous spit, then transport them back to his home, where their stomachs, livers, and intestines would be made into appetizers and their hearts and brains would be used for desserts. His poison could force a person into submission within seconds of touching someone’s skin.

  Dude found him chasing a group of soccer players around their practice field, his barbed tongue whipping back and forth, trying to get an accurate shot. Though the players were fast, they proved to be no match for the giant bug’s six long legs, and soon he had them cornered against the field house.

  “Ha-ha!” he cackled. “You will be perfect for our dinner party tonight! Now, hold still while I—”

  Before he could work up a large enough loogie to coat all of them, Dude appeared. Though the bug was three times his size, Dude was smarter, faster … and more fearless.

  “Okay, Croach,” he said. “You’ve had your fun for the day. Now stop tormenting innocent people and get off my planet.”

  Croach’s bloodshot eyes rolled back in their huge sockets.

  “Who dares speak to me like that?” he screeched, turning his bulbous head sideways to get a better look.

  Dude moved closer to him while the trapped players held their breaths. Dude was now directly in the bug’s spitting range,
a place no one in their right mind would choose to be.

  “You are just an oversize bully, Croach. Without your poisonous tongue, you would be powerless. Why don’t you crawl back into whatever crack you came out of before I do something you’ll regret?”

  The cockroach twisted his head to one side, then the other. Zeroing in on Dude, he opened his mouth, bits of drool already beginning to seep out of the sides.

  “Ah, Dude Explodius.” He licked his lips. “You’ll make a perfect appetizer.”

  Dude moved quickly. As the creature’s long tongue began to unroll, he shot a bolt out of the Exterminizer and into Croach’s chest wall, blowing the insect into a billion particles.

  Once again Planet Splodii was bug-free.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Later that night I wake up, dripping in sweat. The room feels like it’s August and someone cranked up the heater instead of the air conditioner.

  I think back to the excuse I gave my dad. Maybe I really am coming down with something.

  I sit up and scan my room. My bookshelf sags under the weight of my rock collection and favorite books, and a week’s worth of T-shirts and boxers make a mountain next to my hamper. I stand up and yelp when something stabs into my foot. I turn it over. A red Lego sticks to the bottom of it.

  I hop over to my desk and push aside the pile of candy wrappers that cover my journal. I open it and squint at the episode I wrote:… blowing the insect into a billion particles …

  I shiver. Mr. P said the journal is only a catalyst. I think back to his words from the first day of school and the note that Pickles wrote me.

  “Words can be powerful,” I say out loud, then shake my head. Even if my science teacher knows what he’s talking about, there’s no way that something I write in my journal could cause my soccer coach to be blown to smithereens.

  Right?

  I chew on my pencil.

  I’m not sure it’s a chance I’m willing to take.

  I erase the last part. Then I write:

  Dude aimed for the insect. “I will spare your life, Croach, but I will render you powerless.” With that, he shot a bolt of electricity straight into the bug’s neck, disintegrating his poison chamber. Gasping, the cockroach coughed and sputtered, grabbing at his throat.

  “Dude,” he croaked, “what have you done to me?”

  Dude glared at the pest. “I have stripped you of your one power—your poisonous tongue. Now, get off my planet before I strip you of anything else.” With that, he turned toward the dining room, suddenly hungry for something salty.

  Reading back over it, I feel better. Coach Crenshaw may be a bully, but having him annihilated may be taking it a bit too far.

  I walk over to my bed and climb back in, pulling the covers up over my head.

  There’s a lot of things I have to figure out still, but I know one thing for sure.

  Dude Explodius is no murderer.

  CHAPTER

  19

  I wake up to barking.

  “Wroof!”

  I throw the blankets off and jump up. I don’t even bother to tiptoe across the squeaky floorboards. I don’t care if she hears me coming.

  As soon as I get to her door, I see her on all fours in the middle of her bed. Something hangs out the side of her mouth. I squint and realize it’s a slobber-soaked bill with the face of Alexander Hamilton plastered across it.

  Ten bucks. The tooth fairy brought my kid sister ten bucks, and she’s munching on it like it’s a dog biscuit.

  I walk into her room.

  “Lucy,” I say through gritted teeth. “Give me that.” She wags her behind at me and drops the bill onto her quilt. I pick it up. One whole corner’s gone.

  My voice is not my own. “This isn’t a joke, Lucy. I don’t know if you’re looking for more attention or to get me in trouble, but you need to knock it off. Now.”

  She jumps up and clamps her teeth down on the bill, then bolts for the bathroom.

  “Lucy!” I try to grab her foot, but she’s too fast. “That’s real money!”

  “Burgers!” My mom’s voice booms up the staircase. “You’ve got ten minutes to be down, dressed, and ready for school. Or else!”

  I don’t know what or else means, but I prefer not to find out. I run into the hall and jump onto the banister. I practically slide right into my mom.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “Back it up,” she says, pointing to the stairs.

  “Look, Mom, I was just trying to help. Lucy was about to destroy—”

  She points again, this time at my feet.

  “Those are the worst toenails I’ve seen in a long time,” she says, her face scrunched up like she just smelled the inside of my soccer bag. “I mean, really, Charlie. When’s the last time you … Oh, never mind. Just go. Toenail clippers. March.”

  I jump off the banister and slump back up the stairs. Lucy watches me as I pass by her door, and I stick my tongue out at her. She lunges, and I sprint to my room, making a mental note to myself: Always put socks on before breakfast.

  * * *

  When I get home that afternoon, my mom is sitting at the kitchen table, reading the Cape Ann Anchor. It comes out every Friday. She likes to read it cover to cover, starting with the police report. She makes sure every word is spelled right and no detail is missing. Then she moves on to the obituaries.

  “It’s important to know who’s died each week,” she likes to explain. “Criminals like to target the homes of bereaved families. Can you imagine?” She will shake her head like she definitely can’t. “I mean, what kind of sicko would take advantage of a family during such a time?”

  Today, she looks up as soon as I come in.

  “You’re already home?” I ask.

  “I’m doing a split shift,” she says. “Gargotti’s got the flu, so I’m going back out tonight.”

  I open the fridge and peer inside.

  “Charlie, come sit down for a minute.”

  Uh-oh. I think back to this morning. Now she probably wants to inspect my fingernails.

  Instead, she pats the chair next to her and smiles. “How’s school going?” she asks.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Do you like your classes?”

  “They’re okay.”

  She takes off her glasses and lays them on top of the paper. “I’m sorry, Charlie.”

  I blink, not expecting this. “For what?”

  “For this morning,” she says. “It’s important that you start taking more responsibility for your personal hygiene, but I didn’t have to be so hard on you.”

  I shrug. “They were pretty gross.”

  She continues as if she didn’t hear me. “I know that starting middle school can be a big adjustment. Growing up can be tough and—”

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  She nods, but her face is still frowning. “Okay. I’m sorry—I just worry, that’s all.”

  I fiddle with the pen in front of me. “Maybe you worry too much.”

  “Maybe it’s part of my job description.” She grins. “I think it’s on the list, right below making dentist appointments and buying Christmas presents.”

  I laugh. “It should definitely be below buying Christmas presents.”

  Just then the back door flies open, and Stella storms in. Dark stains cover the front of her cheerleading uniform, and dirt-colored water drips from her hair. She looks like she’s been shot with a mud gun.

  “Mom!” she wails. “Look what the mail truck just did to me!”

  My mom jumps up and grabs Stella’s arm. “Come on. We need to soak that sweater before the stains set.” She starts to steer my sister out of the room but stops in the doorway and winks at me. “And laundry. Add that to my job description list.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  I wake up early Saturday morning, but instead of heading to the basement and the TV, I head to the laundry room. Shoving a week’s worth of clothes into the washing machine, I turn it on, d
umping what seems like the right amount of detergent inside. Next, I grab a rag and some cleaning supplies. Twenty minutes later, my shelves are dusted, my bed is made, and every Lego has been picked up off the floor and dumped into a box, along with my rock collection and my Matchbox cars. I look around and smile.

  I’m carrying the box downstairs when Stella comes out of the kitchen. She stops and leans against the wall.

  “What’s that?” she asks, eyeing the box.

  “Just stuff,” I say.

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Stuff that I don’t need anymore,” I say. “Kid stuff.”

  “Put it in the basement storage room,” she says, walking to the hall closet. She opens the door and pulls out my mom’s leather jacket, the one she knows she’s not supposed to wear. “That’s where Mom likes to keep those things.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since forever, I guess. A couple of weeks ago, I found her down there rifling through a box of our old baby clothes.” She turns sideways, studying herself in the hall mirror. “At first, I thought she looked upset, but when she saw me, she said she was just trying to figure out what was worth keeping and what she should send to the holiday clothing and toy drive at the precinct this year.”

  “Oh,” I say. I can’t imagine my mom being upset over a bunch of baby clothes.

  Suddenly, Stella’s face lights up. “It’s inventory morning at Pickles’s store, remember? You coming?” She tugs on my sweatshirt, her voice cheery. “It’ll be so fun.”

  I look at my sister, knowing exactly what she’s up to. Stella figures by getting me to come along, she’ll have someone she can boss around all day. My sister wants those cheerleading shoes, but she doesn’t want to actually work for them.

  “Nah,” I say, opening the door to the basement. “I’ve got other things to do.”

  “What kind of things?” she says, the cheer gone.

  “Important things,” I say.

  “Suit yourself,” she says, “she’ll be here in five minutes if you change your mind.”