The Curse of the Bologna Sandwich (Melvin Beederman, Superhero)

by Greg Trine

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  Copyright Page

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  For Juanita

  —G. T.

  For my brother Michael

  —R. M.

  1

  NEVER SAY NO TO A CRY FOR HELP

  Melvin Beederman didn’t feel like a superhero. Sure, he’d graduated from the Superhero Academy with the others. And he did look fantastic in his red cape and high boots. But there were some things that bothered him. He never once was able to leap a tall building in a single bound; it always took him five or six tries. Stopping a speeding locomotive wasn’t easy. And that whole x-ray vision thing—it brought nothing with it but guilt. Everywhere Melvin looked—underwear.

  Still, he was fast. He was good at math and science. And he had so impressed his teachers with his oral report on the nature of good and evil that he nudged Superhero Carl out of the top spot—Carl who was a single-leap building jumper and who had no problem stopping trains.

  Melvin Beederman beat him out. He graduated at the top of his class.

  Perhaps Headmaster Spinner had said it best: “Your brain is your greatest weapon.” And he had high hopes for young Beederman.

  Now that graduation was over, Melvin made his way across the school yard, past the exercise area where Superhero Carl was busy bench-pressing a Buick. Carl stopped what he was doing long enough to sneer and said, “The top of our class. Bah! You can’t even stop a train.”

  “I can so. It just takes me a while,” Melvin said.

  He knew Carl was still angry about being bumped out of the top spot. Carl was being sent far away for his first assignment, all the way to the Fiji Islands, and Melvin was glad. He didn’t trust Carl any farther than he could throw a Chevrolet … or a Buick, for that matter.

  “Where are they sending you?” Carl asked.

  “Don’t know yet. I’m meeting with the headmaster in a few minutes.”

  * * *

  Headmaster Spinner was waiting for Melvin at the door to his office. His belly was huge, and Melvin wondered how he ever got off the ground. Did he have a hard time leaping tall buildings?

  “Come in, Melvin,” he said. “Well, today is the day. Are you ready to start your life of fighting crime?”

  Melvin wasn’t sure. It had been two years since he’d been plucked from the orphanage—two years of flying lessons, of stopping trains, of seeing through walls. And now he was being sent off to save the world. How could he tell the headmaster he didn’t think he was up to it?

  “Where are you sending me, sir?” he asked finally.

  “Before we get to that, tell me, do you have any questions? Any problems you’d like to discuss?”

  “Well…,” Melvin began.

  “Yes?”

  “The x-ray vision. I had no idea there were so many kinds of underwear in the world.”

  “You’ll learn to turn it off with time.” The headmaster spun around. “But as long as we’re on the subject, what do you think of my striped boxers?”

  “I was trying to ignore them, sir.”

  “Right. Let’s get down to business. I’m sending you to Los Angeles, California. They haven’t had a superhero there since Kareem Abdul-Jabbar retired.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Famous basketball player.”

  “What about Shaquille O’Neal?” Melvin asked.

  “He’s not a superhero. He’s just very tall.” He noticed the worried look on the boy’s face. “They need you over there, Melvin. Remember, what’s the first rule of the Superhero’s Code?”

  “‘Never say no to a cry for help.’”

  “Correct. You’ll leave immediately. Do well and you can have your choice of assignments.”

  Did he have to bring up the code? The code had been so drummed into the students of the academy that everyone knew it by heart. Someone was crying out for help, and Melvin knew he couldn’t say no.

  “The code will guide you,” Headmaster Spinner said. He led Melvin out of his office onto the lawn and shook his hand. “Now get going.”

  Melvin looked west and took a deep breath. “Up, up, and away.” Crash!

  “Up, up, and away.” Splat!

  Thud!

  Kabonk!

  On the fifth try, he was up and flying and heading for Los Angeles.

  2

  FIND A GOOD HIDEOUT

  Once he was up and flying, Melvin Beederman wasn’t coming down for anybody. Not until he got to Los Angeles—3,000 miles away.

  Let’s see, if a superhero flies 500 miles an hour, how long will it take to go 3,000 miles? Doing math in the air was Melvin’s favorite hobby. It was almost as much fun as dropping water balloons on Superhero Carl.

  Almost.

  But flying for six hours was about five and a half hours longer than he had ever flown at one time. He might be too tired to catch bad guys when he got to Los Angeles. How embarrassing for the academy. How embarrassing for Melvin Beederman!

  Melvin spotted a jet nearby. He flew over to it and knocked on the pilot’s window.

  “Where are you heading, Captain?”

  “Los Angeles.”

  “Great. Mind if I hitch a ride?”

  “Are you the new superhero?”

  “Yes,” Melvin said. “This is my first assignment.”

  “I hear they haven’t had a superhero there since Kareem Abdul-Jabbar retired. Have a seat on the wing. We’ll be there in a jiffy.”

  “Thanks, Captain.” Melvin had to save his energy. Saving the world was serious business. And so he sat on the wing of the jet for the rest of the trip, doing fancy word problems in his head and making faces at the passengers.

  * * *

  Melvin thought only bad guys had hideouts. And he was no bad guy. Still, it was part of the code: “Find a good hideout.” And so, as soon as he got to Los Angeles, he set about to do just that.

  Melvin looked around.

  Holy skyscrapers! he thought. This place is huge.

  Holy skyscrapers, indeed! This place was huge. Lots of tall buildings. He sure hoped he wouldn’t have to jump any.

  Melvin spent the day flying around the city, looking for a place to live.

  He zoomed between the buildings, hovering a couple of times to flex his muscles and to smile at his reflection in the windows.

  Then he flew out along the beach—143 red bathing suits, 117 yellow bathing suits. “That’s 260 bathing suits in all,” Melvin said quickly.

  Ah … math.

  Later, while flying over the hillsides, he spotted it: an abandoned tree house on a hill overlooking the city.

  “The perfect hideout for a superhero,” Melvin said to himself.

  In fact, it was the perfect place for any kid. It was set in an oak tree and had windows on every side. And a roof. Melvin
had no idea if it ever rained in Los Angeles, but if it did he’d have more than his cape to keep himself dry.

  He touched down on the rough boards of the tree house and began to set up his new home.

  First on his list? Get a TV so he could watch cartoons. When superheroes aren’t on the job, they’re watching cartoons. Catch bad guys, watch cartoons. That’s the superhero’s day.

  Second on Melvin’s list was to stock up on snacks. Superheroes didn’t eat regular meals. They snacked. Heavy meals made it hard to fly, and Melvin had enough trouble as it was. Besides, there was nothing in the code that said he had to eat vegetables. It was probably a good idea, but it wasn’t in the code. And didn’t the human body use whatever food it was given and turn it into energy—no matter what that food was? This made sense to Melvin.

  Later that day, he sat in his tree house eating pretzels and drinking root beer and watching his favorite cartoon—The Adventures of Thunderman.

  Thunderman had no problem stopping trains or leaping tall buildings.

  When the cartoon was over, Melvin turned off the TV. He looked down at the city from his spot on the hill.

  “Okay, bad guys, where are you?”

  3

  “JUST DOING MY JOB, MA’AM”

  And then he heard it—a cry for help.

  “Help! Stop, thief!”

  Melvin threw himself out one of the windows of his tree house …

  … and hit the ground. Crash!

  “Gotta watch that first step,” he said, getting to his feet. “Up, up, and away.”

  Once again, he was up and flying on his fifth try.

  He zoomed down into the city with his cape flapping behind him. He scanned back and forth over the busy streets. Cars, buses, people. Thank heavens, thought Melvin, everyone has on clean underwear.

  “Help! I’m being robbed!” A lady ran out of a store. “They’re getting away!”

  Two masked men with bags of money were getting into a car. Good! Melvin thought, it’s not a speeding locomotive. He had no problem stopping cars.

  He swooped from the sky, picked up the car, and dumped the bad guys onto the pavement. Before they could run away, Melvin grabbed them by their collars and held them until the police arrived.

  “They took 581 dollars from register three and 833 dollars from register four,” the shopkeeper said.

  “That’s 1,414 dollars,” Melvin said. He handed her the bags of money.

  “How can I ever thank you?” she asked.

  “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Melvin Beederman. I am your new superhero.”

  By this time a crowd began to gather. The butcher, the baker, a guy named Fred. Shoppers and cabdrivers. Milo the Wonder Tailor.

  “Los Angeles has a superhero?” one man asked.

  “We haven’t had a superhero since Kareem Abdul-Jabbar retired,” said another.

  Milo the Wonder Tailor handed Melvin his card. “If you ever have a problem with your cape, call me. I’ll fix it for free.”

  “Thanks,” Melvin said.

  Then he waited until everyone went back to their shops and their shopping before he headed back to the tree house. No one saw that it took him five tries to get up in the air.

  * * *

  Word spread quickly. The TV news guy announced, “Superhero Melvin, the first superhero in Los Angeles since you-know-who retired, foiled some would-be robbers today.”

  The newspaper headlines read, “There’s a superhero in town. Welcome!”

  Policemen talked about it. “Did you hear what Melvin Beederman did?”

  And back at his tree house, Melvin looked down at the M on his chest and thought, Maybe I can do this job after all.

  But later, as night came and Melvin sat doodling math problems on the dusty boards of the tree house, he began to miss his buddies back at the academy—Superhero Margaret and Superhero James. Now he was alone. Completely alone. He almost missed Superhero Carl.

  Almost.

  4

  MEANWHILE …

  While Melvin Beederman was busy becoming famous, Candace Brinkwater was on the verge of fame herself. She had tried out for the school play, and the director had just put up the notice of the actors and actresses who got parts.

  Candace had tried out for many plays in the past. Once she was a tree, and another time she was a weed. Those were the kinds of parts Candace usually got—weeds and trees. She never got to say anything.

  Everyone said she was the best weed they had ever seen.

  So now Candace could not believe her eyes when she looked at the list of names.

  “I got the lead! I got the lead!” she said, jumping up and down.

  She hugged all her friends. She even hugged a few enemies—Julia, Cathleen, a guy named Fred.

  At home there was more celebrating.

  Her mom hugged her.

  Her sister slapped her a high-five.

  Her dog Smedley licked her face.

  Her dad held up his glass of root beer. “Here’s to my little actress. I’m glad you’re not a weed.”

  5

  KNOW YOUR WEAKNESS

  At the Superhero Academy they never came right out and told you what your weakness was. You found that out over the course of two years. If you discovered your weakness on your own, then you had to deal with it on your own. And that was part of the training.

  Superhero Margaret became weak in the presence of jelly donuts. For Superhero James it was Ping-Pong balls. Once, at a Ping-Pong championship, James fell to his knees, gasping, “Can’t … move … get … me … out … of … here.”

  His classmates dragged him outside.

  Melvin was the last one to learn his weakness. He and his classmates had been down at the railroad tracks all morning, stopping trains (they had taken a break from tall-building leaping). Afterward, as they were heading back to school, they passed a deli.

  Melvin felt faint. His heart pounded and he had trouble breathing. He fell to his knees, gasping, “Can’t … move … get … me … out … of … here.”

  His classmates carried him all the way back to school.

  Problem was, Melvin still didn’t know what his weakness was. It was something in the deli, but what?

  Was it pastrami on rye?

  Egg salad on white?

  Tuna on wheat?

  Perhaps it was the owner’s aftershave.

  Trial and error was the only way to find out. Back at the academy, Superhero James and Superhero Margaret did the testing, starting with all the lunch meats.

  “How’s this?” James asked, waving a piece of pastrami in front of Melvin’s nose.

  “Looks delicious,” Melvin replied.

  “How about this?” Margaret asked, holding a slice of turkey.

  “Looks almost as delicious as that pastrami.”

  James and Margaret had everything that could possibly go in a sandwich laid out on a long table. One by one they went down the list.

  “Ham?”

  “Tasty.”

  “Bacon, lettuce, and tomato?”

  “Yum.”

  Then James picked up a slice of bologna. “How about this?”

  Melvin fell to his knees, gasping, “Can’t … move … get … me … out … of … here.”

  They did.

  Melvin had found his weakness. Bologna.

  * * *

  Back in Los Angeles, Melvin was busy. There were criminals all over the place. Muggers, robbers, a bad guy named Fred.

  But so far, no one had tried to make a getaway by train. And no bad guys had hideouts in tall buildings.

  Best of all, no one had robbed a deli.

  Melvin was glad. He knew his weakness. He knew better than to go near the cold cuts section of the supermarket.

  Still, he was dying for a pastrami sandwich.

  6

  SHOW UP JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME

  Melvin Beederman was getting the hang of things. The
nights were lonely, but mostly he was feeling better about his superhero life.

  He was catching bad guys right and left.

  He was on the news every night (the news came on right after The Adventures of Thunderman).

  Of course, seeing everyone’s underwear was very annoying, but he knew he’d learn to turn off his x-ray vision someday. Headmaster Spinner had said so.

  One day Melvin stood at the window of his hideout, looking down at the city.

  * * *

  There were 103 very tall buildings and 228 medium tall buildings. “That’s 331 buildings,” Melvin said proudly.

  And then he heard it.

  “Where’s my baby?!”

  Melvin dove out the window.

  Crash!

  He really had to start watching that first step. “Up, up, and away.” Splat!

  Thud!

  Kabonk!

  Once he was airborne, Melvin flew back and forth over the city.

  “My baby! My baby!”

  He looked and looked but couldn’t see who was yelling.

  “Someone help!”

  And then he saw it: the fairgrounds, the tractor pull, lots of mud, screaming engines—and there in the middle of it all was a little boy, barely old enough to walk, saying, “Car, car.”

  “Help!” cried his mother. “Someone save my baby!”

  Melvin swooped down over the racetrack and snatched the boy just as he was about to get trampled by the tractors.

  Mud flew about. Melvin used his cape to shield the boy.

  The crowd cheered. It was the best show they had ever seen.

  Melvin gave the child back to his mother.

  “You saved him,” she said with tears in her eyes.

  “Just in the nick of time,” Melvin said.

  “How can I ever thank you?”

  “Just doing my job, ma’am.”