“I don’t know,” I say, turning on the faucet. “Everything seemed a lot less complicated before.”
She sets the dish down. “You know, you remind me a lot of your grandpa.” She taps the side of her head. “You got his smarts. His eyes, too.”
“What was he like, Pickles?” I ask. “No one talks about him much.”
She stares out the window into the backyard. “He was one of the good guys. Kind, curious, brave…” She smiles, but her face looks sad. “They don’t make many like him anymore. Not many at all.”
“What happened to him, Pickles?” I ask.
“It was an accident.”
“In his lab? Was he working on a new invention?”
“The details aren’t really important, Charlie, but this part is.” She turns and looks at me. “He would have been very proud of you and the person you’re becoming.”
I look down at the suds in the sink. “Too bad I don’t have a clue who that person is.”
“You don’t have to right now. Let your imagination be in charge of that for a while.”
A prickly feeling plays at the back of my neck, and suddenly the kitchen feels too hot. I pull at the collar of my T-shirt.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s just that Mr. P said something like that when he gave us the journals.”
“The science teacher?”
“Yeah. He told us we should let our imaginations run like a pack of wild ponies.”
She laughs. “Sounds familiar.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your grandfather always said that until people understand the importance of their imaginations, they have nothing to offer the world of science.” She wags a finger at me. “Just remember, Charlie. Things aren’t always what they seem. And the answers aren’t as obvious as you think.”
“What answers?” I say, confused. “I don’t even know the questions.”
She taps her head again. “You’re a smart cookie. You’ll think of some good ones. I’m sure of it.”
* * *
That night, after Pickles leaves, I’m heading to my room when I hear a chewing noise coming from Lucy’s. I tell myself to ignore it, to keep walking, but I can’t help myself. I peek around the corner.
“Lucy!” She looks up at me from where she’s lying in the middle of her rug. “Is that … Are you…?”
One of my soccer cleats sits on the floor next to her. I walk in and pick it up. The top of it is soaking wet.
“Have you been chewing on this?” I demand. She lets out a whimper.
I’m about to yell for my mom, but change my mind. Instead I shove the shoe in her face.
“Stay out of my room and away from my stuff, do you hear me?” I wave it under her nose. “Or next time, you’re going to get it.”
A low growl comes from somewhere deep inside her. I bolt out the door, holding the slobbery shoe in front of me.
When I get to my room, I slam the door and lean against it. My head is swimming as I start looking around for my other cleat. And that’s when I see it.
A plain orange envelope leans against my computer screen.
I slide my finger under the flap and pull out a single piece of paper. Right away, I recognize Pickles’s handwriting:
WORDS CAN BE POWERFUL. BELIEVE IN THEIR MAGIC AND ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN.
I sit down. It’s the same thing Mr. P said when he handed me my journal. Pickles didn’t come here tonight just for my dad’s eggplant parmesan or to grill me about middle school. My grandmother and my science teacher are both trying to tell me something, but what?
I reach down and open my backpack. As soon as my fingers touch the journal, the now-familiar shock runs from my fingertips up the inside of my arm. I stare at the journal for a minute, thinking about experiments and words and magic. I think about what happened today with Boomer, and what Franki said about kids like him growing up to be guys like her stepdad.
Unless, maybe, someone has the power to stop them.
I open my journal and start writing.
September 14
Episode 3: The Big Blowup
The space monster advanced quickly, his suit of armor clanging against the rocky ground. His mouth was pulled wide in an evil grin, revealing two rows of razor-sharp teeth and a barbed tongue. He was three times the size of any creature on Planet Splodii and a bazillion times more powerful.
His mission? Ingest a superhero for lunch, then claim galactic domination by dinnertime.
The menacing creature’s name was Bloogfer, and he had a secret weapon that no other being in the universe possessed: Bodyodor Blowout. He could let off a smell that would invade victims’ bodies through their nostrils, mouths, and ear canals, an odor so grotesque, their eyes would water uncontrollably, their bodies would be thrown into bone-shattering convulsions, and their mouths would fill with a taste so disgusting that no amount of spitting or even upchucking could get rid of it. It was a superpower that had served him well on his rampage of slaughter throughout the universe.
Until today.
As Bloogfer prepared to unleash his killer stink upon Planet Splodii, Dude and his new dog, Bill, appeared on the horizon. Closing his eyes, Dude called upon Superpower #34: Biological Manipulation. As Bloogfer’s smell crept across the planet, everyone began to cough and writhe on the ground. Luckily, Dude’s ability to control his urge to react kept him protected. He stood his ground. The monster stopped for a moment, shaking his head.
“You don’t belong here, Bloogfer,” Dude growled. “Time for you to crawl back into your underground hole before I do something we’ll both regret.”
The evil grin reappeared on the monster’s face. He loved a good challenge. Taking a quick whiff of his armpit for reinforcement, he clanged toward Dude, the sound of metal grinding on metal, causing Dude’s sensitive ears to burn. As he reached to cover them, the monster lunged, his arms as thick as tree trunks.
Squeezing his eyes closed, Dude called on Superpower #45: Inhuman Reflexes. He ducked, easily avoiding the potentially fatal blow.
“Come on, you big oaf,” Dude teased. “Can’t you do better than that?”
Bloogfer raged. Again, he hurled himself toward Dude, his eyes blazing, his lips curled. Dude waited—then gracefully slid to the left, causing the raging monster to fly past and crash head-on into a stone wall behind him. As he roared in frustration, Dude grinned, enjoying this more than he had thought he would.
“You know what, Bloog?” Dude said, eyeing the mass of metal lying on the ground. “Your antics bore me. I’ve had enough for today.” Extending his right arm, he aimed at the creature’s metal-plated chest, squeezed his eyes shut, and waited. It was time for him to call on his shape-shifting powers and transform his arm into his most secret weapon—the Exterminizer.
Zap! His fingers quivered for less than a nanosecond before the blast shot out of him, straight toward his target’s chest. The sizzling sound reminded him of bacon grease, and the snapping and popping as the electricity zipped through the air made his stomach growl with memories of that morning’s breakfast. The jolt collided with Bloogfer’s armor, and the sound was spectacular, the Exterminizer’s power smashing into the metal armor. A stream of fireworks began to zip and zing off Bloogfer’s chest, making him shimmy uncontrollably across the rocky surface. Within seconds, the show was over, and as the last of the sparks died out, the crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle began to clap wildly, hooting and whistling for their leader who had—as always—once again saved the day.
Bloogfer lay still, glancing down at his now-exposed flesh. He let out a small whimper when he saw the shiny pink skin where only moments before his steel-plated armor had been.
“What have you done, Explodius? You have stripped me of my protective shields!”
“Yes, Bloogfer.” Dude nodded. “And your powers, as well. No longer will you be a threat to even the weakest of creatures. But I have spared your life, and for that you should
thank me.”
Dude aimed again, and with one last blast, shot the monster off Planet Splodii and into the atmosphere beyond.
“But,” he called out as the pink blob grew smaller and smaller in the distance, “should you ever return, rest assured you will not live to see another day!”
CHAPTER
10
It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m slumped in the corner of the hallway, next to the gym, waiting on Franki. It’s the day that I’ve been dreading all week—the fall festival. Just thinking the words makes me cringe.
After the pantsing incident and my hallway face-plant, I’ve managed to stay out of the limelight. Too bad I can’t say the same for everybody.
On Wednesday, Bennett Kraus left school with a bloody nose after someone tied his shoelaces together in French class and he tripped over Ms. DuCharme’s seven-foot replica of the Eiffel Tower. Dr. Moody said Bennett was fine, but he hasn’t been back all week.
On Thursday, Allen Foxworthy went home in tears after getting stuck in the boys’ bathroom for three hours straight. Literally. Someone decided it would be funny to drip Krazy Glue all over the toilet seats, and it took two teachers, the school nurse, and Dr. Moody to get him unstuck.
Allen hasn’t been back, either.
Even though every kid at Gatehouse knows that Boomer Bodbreath is behind these pranks, no one can prove it. So far he’s gotten off scot-free.
I reach into my backpack and pull out my journal. Opening it up, I reread the last entry I wrote, the one about Bloogfer, and how Dude blew apart his armor and threatened to do worse if he showed up on Planet Splodii again. Flipping to the back of the notebook, I pull out Pickles’s note, reading it for the billionth time.
WORDS CAN BE POWERFUL. BELIEVE IN THEIR MAGIC AND ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN.
“Hey, Chuck.”
I look up from my journal and grin. My mom says that Franki has the voice of a two-pack-a-day smoker, though I know for a fact she’s never touched a cigarette in her life.
“That a love letter?” she says, pointing to the piece of paper. I scramble to my feet, stuffing it into my back pocket.
“Very funny,” I say, forcing out a laugh. I stop when I see her face.
Something’s different. Her hair is pulled back, and her eyelashes seem to have grown a mile overnight. She’s got something glittery on her eyelids, and her normal T-shirt has been replaced with a lacy tank top.
“You got fruit punch on your mouth,” I tell her, pointing to the red stain across her lips.
“It’s lipstick,” she says.
“Lipstick?”
“You say it like it’s a bad word.” Franki snorts. She punches my arm. “Don’t be such a goob.”
She smells different, too, like the girls who hang out at the mall. I can’t quit staring at her.
“Close your mouth, Charlie,” she says, then reaches into her backpack. “Wait till you see what I got!” She pulls her hand out and produces two king-size candy bars. “There’s a ton of free food down the eighth-grade hallway,” she says, handing me one. “I’ve already had a hot dog and three chocolate doughnuts. With sprinkles.”
I rip open the candy wrapper with my teeth. This is more like Franki.
The double doors behind us swing open, and the heavy beat of a popular pop song blasts out. Two girls from Stella’s cheer team walk past us, giggling.
I lean close to Franki’s ear so she can hear me above the music. “Hey, Frank,” I say, trying not to take a deep whiff of her. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll grab our pails from my house and head to the cove. It’s perfect clamming weather and you can borrow a sweatshirt and—”
She stares at me like I’ve suggested we rob a bank. “What’s wrong with you, Chuck? We’re at our first middle-school festival. We’re supposed to be meeting people, hanging out, having fun. Come on, let’s go in and check out the dance.”
She grabs my hand, and I’m too shocked to say no.
She pulls the gym door open, and we enter a whole different world. Bright-white lights strobe on and off, making me feel queasy. The music pulses through my veins, the beat pushes up through my feet, and suddenly my whole body is vibrating. I squint but can’t make out anything but a dark mass of bodies in the center of the room. The smell of sweat and bubble gum mix together and make me want to sneeze. Franki yanks me toward the center of the gym floor.
Bodies surround us, bump up against us. The air is thick, like the time my parents took us to Florida for spring break. I feel like I’m breathing through a straw.
“Dance, Chuck, dance!” Franki squeezes my arms and lets out an unrecognizable giggle, jerking and jolting against me like she’s having a seizure. She bumps her hip against mine, shoving me off-balance, and I slam into the girl next to me. My armpits are so sticky, I wish I’d listened to Stella when she suggested I wear deodorant.
The girl glares at me like I’m radioactive.
I start looking around for the closest escape route when the music stops and the gym explodes in light.
Franki blinks. She cocks her head to one side, listening as the DJ announces a fifteen-minute break. People start to shuffle toward the bathroom and the food.
“Wow … uh … okay,” I say, running my fingers through my hair. “That was great. So…” I say, hooking my finger toward the door, “you ready to go?” I raise my eyebrows, hopeful.
Franki crosses her arms, grinning. “Oh, come on. Wasn’t that kind of fun?”
Fun like a lobotomy. I try to think of something, quick. If I don’t get out now, I’m doomed.
“How about another hot dog? Or snow cone?” I start toward the door, then peek over my shoulder. She’s not budging.
“Franki…” My voice sounds whiny, but I’m desperate.
She lifts her chin and turns away from me. “I want to dance.”
I look around. Kids are starting to wander back in, shoving the last bites of hot dog or greasy pizza into their mouths. “Frank,” I whisper, “this is kind of embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” she says. She leans away from me, her hands on her hips. “Well, gosh, I certainly wouldn’t want to do anything to embarrass you.”
Then right there in the middle of the school gym, she reaches out and throws her arms around my neck.
“Ack! Get off!” I try to break free, but it’s no use. The girl may be scrawny, but boy, is she strong.
“I swear, Charlie Burger, you are such a—”
She drops her arms, staring at something behind me. Every hair on my body starts to sizzle.
I turn, even though I know I shouldn’t. As soon as I see him, my insides drop into my sneakers.
Boomer Bodbreath and his baboons are beelining it straight for Franki and me.
CHAPTER
11
“What’s happening, babies?” The fluorescent lighting inside the gym gives Boomer’s skin a strange yellow tint, and his eyes look more sadistic than ever. “Is someone not sharing over here?”
He moves between us, the 44 on his football jersey filling my vision.
He looks Franki up and down in a way that makes me think about the stray dogs that hang around outside Drozdov’s butcher shop, waiting for a piece of scrap meat.
“Maybe you’re not all babies,” he says, and the two goons behind him snicker.
I clear my throat. “Nothing’s happening, Boomer.” If I’d just stuffed my mouth with dirt, it would feel less dry. “In fact, we were kind of on our way out. It’s getting late, and my dad’s probably waiting for us.…” I stop when Boomer’s meaty hand palms my forehead.
“Looks like a lovers’ spat to me.” His eyes search my face, like he’s trying to figure out what to do with me. I keep my own eyes glued to the blue 44 like it’s the most important thing in the room. He drops his palm onto my shoulder. “Though, I think you might be out of your league with this one.”
I gulp.
“I asked you a question.”
Technically, that was a statement and not
a question, I want to say, but instead I nod.
“Uh, sure, Boomer,” I tell him. “You’re absolutely right.”
He bends in closer.
“About which part?”
“Huh?” I’m starting to feel dizzy.
Franki steps in between us. “Why don’t you leave us alone?” She crinkles her nose. “And take that smell with you.”
This is not going to end well, I think.
Boomer digs his fingers deeper into my shoulder, and I wince.
“Your girlfriend is not very nice,” he says. “Someone needs to teach her some manners.”
I start to say something, but Franki cuts me off.
“You don’t scare us,” she says, the fists at her sides telling me she’s past mad. “Now get out of here so the rest of us can dance.”
A crowd has started to gather around.
Boomer tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a snort. “You call that dancing?” His eyes scan the group. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve never seen dancing like that before.” A few kids snort back in agreement.
“Oh, come on, Boomer,” Franki says. “You’ve been at Gatehouse for how many years? Four? Five? Guess you flunked dancing, too.”
The room goes silent.
“If you weren’t such an idiot,” she says, her voice ice-cold, “I’d almost feel sorry for you.”
Boomer moves so quickly, I don’t see it coming. In less than a nanosecond, he’s grabbed a chunk of Franki’s hair and twisted it into his fist, pulling her so close that her freckly face is pressed right up against his. His lips are against her earlobe, and the only sound is someone’s heartbeat pounding in my ear.
I have to do something, I think, but shake the thought from my head. This is Franki. She knows how to take care of herself. Any second and she’s going to make Boomer Bodbreath wish he’d never met her.
But Boomer keeps whispering something in her ear, something that makes Franki just stand there like she’s paralyzed. She doesn’t argue, or even try to get away. It’s like his words have zapped the fight right out of her.
Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers Page 5