Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers

by Gretchen Kelley

* * *

  I pull the stall door closed and look under the partition to make sure no one else is in the bathroom. When I know the coast is clear, I scan the contacts until I find Pickles.

  Come on, Pickles, I think. Answer. Please answer.

  She does on the third ring.

  “Stella?” Her voice is still raspy, like she hasn’t talked to anyone since she woke up. “That you, baby?”

  “Pickles, it’s Charlie.” My words come out fast, tumbling over one another. “I only have a few minutes, but I have a question. An important one.”

  She seems to get it. Instead of asking me to slow down or why I’m calling on a school morning, she just sighs. “I’ll give it a shot,” she says.

  But now that I have her on the phone, I don’t know where to start. I want to ask more about Gramps and his journal, but I’ve got to try to fix things for Franki first. “Pickles…” I say, closing my eyes. “Remember when you told me that you always thought maybe Gramps was writing stuff in his journal that was more than just science data?”

  “Uh-huh,” she says sleepily.

  “Well, did you ever see him erase something he wrote in it?”

  She’s silent for a minute. “I don’t know, Charlie.… Gramps was pretty secretive about everything he wrote in there. I do remember one time, though—”

  The bell rings.

  “One time what?” I press.

  “I saw him rip a page out and throw it in the trash can.” She chuckles. “I thought about trying to sneak a peek, but you know what that crazy coot did?”

  I grip the phone tighter. “What?”

  “He lit a match and threw it on top of that page—set the whole can on fire.” Her voice trails off. “Could’ve burned the whole place down, but instead he just set off the smoke alarm.”

  “Pickles, I’ve got to go now.”

  “Is everything okay?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. But I think I’m about to find out.”

  We hang up, and I pull the journal out of my bag. I flip to the entry about Franki and grab the top of the page, ripping it out of the notebook. I crumple it up and lob it toward the trash can. It misses.

  I walk over and pick it up. Even though I want to make sure Franki gets to Colorado, I’m not willing to light the trash can on fire. Instead, I toss the paper into the can and hurry off to class.

  * * *

  After school I show up to chess club to find a note taped to Mr. P’s door:

  To the Gatehouse Middle School Chess Club, Mr. Perdzock will not be here for today’s meeting. He would like me to remind you that you have a tournament coming up soon and to always drink upstream from the herd. Regards, Ms. Carson.

  We shuffle inside and stake out our seats.

  Grant pulls a cloth board from his bag. I watch while he places the white pieces on his side then hands me the black ones.

  Seven moves later we are still even. Ever since our win against the Patriots, Grant’s confidence has quadrupled. He captures my queen on his next move.

  “Hey, Burger?”

  “Yeah?” I study the board, knowing that if I’m not careful, he’ll have me in checkmate soon.

  “Have you noticed anything—I don’t know—different about yourself lately?”

  My stomach does a little sideways flip. I move my bishop. “No. Have you?”

  “Yeah.” He takes my bishop with his knight. “Something big.”

  I swallow hard. “And?” I say, lowering my voice.

  “And,” he says, “I don’t get why you haven’t talked to me about it.” He looks over his shoulder. “It’s pretty awesome, actually.”

  I take a deep breath and move my other bishop.

  “I don’t know what—”

  “Listen, Burger.” His eyes grow bigger. “I get it.”

  “You do?”

  He smiles, his teeth bright white against his dark skin. “Well, sure. And, it’s not like you’re the first guy to ever be in this predicament.”

  “I’m not?”

  “Of course not.” He shakes his head and captures my knight with his rook. “Lots of guys have been where you are. Me, for one.”

  My hand freezes. I hadn’t thought about this. Maybe I’m not the only kid at Gatehouse whose journal is some sort of catalyst. Mr. P never mentioned it, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t others having the same weird experiences, right?

  Grant continues. “It started a few weeks ago.” He glances over at Dolores, who’s digging at something lodged in her front teeth. “Though, unlike Franki, I’m not sure the feelings are mutual.”

  I look up at him. “What’s Franki got to do with this?”

  He reaches across the table and slaps my arm. “Don’t worry, Burger, your secret’s safe with me. And, in all honesty, I think Franki’s got it bad for you, too.” He looks at Dolores again and sighs. “You’re lucky. Mine is a love that is still unrequited.”

  I slam my chess piece down on the board and dig my fingers into my scalp. “Jeez, Grant. I thought you were talking about … Oh, never mind.” I can’t decide if I should be relieved that Grant doesn’t know about the journal or mad that he’s talking about Franki and me like that. “Franki’s my best friend. What you’re suggesting is just plain wrong.”

  A smile creeps across Grant’s face. He’s clearly getting a kick out of this.

  “Deny it all you want, Charlie Burger, but the truth is written all over your lovesick mug.” He shakes his head like he’s worried for me. “You’re a mess, my friend.”

  I’m about to make a mess out of him when the door bursts open, banging against the wall. A beaker on the shelf crashes to the ground.

  We all look up at once. We don’t get many visitors during chess club. Especially not this kind.

  Boomer Bodbreath fills the doorway, rubbing his hands together like he just discovered Earth’s last stash of Kryptonite.

  CHAPTER

  26

  I look at Grant. The grin is gone, and the color has drained from his face.

  “Hold it together, man,” I whisper. “You can’t lose your mojo again.”

  Boomer swaggers in and scans the room like it’s a sold-out stadium and we’re his adoring fans. A group of his teammates slouch in the doorway, watching while he walks up and down the aisles, swinging his helmet back and forth by its chin strap.

  He stops in front of Dolores and slams the helmet down on her desk. Chess pieces jump off the table, as if they’re abandoning ship.

  “Game’s over, geeks,” he snarls.

  Dolores doesn’t look up. “What do you want, Boomer?”

  Boomer grabs a chair and flips it around backward, plunking himself onto it. He rests his elbows on the back and stares at her, hard.

  “You want to know what I want?” He glances at Simon, who wiggles around like someone dropped a handful of ants down his pants. “I want to know which idiot pulled the stunt that got me suspended for three days.”

  I keep my eyes on the chessboard.

  Dolores stands up so fast, her braid smacks her in the face. “You and your friends don’t belong here,” she scolds. “Why don’t you go scramble your brains on the football field?”

  Boomer crosses his hands over his heart. “That hurts, you know? I just want someone to fess up so we can make sure there’s no hard feelings.” He reaches over and clamps his hand down on Simon’s bony shoulder. His voice drops at least an octave. “You know anything about that, Booger Boy?”

  Even though Simon hasn’t eaten his boogers since fourth grade, some nicknames just stick. Booger Boy is one of them.

  “No … I know nothing. I p-promise,” Simon stammers.

  Boomer glares at him, his eyes tiny slits. “Well, until someone wants to talk, maybe you’d like to come outside with us.” He slides off the chair, looking over at the goons in the doorway. One of them rubs his hands together like Boomer’s about to offer him a steak sandwich. “Whaddya say, guys? Should we take Boogie here out for some tackle practice?”


  Any second now and Simon’s going to hurl his lunch all over Dolores’s perfectly pressed skirt. I think about grabbing my journal but change my mind. If Boomer catches me writing an adventure about him, he’ll realize his suspicions were right and I am the guy responsible for his suspension. And then I’ll be the one hurling all over someone.

  “Get your hands off him.”

  I look up. Grant’s standing next to his chair.

  “Grant,” I whisper. “What the heck are you doing?”

  Boomer looks over at us. “You talking to me, four-eyes?” A sneer slides across his face.

  “Yeah, I’m talking to you.” He cups his ear with his hand. “You need a hearing aid, Bodbreath?”

  Oh no. Not again. “Don’t do this,” I hiss, grabbing the bottom of Grant’s T-shirt.

  Grant shakes me off him. “Somebody has to do something, Burger.”

  Boomer lets go of Simon. He glances at the goons in the doorway again.

  “You guys take care of Booger Boy. I’ll deal with four-eyes.”

  He starts toward us as his teammates zero in on Simon. One of them cracks his knuckles.

  I reach into my backpack, my fingers finding my journal.

  Before Grant ends up someplace worse than his locker, or Simon’s lunch ends up on his sneakers, I better start writing.

  November 5

  Episode 7: Bloogfer Returns

  Bloogfer zeroed in.

  “I told you not to come back here,” Dude growled. The Exterminizer was ready. “You’ve made your last mistake.”

  Ka-bam! Right on target. The shot was dead-on as Dude dialed the Exterminizer up to MAXIMUM and a stream of purple goo shot straight into Bloogfer’s chest.

  “I can’t … move! My arms … legs…!” His eyes darted back and forth. “I can’t move my neck!”

  Three more cretins came into Dude’s view.

  Bam! Bam! Bam! Soon they were all coated in the same purple goo as Bloogfer.

  “Explodius, what have you done?” Bloogfer squeezed out. “You’ve destroyed us!”

  “You’ve destroyed yourself, Bloogfer. Now stop moving, or the toxins will start to eat your flesh

  CHAPTER

  27

  “Give me that.”

  Too late. Before I can finish the sentence, a hand wraps around the back of my neck, and the smell of Simon’s tuna sandwich fills the room.

  The hand squeezes hard, making my eyes water. Another one grabs my journal.

  “Hey!” I yell, but it’s no use. Number 32 has me out of my chair and in the air before I know what’s happening.

  “Whatcha got there?” Boomer growls.

  “Little guy is writing something down,” Number 32 says, holding my journal up in the air with his other hand. “You want to see it?”

  “Throw it over,” says Boomer. My journal goes sailing through the air.

  I squeeze my eyes closed, waiting for the goose bumps to explode on my skin.

  They don’t.

  I squeeze tighter, trying to see Dude’s face.

  Nothing.

  Great time for a vacation, Dude.

  Boomer starts flipping through my journal. If he reads the stuff I’ve written, he’s going to rearrange my face in such a way that even my mom won’t recognize me.

  Come on, Dude.

  I look over at Grant. A guy with spiky hair has shoved him facedown on the chessboard, his arm jerked so far up his back, he can probably scratch his own head. His glasses are twisted sideways, and a pawn is sticking out of his right ear.

  I squeeze my eyes closed again. Concentrate, I tell myself.

  But it’s not working. I didn’t write enough. We’re dead meat.

  Just then, a shrieking noise pierces through the room.

  “What the—” Number 32 drops me like I’m radioactive and slams his hands over his ears.

  The fire alarm.

  “Fire!” I scream. “The building’s on fire!” Number 32 looks at me like I just suggested he put on a tutu.

  “Get out, you big oaf!” I shove him, my hands sinking into his doughy middle. Boomer tosses my journal onto the floor, then stumbles after Number 32 and the rest of his goons. They bump against one another, cursing and yelling the whole way. Finally, they squeeze out and take off toward the exit at the end of the hall.

  “Let’s go!” I holler, turning back to the others.

  Nobody moves except Grant, who sits up and pulls the pawn out of his ear.

  “Everyone, line up, single file!”

  The chess club gathers around me, waiting. For a second I’m confused, until I realize what’s happening—everyone is following my directions.

  “Exit’s to the right, people. Stay calm, and move in an orderly fashion.” Suddenly, I sound a lot like my mom. One after another, everyone files out, first the girls, then Simon, and finally Grant. We make it to the door at the end of the hall, and I shove it open. The sun’s so bright, it makes me blink.

  “Everyone, come on!” We run out of the building just as we hear the wails of a fire truck.

  I rub my eyes and look around. Boomer and his cronies lean against the fence, panting like they’ve just run a marathon. The chess team is sprawled out on the hill next to me—Grant, Simon, the two seventh-grade girls …

  Dolores. Where’s Dolores?

  I tear back toward the exit door and reach it just as three firefighters come jogging around the corner. They break into a run as soon as they see me.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” The first guy slams his hand against the door while another one grabs me up in a bear hug.

  “Someone’s still in there!” I holler. “And I’ve got to get her out!” I thrash my legs back and forth, but it’s no use. This guy’s built like a tree trunk.

  “If someone’s still in there, we’ll find them,” he says calmly as the other two guys go into the building. “No need to be a hero, son.”

  I start to argue but freeze when I see what’s coming at me.

  My mom marches up the sidewalk, her face set like stone.

  CHAPTER

  28

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demands.

  The tree trunk spins around. “Huh? Oh, Officer Burger. Had a fire alarm go off inside the school. We’re thinking some kid pulled a prank, but Billy and Chet are checking it out now.”

  Her eyes blaze. “Doug, let go of my son.”

  “Wha—oh! This your kid?” He lets go of me, and I topple to the ground. “Quite the Good Samaritan, this guy.”

  She bends down and brushes the hair out of my eyes. “You okay, Charlie? I just heard the call over the radio.…”

  I scramble to my feet. “I’m fine,” I say, pushing her hand away. The tree trunk rocks back on his heels, grinning.

  The door opens, and one of the firefighters pokes his head out. “All clear, Doug. Definitely a prank. We’re going to search the building.”

  Doug gives him a thumbs-up, then looks down at me.

  “Not a smart prank. Pulling an alarm when there’s no fire can get you into a lot of trouble.”

  He nods at my mom, then slips inside. I start to turn back to my friends.

  “Come with me,” my mom says, grabbing my arm.

  “Mom, could you not do that here?” I say, looking around to see if anyone’s watching us.

  She grips harder. “What do you know about this?” she demands.

  I look at her like she’s lost her marbles. “Nothing. I was at chess club. The fire alarm went off, and I cleared everyone out.”

  Pulling a pad of paper from her back pocket, she points a finger at me.

  “Stay here while I question the others. I mean it, Charlie. Don’t move.”

  Right then, another squad car pulls up. We both look as Officer Gargotti opens the door and hoists himself out. When he sees my mom, a frown the size of Alaska spreads across his face.

  “Hey, Gargotti,” she calls out, waving. “Sounds like some kids were just messing around. Do
n’t worry; I’ve got it covered.”

  “You’re off duty,” he says, puffing up to us. “You’re not even supposed to be here.”

  “Joe, this is my kids’ school.”

  He crosses his arms, and I can see his undershirt peeking through the gaps in his uniform. “Come on, Betty, don’t do this. Chief’s already warned you about—”

  She puts her hands up, cutting him off. “All right, I get it.” She turns and motions for me to follow.

  “I’m going to stick around for a little while,” I tell her. “I’ll meet you at home.”

  She looks at me like I’m the one missing some marbles. “You’ll do no such thing,” she says. “Let’s go.” She looks back at Officer Gargotti. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

  We drive home in silence. I keep my eyes focused out the window, watching the clouds that continue to roll in. The radio announcer tells us there’s a good-size storm moving in off the Atlantic.

  We pull into the driveway, and she cuts the engine. “Charlie,” she says. “Please tell me you had nothing to do with whatever went on today at that school.”

  She can’t be serious. “Mom, I already told you. I would never do something like pull a fire alarm.”

  “Okay, okay. I just wanted to make sure.” She gives me a weak smile. “You just never know these days.”

  Suddenly, my insides are seething. “Yes, you do know! I may not be a star soccer player like Lucy, or Miss Perfect like Stella, but I’m not an idiot.”

  She looks at me like I just sucker-punched her. “Charles. Of course you’re not an—”

  “But you’re always treating me like one!” I’m yelling now, and my nose is starting to run. “You’re always looking over my shoulder, checking my toenails, criticizing my clothes, waiting for me to do something stupid, to mess up.” I wipe my face with my sleeve. “You tell me you want me to grow up, but how can I when you’re always treating me like I’m a little kid, like today.”

  “Like today?” Her voice sounds hurt, but I don’t care.

  “Yes! Like today! Showing up at my school, acting like you have to rescue me, then treating me like I’m some sort of criminal.” I blink fast. “It’s embarrassing.”

  We sit there for a minute, me wiping my nose, and her staring off into space. Finally, she speaks, her voice calm. “I’m sorry if I embarrass you, Charlie. But I am your mom. And my first job, above all others, is to protect you.” She reaches for my hand. “And even if you don’t like it, that’s never going to change.”