Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers

by Gretchen Kelley

  I pull my hand away. “Everything changes, Mom. Everything.”

  I push the door open and jump out, the tears stinging my eyes as I run.

  * * *

  Hours later, I wake up. My room has grown dark, and it’s cold—colder than normal. I sit up, thinking I should grab another blanket or maybe go downstairs to see if my dad saved some dinner for me.

  And then I hear it.

  Something is standing next to me, its breathing raspy and wet.

  “I know karate,” I whisper. “And my mom has a gun.”

  Then it lets out a noise, like a howl.

  “Owwowwowwoooowwww…”

  “Lucy? Is that you?” I reach forward and snap on the light. She leans against the edge of my bed, her tongue hanging out. “What are you doing in here? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  She howls again so loud that I throw my hand over her mouth.

  “You want to wake the whole neighborhood?” I ask her, trying to ignore her wet tongue against my palm. Suddenly, a sharp pain shoots through my hand. It takes me a second to realize she’s sunk her teeth into my middle finger. I stuff my other fist in my mouth, trying not to scream.

  “Get out!” I screech, and yank my hand free.

  Lucy scratches herself for a minute, then scampers out of my room and down the hall.

  I sit back against my pillows, sucking on my throbbing finger.

  Lucy may be a bratty sister, but this dog thing has gone too far.

  I’ve got to figure out how to switch her back, but how?

  I look around for my backpack.

  I search under my coat, a towel, and even under my bed.

  And then it hits me.

  The last time I saw my backpack, it was under my chair during chess club.

  The last time I saw my journal, Boomer was tossing it onto the science lab floor.

  I’ve got to get that journal back. And fast.

  CHAPTER

  29

  On Friday, I get up earlier than usual and dress quickly. My plan is simple: I’ll go straight to the science room, grab my journal, and write an adventure that will turn Lucy normal again by dinnertime.… Well, at least normal for her.

  But when I round the corner into the kitchen, my mom and dad are both already at the table. My dad is busy at the stove, and my mom’s reading the paper. They both look up when I walk in.

  “Dad,” I say, still sore at my mom from yesterday, “I’m just going to grab a banana and head out. I’ve got a lab that I need to finish and—”

  He puts up his hands.

  “Not so fast, buddy.”

  “But, Dad…”

  “Look out the window.”

  I walk over to the back door and peek through the blinds. The backyard is blanketed in fresh fluffy snow. There’s not a lot, but more is falling from the sky.

  “Snow day!” He holds up his spatula in a victory salute.

  Lucy bounces into the kitchen and scampers to the door. She puts her hands on the glass and presses her nose against it. She lets out a bark.

  My mom looks at my dad. “Do you think I should cancel Lucy’s appointment with Dr. Daniels today? I really don’t want to, but the roads may be dangerous.”

  My dad sets a plate of pancakes in front of me. “I wouldn’t yet. I’m pretty sure the weather forecasters overpredicted this one. Last night they were calling for six inches, but it’s too early for that much snow. Now they’re saying it’ll melt before noon.”

  I stuff half a pancake in my mouth. “Then I better get to Grant’s.” Grant’s house is right next to the best sledding hill on all of Cape Ann. Plus, I have to pass right by Gatehouse to get there. A quick pit stop to pick up my journal, then—

  “First, breakfast,” my dad says, pointing to my plate. “Then Grant’s.”

  I cram in another forkful as my mom’s cell phone rings. She picks it up immediately.

  “Chief? Oh, finally,” she says, turning away from the table. “Thanks for calling me back.” She puts her hand around the phone and lowers her voice. “Are you at the middle school now? Great,” she says, checking her watch. “I can be there in five minutes.” The corners of her mouth turn down. “But, Chief, I really think I should be involved in—” Her head bobs. “Sure, I understand. I’ll wait for you at the precinct.”

  “Any news?” my dad asks.

  She shoots him her not-in-front-of-the-children look. “Not yet.”

  Suddenly, my mouthful of pancake seems harder to swallow than it did a minute ago.

  “I’m going down to the station,” she says, folding the paper in half. She walks over to the trash can and stuffs the paper inside. “I’ll be back in time to take Lucy to her appointment.”

  She heads for the hallway and motions for my dad to follow. As soon as they’re gone, I jump up and run to the trash can. My dad is the king of recycling and would never stand back and watch my mom throw paper away. There’s something in there they don’t want me to see.

  I grab the paper out of the trash and wipe the coffee grounds off the back. I spread it out on the table, peeking around the corner. I can see my dad nodding at something my mom is saying.

  “Ruff!” says Lucy.

  I point my finger at her. “No barking,” I say, and for some reason it works. She starts licking the syrup bottle instead.

  I quickly scan the front page but find nothing about Gatehouse. I flip it open and look at page two, then three. Not a single mention until the last page.

  There, in the bottom left corner, is the headline, False Fire Alarm at Middle School Suspends One, Four Hospitalized. I glance up at the back of my dad’s head, which is still nodding. I start reading.

  A sixth-grade female honors student at Gatehouse Middle School has been suspended for three days after tampering with the fire alarm yesterday afternoon. The incident led to the dispatch of the Cape Ann Fire Department and Cape Ann Police Force. Though no damage was reported and no arrests made, four eighth-grade males have been hospitalized following the incident. An investigation is underway.

  I read it again.

  A sixth-grade female honors student …

  Was it Dolores? No, that’s crazy. She’d never pull a fire alarm. But she was the only one missing yesterday, and she definitely qualifies as an “honors student.” And what about the eighth-grade males? Could they be talking about Boomer and his buffoons? Did something happen to put them in the hospital?

  I think about yesterday, and suddenly the words I wrote in my journal come back to me.

  The toxins will eat your flesh …

  Did I put those guys in the hospital?

  I stuff the paper back in the trash can right as my dad walks into the kitchen again.

  “Ready for a couple more pancakes?”

  I glance over at Lucy, her hair sticking to her face. “I don’t think so,” I tell him, heading toward the stairs. “I’ve got to take care of something first.”

  CHAPTER

  30

  I beg. I plead. I try to strike a deal.

  “I’ll be in and out of the school in less than ten minutes, Mom.”

  “No, Charlie.” She crosses her arms. “And that’s final.”

  When I went upstairs to get dressed, I could see from my bedroom window that the snow wasn’t even sticking to the road. I figured I could bike to Gatehouse, grab my journal, and be home before anyone even noticed I was gone. Sledding at Grant’s was clearly out.

  But when I came back downstairs, my mom was standing in the hallway, pulling a black stocking cap onto her head.

  “I forgot my hat,” she explained. “It’s freezing outside.”

  Now, standing in front of her, I hold my hands together like I’m praying. “Please, Mom, look,” I tell her, unzipping my jacket. “I even put on two sweaters. I planned ahead, see?”

  “You are not biking to that school, Charlie. Or anywhere, for that matter.”

  “I need my science journal, Mom.”

  She shakes her
head. “The homework can wait.”

  “But—”

  She sighs. “Charlie, even if I said yes, it wouldn’t matter. The school is locked.”

  “There must be a janitor or—”

  “Charles, you don’t understand.”

  “Understand what, Mom?” Now I cross my arms too. “How can I understand if you don’t tell me what’s going on?”

  She hooks her thumbs into her belt loops, then looks around like she’s about to let me in on a national secret.

  “Four students from Gatehouse were hospitalized last night. No one knows exactly why, but the doctors have reason to believe they may have contracted meningococcal meningitis.”

  “Meni-what?”

  “Meningococcal meningitis. It’s a bacterial infection that can spread quite easily among people who have had close contact with one another.” She plays with the clip on her belt. “If left untreated, it can make a person very sick—in some cases it’s even fatal.”

  “Fatal? As in, dead?”

  She nods.

  “But how do they know that’s what they have?” I ask her. “I mean, it could be lots of things, right?”

  She bites at her thumbnail. “All four boys showed up in the emergency room last night with rashes that are very specific to this particular infection. Until the tests come back, the kids will stay in the hospital, and the school will remain closed. We don’t want an outbreak on our hands.”

  I feel like someone just punched me in the gut. “The rash … Do you know what it looks like?”

  She gives me a strange look. “Why?” She reaches for the bottom of my sweater. “Are you showing signs of—”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I tell her, moving out of her reach. “I was just curious is all.”

  She pulls her hat lower and reaches for the door handle. “Well, I’ll know more after I go to the precinct.” She starts to open the door but then turns back to me. “Promise me you won’t go anywhere near Gatehouse or any of your classmates until we have more information.”

  “But, Mom…”

  “Meningococcal meningitis is not something to mess with. If you are found anywhere near that school, you will be quarantined until those tests come back, do you understand?”

  I nod. “I understand.”

  “Thank you, Charlie.” Her eyes soften. “What you said yesterday in the car about not being a little kid anymore … You’re right. You are growing up. And I’m proud of you.”

  She walks out the door. My feet feel like bricks as I turn and drag them back up the stairs, which seem steeper than they did before.

  Back in my room, I sit down at my computer and type. Right away, results pop up on to the screen.

  Meningococcal meningitis is an aggressive infection that attacks the lining of the brain. Even with rapid identification and treatment, it can cause death.

  I scroll farther until I get to the list of symptoms: high fever, neck stiffness, pain in different joints …

  I stop, and my eyes wander back up. Neck stiffness? I think back to the journal entry. After Bloogfer got shot with the Exterminizer, didn’t he say he couldn’t move his neck?

  I keep reading until I find what I’m looking for. It’s even typed in bold.

  A red or purple skin rash may indicate blood poisoning, in which case you should seek medical attention immediately.

  My whole body starts to shake. The goo that Dude shot at Boomer and the others was purple.

  Did Dude give those guys this disease?

  Are they going to die because of me?

  * * *

  Pickles picks up on the first ring.

  “Yeah?” She says it fast, like she was expecting my call.

  “Pickles, it’s me, Charlie.”

  “Did you work everything out?”

  I push my door closed with my foot. “Just the opposite,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’ve made a mess of everything.”

  “Tell me,” she says.

  So I do. I tell her about Dude and turning Lucy into a dog, and the dance, and how Mr. P thinks I might be something called a bully buster. I tell her about Coach losing his voice and our winning the game. And then I tell her about chess club and the fire alarm and how my journal is gone and the school is closed and how Boomer and his friends might have meningococcal meningitis and if they die, it’s because of me.

  She clears her throat. “Meni-what?”

  “Meni—oh, never mind. That’s not important. What’s important is, I’ve got to figure out how to get my journal and fix the mess I’ve made. I just want everything to go back to the way it was. I want everything to be normal again.”

  “Slow down,” she says. “First of all, how do you know those kids in the hospital are the same bozos who showed up at your chess club?”

  I think about this for a minute. Maybe she’s right.… Maybe it’s all just a coincidence. The paper said it was four eighth-grade males, but that was all. There are lots of eighth-grade males at Gatehouse. And, even if it is Boomer and his bozos, maybe their infection has nothing to do with me. The article I read said the rash could be red or purple. Until I know more details, this could have nothing at all to do with Dude Explodius or his last adventure.

  “I’ve got to go to the hospital, Pickles,” I say. “I’ve got to see if it’s Boomer, and if it is, if his rash is purple.”

  “And if it is?”

  “Then I’ve got to find that journal and fix this. Before it’s too late.”

  I hear a chime in the background, signaling a customer coming into the store. “I’ve got to go, Charlie,” she says, her voice low. “If you need me…”

  “Pickles?”

  “Yeah?”

  I grip the phone tighter. “Do you think Gramps was a bully buster?”

  For a minute, she doesn’t say anything. When she finally does, her voice is heavy.

  “I don’t know, Charlie. Like I told you before, I didn’t understand a lot of what he was doing in that lab, and to be honest, I didn’t ask a lot of questions. But I know one thing for sure.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He wanted to make a difference.” She sighs. “And he was willing to risk everything to make that happen.”

  I hang up, knowing what I have to do.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, I’m leaning my bike against a RESERVED FOR PHYSICIANS ONLY sign and staring across the parking lot at Cape Ann Medical Center. Even though most of the snow has already melted, patches of it linger on the grass and bushes around me.

  I look down at the watch I grabbed off my dad’s dresser. I feel bad that I lied to him, but it was the only way he’d let me leave the house without making a stink about it.

  “Dad, I’m going to Anthony’s!” I hollered, heading down the stairs and scooting toward the front door.

  “Anthony Gargotti?” He wandered out of the kitchen, holding a plate of homemade muffins. “I thought your mom told you to stay put.”

  I was prepared for him to say something like this. “She said I had to stay away from anyone who goes to Gatehouse. Anthony goes to a different school, remember?”

  He handed me a muffin. “I don’t know, Charlie. Anthony is…”

  I was prepared for this, too. “Come on, Dad. We’re just going to play video games, not steal a car.”

  He laughed at that, and then said fine, I could go, as long as I was home before dinner and didn’t try any funny business. Now, staring up at the hospital, I can’t think of anything less funny than what I’m about to do.

  A gust of cold air smacks me in the face. “Stop being a baby, Burger,” I mutter, and hurry across the sidewalk and into the building. “You can do this. You can.”

  The lobby is glossy and white and reminds me of last winter when my dad and I brought Franki here after she’d fallen while skating at Mill Pond. She had to wear a cast up to her elbow for six weeks, but it smelled like foot fungus after four.

  Thinking about Franki makes me feel better. I wish she co
uld have seen the way I handled things yesterday after the fire alarm went off. Maybe she would have finally realized I did have guts. A lot of them, in fact.

  I walk across the white tiles to a desk that sits smack in the middle of the room. An INFORMATION sign hangs above it. A woman watches as I approach, but she doesn’t move the cell phone from her ear.

  “You just wouldn’t believe what’s going on, Eugene,” she’s saying into the phone. “The switchboard lit up as soon as the paper came out this morning, reporters wanting updates and parents wondering if their own children need to be tested. What? Have I seen them?” She rolls her eyes like this is the craziest thing ever. “Honey, I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday. Until they figure out what’s wrong with those boys, I’m not stepping foot anywhere near the third floor.” She lowers her voice a little. “From what I hear, they’re not doing too good.”

  My insides flip over. I cough, hoping that will get her attention. I don’t cover my mouth.

  “I’ve got to go,” she says. “Yes, I’ll call. The second I know more…” She turns off the phone, drops it into a bag on the floor, and then swivels around to her computer.

  “Name?” she says to the screen.

  “Charlie.”

  She inspects a long fingernail, then another. Finally, she looks up at me, her eyelids heavy.

  “Of the patient.”

  “Oh—uh…” I think for a second but realize I don’t even know what Boomer’s real name is. Nobody would actually name their kid Boomer, would they?

  “Bodbreath. I’m wondering if Mr. Bodbreath is here.”

  Her fingers quit typing.

  “Only immediate family members are allowed in the quarantine area.”

  A chill runs down my spine. So, he is here. “Well, I am,” I say, thinking fast. “An immediate family member, that is.”

  She narrows her eyes at me.

  “We’re cousins. Close cousins.” I cross my fingers. “We’re like this. Tight.”