Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers

by Gretchen Kelley

  “I knew the consequences before I went in there.” She sniffs, like her nose is running.

  My dad grunts. “I can’t believe the chief suspended you for this.”

  Suspended? From the police force?

  “Well, this isn’t my first … incident. Chief had warned me.”

  They’re both quiet for a minute, then I hear a noise, like someone’s crying.

  “Come here,” my dad says, his voice softening. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “I know.” My mom’s voice is muffled, like she’s talking into his shirt. “I just hate for the kids to see me like this.”

  “Nobody’s perfect,” he says. The sobbing grows louder. “Maybe it’s time we all come to terms with that.”

  I turn and spit what’s left of my toothpaste into the sink, then climb into my bed.

  I’m just about to drift off when my door creaks open, and the light from the hall falls across my bed.

  “Charles?”

  I keep my eyes closed tight.

  “Charlie?” My mom sits down on my bed. “Are you still awake?”

  I open one eye.

  “Hi,” she says, smiling at me.

  “This is all my fault, Mom,” I tell her. “I lied to you and Dad. On top of that, if I hadn’t asked you to get my journal—”

  She brushes the hair out of my eyes. “It’s not your fault, Charlie. I made my choices. I have to live with them.”

  I want to say something else, but my eyes won’t stay open. I don’t know how long she sits there, but I fall asleep like that, her sitting there, watching me.

  It’s kind of nice, to be honest.

  * * *

  “And no death games. They’re going to a dance, not war.”

  I look down at the rows of naked Barbies splayed out on Lucy’s bed, and I shake my head.

  At their last appointment, Dr. Daniels had told my dad that the reason for Lucy’s strange behavior was her need for more attention at home.

  “He suggested we all find ways to interact with her more,” my dad explained over breakfast this morning. “We need to try some things that she enjoys, focus more on her needs, not ours.”

  I almost choked on my bran muffin, but I agreed to try. This, though, may be more than I can stand.

  “Okay,” Lucy says, studying the mass of naked bodies in front of her. She plucks one out of the middle of the row. “They each need something special to wear. You can start with her. She’s one of my favorites.”

  She holds the Barbie out to me, and I take it. I’d be more excited if she’d just handed me her used Kleenex.

  “Why is it a favorite?” I ask skeptically. To me, they all look the same: pink, plastic, and blond. “Oh, never mind. Just give me the clothes.”

  She laughs.

  It’s the first Sunday of fall break, and I’m bored out of my mind. For two days straight my dad has had us on house arrest.

  “Until those boys’ tests come back, no one’s leaving,” he said, looking first at me, then at my mom. “No exceptions, understand?”

  We both nodded. “Understand,” we said in unison.

  “This is the fun part, Charlie!” Lucy holds up a pink wicker basket and turns it upside down. A million pieces of colored fabric rain down on her bed. She looks at me triumphantly. “You get to pick out their outfits yourself.”

  “Lucy, you’re not serious.”

  She holds out a bright-orange-and-pink dress.

  “Here. She’ll look fantastic in this.” She drops the dress, then picks up a dark purple one. “Or this one, if you prefer something fancier.”

  I toss the Barbie onto the bed and stand up. “I’ve got to clean my room,” I tell her.

  She looks at me for a minute, then her eyes drop to her lap. She fiddles with the Barbie in her hand, the one with the red sequined ball gown and matching high heels.

  “Charlie,” she says in an almost-whisper. “No one likes to play with me. The other kids say I’m too bossy.” She smooths the doll’s hair. “They say Barbies are for babies.”

  I am not falling for this. “Yeah, well, you are. Bossy, I mean. And they are for babies. Kind of.”

  She bites her bottom lip.

  “Oh jeez,” I say, sitting back down. I tap my foot and stare at the ceiling.

  “I’m trying, Charlie. I really am,” she says. “But I’m a very good leader, and I’m smarter than everyone in my class.” She looks up at me. “I wish I was more like you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I mumble.

  “No, really!” Her eyes grow wide. “You’re much more”—she searches for the word—“easygoing. I wish I didn’t always have to be in control of everything.”

  I stare at her. Maybe my bratty sister’s human, after all.

  “Listen, Lucy,” I tell her. “There’s nothing wrong with being smart or in control. Just stop rubbing everyone’s noses in it all the time.”

  She nods, biting her lip.

  I sigh. “Fine. I’ll play for twenty more minutes, but that’s it.”

  “Really?” Her eyes light up like a Christmas tree.

  “Yes, really. But I’m not dressing any of them.”

  She hands me a doll with a sparkly tiara perched on its head. “You can be her. She’s the mean one who no one wants to eat lunch with because she steals boyfriends. And she has an eating disorder.”

  I toss the doll back onto the pile, dislodging her princess crown.

  “Fat chance, Lucy.”

  “Charlie, please…”

  And then I hear it, my mom’s voice from downstairs.

  “Burgers! Time for showers!”

  Lucy scrunches up her nose. “But it’s fall break!” she hollers.

  My mom hollers back. “It’s also late. Bedtime’s in thirty minutes … or else!”

  I jump up.

  “Come on, Charlie,” Lucy whines. “Ten more minutes?”

  “You heard Mom. Do you really want to find out what ‘or else’ means?”

  I sprint out of the room and toward the bathroom, grinning. Maybe showers aren’t so bad, after all.

  CHAPTER

  33

  I’m planning to sleep in on Monday, but I wake up to a buzzing in my ear. I bat at the alarm clock, and it crashes to the ground, but still the buzzing continues. I stuff my head under my pillow, but it’s no use. It won’t go away.

  I sit up and realize it’s the doorbell.

  I look outside. My mom’s squad car has been gone since Friday, but normally the minivan is there. This morning the driveway is empty.

  “Okay, okay, calm down,” I call out, banging down the stairs. The cold air hits my face the second I pull open the door.

  Franki leans against the railing.

  “Took you long enough,” she says, removing her finger from the buzzer.

  “Hi,” I say. My chest feels like someone just knocked the wind out of me. “What’re you doing here? Why aren’t you in Colorado?”

  “Plans fell through,” she says. “Even though the snow here didn’t amount to much, there was enough in Colorado to cancel most of the flights.”

  A weird feeling comes over me, and I think back to the journal entry I wrote about Franki.

  Did I make this happen?

  I shrug, realizing it doesn’t matter anymore. The experiment is over. Dude is gone.

  And then I realize something else.

  “If you weren’t in Colorado, then where were you all weekend?”

  She kicks at a piece of ice next to the door. “Things got a little heated at my house on Thursday after school. Since I was flying out of Boston the next day, Lila sent me on the train a day early, and I spent the night at Aunt Carol’s. When my plane got canceled, I decided to stay for the weekend.” She studies the chunk of ice like it’s the most interesting thing she’s seen all day.

  “Franki!” my mom hollers. I turn and see her coming down the stairs.

  “You better go,” I whisper. “We’re on lock-down around here. She’ll f
reak out if—”

  My mom grabs Franki’s hand. “Why are you standing in the cold?” she asks, pulling her inside. “Come, get warm.”

  “Mom, I thought no one was allowed in or out until—”

  Grinning, she grabs my hand, too. “All the reports are back. Whatever those boys had, it’s not contagious, and it’s certainly not fatal. In fact, they’re being released from the hospital as we speak.” She wraps her arms around both of us, smashing our heads together. “See? Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  * * *

  My mom goes upstairs to take a shower, so Franki and I go into the kitchen. I make cinnamon toast and pour orange juice, and Franki sits on the barstool and listens while I fill her in on Thursday’s details. I’m just telling her about the fire alarm and how I got everyone out of the building, when she interrupts me, her mouth stuffed with toast.

  “I hate him.”

  I stop pouring the juice and look at her. Franki has some strong opinions, but I’ve never heard her use that word before.

  “Come on, Frank. Boomer’s done some pretty mean things, but I’m not sure if hating him—”

  “Not Boomer.” She picks at the crumbs on her plate. “Carl.”

  Suddenly, my heart starts to beat faster. “Your stepdad?” I ask.

  She takes a swig of her juice.

  “Franki…” I search for something to say. “You want to talk about it?”

  “It’s not that big of a deal,” she says. She sits up straighter. “Can we play Zombie Smasher now?”

  We spend the rest of the day sitting in my basement, eating Pop-Tarts and shooting zombies. We even let Lucy join us. Franki doesn’t go home until after dinner on Monday, and is on our doorstep before breakfast on Tuesday. By Wednesday, my dad gives her a key so she can let herself in.

  It turns out to be a pretty great week.

  CHAPTER

  34

  My mom insists on driving us to school on the first Monday after break.

  “But I want to walk,” I tell her. “Dad lets me do it all the time.”

  She looks at me like I just told her I want to wear underwear on my head. “Can you just humor me for once? It’s not every day I get a chance to drive you to school, Charles.”

  Stella floats past us and jumps into the front seat. My older sister would never refuse a ride.

  “Fine,” I tell her, “but I’m drawing the line at an escort to the bathroom.”

  When we pull up in front of Gatehouse, we all stare out the windows.

  “Business as usual,” Stella says.

  She’s right. The camera trucks, police cars, and reporters are gone. Instead, the courtyard is full of kids stomping their feet and blowing on icy fingers, waiting until the last possible minute before going inside.

  I jump out of the van and wave over my shoulder to my mom, who shouts her “have a nice day!” and “be careful!” through the window. My feet crunch across frozen grass as pieces of conversation whip past me and I make my way to the double doors at the top of the stairs. I need to get to the science lab and see Mr. P before the bell rings. I want to tell him that even though I’ve decided to retire Dude, I’m glad I got to be a part of the whole experiment.

  “Hey, kid.”

  I stop dead, my hand on the door handle. Slowly, I turn and see a guy in a dark-gray hoodie leaning against the brick wall next to me.

  A gloved hand motions for me to come closer.

  I try to remember what my mom told me about drug pushers—how they lurk outside middle schools and prey on dumb kids who don’t know any better. I try to sneak past him, but when he pulls off his hood, I stop in my tracks.

  “Calm down,” he says as I choke back a scream.

  This is no pusher. This is Boomer.

  CHAPTER

  35

  “You never came back to visit.”

  He stares at me, waiting for an answer. I stare down at his shoes.

  “You promised my mom,” he growls. “What kind of guy breaks a promise to another guy’s mom?”

  There’s a hole in his left sneaker near his big toe. “Yeah, about that,” I say. “I meant to … I really did. But things got kind of crazy, and—”

  “Shut up, kid.” He reaches inside his jacket pocket, and I squeeze my eyes shut. This is it—I’m done for. I hope it’s over quick.

  “Here,” he says. I open my left eye. He’s holding out a scrap of paper folded in half. He shakes it at me.

  “Take it.”

  I do and unfold it. Inside is an address that I recognize as being two streets over from Franki’s house. I look up and notice a faint smudge of purple still circling Boomer’s left eye.

  “My mom wants you to come over after school,” he says. “She wants us to play chess together.”

  I take a step back. “You want me to come to your house? Like, to hang out?”

  “No, doofus. To play chess.” He rolls his eyes. “And maybe eat dinner.” He squints at me. “Depending.”

  “Depending on what?”

  He leans forward. “Depending on how much more of a doofus you are.”

  I fold the paper and stick it into my pocket. “Okay.”

  He blinks.

  “Okay, you’ll come?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’ll come.”

  I start to walk past him, but he sinks a meaty hand onto my shoulder. I wince.

  “Charlie.”

  I look up at him, surprised he remembered my name. “Yeah?”

  “Not a word of this to anyone. Or else.”

  I nod and start to open the door, then turn back around.

  “All your secrets are safe with me, Sherrel,” I say. He stares at me, his mouth hanging open.

  I go in the door, grinning. Not bad for a doofus. Not bad at all.

  * * *

  I walk into Gatehouse and pass a group of sixth-grade cheerleaders. Today, instead of slinking past them, I glance over. The one with a dark bouncy ponytail smiles at me.

  “Hi, Charlie,” she says, waving.

  “Hi, Emma,” I say, hoping my fly isn’t open.

  “How was your break?” she asks.

  “Good. Yours?”

  “It was loud.” She sighs. “My mom just had a baby, so there was a lot of crying in my house. For something so tiny, he makes a lot of noise.”

  “Well, if you ever need a place, like, to study or something…”

  My face flushes hot. Where did that come from?

  “Really?” she says, and I notice her eyes light up when she smiles.

  “Really.”

  “Okay,” she says. “I’ll remember that.”

  I practically float down the hallway.

  As soon as I get to the science lab, my mood takes a nose dive. On the door hangs a note, typed on school letterhead and signed by Dr. Daryl Moody, school principal.

  It reads:

  Due to an unexpected family emergency, Mr. Maury Perdzock will be taking an extended leave of absence for the remainder of the school year.

  Please join us in welcoming Nathan Wiseman as our new sixth-grade science teacher.

  I lean up against the wall, then let my body slide down to the floor.

  Mr. P is gone.

  Dude is gone.

  The experiment is really over.

  CHAPTER

  36

  Franki’s sitting in her usual spot, forking through a glob of creamed corn and peas when I walk into the cafeteria.

  “Did you bring it?” She snags my lunch sack out of my hands and starts rooting through it. She whoops and pulls a veggie burger out of my bag. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed these?” She rips open the wrapper and takes a bite.

  “You just ate one at my house two days ago.”

  “I know,” she says, her eyes half closed. “But for some reason, they taste better when they’re surrounded by crummy cafeteria food.”

  “Charlie!” I look up as Grant races in. “Did you hear?” His eyebrows disappear into his b
angs. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “Believe what?” Franki says, her mouth full.

  “We’ve made the playoffs.” He raises his arms into the air. “We did it! The Gatehouse Vikings are going to the playoffs!”

  Franki stops chewing.

  “You’re joking,” I say.

  The words tumble out of his mouth. “Dexter just told me. Since we beat the Patriots, it moved us up in the rankings enough to earn a spot. No one’s beaten the Patriots for three seasons.”

  Franki lets out a low whistle. “Not bad, boys.”

  “Not bad?” Grant squeals. “Not bad? People, this is the best news ever. Do you know what this means?” He grabs the front of my shirt. “We could make it to the championship! We could be district champs! Nobody messes with champs!” He runs circles around the cafeteria, slapping hands and hollering so loud, Dr. Moody threatens to give him detention if he doesn’t knock it off.

  For the rest of the day, I walk around with a grin so wide, my face hurts.

  Wait until my parents hear about this.

  CHAPTER

  37

  “Take the shot!”

  I’m for sure going to throw up. With only ten seconds left in the Cape Ann District Semifinals, I—Charles Michael Burger, the guy who only plays defense—have no choice but to take the shot.

  I dribble toward the goal and try to not think about my stomach. I wish I’d skipped breakfast.

  The score is one to one. Maybe if I can just stall for a few more seconds, the game will end in a tie, and we can try to beat them in penalty kicks. Grant lives for penalty kicks.

  I look up at the clock: eight seconds left. The Warriors’ sweeper moves toward me, his teeth bared. He knows I’ve never played offense in my life. He zeroes in, waiting for me to make that one mistake—then the ball will be his. Confidence oozes from his pores.

  “Charlie! The shot! Take the shot!”

  I see the goal but can’t get there. I glance to the left and see Grant, but he’s in trouble, too. Three Warriors are marking him, wrapped around him like duct tape. They know he’s the real threat, not me.

  “What’re you doing, Burger?” Coach’s voice is still squeaky, but he’s starting to sound more like his old self. “Stop prancing around and take the shot!”