Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers (10 page)

“That's not true!” I say.

Mr. P looks up again. “Everything okay, gentlemen?”

Grant walks to the door. “Everything's fine. We've got our first soccer match today, and I've got to go get ready.”

“But it's only three thirty,” Mr. P says, looking at his watch. “Can't you stay a little longer?”

Grant shoots me a look. “Not today, Mr. P. I've got to go practice. Seems like there's a lot of people counting on me.”

He storms out of the room like his pants are on fire, leaving me to pick up all the chess pieces that are now rolling onto the floor.

 

CHAPTER

17

When I get home, my dad's working on his menu for the upcoming Cape Ann Harvest Day. Every year, his pumpkin strata and lentil stew are two of the best sellers at the festival.

As soon as I see that he's up to his elbows in pumpkin guts, my heart sinks.

“Tonight's a big game, Dad. You're coming, right?”

He wipes his hands down the front of his stiff white apron. “These stratas don't make themselves, Charlie.” He smiles and taps his spoon on my nose.

I move my head away. “But it's the Gloucester Hurricanes. I was hoping you'd be there.”

His face starts to pinch up. “I know, pal, but I still have a lot of work to do. I promise I'll be there next time. No matter what.”

I wish I could tell him that his lentil stew tastes like dirt. Instead, I go pack my gear bag before his face can get any pinchier.

Whenever my dad is cooking, my mom is the one who gets the job of hauling us around, which means I'm almost always guaranteed to be late. Last month, I missed a dentist appointment because there was a kid with arm tattoos and a motorcycle hanging around outside the bank when we drove by. It took him twenty minutes to convince my mom that he was the bank president's nephew and was waiting to give his uncle a ride home. “You can never be too careful,” she'd tried to explain as we pulled away.

Today, we make it to the field without a hitch. My mom screeches to a stop and checks her watch.

“Good luck, sweetie,” she says, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

“What? You're not staying?”

She leans over and pats my knee. “I'm sorry, Charlie, but I can't miss this meeting with Lucy's new soccer coach. I tried to reschedule it, but he's so busy right now, you know?” I don't know, but I nod anyway. She smiles at me. “I promise I'll make it back for the second half.”

I nod again and slide across the seat. I haul my bag out of the back as she throws the squad car into gear and starts to move, waving to me out the window.

I wave back, a knot growing in my stomach.

“Burger!” I hear, and look toward the field. Most of the team is already warming up, and Coach stands on the sidelines, glaring at me. I forget all about my mom and her meeting and break into a sprint.

“Well, well. If it isn't my star defender,” Coach says as I plop my gear bag on the ground and bend over to double knot my cleats. I wait for him to say more, but he's already hollering at someone else.

It's no secret that Coach Crenshaw thinks soccer is a sissy sport. Four years ago, when he was hired at Gatehouse to teach eighth-grade math, he wanted to be one of the football team's coaches, but all three spots were taken. Since the soccer coach had just quit after seven seasons of finishing last in the league, Crenshaw agreed to take the team, but only until a football position opened up. He might be waiting a long time, seeing how the Gatehouse Vikings' football team has been undefeated since my parents were in middle school. My mom says someone will have to croak before one of those spots becomes available.

So that leaves a guy who hates soccer, coaching a team that stinks. Not a great combination, if you ask me.

I finish tying my cleats and start to head toward the field.

“Not so fast.”

I turn and look at him, trying not to appear nervous. Coach Crenshaw can smell weakness a mile away.

He circles around, sizing me up.

“You know, Burger,” he says, “I've been watching you.” He stops and crosses his arms, which remind me of two greasy drumsticks. “You're a decent athlete for a scrawny kid. You got some good foot skills, and you're fast. But you know what I don't think you got?” He sneers at me. “I don't think you got any guts.”

Join the club,
I think, remembering what Franki had said to me.

“You paying attention, Burger?”

“Yes, sir,” I say, forcing myself to look back up at him. “Heard every word.”

This seems to irritate him more. “Do you think this is a joke? You think I enjoy coming out here, wasting my time, watching a kid who seems like he could not care less if he's on the field or on the bench? Well, guess what,” he says, his face now uncomfortably close to mine. “I don't. Not one little bit. So, if you can't go out there and show me something new, then you might as well go home.” He glares at me. “What do you say?”

I think about Dude, and how he'd handle a guy like Coach. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the other guys have stopped their warm-up drills and now stand, watching us.

“I … I'll try, sir,” I stammer. “I promise.”

“You'll what?” He practically squeals. “You'll try?” His mouth grows so wide, I think it might split his face in two. “Well, how about that?” He looks around in disbelief. “Did you guys hear?” He looks at my teammates, who stand like statues. “Burger here has promised to try.” He starts to clap. “Maybe we should give him a medal.”

A whistle blows on the field, signaling we have two minutes before the start of the game. My teammates run over and grab their gear bags, avoiding eye contact with both of us. I reach down to grab my stuff, but Coach grabs my forearm instead.

“Not so fast,” he repeats, snarling. “You may be a decent athlete, Burger, but your attitude stinks. Why don't you sit this one out today.”

I stare at him. Surely he's joking.

“But, Coach,” I say. “We're playing the Hurricanes. I'm your best—”

It's no use. He's already walking toward the field, barking out the names of the starters and their positions. Grant glances over at me, a look of worry spreading across his face.

I pick up my gear bag. There's nothing I can do. I turn and start toward home.

*   *   *

It takes me less than thirty minutes to make it to my driveway, even though I walk slow. When I get there, only my dad's minivan is parked out front.

I smack my forehead, remembering. My mom is coming for the second half. She's probably pulling up to the soccer field right this minute, expecting to see me out there. What is she going to think when she realizes I'm not even there?

I'm trying to come up with a good excuse when the front door swings open and my dad walks out. His
BURGER'S BEST VEGGIE BURGER
apron is coated in pumpkin, and he's still carrying his spoon in one hand and the car keys in the other. He's mumbling to someone behind him.

“Come on, now,” he murmurs, “it's just a short car ride. We won't be gone long, I promise.”

“Dad?”

“Charlie?' He squints into the semidarkness, then smiles when he sees it's me. “You're already home.”

“Uh, yeah,” I stammer, glad it's too dark for him to see my face. “It was getting late, and we were really clobbering them, so the center ref called the game early.” It's a crummy lie, but my dad seems to buy it. His face relaxes.

“Oh, thank goodness. Your mom called and said her meeting was running longer than she planned. I've been trying to come watch the second half, but I'm having a heck of a time getting Lucy out of the house.” He looks back toward the door. Lucy squats next to it, whimpering. When she sees me, she pulls her lips back, showing me her canine teeth. I take a step backward.

“You okay?” My dad looks down at me. “You're shaking like a leaf.”

“Maybe I'm coming down with something,” I tell him. “I don't feel so good.”

My dad puts his arm around my shoulders.

“Well, something must be going around. The way your sister's been acting tonight, I'm pretty sure she's caught something, too.”

You don't know the half of it,
I think as we walk back toward the house.

*   *   *

That night, after dinner, I take the phone to my room.

She answers on the first ring.

“Franki?”

“Yeah?”

Relief washes over me. “Your phone. It's working.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Aunt Carol saved the day again.” Franki's aunt lives in Boston with her girlfriend and a bunch of foster dogs. She's always helping Lila out of jams.

“You don't sound too good, Chuck,” Franki says. “What's up?”

It feels good to be talking to Franki again. I decide to tell her about Coach.

For a long time, she doesn't say anything. When she finally does, her voice is softer than normal.

“You know what I sometimes wish?” she says.

“What?” I press the phone closer to my ear.

“I wish that someone would invent a machine that could suck up all the jerks in this world and shoot them into outer space, far away from the rest of us.” She pauses. “Charlie?”

The sound of her voice is making my eyelids heavy. “Yeah?”

“Will you do me a favor?”

I lean back on my pillow. “Okay.”

“Make us a machine like that, will you? When you become a scientist?”

I close my eyes. “Sure. First thing I'll do when I get my own lab.”

She giggles. “It'll probably make you famous.”

“I'll get the Nobel Prize.” I giggle, too. “When they give it to me, they'll say, ‘To Charles Michael Burger … for ridding the world of worthless and unnecessarily mean, air-sucking scumbags.'”

She really cracks up at that, but then her voice gets all muffled, like she's holding her hand over the receiver. A second later, she's back, sounding like her regular Franki self.

“I've got to go.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now.”

“Okay. Want to go to the beach on Saturday?”

“Can't.” She sighs. “I've got to babysit Rose. Lila's doing hair and makeup for a whole wedding party. She's going to be at the shop most of the day, and I have to make sure Rose stays out of Carl's way.”

“Oh,” I say. “Hey, Frank?”

“Yeah?”

I pause. “Do you believe in magic?”

“Why?”

“Just curious.”

She takes a deep breath. “I guess I used to. When I was a kid.” I hear someone call her name. “I'll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah, in the morning,” I repeat, but she's already gone.

I reach over and pick my science journal off my desk.

I think about Coach and the things he said to me on the field today.

I think about Franki and her machine.

I think about magic.

I start to write.

October 1

Episode 4: The Cockroach Gets Creamed

The rumor was spreading quickly. Planet Splodii was about to be invaded by the grossest of creatures. Its ability to survive under the most impossible conditions gave it an advantage over most of the universe's inhabitants.

His name was Croach the Cockroach. But he wasn't just a cockroach. He was head of all insects throughout the galaxy, and his mission was to travel the universe looking for humans whose organs were considered a delicacy among oversize invertebrates. Once he found them, he'd stun them with his poisonous spit, then transport them back to his home, where their stomachs, livers, and intestines would be made into appetizers and their hearts and brains would be used for desserts. His poison could force a person into submission within seconds of touching someone's skin.

Dude found him chasing a group of soccer players around their practice field, his barbed tongue whipping back and forth, trying to get an accurate shot. Though the players were fast, they proved to be no match for the giant bug's six long legs, and soon he had them cornered against the field house.

“Ha-ha!” he cackled. “You will be perfect for our dinner party tonight! Now, hold still while I—”

Before he could work up a large enough loogie to coat all of them, Dude appeared. Though the bug was three times his size, Dude was smarter, faster … and more fearless.

“Okay, Croach,” he said. “You've had your fun for the day. Now stop tormenting innocent people and get off my planet.”

Croach's bloodshot eyes rolled back in their huge sockets.

“Who dares speak to me like that?” he screeched, turning his bulbous head sideways to get a better look.

Dude moved closer to him while the trapped players held their breaths. Dude was now directly in the bug's spitting range, a place no one in their right mind would choose to be.

“You are just an oversize bully, Croach. Without your poisonous tongue, you would be powerless. Why don't you crawl back into whatever crack you came out of before I do something you'll regret?”

The cockroach twisted his head to one side, then the other. Zeroing in on Dude, he opened his mouth, bits of drool already beginning to seep out of the sides.

“Ah, Dude Explodius.” He licked his lips. “You'll make a perfect appetizer.”

Dude moved quickly. As the creature's long tongue began to unroll, he shot a bolt out of the Exterminizer and into Croach's chest wall, blowing the insect into a billion particles.

Once again Planet Splodii was bug-free.

 

CHAPTER

18