Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers (4 page)

She leaves the kitchen, and Stella trails behind her, pleading her case for why she needs a new pair of skinny jeans. I glance at Lucy, who swipes another doughnut while nobody's looking.

Groaning, I slink toward the laundry room, knowing Dude would never get roped in to spending a Saturday at the mall.

*   *   *

Three hours, five stores, and one haircut later, we're back in my mom's squad car, about to head home. Stella always gets shotgun, which leaves me crammed in the back with you-know-who.

“You know, Charlie,” Lucy says, waving her Barbie doll in my face. “There's going to be dancing at the festival. With slow songs. My friend Evie told me.”

“Evie's not your friend anymore,” I say. “Remember when you made her cry at the pool because you wouldn't quit calling her four-eyes?”

“She's just sensitive,” she says, smoothing down her doll's hair. “She'll get over it.”

I'm about to say something else, but I stop when I see my mom watching us in the rearview mirror. Her mood has soured since breakfast.

The mall always does this to her. She says that as an officer of the law, it's her job to be on the lookout for criminal mischief, even when not on duty. Unfortunately, her judgment is sometimes off.

“I could have sworn I saw that girl put a tube of lipstick in her purse,” she says as we pull out of our parking space. “It was an honest mistake on my part.”

“Mom, she
did
put it in her purse,” Stella says, letting her head flop back on the seat. “But she also had a receipt, which she tried to show you while you were dragging her down the hall, screaming for the store manager.”

“Escorted her,” my mom points out. “I didn't drag. I escorted. And the store manager could have shown me a little more appreciation.”

“Whatever, Mom.” Stella sighs, taking a swig of her Diet Coke. “The point is, she had the receipt and was trying to explain to you that she only wanted to be earth friendly when she told the salesgirl she didn't need a bag.”

My mom starts chewing her thumbnail, but Stella continues. “That's not even the worst part, though. The worst part is that the person you tried to get arrested was Sara Martelli!” Stella's voice has taken on a screechy quality, and her face is getting all blotchy, something she can't stand.

I don't know Sara Martelli. But I do know it's pretty embarrassing when your mom insists on grabbing random people and dragging them into a store manager's office or her squad car every time she thinks they're up to no good.

We ride in silence for a good minute before Lucy starts in on me again.

“Maybe a girl will actually want to dance with you at the festival. A real girl. Not one like Franki. A girl you might want to
kiss
.” She shoves her Barbie in my face, making a sucking sound with her lips.

“Shut up, drain-brain,” I hiss, swatting the doll away. “When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it.”

My mom shoots me a look. “You know, Charles, this festival is going to be a great opportunity for you to meet some new people, expand your horizons.…” Her voice trails off, and I wonder what kind of horizons a crummy middle-school dance could possibly offer me.

“Yeah,” chimes in Lucy, “seeing as how you only have one real friend.” She leans away from me, knowing what's coming next.

Thwack!
I don't punch her hard, but she howls like I hit her with a dump truck. My mom slams her foot on the brakes, causing Stella's Diet Coke to spill all over her brand-new skinny jeans. Mom puts the car in park.

“Really, Charlie?” My mom gives me the one-eyebrow-raised look in the rearview mirror. “Don't you think you're too old for this kind of behavior?” She shakes her head. “It's about time you start growing up.”

Stella glares at me over her shoulder as my mom puts the car in drive and creeps up Beach Street, obeying the twenty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit.

For the rest of the way home, Lucy rubs her shoulder, my mom continues to bite at her thumbnail, and Stella dabs at her new dark-washed jeans with a tissue. I watch the seagulls on the beach scavenge what's left from the summer, and wonder what Dude would do if he had a crummy sister like Lucy Burger.

September 13

Episode 2: The King of the Castle

Dude peeked around the corner. His mind-meld powers were working overtime today. The Imbecile stood in the kitchen, preparing Dude's favorite meal: Froot Loops, bacon, and powdered doughnuts covered in warm chocolate sauce. A large glass of milk, ice-cold, was already waiting on the tray that she would bring him when summoned.

She looked up as he entered the room.

“Good morning, sir,” she called out. “Your breakfast is almost ready. Would you like me to bring it down to you?”

He grunted a quick response, which she knew to take as a yes.

“Yes, sir. And, sir? Will you be needing a shower today?”

He looked at her as if she were nuts. Had she forgotten about his hygienic manipulation powers? The need to shower, brush his teeth, and cut his toenails did not exist for him. Basic grooming was something for less intelligent life-forms to deal with.

As she realized her error, her face turned crimson. She started to apologize for her mistake, but he gave her a small smile, which seemed to relax her. She was, after all, his most loyal servant and clearly worshipped the ground he walked on. It would be a shame to get rid of her just because of one small slipup.

He slid past her and down the shiny banister into the Cave, his supersecret, private hangout where all of the latest gaming devices and electronic gadgets were at his fingertips. He plunked himself onto the overstuffed couch and snapped his fingers. The ginormous flat-screen HD plasma television with surround sound blinked to life in front of him, a seventy-two-inch SpongeBob filling the screen. Ready for hours of his favorite cartoons, Dude sank back into the cushions, knowing no one would dare to bother him down here.

No one with half a brain, that is. Five minutes into his favorite episode, the Imbecile appeared, carrying a tray. She stared at him, wide-eyed, obviously in awe of the powerful figure sitting in front of her.

“I have brought your breakfast, sir,” she whispered. “May I place it in front of you?”

“Yes, put it there,” he instructed, pointing to the table in front of him.

The Imbecile smiled as if she could not believe her good fortune. She set down the tray, then bowed in front of him.

“Anything for you, sir.”

Dude looked at her, an idea forming in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. After a moment he could feel it happening.

He opened his eyes. Where the Imbecile had once been, there was now a dog.

A big dog.

“Wroof!” it barked, and wagged its tail.

Dude sat back and reached for a piece of just-right bacon, pleased with his creation.

“I'll call you Bill.”

He'd always wanted a dog.

 

CHAPTER

6

I hate it when Lucy's right.

Well, she's not totally right. Technically, I do have more than one friend. I've got Grant, who's been playing on the same soccer team as I have since we were seven, and playing chess against me since we were nine. And then there's Willy Drozdov, whose dad owns the butcher shop next to the police station where I sometimes hang out. Plus, I guess you could count Anthony Gargotti, even though we don't see each other very often. His dad is on the police force with my mom, but I only see him at company cookouts and stuff. He goes to a different school, one for special kids, according to my dad.

“One for juvenile delinquents,”
according to my mom.

Okay, so maybe I'm not winning awards in the popularity department, but I'm fine with that. Because having a friend like Franki is like having five friends all rolled into one.

The first time I met Franki was the summer after kindergarten, when we tied for first place in the summer reading program at the public library. My dad invited her to walk to the Sweet Spot with us, where we both ordered Dinosaur Crunch ice cream with sprinkles and spent the rest of the afternoon comparing favorite books and the scabs we'd scored from climbing trees in Dinwiddy Park.

We've been best friends ever since.

We eat lunch together every day and love to dip our Cheetos in ranch dressing. Both of us would rather read a book than talk to most people. During the summer, Franki practically lives at my house, except when her mom works late and she has to babysit her little sister, Rose. And even though Cemetery Hill is creepier than any horror movie, we're willing to use it as a cut-through because it's the fastest way to each other's house.

Stella says that middle school will change Franki and me and that I shouldn't count on things staying the same. When I tell her that Franki and I are different, she pats me on the head and says someday I'll understand.

But I don't buy it. Franki and I are going to be best friends forever.

“Hey, Chuck!”

I look up, and my mouth drops open. It's Monday morning, and Franki's already standing at our meeting spot. Usually, it's me standing here, craning my neck up the hill, sure she's going to make us late and I'll have to go to the office for a tardy slip. Then, right when I'm ready to give up, she'll come flying toward me, her hair like a bright-orange sail spread out wide behind her. She'll screech to a halt, and her lopsided grin will make it hard for me to be mad at her for making me wait so long.

Plus, she always has some reason: One time, her little sister, Rose, threw up on Franki's favorite sneakers, and they couldn't find another pair. Another time, her stepdad had polished off the last of the cereal for dinner, so she had to make pancakes instead. Her excuses may not be great, but I'm willing to be late just so I can hear them.

But today, she's beat me to the spot. Her cheeks are bright pink, thanks to the wind that's blowing off the ocean today. Her hair whips around her face, making her freckles look like they're playing a game of peekaboo with me.

“Where you been, Chuck?” she asks, hopping from one high-top sneaker to the next. The sun glints off her head, and she's so shiny, I blink.

I shrug and start walking, hoping she'll change the subject.

“I overslept,” I tell her nervously. Franki can sniff a lie on me a mile away.

To be honest, it's Lucy's fault I'm late. And the reason is so weird, I'm trying not to think about it.

I woke up to the sound of people yelling. Actually, my mom was yelling. Something else was whining. Like a dog.

At first, I tried covering my head with my pillow, but when I realized it wasn't going to stop, I sat up and pressed my ear to the wall so I could hear better.

“What's gotten into you today?” My mom's voice was muffled but clearly irritated. “Usually you are up and dressed by now.”

More whining.

“Lucy,” I heard her say, “I've got a double shift today. I don't have time for this sort of nonsense.”

I tiptoed down the hall, wanting to check out the “nonsense” for myself. When I got to my sister's room and peeked around the corner, I wished I'd just stayed in bed.

My mom was standing next to my sister, holding out a purple skirt with bright-yellow butterflies on it and Lucy's trademark pink bow. Lucy sat on the floor, shaking her head. Her hair hung in a stringy mess, making her look more like a wild animal than my kid sister. When my mom tried to hand her the bow, she let out a whimper and started scratching behind her ear.

My heart skipped a beat as I thought back to what I'd written in my journal the night before.

Where the Imbecile had once been, there was now a dog.

“Lucille Evelyn Burger,” my mother was saying, throwing the skirt on the bed. “I don't know what kind of game this is, but it's not amusing.” She clipped the bow to the top of my sister's head and started toward the door. “You have five minutes to be dressed and downstairs or you'll be finding your own ride to school this morning.”

I ran back to my room, sliding under the covers and pulling them up to my nose. Fifteen minutes later, I heard the crunch of my mom's tires backing out of the driveway. Sitting up, I peeked out the window. My sister sat in the backseat, her bow hanging sideways off her head and her tongue hanging halfway out of her mouth.

I grabbed my science journal, which was lying at the foot of my bed.

Goose bumps tickled my neck as I reread what I'd written. Lucy acting like a dog was just a weird coincidence, right? Or maybe it was a trick. Yeah, that was probably it. Lucy loves messing with my stuff. I bet she found my journal and thought it would be funny to pretend like she was a dog, just to freak me out.

Well, I'm not falling for it,
I'd told myself. I threw on my clothes, then bolted down the stairs and out the door, too late to bother with breakfast.

Now, walking with Franki, I think about running all this by her, but she's already pressing me with questions of her own.

“And what about Saturday?” she says, an accusing look on her face. “I thought we were going to the beach.”

I kick a small piece of granite off the sidewalk and into the street.

“I tried to call, but it wouldn't go through.”

“Phone's off.” She shrugs. “No one bothered to pay the bill.”

I sneak a quick glance at her. “Everything okay?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Stop trying to change the subject, Chuck. So, where were you anyway?”

She glares at me as we walk.