Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers (14 page)

A sharp pain starts to grow in my belly. Maybe I shouldn't have written that entry after all.

“I talked to my dad on the phone last night, Chuck,” she says. “He told me all about his boys and how excited they are to meet me and that his wife bought new sheets for the guest room.” She grins. “A room just for guests … Can you imagine?”

I shake my head, like I really can't.

“And you know what else? My dad said we're going to the mountains for a few days, and they're going to teach me how to ski. Me! Skiing!”

I try to smile, but the pain in my gut is getting worse.

“Hey,” she says, looking over at me, “are you going to throw up?”

“I'm fine,” I say.

“Okay. Because all of a sudden, you look kind of pale.”

“I'm fine,” I say again. “What time are you leaving?”

“After school tomorrow. Lila's taking the train into Boston with me.” She stuffs her hands into her pockets. “I'm kind of nervous.”

“About flying?”

She shakes her head. “About seeing him again. It's been so long, and I have so many questions.”

“About why he left?”

“About why he didn't come back.” She kicks at a chunk of ice. “Leaving is one thing. It's the staying gone I don't get.”

The pain jabs my side.

“Chuck? You sure you're okay?”

I nod and walk faster. I've got to get rid of that last entry.

*   *   *

When I get to school, I head straight to my locker and plunk down onto the floor next to it. Grabbing my journal out of my backpack, I'm ready to erase the last entry, but I stop. I think about the last time I erased something, and how it didn't work right away. I mean, sure, Coach Crenshaw eventually lost his voice, but it took longer than I expected. What if erasing my words doesn't work in time? Franki's plane leaves tomorrow. She has to be on it. She has to make it to Colorado.

Since I can't talk to Mr. P, there's only one other person who might be able to help me fix things for Franki. But first, I'll need some help from my sister.

I spot Stella right away. Her back is pressed up against her locker while some beefy guy I don't recognize leans against her. Her eyes are closed, and his face is just inches from hers.

“Stella,” I hiss.

“Charlie?” She opens one eye. “What're you doing here?”

“Uh…” I say, trying not to stare at the bulging biceps in front of me. “I need to talk to you.”

Beefy Guy turns around, my sister's lip gloss all over his face. “Who're you?”

This is worse than facing Linda the cheerleader.

I talk quickly, trying not to look either of them in the eyes.

“I need to borrow your cell phone. I'll bring it back after first period.”

Her tone turns icy. “What for?”

“I need to call Dad,” I say, thinking fast. “I left my math homework at home.”

“We only got five minutes before first bell rings,” Beefy whines, clearly annoyed that his face-sucking time is being wasted on me.

Stella reaches in her back pocket and pulls out her phone. “You really need to work on being more responsible, Charlie. Forgetting your homework is not—”

“I got it, thanks,” I say, grabbing the phone from her hand. I sprint down the hall to the boys' bathroom, knowing I don't have much time.

*   *   *

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.