Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers (3 page)

Stella rushes to help, and I make a run for it.

“Charlie, wait up!” Lucy may be a better soccer player, but I can beat her in a footrace any day. I cut to the left, swing around the side of the house, and hightail it for the back door. Darting through the kitchen, I snag an oatmeal cookie from the fresh stack on the counter and then beeline it for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

I make it to my room and slam the door behind me, but my victory is bittersweet.

Stuffing the cookie in my mouth, I rip open the envelope. Right away I see the first line:
We regret to inform you …

Shoving a pile of dirty clothes off my bed, I flop down and cover my face with the letter. I stay like that until it no longer smells like fresh ink.

Trying out for the academy was my mom's idea, not mine. She said that I should give it a try, that it would help me stretch outside my comfort zone, take a risk, stuff like that. But I knew I wasn't good enough to make it—as much as I knew Lucy was.

“Charlie?”

I sit up, and the paper floats to the floor. My dad stands in the doorway, holding his cell phone in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, which drips a dark brown liquid down the front of his
KISS ME, I'M VEGAN
apron. His face tells me the news.

“She made it, didn't she?” I ask. “Lucy got a spot on the academy team.”

He presses his lips together, hard. “Listen, Charlie…”

“It's no big deal, Dad,” I say, jumping up and walking over to my desk. “I'll just play for the middle-school team. They stink so bad, they'll be thrilled to have me.”

“Charlie.” Now he's frowning. “You're as good a soccer player as the next guy.”

“That's not what they think,” I say, scuffing my foot on the piece of paper. “That's not what Mom thinks.”

My dad sighs and rubs his head with the dripping spoon.

“That's not fair, Charlie. Your mom just wants to see you live up to your potential,” he says. “We both want you to be the best you can be.”

I run the toe of my sneaker along the scratches in the floorboards, carved deep from years of soccer cleats and Matchbox cars. “Yeah, well, maybe this is my best. Maybe this is as good as it gets.”

Dad leans over and puts both of his hands on my shoulders. His eyes are see-through green, like mine. “Part of growing up is taking responsibility for yourself, Charlie. If you want something bad enough, you've got to put your mind to getting it. And remember, there's always next year, right?”

For some reason this makes me feel worse, but I smile anyway.

“Sure, Dad,” I say. “Next year.”

His face loosens. Standing up straight, he pats me on the back and then starts toward the door.

“That's the spirit! Now, why don't you get started on your homework? Your mom will be home soon, and then we'll have dinner.” He turns around and grins at me. “You're still in the mood for bacon lasagna, right?”

I nod, then listen as his footsteps head down the hall toward Lucy's room. I hear a light rap on her door. I press my palms against my ears, but her eardrum-splitting scream at the good news is unavoidable.

Flopping backward onto my bed, I stare up at the ceiling and think about what Mr. P said earlier today.

Words can be powerful. Believe in their magic and anything can happen.

I sit up and reach for my backpack on the floor. Pulling out the science notebook, I flip to the first page and start writing.

September 8

The Adventures of Dude Explodius, Ruler of Everything

By Charlie Burger

Episode 1: The Greatest Dude Alive

Even through the darkness that surrounded him, his superhuman vision allowed him to take it all in: the ten-story compound that had been built specifically for him, the regulation-size soccer field and dodgeball court where he always got to pick his team first, and the cozy cafeteria where seating was limited to a select few and his favorite foods were only a command away. Sitting on top of his custom-made beanbag chair, he smiled, satisfied that all was as it should be on Planet Splodii—his planet, his domain.

He had too many powers to count. After all, he was not just a superhero—he was a super
dude
: Dude Explodius, Ruler of Everything.

It didn't get any better than that.

He had ruled Planet Splodii for as long as anyone could remember. Stories of his remarkable strength, skill, and pure awesomeness were shared from generation to generation, not to mention his geniuslike intellect, amazing athleticism, and jaw-dropping good looks. Girls adored him, guys worshipped him, and any creature with half a brain knew to stay on his good side. That went for his enemies as well as the people of Splodii.

He was, after all, a generous ruler.

Except when forced to be otherwise.

 

CHAPTER

5

When you live in a beach town, the best Saturdays of summer come after Labor Day.

I wake up early and look around my room. My backpack sits next to my desk, where I dropped it after school yesterday. I pick it up and shove it into my closet. I've just made it through my first four days of middle school. I'm not planning on looking at that thing until Monday.

Now that the tourists have all gone back to Boston and the lifeguards have all left for college, Franki and I will have the beach to ourselves—which is how we like it best. We'll spend the morning checking out the tide pools and climbing the rock faces, since no one's around to tell us not to. After lunch I'll talk my dad into biking to Mill Pond with us, since his catering business slows way down after tourist season. We'll hunt frogs in the marsh around the pond and fish for black crappies until it gets too dark to see our hooks and my dad starts worrying that someone is going to stick one through a finger. Franki did that once, and believe me, it wasn't a pretty sight.

I pick up a T-shirt off my floor and sniff it.
Not bad,
I decide, and pull it over my head. As I tiptoe past Lucy's room, I pray she's still asleep. Luckily, it works: Forty million stuffed animals stand sentry around the lump in her bed, and a thick trail of drool slides out of the corner of her mouth and onto her bright-pink pillowcase. I resist the urge to sneak in and dunk one of her curls into the slobber pool. If I wake her, my plans are toast.

I bolt downstairs and inhale a bowl of Froot Loops before anyone's awake. My dad thinks processed cereals are equivalent to poison, but my mom buys them anyway. She tries to support my dad's healthy habits, but it's pretty obvious she thinks he takes things a little too far.

Next, a pit stop at the bathroom. No one's around, so I don't lift the seat. My aim is always spot-on. Almost always.

With the coast clear, I jump down the basement stairs two at a time and leap over the banister. I grab the remote off the side table, vault the cushions, and
bam!
The screen comes to life before my butt even hits the couch.

Dude Explodius would be proud, I think, and I can't help but chuckle over the ingenious plan I came up with for my science journal. Sure, a bunch of made-up adventures about an imaginary superhero aren't really going to change the world, but hopefully, they'll keep this Mr. P off my back until he takes off for that exotic place. Afterward he'll come back and teach me some stuff that matters.

Thinking about the first adventure I wrote makes my fingers start to tingle again, like they did in science class. I look down at my hand, but it's the same hand I've had for the last eleven years. I shrug and click through the television channels until I land on an old
X-Men
episode and think about what Dude would be doing on a Saturday morning, and what he'd eat for breakfast—salami, probably, and a T-bone steak. I close my eyes. He'd wash it down with a tall glass of—

“I want to watch something else.”

I open my eyes. Lucy stands in front of me, hands on her hips. Her hair hangs perfectly in tiny ringlets around her shoulders, and a gigantic pink bow perches on top of her head. She's wearing her favorite soccer jersey and a frilly purple skirt. Lucy refuses to wear pants or shorts, even when she's playing soccer.

I can't believe it. Ten minutes ago, the kid was drooling in her sleep.

“Get out of here, Lucy.”

She crosses her arms.

“That show is too violent. Mom says.”

I wave the remote at her. “Too violent for babies. So scram.”

She sits down on the edge of the couch, spreading her skirt out around her like a fan.

“Let's watch
Princess Academy
.”

“Can't you bug someone else for once?”

She twirls a curl around her finger. “Everyone else is busy.”

“Go call a friend.”

“No one's answering.”

Lucy may be smart at math and good at soccer, but she's pretty lousy at making friends. My mom says her peers haven't learned to appreciate her leadership skills, and my dad says she needs time to grow into her personality. I think she's just a prissy know-it-all whose classmates are sick of her bossing them around.

She lets out a dramatic sigh. “Change the channel now, and I won't tell Mom you've got your feet on the couch.”

“I'm going to say it one more time,” I tell her. “Get. Out.”

She scoots closer. “Make me.”

I shove her with my foot. She wails like I stuck her with a cattle prod.

“You touched me!” she shrieks. “You probably haven't washed those things in a week.”

“You're right,” I tell her, wiggling my toes in her face. “And I walked barefoot through Mr. Everson's yard yesterday.” I duck as she hurls a couch pillow toward me. “That place is swimming in dog turds.”

“I'm telling. I'm so telling,” she cries, jumping up to head back upstairs. “When Mom hears about this, you're going to be oh-so-sorry.”

“You're going to be oh-so-sorry,”
I mimic, turning back toward the TV. Less than a minute later, my mom's voice fills the basement.

“Charles Burger!” I look over at the clock on the table next to me. It's not even ten. Doesn't that woman ever sleep in?

“Charlie?”

I sink lower into the couch cushions.

“Charles, I know you're down there. Front and center, buster.”

This is the part I don't understand. Why is it that she's allowed to stand at the top of the staircase and holler for me, but when I do it, I get the don't-you-dare-yell-at-me-like-that speech?

Maybe I should try it on her.

Hey, Mom!
I'd call out.
I'm sitting on my butt watching Cyclops try not to get annihilated by Apocalypse, so if you have something to say, you're gonna have to come down here and say it to my face.

Yeah, right.

I aim the remote at the screen and flop back on the cushions, thinking about what Mr. P said, how words can be powerful and that if I believed in their magic, anything could happen.

Anything?
I wonder.

“Charlie!” Lucy's voice bellows down the stairs. “Mom says now!”

I sigh and drag myself off the couch. Who am I kidding? I don't even have power over my bratty kid sister.

*   *   *

Upstairs, three sets of brown eyes stare at me.

My mom stands in the kitchen doorway, flanked by my sisters.

I point at Lucy. “She started it.”

My mom peers over her glasses, her thumbs hooked in her belt loops. “Why didn't you tell me about this?”

I scratch my head, which still feels full of sleep.

“I'm not kidding around, young man.”

Here's the thing about my mom—she never kids around. I don't know if it's because she's a cop or a mom, but this lady is an expert interrogator.

“I didn't really walk barefoot through Mr. Everson's yard,” I say. “I just wanted her to leave me alone.”

My mom raises her eyebrow. “What does that have to do with the festival?”

I sneak a peek at Stella, hoping she'll give me a clue as to what's going on.

“The fall festival, Charlie,” Stella says, poking me. “It's in a week. We really need more participation this year, and you promised you'd talk it up with the other sixth graders, remember?”

Right. Like that's something I'm going to keep in my frontal cortex.

“Oh yeah, about that…” I reach for a powdered doughnut, but my mom shakes her head.

“You already had Froot Loops. I saw the bowl in the sink,” she says. Jeez, this lady doesn't miss a beat. “If you're going to this festival thing, you'll need a haircut. And a decent shirt.” She looks me up and down like I'm in a lineup. “I mean really, Charlie. You're in middle school now. It's time to put a little more effort into your appearance.”

“Aww, Mom, my appearance is fine. And my hair is—”

She wags her finger. “Just a trim. If we leave soon, we'll have time to get to the mall and back before Lucy's soccer practice.”

The mall? Surely, she's joking.

“It's my first practice with the academy,” Lucy singsongs, twirling around the kitchen.

“Mom, Franki and I have plans today.”

“Well, can't you reschedule for tomorrow? This is my only day off this week, and I want to spend it with my children.” She turns toward the sink. “Is that too much to ask?”

Lucy hugs her around the waist. “I love spending time with you.”

“Suck-up,” I mutter.

“Mom!” Lucy's shriek makes my eyes water. “Did you hear what he just said?”

“Knock it off, both of you.” My mom sighs and swipes white doughnut powder off the countertop. “And, Charlie? Could you put on a different shirt? It looks like you slept in that one.”