Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers (18 page)

He stares at me. “You really believe that?”

I close my eyes, thinking back over everything that's happened. Lucy turning into a dog, Boomer stripping naked, Coach losing his voice … Did my words really have the power to make these things happen?

“Believe what you want, Charlie,” Mr. P says softly. He points at my chest. “But the power to change things lives in there. How you get it out is up to you.”

“Was my grandfather one of your experiments, too?”

He looks at me like I just punched him. “Your grandfather believed that anything was possible.”

My voice cracks. “But he died because of it.”

Suddenly, there's another voice, from the hallway.

“Charles? Is that you?”

I look around, frantic. “It's my mom! If she finds me…”

“Charlie? Are you in there?”

The footsteps stop right outside the door. Mr. P stands in the middle of the room, stroking his dumb rodent, looking through the door, not at it. He's gone somewhere else, far away from Gatehouse and the science lab.

The handle turns, and I nose-dive under the closest table.

I hear a creak and the all-too-familiar sound of heavy police boots filling the room. Closer and closer they clomp until they stop right in front of my nose.

Please,
I think, squeezing my eyes closed tight,
please don't see me.

I lie like that for what feels like forever. Finally, I peel open my left eyelid and squint out.

Her face is less than a millimeter from mine.

“Ack!” I say for the second time today.

“Don't. Say. Anything.” Her eyelashes brush against my cheek, and her black stocking cap is pulled so low on her forehead, she looks more like a ninja than a mom.

“Look … I can explain.”

She grabs ahold of my shirtsleeves and slides me out from under the table like I'm a sack of dirty laundry. I drop the journal as she hauls me over to the open window and plunks me down on the ledge.

“Mom.” I look back over her shoulder. My journal lies in the middle of the floor, just inches from her boot. Catalyst or not, I can't leave it behind. “I know you're mad, but I just need to grab—”

Her words send a chill through me. “You defied me. I told you not to come here, and you did anyway.”

I try again. “But I had no choice. So, if you'll just reach down and—”

“You had a choice, Charlie. You just made the wrong one.”

She shoves me off the ledge, and for a second I'm free-falling, my arms and legs like pinwheels in the air. I land in the bush, a blanket of snow puffing out around me.

“Mom! What'd you do that for?” I scramble out, glaring up at her.

She leans out the window, her eyes darting every which way. “We have to go immediately. You are not supposed to be here. I am not supposed to be here. If anyone finds us…”

We both hear it at the same time. A police siren wailing up Beach Street.

She points in the direction of my bike. “Go. No matter what, don't stop. Do you understand?”

“Aren't you coming?” I ask.

“I'm right behind you,” she says, hoisting herself onto the window ledge.

I look around. A reporter is climbing out of a van, signaling at his cameraman to follow. They must have heard the sirens, too.

“Mom,” I beg, my voice hoarse. “I need that journal. It's on the floor, right next to—”

“Can't you just do what I'm asking for once?”

I nod, too shocked to say another word.

“Go!”

I take off toward the street. When I get to my bike, I turn.

At first, I can't see her, and I start to worry. After a second, she pops back up, and I see my journal tucked under her arm. She slides onto the windowsill and is getting ready to jump when a squad car pulls up next to her, its blue-and-red lights flashing across her face.

“Police!” I hear someone shout. “Don't move!”

I look around, panicky. Should I go back? She told me to go home no matter what. I can't disobey her again. I jump onto my bike and pedal down Beach Street, my legs pumping like crazy.

She's a police officer,
I keep telling myself. She'll know what to do. She always does.

 

CHAPTER

31

That night, I dream about Franki.

It's summer, and we are walking on Pebble Beach, holding hands like we used to before holding hands mattered. Franki's telling me a joke that's cracking me up. She's smiling and I can barely look at her, she's so bright. But then I realize she's getting brighter and brighter, and pretty soon it's like trying to look directly at the sun. I let go of her hand to shield my eyes, and before I know it she's gone.

“Franki! Come back!”

I wake up clawing at my eyes, only to realize I forgot to close my shades. The sun shines through my window, yesterday's storm long gone.

I sit up, and that's when I smell it.

I breathe deeper. Maybe I'm still dreaming.

I tiptoe across the wood floor. My feet are like ice cubes, but there's no time to fool with socks.

Not when the smell of bacon—real bacon!—is invading my bedroom.

Before I can make it down the stairs, Lucy appears, her lips pulled back in a snarl.

“I'm so not in the mood,” I tell her.

She grabs a mouthful of my pajama leg and pulls, almost knocking me off-balance.

“Sit!” I command, and she does.

I study her face. There's something about the way she looks at me that I hadn't noticed before, almost like she's trying to tell me something. “What is it, Lucy?” I say, bending down. “Is this all just a figment of my imagination?” I lean closer. “Or did I really turn you into a dog?”

“Gaaaah!” I scream as her tongue slides across my lips, coating me in half an inch of saliva. I jump backward, and she lunges for my pant leg again, but this time I'm too quick. I race out of the room, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

I look down at my knuckles, strands of my sister's slobber hanging off them.

This is definitely not a figment of my imagination.

*   *   *

Downstairs, the smell of bacon grows stronger, and I feel like I've won the lottery, a trip to Disneyland, and the district championship all in one.

I follow it into the kitchen.

My dad stands next to the stove, holding a spatula in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. His
BURGER'S BEST VEGGIE BURGER
apron covers his pajama pants. He turns when he hears me walk in.

“Ready for breakfast?” he asks. I nod and plunk down at the table, glad he still hasn't brought up yesterday.

After I'd left Gatehouse, I made it home in record time. When I got to the house, Stella told me that Dad had taken Lucy to her shrink appointment, since Mom had called and said she was still tied up at the precinct. I grabbed a bag of Mom's hidden Doritos and headed straight to my room, knowing I'd be in for a major lecture later.

But the lecture never came. When my dad called us all for dinner, my mom still wasn't home, and he was too distracted to ask me about my day.

“Mom on her way?” I asked, looking at my plate. I was so full of Doritos, it was hard to even pretend like I was hungry.

“Still at the precinct,” my dad said, dumping a spoonful of rice pilaf onto the middle of my plate. “Busy day, I guess.”

I felt bad not telling him what had happened, but I figured it was better to let my mom fill him in. Plus, if I was going to get yelled at, I'd rather get yelled at only once.

Now, my stomach rumbles and I realize I'm starving. “Smells great, Dad,” I say as he sets a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me. “I can't believe you cooked bacon!”

“I didn't,” he says, pointing his spatula toward the hallway. “She did.”

As if on cue, Pickles rounds the corner, a cup of coffee in one hand and an unlit cigar in the other.

“Pickles!” I run to her like I'm five again. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

She looks at my dad.

“Come back here, son,” he says, walking over to the table and sitting down. He pats my chair.

I do as I'm told. Pickles sits down, too. My dad clears his throat. “Charlie, your mom didn't come home last night.”

Suddenly, the room feels like someone sucked all the air out of it.

“She's okay, right?” I look from him to Pickles, then back again.

Pickles nods. “She's fine.” She raises an eyebrow at my dad.

He fiddles with the saltshaker in front of him. “Yesterday, while you were at the Gargottis', your mom called and asked me to take Lucy to her doctor's appointment because she was tied up with work. She also asked to speak with you.”

Uh-oh.

He continues. “I tried to tell her you had gone to Anthony's, but she wasn't buying it. I even offered to call over there just to make sure, but she hung up before I could even finish my sentence. It wasn't until later that I found out she went to Gatehouse, looking for you.”

I pick at a stain on my T-shirt. I can feel my dad's eyes on me.

“By the way, I never did call the Gargottis,” he says softly, “because I knew you wouldn't lie to me.”

There's a lump in my throat the size of a watermelon. “Where is she now?” I manage to squeeze out.

Pickles sighs. “She's in the clinker.”

“The
what
?”

“Jail. She spent the night in jail.”

“Jail?”

My dad stands up and starts pacing the kitchen.

“She was found climbing out of a window at Gatehouse,” Pickles says. “She was arrested for breaking and entering.”

“Breaking and entering?” I'm starting to sound like a parrot.

My dad presses his lips together. “
Alleged
breaking and entering,” he says. “No charges have been filed.”

I think back to yesterday, watching my mom climb out of the science lab window right as the squad car showed up. “But she can't be arrested,” I say, her favorite phrase popping into my head. “She's an officer of the law.”

“An
officer
of the law, yes,” Pickles says, fiddling with her cigar. “Above the law, no.”

I stand up. “She was there because of me.”

Pickles stops fiddling and my dad stops pacing. They both look at me.

“She told me not to go there. But I did anyway.” The image of her tucking my journal under her arm won't stop running through my head. I look from my dad to Pickles. “They found her there because of me.”

We hear a whimper and all turn. Lucy sits in the doorway of the kitchen, one of my mom's slippers in her mouth.

“Lucy,” my dad says, going over to her. He bends down. “I didn't know you were there, sweetie.”

Pickles turns to me.

“You okay?” she says.

I shake my head and bolt for the back door.

*   *   *

It's Pickles who finds me.

“Thought you might be down here,” she says, walking up behind me. She's breathing heavier than she does normally. “You probably didn't know this, but your grandfather liked the beach, too. Said it was a good place to let his ideas run around a bit.”

I'm sitting cross-legged on a piece of driftwood on the edge of the sand. Even though the snow has melted, I can feel the wetness of the wood soaking through the bottom of my pajama pants.

Pickles plunks down next to me, pulling her jacket around her.

“It's my fault, Pickles,” I tell her. “I've made a mess of everything.”

“I know, Charlie.”

I glance over at her. “Gee, thanks for making me feel better.”

She grunts a little as she pulls her legs up closer to her chest. “But that's what it's all about, isn't it?”

“What do you mean?”

She stares out toward the water like she's looking for someone.

“You ever hear of a guy named Alexander Fleming?”

I shake my head.

“Well, Fleming was a scientist who loved spending time in his lab, but he was very messy. One day, he was getting ready to leave for a vacation, but he didn't have time to clean up after his latest experiment, so he just left all his equipment out. When he returned, he discovered something growing in the dishes, something amazing—something that would change the world of medicine forever.”

I sit forward. “What was it?”

“Penicillin. Those unwashed dishes grew a type of mold that was later turned into something that would save lives in a way no medicine had before. And all because Fleming hadn't had time to clean up his mess.”

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “Sometimes, we have to make a bit of a mess to see something differently.”

She reaches inside her coat and pulls out my journal.

“Your mom gave it to me this morning when I went to see her.” She smiles at me. “She said you needed it.”

I look down at it. “I don't know what to believe anymore, Pickles.”

“Your grandfather believed anything was possible,” she says, struggling to her feet. “But at some point you have to start believing in yourself. That's all any of us can do.”

*   *   *

When we get back to the house, my dad is trying to convince Lucy that it's too cold to go outside and that if she doesn't quit scratching the back door, she's going to have to repaint it herself. Pickles jumps in to help, and I sneak past and head to my room.

I sit down at my desk and look at the journal. Running my hand over the cover, I think about that first day of class when Mr. P handed it to me and told me to write stuff instead of recording science experiments. Now I know he was conducting an experiment of his own.

Maybe it's time I conduct my own, too.

I flip back through the journal, reading over the things I wrote. Mr. P had said that a bully buster has the power to change things for the better, but it seems like I've changed a lot of things for the worse. Words can be powerful, all right, but that power can be good or bad, depending on how you use it.