Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers by Gretchen Kelley Read Free Book Online Page B

visit, don’t you think?”
    â€œSure,” I say, though I can’t imagine going anywhere for eggplant parmesan.
    She motions for me to sit down, then does the same. Leaning her elbows on the table, she searches my face like it’s a road map. “So, tell me all about sixth grade.”
    I shrug. “There’s not much to tell.”
    â€œThink of something.”
    I pick at a scab on my elbow. “My science teacher wears cowboy hats and says ‘pardner’ a lot. He’s sort of weird.”
    She raises her eyebrows. “Science, huh?”
    I nod. “He gave us these journals, but told us to write stories in them instead of science stuff.”
    She looks over her shoulder at my dad, then back at me. “Have you written anything yet?”
    â€œKind of,” I tell her, not sure I want to talk about this. Writing make-believe stories about a superhero in my sixth-grade science journal is a little awkward. But telling my grandmother about it is even worse.
    Lucky for me, my mom and Stella walk in. They’re fighting. About shoes.
    â€œIt’s not that I want them, Mom. I need them. There’s a difference.”
    My mom unbuckles her police belt and lays it on the bench next to the back door. “Just because Stacey Stalen’s mother bought her new shoes to go with the new uniforms doesn’t mean I have to.”
    â€œBut it’s not just Stacey, Mom. Lori Crabtree’s mother bought them for her, and so did Betsy Hamilton’s, even though her dad just got laid off. Do you know how this is going to look? I mean, I’m the captain!”
    My mom bites her thumb. “Money doesn’t grow on trees, Stella.”
    â€œI know that.” Stella rolls her eyes like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “But what you don’t realize—”
    Pickles stands and walks over to my sister. “What you don’t realize, Stella dear, is that your mother’s working hard to keep you in the shoes you have on your feet right now.” Stella looks down. “Now,” she continues, “if you’d like to earn some money to buy those new shoes yourself, I’ve got a big shipment coming into the toy store two weeks from Saturday.” She glances over at my mom. “If it’s okay with your parents, you could come help me sort and organize it before the afternoon crowd shows up.”
    â€œSounds fine by me,” my mom says as my dad raises his spatula in agreement.
    Stella throws her arms around Pickles’s neck.
    â€œOh my gosh, Pickles, really? That would be great!”
    â€œGood.” She turns to me. “You come too, if you want.”
    I nod, but I doubt I’ll go. I love spending time with Pickles, but after last week’s mall trip, the idea of another Saturday inside any store makes me feel squirmy, even if it is the best toy store on the planet.
    After dinner, I’m loading the dishwasher when Pickles comes into the kitchen. She grabs a dish towel and begins to dry the casserole dish. Her hands shake a little.
    â€œSo, other than this science teacher, do you like it? Middle school, I mean.”
    I think about my run-in with Boomer, and Grant getting stuffed into his locker. I think about the order of operations and how if you don’t follow certain rules, the answers will be all wrong. And I think about Franki and the fall festival and how Stella said middle school was going to change everything between us.
    â€œI don’t know,” I say, turning on the faucet. “Everything seemed a lot less complicated before.”
    She sets the dish down. “You know, you remind me a lot of your grandpa.” She taps the side of her head. “You got his smarts. His eyes, too.”
    â€œWhat was he like, Pickles?” I ask. “No one talks about him much.”
    She stares out the window into the backyard. “He was one of the good guys. Kind, curious,