Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers Read Online Free Page A

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—
    â€œI 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.
    â€œGet out of here, Lucy.”
    She crosses her arms.
    â€œThat 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.
    â€œLet’s watch Princess Academy .”
    â€œCan’t you bug someone else for once?”
    She twirls a curl around her finger. “Everyone else is busy.”
    â€œGo call a friend.”
    â€œNo 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.”
    â€œI’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.
    â€œYou touched me!” she shrieks. “You probably haven’t washed those things in a week.”
    â€œYou’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.”
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œYou’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.
    â€œCharles 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?
    â€œCharlie?”
    I sink lower into the couch cushions.
    â€œCharles, I know you’re down there. Front and center,