Charlie Burger doesn’t have a problem with superheroes--he’s just not interested in being one. And why should he be? Superheroes are all about responsibility and recognition--two things Charlie has worked hard to avoid.
But Charlie’s turning twelve, and everyone wants him to step it up. His mom is obsessed with his personal hygiene, and his older sister is bent on making him popular this year. Add to that a dad who wants the family to be vegans and a best friend who wants him to take her to the school dance, and Charlie feels like nothing is in his control.
All he wants is to eat a few hamburgers and get Franki to stop acting like such a girl.
When an eccentric science teacher hands out writer’s notebooks instead of data logs, Charlie creates a world totally different than his own, and The Adventures of Dude Explodius is born. But as his stories about an imaginary superhero start to come true, Charlie realizes he has more power than he thought. Unfortunately, the results are not always what he had in mind: turning his kid sister into a dog is one thing…getting his mom kicked off the police force and thrown in her own jail cell is another.
Charlie starts to doubt his abilities and retires “The Dude” for good. But when Franki’s need for a superhero becomes irresistible, Charlie has to figure out if he’s got enough super inside him to help the person who needs him to step it up the most.
SUPERHEROES DON’T EAT VEGGIE BURGERS is a magic realism middle-grade novel, complete at 41,000 words. Thanks so much for your time.
SUPERHEROES DON’T EAT VEGGIE BURGERS
It’s not like I’m looking for trouble.
I’ve just scored two seats in the back of the cafeteria--as far away from the food-fight starters and wedgie-givers as I can get--when I look up to see a kid with arm pit hair and a bad case of acne standing over me.
“You call that a sandwich?” he grunts. A thick finger reaches down and punctures the plastic bag in front of me, grinding into what was about to be my lunch. Ketchup oozes everywhere.
He leans against me and digs his chin into my collar bone.
“What’s wrong, pretty boy?” he whispers. “You got something to say to me?”
What I want to say is that he should consider investing in a toothbrush, but don’t. Instead, I stare at the nutrition facts on the back of my milk carton and pretend to be fascinated by how many grams of protein are in a half-pint of chocolate milk.
A raspy voice from across the table answers for me.
“It’s a veggie burger, you idiot.”
I look up and cringe. Franki Saylor may be my best friend, but if word gets around
The kid shoves me sideways.
“You talking to me, girl?” He leans across the table, glaring at her. Franki pushes her nose up against his, so close their freckles mix together.