Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers Read Free Page B

we’ve waged for years.
    But today, something other than a bill or a piece of junk mail falls out of the pile and drops onto my sneaker. It’s a regular envelope, but right away I recognize the gold seal in the corner and the return address: Cape Ann Soccer Academy, Gloucester, MA.
    Lucy stops jumping.
    I flip it over, and my stomach does a flip, too. It’s addressed to me, Charles Michael Burger.
    Lucy’s mouth hangs open, her eyes all buggy. “You got the Letter.”
    Stella, who had been walking with my dad, stops and turns to us, her face looking like she just took a swig of sour milk. Even though Stella couldn’t care less about soccer, she knows what this means. Rejections from the academy come in the mail. Acceptances come over the phone.
    â€œOpen it,” Lucy demands.
    â€œNope,” I say.
    Lucy stomps the ground, her curls bouncing like springs on her shoulders.
    â€œCome on, Charlie. I promise I won’t—”
    A sudden string of four-letter words from the front porch cuts her off. We both turn in time to see my dad’s grocery bag split open. Onions, celery, and a bag of organic apples spill onto the front porch. My special-occasion bacon lies in a puddle of goat’s milk.
    Stella rushes to help, and I make a run for it.
    â€œCharlie, 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.
    â€œCharlie?”
    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.
    â€œShe made it, didn’t she?” I ask. “Lucy got a spot on the academy team.”
    He presses his lips together, hard. “Listen, Charlie…”
    â€œIt’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.”
    â€œCharlie.” Now he’s frowning. “You’re as good a soccer player as the next guy.”
    â€œThat’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.
    â€œThat’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