Superheroes Don't Eat Veggie Burgers by Gretchen Kelley

Fortune when the television flickered off. He was so mad that he chucked the bottle across the room and started yelling about how lousy my mother is at managing money and that she’s too dim-witted to remember to pay the bills on time. Then he stormed out. Lila locked herself in her room, and I fed Rose ice cream for dinner since everything in the freezer was going to melt anyway. So no, I didn’t finish the math homework.”
    She starts walking.
    â€œFrank…” Without thinking, I reach out and grab her hand. For a second she stops and lets me hold it. We stand like that—me squeezing her fingers, and her looking like she’s ready to punch something or maybe cry. Instead, she shakes herself loose from me and starts running.
    â€œCome on, Chuck,” she calls over her shoulder. “I can’t afford another tardy just because you want to stand around and hold my hand all day.”
    *   *   *
    On Thursday morning, Dr. Moody makes an announcement that Gatehouse is starting a chess club. I look over at Grant and grin. Pickles taught us how to play chess when we were in fourth grade, though she claims my grandfather was the master.
    The notice hangs outside Mr. P’s science lab: CHESS CLUB. TODAY. ALL WELCOME . My soccer game starts at six, but I only have a little bit of math homework and twenty Spanish words to memorize by tomorrow. I think about what my mom said—about expanding my horizons—and go in.
    There are six people total—Grant, Dolores, and me, plus an eighth grader named Simon who keeps to himself and two seventh-grade girls whose names I still haven’t learned. Mr. P stands in the front of the room, nodding as each of us walk in.
    â€œI’ve already put the boards out for you, so pick a partner and sit down. You’ll play for ten minutes, then move to a different table. Between matches, we’ll discuss the reasons you made the moves you did, what the consequences were, and what you will do differently next time.” His eyes land on me. “The beauty of chess is that it’s kind of like magic. The possibilities are endless.”
    I plunk down opposite Grant, and we start to play. He’s normally a little better than I am, but today I have him in checkmate after only six moves.
    â€œLucky start,” I say, and we set the pieces back up. This time, I have him in checkmate after four.
    â€œWhat gives?” I ask.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œCome on, Grant,” I whisper. “Something’s wrong, I can tell.”
    His eyes shoot daggers at mine. “Oh yeah? Then why don’t you clue me in, Mr. Brilliant?”
    â€œYou’re playing chess like you’ve never seen a board before. This weekend, you were shooting like you’d never seen a soccer goal before.” I glance around, but everyone’s concentrating too hard to pay attention to us. “Does this have anything to do with what happened? You know”—I point toward my crotch—“Boomer and the locker?”
    He stands up so fast, his kneecaps bang the board and pieces go flying. “Shut up, Burger. Just shut up. Why don’t you go back to minding your own business?”
    Mr. P looks up from the book he’s reading but doesn’t say anything.
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
    Grant grabs his backpack off the floor. “Exactly what it sounds like. You’re usually so busy keeping a low profile, you don’t have time to worry about anybody else.”
    â€œThat’s not true!” I say.
    Mr. P looks up again. “Everything okay, gentlemen?”
    Grant walks to the door. “Everything’s fine. We’ve got our first soccer match today, and I’ve got to go get ready.”
    â€œBut it’s only three thirty,” Mr. P says, looking at his watch. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”
    Grant shoots me a look. “Not today, Mr. P.