Annie Pitts, Burger Kid Read online

  Written and illustrated by

  Diane deGroat

  Annie Pitts, Burger Kid

  Copyright © 2009, 2012 by Diane deGroat

  All rights reserved.

  Published by StarWalk Kids Media.

  Originally published in hardcover in 2000 by SeaStar Books, a division of North-South Books, Inc., New York.

  Except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and articles, no part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher.

  Contact: StarWalk Kids Media,

  15 Cutter Mill Road, Suite 242,

  Great Neck, NY 11021.

  www.StarWalkKids.com

  For more information about the author, visit her website at www.dianedegroat.com.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data deGroat, Diane.

  Annie Pitts, Burger Kid / written and illustrated by Diane deGroat p. cm.

  Summary: Third grader Annie Pitts loves hamburgers and is determined to become the Burger Barn’s next poster child.

  ISBN 978-1-623341-82-4

  {1. Hamburgers—Fiction 2. Thanksgiving Day—Fiction 3. Contests—Fiction 4. Humorous stories} I. Title

  PZ7.D3639 Anf 2000

  {Fic}—dc21 00-24304

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ode to a Hamburger

  CHAPTER TWO

  School Daze

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cootie Alert

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Another Turkey at the Table

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Conversations with an Alien

  CHAPTER SIX

  Let’s Talk Turkey

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Let’s NOT Talk Turkey

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  (Not) Little Orphan Annie

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lights! Camera! Chomp!

  CHAPTER TEN

  And the Winner Is …

  CHAPTER ONE

  Grease trickles from my lips,

  Ketchup oozes, too.

  I lick it from my fingertips…

  Hamburger! I love you!

  I did it! I had to write a poem for school and I couldn’t think of anything to write about until we sat down at the Burger Barn Restaurant.

  My teacher said to write about something we like. I was going to write about acting, which I really like, because I’m going to be a famous actress someday, but I couldn’t think of anything to rhyme with “acting,” except “subtracting.”

  Fortunately, I also like hamburgers, and when I bit into that double-double patty patty burger … Yes! A poem popped right into my head.

  I repeated it to myself over and over so I wouldn’t forget it. “Grease trickles from my lips …”

  I needed to write it down. I grabbed a paper napkin, but I didn’t have anything to write with.

  “Ketchup oozes, too …”

  I checked all my pockets. No pen.

  “I lick it from my fingertips …”

  I was about to start writing with the ketchup dispenser when I spotted Grandma coming back from the ladies’ room.

  I jumped up and shouted, “A pen! I need a pen quick!”

  “Okay, okay,” Grandma said as she slid into the booth. “I have one in here somewhere.…”

  While she rummaged through her purse, I took another bite to help me remember the words.

  “Hummerer! Ah wuv oo!” I said with my mouth full.

  “Excuse me?” Grandma said, handing me the pen.

  I chewed quickly, swallowed, then shouted, “Hamburger! I love you!” I grabbed the pen and wrote down all the words before I forgot them. Then I sat back and took a deep breath.

  Grandma laughed. “Don’t tell me. You had a sudden desire to write a love letter to your hamburger.”

  “It’s my homework for tomorrow,” I said. “We have to write a poem, and this hamburger inspired me.”

  I wasn’t kidding. I love hamburgers. Grandma takes me to the Burger Barn whenever my mother has to work late. Sometimes Grandma would rather have pizza. Not me. I could eat burgers every day and never get tired of them.

  Grandma finished her turkey burger, the Thanksgiving Special, and pointed to the poster hanging on the wall. “That should be you on that poster, Annie,” she said. “I don’t know anyone who likes this place as much as you do.”

  I took a look at this month’s Burger Barn poster. There was a big close-up of a little boy holding up a double-double patty-patty burger that was almost as big as he was.

  As posters go, it was not very interesting, but someone had improved it by drawing a mustache on the kid. There were also some scars scratched all over his cheeks.

  Each month there was a different “Burger Kid” on the poster. I don’t know how they got chosen; they were just regular-looking kids. I thought about what Grandma said and I tried to picture myself on the poster.

  “You’re right,” I agreed. “I would be a perfect model. After all, I love hamburgers, and I’m extremely photogenic.”

  Photogenic was today’s word on my Learn-a-Word-a-Day calendar. It means “suitable for posing.” I’m certainly suitable for posing, because I practice every day in front of a mirror. So far I’ve perfected twelve different smiles that I can use when I become famous and have to get my picture taken a lot.

  Grandma checked her watch and said, “My dear, you may be photogenic, but you’re also up past your bedtime. Hurry up and finish.”

  “First look at this,” I said. I gracefully picked up my half-eaten burger and pretended to model with it, just like the boy on the poster. I used Smile #1, my favorite. Four teeth showing on top, edges of mouth curled up ever so slightly, eyes twinkling.

  When I saw my reflection in the window, I looked just like a Burger Barn poster kid. Except that I had a big ketchup stain on the front of my shirt. I covered it with my right hand.

  “How’s this?” I said to Grandma out of the corner of my smile.

  “You look like you’re pledging allegiance to your hamburger,” Grandma said.

  “No, really,” I said. “Wouldn’t I make a good Burger Kid? How do you get to be on a poster?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Grandma said. “I’ve never been on one. And I don’t think I’d want to, either. I wouldn’t look good with a mustache.”

  “A mustache isn’t so bad,” I said, holding a strand of my curly red hair under my nose. “But I wouldn’t want someone to draw snot coming out of my nose.”

  “Thank you for sharing that with me,” Grandma said. “Now I’m really finished eating.”

  We got up to leave, and I stuffed the poem into my jacket pocket. I would have to remember to copy it onto notebook paper when I got home.

  On the way out we passed Bob, the manager, putting up Thanksgiving decorations. I waved to him, but he didn’t wave back. His hands were full of paper turkeys. Actually, he never waves back, but I’m sure he remembers me, because I’m here so often.

  I stopped short at the poster by the door. There was a notice pasted across the top, saying:

  Would your child like to be our next Burger Barn poster kid? Auditions are being held at the Cross County Shopping Center on November 24 at 10:00AM.

  Our photographers will be looking for that special someone, ages 2 – 15. Must be accompanied by an adult.

  I couldn’t believe it. Photographers were coming here to Yonkers to find a poster kid!

  “Here’s your chance,” Grandma said, handing me my mittens. “November twenty-fourth is the day after Thanksgiving. There’s no school, so we can stop by the mall if you want to audition.”

  Audition! That sounded so professional! I followed Grandma out the door, but not before ripping the no
tice off the poster and tossing it into the trash. I wouldn’t want people wasting their time trying out for a contest that I was going to win.

  As we walked to the bus stop Grandma said, “Now don’t go making yourself crazy, Annie. A lot of people will be trying out, but only one person gets picked for the poster. It might not be you.”

  That never even occurred to me. “Of course they’ll pick me,” I said. “I’m perfect for the poster. You said so yourself.”

  Grandma sighed. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  Well my hopes were about as up as they could get. They were up when we got on the bus. They were still up when we took off. Then right around Yonkers Avenue, I overheard two ladies talking in the seat behind me.

  One woman said, “My daughter is all excited about that poster contest. I’m having her hair done just for the audition. You know, she doesn’t really eat those greasy hamburgers—they’re bad for her skin—but she can pretend to eat it in front of the camera.”

  The other woman was not so sure. “But, Marilyn,” she said. “I thought they just wanted plain-looking people. Your Marsha might be too pretty for a hamburger ad.”

  Marsha! I knew that voice sounded familiar. The mother of Marsha-Miss-Teacher’s-Pet was sitting right behind me, talking about the poster contest.

  The last person I wanted to see on a poster was Marsha. She thinks she’s so great. She probably even thinks that she could win the contest! I’ll have a talk with her tomorrow. Because I, Annie Pitts, am going to be the next Burger Kid.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mom was already home when Grandma and I walked in.

  I skipped into the kitchen, singing, “I’m going to be a Burger Kid …”

  “Are you by any chance talking about that poster contest at the mall?” Mom asked.

  “How did you know?”

  She opened the paper to the community news page. A huge ad said: Calling all kids! Come and get your picture taken. You may be on our next Burger Barn poster!

  “Oh, great,” I said. “So now the whole world knows.” I slid into the chair next to her and dropped my chin onto the table.

  “It’s not exactly a secret,” she said. “Now, stop thinking about hamburgers for a minute and start thinking about turkey.”

  “Turkey?” I groaned.

  “Yes, turkey,” she said. “I’m working out the menu for Thanksgiving.”

  “What’s to work out?” I groaned again. “Turkey, candied sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, and some yucky vegetable. It’s the same every year. And speaking of the same every year—is Mercedes coming?” Mercedes is my fourteen-year-old stuck-up cousin who lives in Connecticut and goes to a private school.

  Mom said, “As a matter of fact, your Aunt Lil called today. She and Mercedes would like to join us for the holiday as usual. Won’t that be nice?” Mom had a fake smile on her face.

  “Why do you always invite them anyway?” I asked. “Why can’t it just be the three of us?”

  Grandma said, “Here we go again. Thanksgiving is the only time I get to see my two daughters and my two granddaughters in the same place at the same time. I wish you’d all try to get along better.”

  Mom stared at the list she had been making and said, “I do try, Mom. It’s Lil. She’s such a fusspot. She criticizes everything I do.”

  “Mercedes doesn’t even talk to me,” I said. “She acts like I have cooties or something.”

  Grandma laughed. “We’ll do a cootie-check tomorrow,” she said. “But right now you have to get ready for bed. Scoot!”

  When I got up the next morning, I tried not to think about how awful my Thanksgiving was going to be. I had other things to think about.

  My word to learn for the day was carnivorous, meaning “meat eating,” and I started thinking about a double-double patty-patty burger. I wouldn’t mind having one for breakfast.

  But Grandma had already made oatmeal. “None for me, thanks,” I said as I sat at the table. “I’m carnivorous.”

  Grandma laughed and said, “I suppose you’d like a hamburger for breakfast?”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  Grandma opened the bread drawer and took out a hamburger bun. She scooped a blob of oatmeal onto the bottom half, gracefully folded over the top half, and presented it to me with a bow.

  Now, most people would think that oatmeal-on-a-bun would taste pretty awful, but I have to admit, with a little ketchup, it wasn’t half bad. Next time I’ll try it with lettuce and tomato, too.

  Apparently I wasn’t the only one thinking about hamburgers. When I got to school, everybody was talking about the poster contest. Even our teacher, Miss Goshengepfeffer. I know she likes the Burger Barn, because I’ve personally seen their wrappers in her trash can.

  Miss G. did have an unusually big smile on her face when she called the class to order. It was the same kind of smile I have when I’m thinking about hamburgers.

  So there we were, smiling and thinking about burgers, when Miss G. asked, “Now, who would like to go first?”

  I thought she was talking about the poster contest, and since I wouldn’t have minded being the first to get my picture taken, I raised my hand. So did Marsha-Miss-Me-First-Me-First.

  Then I raised my hand higher than hers and called out, “Ooh, ooh,” with a lot of smiling and waving because I wanted to show everyone just how serious I was about winning that contest—and to let Marsha know that she was up against some real competition.

  Miss G. finally noticed me and said, “Annie, would you like to go first?”

  “Yes, Miss G.,” I answered.

  “Well then, come up and read your poem.”

  I stared at her blankly.

  Miss G. stared back and said, “Hello? You volunteered to be the first to read for us. You did write a poem, didn’t you?”

  I finally figured out that Miss G. was calling on people to present the poems that we had written last night. What I didn’t quite figure out was how to tell her that my poem was written on a Burger Barn napkin and stuffed into my jacket pocket out in my locker. I had forgotten to copy it over.

  “Uh… it’s in my locker, Miss G.,” I said. “Somebody else can go first while I go get it.” She nodded and called on Marsha-Miss-Hooray-I-Go-First, and I ran out to my locker.

  When I got back to the room, Miss G. was saying, “That was lovely, Marsha. I especially enjoyed your very long description about the new dress that you got for Thanksgiving.” Then she said, “Matthew, did I see your hand up?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. He checked to see just where his hands were. One was in his pocket, and the other was scratching his head. It was probably the scratching one that looked like it was volunteering.

  “Well, how about sharing your poem with us anyway,” Miss G. said.

  Matthew groaned and walked to the front of the room. He held his paper in front of his face as he read:

  Turkey is okay.… Stuffing is cool.…

  But what I like about Thanksgiving is …

  You don’t have any school.

  That had to be the worst poem I ever heard, but everyone else seemed to like it, even Miss G. As for Matthew, he was happy to be done with it. He raced back to his seat, which was, unfortunately, next to mine.

  I waited until he noticed me glaring at him, and then I put my finger in my mouth and pretended to gag.

  “Annie?” Miss G. said. “May we hear your poem now?”

  I was in the middle of gagging, so I pretended to be coughing and clearing my throat. When I was all cleared up, I brought my Burger Barn napkin to the front of the room and carefully unfolded it.

  It was a little hard to make out some of the words through the grease stains, but the wonderful smell of last night’s burger inspired me all over again. This was a poem you could read and smell at the same time! I read:

  Grease trickles from my lips,

  Ketchup oozes, too.

  I lick it from my fingertips …

  Hambu
rger! I love you!

  And then I took a bow.

  There was total silence until Matthew yelled, “That’s the stupidest Thanksgiving poem I ever heard!”

  And it was then that I remembered that the assignment was to tell what we liked about Thanksgiving, not about what we like. It was a small mistake, but I knew I was in big trouble. Miss G. has always said that I don’t pay enough attention in class, and the next time that it happened, she would have to have a conference with my mother.

  “Annie,” Miss G. said sternly. “Was that your Thanksgiving poem?”

  I knew my mother didn’t have time to come in for a conference right now, what with my stuck-up relatives coming next week, so I answered, “Yes, Miss G. That’s my Thanksgiving poem. We’re having hamburgers for Thanksgiving. We’re … carnivorous.’’

  Miss G. had a puzzled look on her face. Some kids giggled.

  “That’s fine, Annie,” she said softly. “Not everyone can have turkey for Thanksgiving.”

  I took my seat, satisfied now that my mother would not have to come in for a conference. I scratched and sniffed my homework as I sat through the rest of the poems. Most of them were about turkey, of course.

  Thomas’s was interesting, though. He wrote a poem about going to a restaurant every Thanksgiving because his mother didn’t want to cook. He said he always ordered the Turkey Special at Maxime’s Restaurant.

  I, Annie Pitts, would have ordered a hamburger.

  CHAPTER THREE

  On the night before Thanksgiving, I was hoping that Grandma could take me to the Burger Barn. I wanted to talk to my friend Bob, the manager, to see if he could give me any inside information about the poster contest. He might know what the photographers were looking for, and I thought he should share that information with me, because I was his best customer.

  But Mom had other plans for us. Since Aunt Lil called, my mother had become a cleaning tornado. She started by washing the kitchen curtains and, for the first time, I noticed that they were white, not tan. She even vacuumed behind the sofa where no one ever looks. But I guess Aunt Lil does.