When Life Gives You O.J. by Erica S. Perl

Delicatessen SEND A SALAMI TO YOUR BOY IN THE ARMY T-shirt and his lucky fishing hat, which has a pattern of Budweiser beer logos all over it.
    And then I heard it.
    It started quietly, but it got louder and louder as the crowd recognized and picked up the cheer. And loudest of all when Ace joined in:
    Na-na-na-na
    Na-na-na-na
    Na-na-na-na
    Na-na-na-na
    Batman!!!
    At the sound of his theme song, Sam sat up taller, doing his best, most serious Batman face. It was his dream come true: He wasn’t just Sam-being-Batman. He
was
Batman. He lifted one hand from the handlebars—his training wheels keeping him from tipping over—and waved to the crowd, which exploded into applause.
    “Yeah, Batman!” “Go, Batman!” people called.
    It was beyond embarrassing. It even made me wish I had ridden in the parade after all. I could have covered my bike with red, white, and blue decorations, just like the rest of the kids, and no one would have known that the weirdo kid in the Batman outfit—not to mention his weirdo grandfather—were related to me. I could’ve ridden fast, flying past Ace before he even looked up from his crossword puzzle and noticed me, and missed the whole Batman scene altogether. Instead, I was stuck right in the middle of it. Standing between my parents and Ace, I was obviously none other than Batman’s big sister.
    Across the street, I suddenly noticed Nicky Benoit. He was standing next to a much bigger kid—practically a grown-up—who had the same beady little eyes as Nicky. From the snarly mean smile on Nicky’s face, I could tell he had something to say about me and my family.
    “Hey, Smelly Fried Egg,” he’d probably say the next chance he got. “I knew you were stinky, but I didn’t knowyour little brother was completely cracked. Ha-ha! Get it? Stinky Cracked Egg?”
    And I stood there, frozen, wishing to be somewhere, anywhere else. In Brooklyn, maybe, or in that big field that used to be behind The Farm. Looking for treasures with Bubbles or just running with Tallulah and the puppy chasing after me. Wishing to be someone else too. Some other kid, part of some other family, one of those families who dressed normally and whose kids decorated their bikes normally and who would have said yes to Camp Sonrise. So instead of being here right now, I’d be far away, arm in arm with my best friend, singing songs or doing craft projects.
    Maybe even making some fudge.

After the parade, we went home, and I tried—hard—to put the whole Batman episode out of my mind. Which was made harder by the fact that Sam refused to take off his costume and kept running around singing his theme song. Luckily, distraction came in the form of our next-door neighbors, the Stanleys, who we had invited over for a cookout. Unfortunately, the best thing about the Stanleys is their beagle, Bridget, who it turned out they had left at home. From our backyard, we could hear her howling on the other side of the fence.
    “Cool it, Bridget!” yelled Mr. Stanley in the direction of their house.
    Mrs. Stanley shook her head, amused. “Bob!” she said. “You know she can’t hear you.”
    “Can I go get her?” I asked Mrs. Stanley. I was pretty sure Bridget was making so much noise because she felt left out. It’s true she can’t see or hear that well anymore, but I’m pretty sure she still senses stuff somehow. Mrs. Stanley said it was okay with her, so I went around to their gate. Since I didn’t have a leash and since she’s so old, I carried Bridget to our yard. Bridget didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she licked my face a lot to say thanks for getting her an invite to our party.
    My dad was in a really good mood, tending the grill and wearing his red KISS THE COOK apron, which my mom gave him for his birthday last year. And the cookout got much better once Bridget was there. Her favorite thing is being scratched under her chin. When you do that, she loves it so much she kind of falls over and then demands what Mr.