Kristy and the Walking Disaster (10 page)

I wiped my forehead with the shoulder of my T-shirt (something Mom absolutely hates for me to do), and met up with the other members of the Baby-sitters Club.

"The Krushers are doing great!" cried Claudia.

"We're losing," I replied.

"But you're playing a very tough game," said Mary Anne, even though she knows next to nothing about sports. "Don't you see how the Bashers are acting now? You're giving them a run for their money."

"Yeah," agreed Mal. "I bet they thought they'd just walk onto the field, cream you, and leave. But your kids have gotten home runs and everything. Gabbie is amazing with that wiffle ball."

"Oh, but Jackie and the refreshment stand," I moaned.

"Everyone's forgotten about that," Dawn assured me. "He's played so well since then. Anyway, just look at him."

I looked. Jackie was by the stands, talking to his family. He was grinning, and he looked pretty pleased with himself.

As I watched Jackie, I noticed Karen signaling to me. Well, not exactly signaling; more like waving frantically. Karen just cannot be subtle.

"I better go see what she wants," I said.

I left my friends and trotted over to my family.

"Hi, Coach!" cried Karen. "I am so excited!"

"What a game!" Watson said.

"Yeah, we're winning," Andrew exclaimed.

"Wait a sec. No we're not," I had to tell him.

"Karen says we are."

"Karen, the Bashers are ahead of us. You know that," I said. "They've got ten runs and we've only got six."

"Only!" cried Karen. "Six is a lot. If we got six, we'll get more. I think we're going to beat the Bashers!"

I looked helplessly at Mom and Watson, but Mom shrugged and Watson said something about "hope springing eternal."

"What?" I said.

"The optimism of youth," Watson tried to explain.

I'd been about to ask him for some advice, but I decided not to. Not if he was in this dumb poetic mood.

"I better go check on Sam and Charlie," I said, and rushed off.

It was a good thing I did, too, because what with the fourth-inning stretch, they were overrun with lemonade requests. I snagged Mary Anne, and she and I helped them out. While we were filling cups, I overheard someone say,

awed, "Those Krushers are really something."

I turned around. It was a Basher!

Ten minutes later, the game began again. An hour and fifteen minutes after that, it was just about over. It was the top of the seventh, the Bashers were still ahead, and the Krushers had two outs. Claire Pike went to bat.

Boy, I thought, trying to send her a mind message, if you've ever needed to hit that ball, it's right now.

Claire struck out.

The Bashers leaped to their feet and threw their hats in the air. The game was over.

The score was 16-11, and the Bashers had won. They had crushed the Krushers. I had seen it coming, of course. The Bashers had been ahead all along.

I guess I'd been hoping for a miracle.

I took off my collie hat and stuffed it in my back pocket. The Krushers were running off the field and the crowd was cheering. The cheerleaders were cheering, too - all of them, even Charlotte. And then I heard a third cheer: "Two, four, six, eight! Who do we appreciate? The Krushers! The Krushers! Yea!"

And an answering cheer: "Two, four, six, eight! Who do we appreciate? The Bashers! The Bashers! Yea!"

The Krushers and the Bashers were slapping five and pounding each other on the backs. The Krushers didn't look too disappointed, not even Karen.

"Hey, you Krushers!" I yelled.

My team separated from the Bashers and straggled over to me.

"Congratulations, you guys," I said. "You played a really good game. I mean it."

"Even though we lost?" Jackie ventured.

"Even though you lost. You were playing against kids who are older and bigger than most of you. And who have been a team longer than the Krushers have. And you got eleven runs. Do you know how terrific that is?"

"Yup," said Karen. "We do."

"And the next time we play the Bashers," said Jackie, "maybe we'll beat them."

I grinned. "Okay, you guys. Time to go home. Find your parents or your brothers and sisters. Andrew, Karen, and David Michael, let's go help Sam and Charlie."

People began to drift away from the playground. Mary Anne left with Logan. Jessi walked off with Mallory and the Pikes. But Claudia and Dawn stayed and counted the money Sam and Charlie had taken in at the refreshment stand.

"Wow!" said Dawn a few minutes later when the counting was done. "This ought to buy hats for your team."

"I'll say," I agreed. "Thanks, Sam. Thanks, Charlie. The Krushers really appreciate your help."

"No problem," said Charlie, as he folded up the tables.

I checked to make sure that there were no stray cups or napkins on the ground, and then I turned to walk toward Mom's station wagon.

"Hey, Kristy!" called a voice.

I would know that voice anywhere. It was Bart's.

Chapter 15.

Even though Bart was calling me, I didn't turn around right away. I stalled just long enough to see all sorts of things happen - Sam and Charlie nudge each other, Dawn and Claudia raise their eyebrows at each other, and Mom and Watson wink at each other.

Oh, brother. Did they all know there was something more (maybe) between Bart and me than just coaching our teams?

"Yeah?" I said, turning around.

Guess what? Bart wanted the two of us to walk home together again. So we did.

"See you later," I said to my family. Then, " 'Bye!" I called to Claud and Dawn. "I'll phone you tonight."

"You better," Claud replied mischievously, glancing at Bart. "If you don't, I'll call you."

Bart and I walked off sort of quickly. As soon as we left the playground, Bart said, "Well, congratulations!"

"On what?" I replied.

"On the Krushers' game, what else?"

"Oh, that," I said.

"They were great!"

"Some of them."

"All of them."

"Jamie Newton still ducks balls, and Claire Pike still has a zero batting average and throws tantrums."

"Maybe. But I noticed something today. Your team has total dedication."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean that they would do anything for the team or anyone on it. They may not be excellent players, but being part of a team means a lot to them. I could see it in their faces. I saw it every time one of them was at bat, especially kids like Jamie and Claire. I could almost hear them saying to themselves, 'This time I'm going to get that ball. I'm going to do it for my team. I know I've never done it before, but I'm going to do it now.' I think your kids realize that they couldn't be on any other team - at least not easily - so they're, like, really fierce about the Krushers."

Bart paused. Then he added, "That's why I got so nervous about them."

"You got nervous about the Krushers?" I said.

"Sure. I'll admit that I brought my kids by that day just to show them they really didn't have to worry about the game - that your kids were no threat. But when I saw them play, I got nervous. I could tell they were really going to hang in during the game."

"Wow," I said. Maybe I'd been too hard on myself - and on the Krushers. Or maybe I'd just set my expectations in the wrong places. What was so important about winning?

"Anyway, what's so important about winning?" I said to Bart.

"Yeah. . . ." he answered uncertainly.

Then we laughed.

"I guess we both like to win," I said.

"I'm pretty competitive," Bart admitted. "My parents say I'm too competitive."

"And I like to be in charge, running things," I told him.

"Well, you can do that when you coach."

"I know. But when I'm in charge of something, I like for it to work out, too. I like to win, just like you. . . . My friends and I have this club, the Baby-sitters Club. It's really a business. It was my idea, I'm the president, and the club is a big success. We get tons of jobs. If it weren't a success, though, I don't know what I'd do."

"Would you quit?"

I shrugged.

"Are you going to quit coaching the Krushers? I mean, since you lost today?"

I thought for a moment - just a moment. "No way!" I cried.

"Then winning probably isn't as important to you as you think it is," said Bart.

"You sound like a psychiatrist or something," I said, laughing.

Bart and I stepped off the curb to cross a street, and a car came zooming around a curve.

"Kristy, look out!" Bart grabbed my hand and pulled me back to the sidewalk. We were safe - but Bart didn't let go of my hand, even though he certainly could have. Instead, he held onto it until we had crossed the street.

"Nice hat," Bart commented a few minutes later. (I was wearing my baseball cap again.) "What's with the collie?"

"Oh, it's my favorite kind of dog. I wear this in remembrance of Louie. He was our collie. We had to have him put to sleep. We got Shannon after Louie died."

"Put to sleep," Bart repeated. "Wow. If we ever had to do that to Twinkle ..." Bart's voiced trailed away. Then, "Kristy?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember when Jackie - is that his name? - ran into the catcher's cage that time?

Well, I apologize for what the Bashers said to him. I apologize for what they said to all your kids. I found out later that they'd been mean, but I was getting too worried about the Krushers to notice it at the time. All I could think about was our game."

"That's okay," I replied. "Maybe your kids gave my kids a little backbone. Besides, Jackie is a walking disaster. I can't tell whether he's just accident-prone, or if he lives in another time zone or something."

Bart laughed.

After that, I guess neither one of us could think of anything to say, because we were pretty quiet for awhile. I felt embarrassed and began casting around in my mind, trying to dredge up some subject to talk about with Bart. But what? My family? My school? Or I could ask him a question. I could say, "So, do you have any pets besides Twinkle?" or "What's your school like?" or "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" "Do you like me?"

I had just settled on the school question, which seemed like a safe one, when Bart said, sounding very nervous, "Um, Kristy, I have a question to ask you."

"Okay," I replied. Was Bart going to ask if I liked him?

"I was wondering. ... I mean, I know the

last couple of weeks have been sort of difficult for us, but now we've both admitted that we're competitive, and we have one game behind us and we survived it. . . ." (What was Bart leading up to?) "So . . . how about another game between the Krushers and the Bashers? Say, in two weeks?"

"Okay," I replied, feeling a little let down.

"Wait," Bart went on. "Only on one condition."

"On one condition?"

"Yes. That in between games we act like something other than rival coaches."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, how about like friends? Or... maybe we could go out sometime. To a ball game or something. Would that be okay with you?"

I didn't pause for even a split second. "Sure!"

"Good," Bart replied. We both smiled.

We had reached our neighborhood, and pretty soon Bart would leave me at the end of my driveway. I wished our walk home didn't have to end, even though I was dead tired - but probably not as tired as the Krushers. I'd seen Gabbie nearly asleep in her father's arms as the Perkinses left the playground. And Andrew had looked ready for a nap.

"Well?" said Bart.

There we were, at my driveway.

"Well ... I guess I'll be seeing you soon," I said.

"Before the game," replied Bart firmly.

"Great! Maybe you'd like to meet my friends sometime. I think you'd like them."

"Okay. . . . Can I come to a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club?"

"Do you want to be a baby-sitter?"

"No."

"Then I'll introduce you some other time. Meetings are serious."

"Deal," Bart said. Then he grinned. "See ya . . . Coach!" He turned and started home.

I watched Bart walk away. Then I turned around. I saw Watson gardening in the front flower bed and I ran to him.

"Hi!" I called.

Watson looked up from his work. "Hi, there. We didn't get to talk after the game. But I wanted to tell you that it was terrific, of course. I knew it would be, win or lose."

"You did? How'd you know that?" I stood at the edge of the garden and watched Watson turn peat moss into the soil.

"Because you were the Krushers' coach. That's how I knew." Watson straightened up. The gardens are his domain. He's totally happy when he's gardening.

"Thanks, Watson," I said. If he hadn't been

covered with peat moss, I think I would have hugged him. Instead I blurted out, "Bart wants me to go to a ball game with him. He wants us to be friends." Or maybe more than friends, I thought. But it was a pretty scary thought. Was I ready to be more than just friends with a boy?

"Wonderful," said Watson, smiling.

"I better go inside," I said. "I have a few calls to make."

I ran into our house. Suddenly, I was bursting with excitement and energy. I found Mom and told her all about Bart. Then I called Mary Anne, Dawn, and Claudia and told each of them about Bart.

Then I made a fourth phone call. "Hello?" I said. "Is Jackie there?"

"This is Jackie."

"Hi, it's Kristy Thomas. I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. You played well today. And you were very brave to go back in the game after your, um, accident."

"Wow! Thanks, Coach. You called just to tell m - Oops!"

CRASH/

"What was that?" I asked.

"A lamp," replied the walking disaster. "I just broke a lamp."

Some things never change.

About the Author

ANN M. MARTIN did a lot of baby-sitting when she was growing up in Princeton, New Jersey. Now her favorite baby-sitting charge is her cat, Mouse, who lives with her in her Manhattan apartment.

Ann Martin's Apple Paperbacks are Bummer Summer, Inside Out, Stage Fright, Me and Katie (the Pest), and all the other books in the Babysitters Club series.