Kristy and the Walking Disaster (8 page)

It's just that he, well, he did look a little like Pig-Pen. He was still the only kid with a hole in his T-shirt. He was the only kid whose shoes were untied. Even the littlest kids were neat and tidy. Jackie was our walking disaster. Although he had been playing better lately. His hitting had really improved. It was just that he had so many accidents.

"Okay, Krushers," I began, "you all know what tomorrow is."

"A game," replied Jackie.

"Well, our big game," I said. "Against the . . ."

"Bashers!" shouted the Krushers.

"And what are we going to do?" I cried.

"Beat them!"

"What?"

"Beat them!"

"Louder!"

"BEAT THEM!"

"And how are we going to do that?" I asked.

Silence.

"By playing our . . ."I prompted my team.

"Best!"

"Right. That's all I can ask of you," I told the Krushers. "That's all you can ask of yourselves."

This was something Watson had told me many times. In fact, it was something he had

told Karen and Andrew and my brothers and me many times, and not just about playing ball. About anything. Once, I was giving him the news that I'd gotten a C + on a math test. Now, a C + is not a bad grade, but I usually get mostly A's and a few B's. Watson looked thoughtful and asked, "Did you study for this test? Did you do your best?"

"Yes," I answered. "Honest. It's just that we're doing pre-algebra now and it's really hard."

"Your best is all you can expect," said Watson. "If you want, I'll give you some extra help, but since you did your best, I'm not disappointed. I'm proud of you."

"I would like some help," I'd told him.

Now, standing before the Krushers, I said to them again, "Just do your best." And without even looking into the stands, I knew that Watson was smiling at me.

I divided the Krushers into teams, and our last practice game got underway. Gabbie was up at bat first, so David Michael, who was pitching, had to move in pretty close to her. He tossed the wiffle ball. Gabbie missed. He tossed it again. Gabbie missed. He tossed it a third time, and Gabbie swung and hit it. She ran as fast as she could go (which wasn't nearly

as fast as the rest of the kids), and she reached first base.

"Stop! Stop!" I cried. (Sometimes Gabbie would just keep running.)

Jackie was up next and hit the ball (a regular one) right away. He ran to first while Gabbie made it to second. (Everyone tried to ignore the fact that Jackie had tripped over the bat as he tossed it away.)

Third up was - Oh, no, it was Claire.

She struck out. But she did not throw a tantrum.

Fourth up was Andrew. Well, this could be interesting, I thought. Andrew sort of bunted the ball. He ran to first, Jackie ran to second, and Gabbie safely reached third.

The bases were loaded. "Bases are loaded!" I called.

Buddy Barrett was at bat next and, to everyone's surprise, but especially his own, he struck out. Two outs.

Karen's turn.

"Two outs and the bases are loaded!" I announced.

Nothing like pressure.

"Go, Karen!" yelled Watson from the stands.

Karen concentrated. She stuck her tongue between her teeth, kept her eye on the ball -

and hit a home run! The ball sailed into the school parking lot. Four runs batted in!

The rest of the game went just like that. It was exciting. The Krushers played well and hard. The final score was 13-12.1 was so pleased I was ready to explode. And the cheerleaders screamed so loudly I had to tell them to calm down. I didn't want them to be hoarse the next day.

At the end of the game, everyone in the stands rushed onto the field. Watson slapped high and low fives with Karen, Andrew, and David Michael. Then he gave me a hug. "You are doing a terrific job, Kristy," he said seriously. "You've really changed these kids. All of them."

"We'll see tomorrow," I replied.

"No," said Watson, "you've already done it. Tomorrow hardly matters - I mean, in the greater scheme of things." I knew what Watson meant, even if he did sound a little jerky right then.

"Well, come on, kids. I'll drive you home," said Watson.

I was about to walk off with him and Karen and my brothers when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned around.

"Bart!" I exclaimed, feeling more surprised than excited. When had he arrived? "How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Long enough," he replied. I supposed he meant, "Long enough to see how good the Krushers have gotten."

"Want to walk home?" he asked.

"Okay," I said, even though it would be a long walk and I was tired. "Watson, I guess I'm walking," I told him. "I'll see you later."

I was curious to see why Bart wanted to walk me home and what he had to say, but that head-over-heels feeling was gone. I felt as if I didn't quite trust him. He had hurt me.

Bart and I left the playground, and I just knew the members of the Baby-sitters Club were staring at me. Their mouths were probably hanging open, and I bet their eyes were bugging out. I'm sure they thought that Bart and I were interested in each other. I wish I could have been so sure of what was going on.

"You guys are getting good," Bart told me when we reached the street and had a little more privacy.

A-ha!

"Thanks," I said. I was about to add something about how hard each of the players had

worked, but I didn't want to give anything away to Bart. After all, he was the Bashers' coach.

He was the enemy.

So all I said was, "Tomorrow, I'll want to put Gabbie - you know, the little one? - in the game for awhile. She has to hit a wiffle ball. So your pitcher will have to move in closer. Is that okay?"

"Sure," replied Bart, stuffing his hands in his pockets. I think he started to say something else then, like I had done a few moments earlier, but he closed his mouth.

After that, neither one of us knew what to say. So we just walked along silently. When we reached my house, Bart said, " 'Bye, Kristy," and I replied. " 'Bye." Then he added, "Good luck tomorrow," and I said, "You too."

I walked inside feeling confused and disappointed.

Chapter 12.

"Kristy! Kristy! Hey, Coach! Get up! It's game day!"

Karen was standing about two inches away from me. It was the next morning, and she was trying to wake me up. She had already raised my shades and turned on my radio.

"Coach!" she called again. You'd have thought it was Christmas morning.

"Okay," I mumbled. "I'm getting up."

"Really?"

"Honest. But only if you'll leave me a - only if you'll go downstairs and eat a good breakfast. Tell Andrew and David Michael to do the same thing. You guys need plenty of energy today."

"Okay!" Karen bounced out of my room. She already had enough energy for her whole team, and the Bashers, too.

I sat up. I looked out the window. The day

was sunny, the sky was cloudless. Maybe that was a good omen. Of course, the weather was just the same over at Bart's house. He was probably thinking it was a good omen for the Bashers. So then, what kind of omen was it? (That's why omens are stupid.)

I put on my coaching outfit - my Krushers T-shirt, blue jeans, sneakers, and my baseball cap with the collie dog on it. Jackie was right. We needed team hats.

Then I ran downstairs. I found Karen, Andrew, and David Michael at the breakfast table, along with Charlie. The three Krushers were already dressed for the game.

"Good work," I said to Karen. "I'm glad you guys are eating - "

I stopped. I looked at their breakfasts. Cheerios, toast, scrambled eggs, fruit, bacon, and fried potatoes. Andrew had a milk mustache, and Karen and David Michael were drinking glasses of orange juice in addition to everything else.

"Karen," I said, "I know I told you to eat a good breakfast, but you don't want to make yourselves sick." I had never seen so much food.

"We're bulking up, Coach," David Michael told me.

"What do you know about bulking up?" I

asked. Then I looked at Charlie, who had suddenly made himself very busy at the stove. "Charlie?" I said.

"I didn't know they'd take me seriously," he explained.

"Well, just eat as much as you want," I told the Krushers. "Don't force it. Charlie will eat anything that's left over, since he's the human Hoover."

I buttered a piece of toast. I ate it slowly. I glanced at my watch. "Nine-thirty!" I cried. "Oh, my gosh! I better get going! I have a lot to do! Where are Mom and Watson? Where's Sam? Did he bake those brownies? Where are the tables for the refreshments?"

"Kristy! Kristy!" Watson was entering the kitchen. "Calm down, honey," he said. "Your mom ran to the store for a few minutes and Sam's on his way downstairs. Everything is under control."

"Are the brownies finished?"

"Yes."

"Did someone find those tables in the basement."

"Yes."

"Did the - "

Ring, ring.

"I'll get it!" I shrieked. I dashed for the phone, but Charlie reached it first, that rat.

"Hello?" he said. Then, "For you, Kristy."

I could have told him that.

I took the phone from him. "Hello?"

"Hey, Coach. This is Jake," said Jake Kuhn.

"Hi. What's up?"

"My mom says I have to wash my T-shirt before the game today. Is that true?"

"Well, I didn't say you have to wash your shirt, but if your shirt is dirty, then you should probably - "

"Mo-om!" Jake interrupted me, turning away from the phone. "Coach says she didn't say I have to wash my shirt."

"Jake! Jake!" I cried. Oh, brother, the last thing I needed was a parent mad at me.

"What?" said Jake.

"Wash your shirt," I told him.

No sooner had I hung up than the phone rang again. Since my hand was still on the receiver, there was no way Charlie could answer it first.

"Hello?" I said, praying it wasn't Jake calling back.

"Is this Kristy Thomas, the coach of the Krushers?" asked a small voice.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Suzi Barrett."

"Hi, Suzi!" I exclaimed, but I was wondering, Now what?

"Buddy was saying," Suzi began, "that when you're playing a real game against another team, you're allowed to have four strikes before you're out."

"Buddy's teasing you," I told Suzi. "The rules are the same in any game."

"Okay. 'Bye."

Suzi hung up.

Mom walked in the back door then, and I nearly got hysterical over the refreshment-stand business, which I was beginning to be sorry I'd agreed to. Why can't I be cool-headed like Mallory, or calm in an emergency like Mary Anne, or as organized as Dawn?

"Mom!" I burst out, before she had even put the grocery bag on the counter. "I realized we should have paper towels or napkins or something at the refreshment stand - "

Mom pulled an economy-size pack of napkins out of her bag.

"And I forgot to remind you to buy paper cups for the lemon - "

Mom pulled out several packages of cups. Then she crossed the kitchen to me and took my face in her hands. "Don't worry, sweetie," she said. "The refreshment stand is taken care of. Sam and Charlie will run it. If everyone brings the food they promised to prepare, we'll be in good shape. All you need to worry about

is your team." She glanced at the breakfast table.

David Michael, Andrew, and Karen were watching me nervously.

I smiled at them. "What are you going to do today, you guys?" I whispered.

"Beat the Bashers!" they shouted.

"Good," I said, and the phone rang again. "I'm sure it's for me," I told my mother as I reached for it.

It was. It was Jackie, the walking disaster, with a question about foul balls. He called five more times after that, with other softball questions, and each time he sounded more nervous. When the phone rang again, I picked it up and said, "Jackie, don't worry so much. I promise - "

"Kristy? This isn't Jackie."

"Mallory?"

"Yeah." She sounded kind of depressed.

"What's wrong? I know something's wrong."

"If s Nicky," she said. "He woke up this morning with a sore throat and swollen glands and a temperature of a hundred and one."

"Oh, no!" I cried. "That's terrible!"

"There's no way he can play today. Mom's taking him to the doctor."

"Okay," I replied slowly. "Thanks, Mal. Tell

Nicky I hope he's feeling better. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

When I hung up the phone that time, I left the kitchen. I went up to my bedroom to think. I was upset and I didn't want my Krushers to see that. After a few moments, though, I realized there was only one thing to do. I headed back downstairs and pulled David Michael into the laundry room for a conference.

"You," I told him, "and Jake Kuhn are going to pitch in the game today."

"Me?" he cried.

"Yup. Nicky's sick. You'll be the pitcher, Jake will be the relief pitcher. Do you think you can handle it?"

"I don't know. I'm a better pitcher than I used to be, but I'm still a klutz. And the Bashers call Jake 'Fatso.' It's hard to pitch when people are calling you names."

"Don't worry about Jake," I told him. "And just do your best. Okay?"

David Michael nodded. "Okay, Coach."

The rest of the morning sped by, and before I knew it, my family was loading things into our cars. There were so many people and so much stuff that we had to take two cars to the playground. We reached it an hour before the game was to begin.

Charlie and Sam set up the tables for the refreshments. Mom and Watson sat in the stands, out of our way. Funny, I almost wished Watson would tell me just one more time, "Do your best, Kristy."

But the Krushers began to arrive, so I had to take care of them. Some of them came with food to sell at the refreshment table. I sent them over to Charlie and Sam. Some of them had problems or worries. I tried to reassure them.

The stands were filling up. Since I didn't recognize a lot of the faces, I figured they must be Bashers supporters. But where were the Bashers themselves?

I gathered my team under a tree for a pep talk, and to explain our last-minute change in pitchers. "Jake," I said, "you'll be our relief pitcher, okay?"