Ann Martin - Kristy's Mystery Admirer

I signaled to Bart. "Time to start the game," I told him, "and I've got news. I found out who the letter writer is and we don't have a thing to worry about. I'll tell you everything after the game."

Bart grinned. "Okay, Coach."

We gathered our teams and tossed a coin. The Krushers would be at bat first.

"Play ball!" shouted Bart.

Chapter 13.

The game was off to a good start. I sent Matt Braddock out as our first batter, and he hit the first pitch with a resounding whack, running to third base before I signaled him to stop.

Next I sent Jake Kuhn to bat. He made it to first base and Matt made it home. One run for the Krushers! They were elated. They were also very involved with the game. Sometimes while they're waiting for their turn at bat, the little ones get fidgety and I have to recruit my friends to keep them occupied. Not during the World Series, though.

By the end of the first inning, the score was two to one, in favor of ... the Krushers. The game was intense. I stood on the sidelines, chewing gum and paying attention to every little thing that happened. I remembered which kids needed what coaching tips when. I didn't let my team members try anything

fancy. I shouted encouragement — but never scolded.

Bart began to look nervous.

During the second inning, although I thought it was a little risky, I let Gabbie Per-kins, Claire Pike, and Jackie Rodowsky go to bat. Gabbie (with her special playing rules) hit a single, Claire struck out but did not throw a tantrum, and Jackie hit a home run! (He lost his balance, tripped, and fell as his teammates surrounded him to congratulate him, but I don't think the Bashers noticed. At any rate, nobody laughed at him.)

The Bashers, tough as nails, were now on their guard. There was no jeering at the Rrush-ers as there had been during past games. They concentrated, playing a game that was as intense as I felt.

At one point during the third inning, with the Krushers still ahead (by one run), I glanced at Bart. He was looking at me rather fiercely. Oh, no, I thought. We just got over the nasty note business, and now we're going to go back to our old competitive selves. If the Krushers won today, would Bart still go to the dance with me? I wondered. I couldn't worry about that. I put the thought out of my head and whispered to David Michael, who was about to go up to bat, "Bunt it!"

When the score was six to five (still our favor!) we took a fifth-inning stretch. "You guys are doing a great job!" I told the Krush-ers. "Absolutely terrific. You're playing well, you're trying hard, and you're not letting the Bashers scare you."

The Krushers beamed.

I wandered over to the refreshment stand.

"You've easily got enough money for hats now," Sam told me. "People have been buying stuff all morning. And — and your team is playing, um, well." (It is not easy for Sam to be serious or to give compliments.)

"Thanks," I said gratefully, and bought a cup of lemonade. Then I sought out The Three Stooges. "I think you're a hit," I told them. (Their wigs and pants were still on.)

"Really?" exclaimed Charlotte from under a fringe of black bangs.

"Goody," added Haley.

I had to admit that the Bashers cheerleaders were more polished — but The Three Stooges attracted more attention.

Twenty minutes later, the game began again. And two innings later, it was over. The score was eight to seven.

The Krushers had won the World Series!

You should have seen the hugging and jumping up and down, and heard the whoop-

ing and cheering in the stands. The Krushers were beside themselves but had j:he presence of mind to join The Three Stooges in a cheer of, "Two, four, six, eight. Who do we appreciate? The Bashers! The Bashers! Yea!"

Almost too soon the bleachers had emptied and I found myself helping my brothers dismantle the refreshment stand. Around us milled a few stray ball players, my family, the BSC members . . . and Bart.

I was afraid to look at him. My team had beaten his. Was he mad at me all over again, but for a different reason? We have always known how competitive we are. Now, I wondered, could we really coach opposing teams and go out together, too? Let alone — maybe — be boy- and girlfriend?

I put off finding out by running to my friends and telling them what Cokie had done. They were all properly incensed.

'Cokie wrote the notes?" exclaimed Claudia.

"That — that sewer rat!" said Stacey, who still thinks in New York terms half the time.

"You should get back at her," said Jessi.

"I think I already did," I replied. "I told her I'd make sure that by Monday everyone at SMS and Bart's school will know what she's done. That's enough for Cokie. Besides, I don't want to continue this war with her."

Slowly my friends began to leave then, until only Shannon remained.

"Anything wrong?" she asked me.

"I don't know. I have a feeling Bart's upset. Do you think I should have let the Bashers win? I could have done that, you know."

"No way!" exclaimed Shannon.

"But will he still want to come to the Hal-loween Hop with me?"

"Go find out," said Shannon.

Reluctantly, I walked across the field to Bart, who was tossing equipment into a canvas bag.

"Hi," I said.

Bart glanced up. "Hey!" He grinned. "Good game."

I paused. He didn't sound mad. "So. Are you still up for the Hop?"

"Can't wait. Now tell me about the letters."

I did, after breathing a huge sigh of relief.

"Kristy!" called Charlie then.

"Bart!" called Mr. Taylor.

And then in unison they said, "Time to go!"

"See you Friday," whispered Bart, "but I'll probably talk to you before then."

"You got it, Coach!"

Later that afternoon, when I was recovering from the game, Shannon surprised me by coming over unannounced. She walked into

my room, where I was lying on the bed.

"I'm dead," I told her.

"Too dead for some tips?"

"What kind of tips?"

"Oh, makeup, stuff like that."

"I don't wear makeup," I told her.

"Not even to dances?"

I rolled over. "Hmm. I'm not sure."

"You want to look good for Bart, don't you?"

"I just want to look like myself. And if I'm going to look good, I'll look good for me."

"Okay. So what about makeup? And what are you going to wear?"

"Wear? I don't know."

"You do own a dress, don't you?"

"Of course I do ... I think." I got up and went to my closet. "There must be a couple here somewhere." I pawed through my collection of shirts and sweaters. "Oh, here's one. I wore it when Mary Anne 's dad and Dawn's mom got married. And here's another. This is the one I wore when my mother and Watson got married." I held it up.

"Well, you can't wear that one to the dance," said Shannon. "It's much too dressy. It's a long dress for heaven's sake. Let me see the other one."

I put the fancy dress away and showed

Shannon the more casual one. "Of course, Bart and I could go in costume/' I pointed out. "A lot of kids do go to the Hop in costume."

"But don't you want to look special for Bart?" asked Shannon. "And that dress is perfect. Who helped you pick it out?"

"Stacey did/' I admitted.

"Well, it's great for a dance. Okay, put it on."

"How come?"

"Because I can't figure out your makeup and nail polish until I see you in the dress."

"Nail polish? No way! I'll wear makeup — a little makeup — but no nail polish."

"Okay, okay. Calm down."

Luckily, before we had gotten too far into the makeup ordeal, Watson stuck his head in my room and told me that Bart was on the phone.

"Thanks," I said, but as soon as he had left I moaned to Shannon, "I just know he's decided he doesn't want to go to the dance after all. I should have let the Bashers win the game today."