Ann Martin - Kristy And The Walking Disaster

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?"

"Okay," said Jake seriously.

"Now you guys go relax," I told the Krushers, "and Jackie?"

"Yeah?"

"You're looking good."

For once, the walking disaster looked more like a Krusher and less like Pig-Pen. His shoes were tied. His clothes were clean. The hole in his shirt had been mended. But his hair still stuck out in seventeen different directions.

"Hey, Coach," he said, tapping me on the arm, "look!"

The Bashers had arrived. They emerged from around a corner of the school and walked onto the playing field in a neat, straight line, led by Bart. Twenty-one boys. They were wearing Bashers T-shirts and matching red caps. They were followed by four girls in snazzy cheerleaders' uniforms.

I looked at my Krushers. Their faces fell.

What an entrance the Bashers had made.

Chapter 13.

Before the game started, Bart and I held a conference. We talked about Gabble and the wiffle ball again, and I reminded Bart that we would have to sign to Matt Braddock. Then we decided on a seven-inning game.

"If you want," Bart said, "I'll make an announcement about the innings. After that, we'll toss a coin to see who goes to bat first."

I nodded. Good. I may not be shy, but I didn't really want to make an announcement to all the people who were jamming the stands. And believe me, there were a lot of them. Plus, there was a crowd around the refreshment tables.

I looked everything over as I listened to Bart greet the fans. He said something like, "Welcome to the first official game between Bart's Bashers and Kristy's Krushers." (First official game?) Then he explained the rules of the day's game.

Almost everyone was listening. A few kids were clustered around the refreshment stand, though, and Charlie and Sam were busy making change. Our cheerleaders weren't paying any attention to Bart, either. They were scoping out the Bashers' cheerleaders, whom I'm sure they hadn't expected. I hadn't expected them. I bet Bart got the idea for cheerleaders when he was spying on our practice games.

The Krushers were scoping out the Bashers. If they were feeling at all the way they looked, it was not a good sign. My jumbled team of boys and girls, tiny kids and big kids (well, fatsos), and even a handicapped kid, a klutz, and a disaster, were facing a team of sturdy boys - no little kids, no fatsos or deaf kids or klutzes. I suddenly had the feeling that each Krusher was thinking, "We don't stand a chance."

I tried to send the Krushers a message with mental telepathy. You do stand a chance, you do stand a chance.

The game began. Bart was acting as umpire. The Krushers were at bat, and Max Delaney was up first. He seemed to be there forever, and finally, after ball four (and two strikes), he walked to first base.

Behind me, the Krushers were getting antsy. And out of the blue, who should appear to

help me, but the rest of the Baby-sitters Club.

"I can't wait to play! I can't wait to play!" Karen cried. So Mary Anne gave her a piggyback ride around the refreshment stand.

Claudia played Simon Says with Gabbie, Myriah, and Jamie.

Dawn and Mal broke up an argument between Jake and Jackie.

And Jessi picked up and soothed a nervous Suzi Barrett.

They kept the Krushers calm and entertained while I kept my eye on the game.

Things weren't going too badly, although nothing exciting was happening. The next batter also walked to first while Max walked to second.

Ho-hum.

Then Jamie was at bat. I looked at the kid who was pitching to him. He was about ten, tall for his age, and had a good strong arm. He barreled the ball toward Jamie.

Jamie ducked.

The Bashers snickered.

That happened two more times.

"Three strikes, you're out!" shouted Bart.

Duh.

Claire was up next. Our cheerleaders caught sight of this and decided to give her a little boost.

"Krush those Bashers!" shouted Vanessa and Haley.

Claire struck out.

The Bashers' cheerleaders stepped forward. In a neat line, pom-poms flying, they belted out a cheer that I bet they hadn't written themselves. It was just too darn good.

Vanessa and Haley looked at each other. Then they looked at Charlotte, who shrugged. Then everyone looked at Claire Pike. Why?

Because she was throwing a tantrum, that's why.

"Nofe-air! Nofe-air! Nofe-air!" she shrieked. Her face turned so red that her father had to step over a whole lot of people in the stands, run to Claire, take her aside, and calm her down.

From the stands came gentle laughter.

I let Mr. Pike handle Claire and looked at my team to see who was up next. It was time for a heavy hitter, and sure enough, Matt Braddock was up. I cringed, though, thinking of how the Bashers had laughed and called him a dummy before. They wouldn't dare do that in front of all the parents, would they?

No way! Not when Matt hit a home run! Crack! No signing was even needed. Matt just ran the bases, sending the two Krushers ahead of him home, too.