Ann Martin - Kristy And The Walking Disaster

The score was 3-0, in favor of the Krushers.

"Outta sight! Outta sight! You hit that ball with all your might!" screamed Haley and Vanessa. They were jumping up and down enthusiastically, but somehow they didn't live up to the Bashers' cheering.

It didn't matter. When Matt reached home plate, the Krushers crowded around him, hugging him and signing to him. (Jessi told me one of the kids accidentally gave him the sign for "oven," but Matt didn't notice, and who cared anyway?) The excitement was uproarious. When it died down, Margo Pike stepped up to bat.

The Bashers must have had her pegged as an unreliable hitter, because immediately, their cheerleaders began chanting, "Strike out! Strike out!" which I thought was really mean.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one who thought so. The next thing I knew, the Pike triplets, dressed impressively in their Little League uniforms, joined Vanessa and Haley and began cheering with them. It was hard to understand what they were shouting, but they drowned out the Bashers' cheerleaders, and that was really all that mattered.

Unfortunately, it didn't help.

Margo struck out.

"Three outs!" yelled Bart unnecessarily, and

the Krushers gave up their bats and trotted onto the field. I'd thought they'd be devastated, but they looked fine. I even overheard Jackie say to David Michael, "Three runs. Can you believe it?"

They were proud!

The Krushers stationed themselves at their positions, while the Bashers were organized into their batting line-up. Once, while the kids were getting settled, my eyes met Bart's. We both looked away quickly.

Then I signalled to David Michael, who was already on the pitcher's mound.

He ran to me. "Yeah?" He looked nervous. But he also looked as if he were saying, with his eyes alone, "If you don't let me pitch, I'll kill you."

"David Michael," I said to him seriously, "just do your best."

His face broke into a big smile. "I will, Watson," he teased me.

I punched him on the arm and sent him back to the pitcher's mound, grinning.

David Michael's grin soon turned to gritted teeth. He simply was not as good as the Bashers' pitcher, and the Bashers kept getting runs. By the end of the inning, the score was Bashers 6, Krushers 3.

The teams changed sides again.

I started the second inning by putting Gabbie in the game for awhile. It was an easy time to do that, before things really got underway, and I ran out to the Bashers' pitcher with the wiffle ball and told him what was going on. I really should have told Bart, but I just couldn't face him.

The pitcher looked at the wiffle ball and rolled his eyes.

"She's only two and a half," I snapped, "so walk forward. Now."

The kid obeyed. And to give him credit, I have to say that he tossed the ball very nicely to Gabbie. He didn't try anything funny.

Gabbie hit the ball. The pitcher was so surprised that he fielded it badly, overthrew the base, and Gabbie was safe at first.

The walking disaster was up next and I caught sight of him near the refreshment stand, testing bats for their weight. He picked one up, swung it, put it down. Then he picked up another, swung it - and suddenly he must have had margarine on his hands again, because the bat slipped out of them and flew into the refreshment tables. Very luckily, it didn't hurt anyone. But the legs of both tables collapsed and the food began to slide every which way.

"Catch it! Catch it!" yelled Charlie. He and

Sam (and Jessi and Dawn, who happened to be standing nearby) dove frantically for the plates of brownies and cookies and cupcakes. They caught most things, but an entire cake went - splat - on a rock, and twelve cups of lemonade slid on top of it.

Absolutely everybody saw the accident. And everybody laughed.

I wanted to die, and I think Jackie felt the same way, but he marched up to bat instead. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to live with himself. Besides, if he could hit a home run, then maybe everyone would forget about his disaster.

Jackie gripped the bat. He looked determined, but he must have been totally flustered. The first pitch was wild, but Jackie took a giant swing at it anyway, nearly losing his balance. (A few people in the stands couldn't help laughing.) The next pitch was right over home plate, and Jackie tried to get away with bunting it. He missed. Strike two. The third pitch was also well-placed. Jackie swung again - and his bat went flying. It nearly hit the pitcher, who gave Jackie a dirty look.

"Strike three, you're out!" shouted Bart.

Jackie was the picture of humiliation. You could see that his hopes of showing off had been completely dashed. His face started to

crumple - and then he sort of stumbled. He sank to the ground, clutching his left ankle. "Oh!" he cried. "Oh, my ankle! I think I twisted it."

I ran to Jackie. His ankle looked fine to me (and I gave his parents the OK sign, so they wouldn't have to leave their places in the stands), but Jackie said it was killing him. "I better not play anymore," he added.

Jackie walked off the field, limping pitifully on his right ankle. . . . Wait a sec. His right ankle? No, now it was his left.

Aha! I thought. I knew exactly what Jackie was up to.

Chapter 14.

I let Jackie sit on the sidelines until the first half of the second inning was over. Then I told Bart I needed time out. I didn't even really look at him. I just trotted by him, calling, "Time out!"

"Okay," Bart said to my back.

I sat down next to the walking disaster. I didn't waste any words. "Jackie," I said, "I'm putting you back in the game."

Jackie snapped to attention. "But - but I can't play, Coach!" he exclaimed. "I hurt my ankle." He began rubbing his right ankle.

"When you fell, you hurt your other ankle," I pointed out.

"Oops."

"Jackie, I know you're embarrassed. I also know you're a good player. You turned into one of our best hitters. And right now, we need you at first base. It's either you or Jamie

Newton, and you know what'll happen if a ball comes toward Jamie."

(Nothing like a little guilt.)

Jackie nodded. But all he said was, "Do I have to play?"

"No," I answered. "The only thing I ask of you Krushers is that you do your best. If you think this is your best, then okay. Personally, I think your best is over there at first base, not here on the sidelines. We really need you. We want you."

"You do?" said Jackie.

I nodded.

He sighed. "All right. I'll play."

Jackie stood up, and a few people in the stands clapped. (I think they were his parents and his brothers.) Then he ran onto the field.

Two of the Bashers laughed at him, and a third yelled, "Hit any good refreshment stands lately?" but Jackie ignored them.

David Michael (after losing his balance and tripping over absolutely nothing), pitched a fastball to the first Basher at bat. The Basher hit it, and Matt Braddock fielded it and sent it to Jackie, who caught it seconds before the kid touched base.

I took great pride in yelling, "Out!" even though I was not the umpire. But I made the

mistake of glancing at Bart then, who looked at me murderously. I didn't care. Jackie was grinning like a jack-o'-lantern. His confidence had returned. And he, David Michael, Matt, and Myriah (who was our second basewoman) didn't let the Bashers get a single run during the rest of the inning.

The score was now 6-4. I don't think anyone was more surprised than the Bashers, even though they were ahead.

And no one was more surprised than I when our cheerleaders got to their feet and yelled, "Way to go! Way to go! The Krushers' score is sure to grow!" Why was I surprised? Because cheering along with the others was Charlotte - shy Charlotte Johanssen. I guess the Krushers' playing was just too much for her.