Charlie’s grounder went right through Andrew’s legs. He turned around and watched it, as if it were some kind of interesting bird. “Nice try, Andrew, but you have to chase after it!” Charlie said. “Okay, we’ll try again. Then everyone gets a ground ball, one by one! Be ready!”
The kids instantly leaned forward, legs bent, hands on knees.
I was impressed. First of all, I usually have to beg them to take fielding positions. Second, I still don’t have enough bat control to hit ground balls precisely aimed at a player. Charlie was doing it with ease.
As he batted, I set up the infield bases and gave tips to the players. What a great combo.
Before long, the rest of the team had arrived — Jake, Patsy, and Laurel Kuhn with Jessi; the Pike tribe with Mallory and Mary Anne; Matt Braddock, Jackie Rodowsky, Jamie Newton, and Nina Marshall with their dads; and Buddy and Suzi Barrett with their mom.
You should have seen their faces when they saw Charlie. They were in awe. It was as if Babe Ruth himself had appeared on the field.
I couldn’t blame them. Charlie’s seventeen. He’s kind of handsome (for a brother), very athletic, and strong willed … er, bossy. (If this was their reaction to Charlie, I knew they’d go nuts over Jack Brewster. Boy, did I hope he could come.)
I caught a glimpse of Scott and Timmy Hsu running onto the field with a tall, high-school-age girl. She had long, light-brown hair and was dressed in tight jeans and a waist-length suede jacket.
“Who’s that?” Jessi whispered.
“I’ve seen her in my neighborhood a few times. She’s in high school. Her name’s Monica or Jessica or something,” I replied.
I was starting to feel impatient. Now that the whole team had arrived, it was time to start our official Krushers warm-up. “All right, Krushers!” I yelled. “Let’s do some stretching —”
“Jake — first base!” Charlie barked. “Hannie — second! Buddy — center!”
One by one the players ran into place.
How many listened to me? None.
“Uh … hello?” I said.
Jessi was cracking up.
Oh, well. We could stretch after the practice. It felt kind of nice for someone else to be taking charge.
“Okay, long ball!” Charlie shouted. “Go deep! Deep!”
The kids in the outfield scurried back. Charlie tossed the ball straight up, then grabbed the bat with both hands. Gritting his teeth, he took a huge swing — and missed.
“Heyyyy, batter, that was a nice fat pitch!” I teased.
Charlie’s face was turning red. He gave me a tiny smile. And then his eyes flickered over toward Harmonica or Harmony or whatever her name was.
She giggled.
Gag me.
Charlie tried again. This time he hit a towering fly ball to deep center field. Linny raced underneath it.
Along with Buddy, Suzi, Karen, and Timmy.
“Someone call for it!” Charlie shouted.
“I got it!” That was Jackie. He was running backward from the infield, toward the other kids.
Not one of them saw him. Not one of them backed away. They were all looking straight up.
I cringed.
Thud.
“OWWWWWW!”
The ball bounced onto the grass. So did all of the players, in a big heap.
A run-and-hit accident, courtesy of Jackie Rodowsky. (Jackie’s nickname, by the way, is The Walking Disaster. The “Walking” part is optional.)
Timmy was crying. Karen was clutching her side. I ran toward them, along with a bunch of sitters and adults.
“Are you all right?” I asked Karen.
“I landed on Jackie’s knee,” Karen replied. “Ow ow ow.”
“Sorry,” Jackie said sheepishly.
I knelt to help Karen up. I figured Charlie might offer to help, too. But he was leaning over Timmy, comforting him. Shoulder to shoulder with Seneca or Veronica or whoever.
“Uh, Charlie? Your sister hurt herself,” I said loudly.
Charlie spun around. “Oh! Anything serious?”
“Probably just a bruise,” Karen said.
“Jackie, you don’t call for the ball unless it’s near your position,” Charlie gently scolded him.
By now the team had gathered around to gawk. “All right, everybody back to positions,” I said. “Karen and Timmy will sit out for a while.”
The kids all stood there, watching their two teammates limp off the field. “Go ahead!” I commanded.
“Okay, this half of the team line up for batting practice!” Charlie bellowed, with a chopping motion through the middle of the crowd. “The other half spread out on the field!”
Zoom. Instant obedience.
“You guys don’t listen to me like that,” I grumbled, trudging into foul territory with Karen.
We sat on the bench and watched the batters take turns. When each one stepped up, Charlie would shout one-word instructions, such as “Feet!” or “Legs!” or “Elbow!”
And you know what? The batters knew exactly what to do — straighten out their feet, bend their legs, lift their rear elbows.
Charlie had good technique, I had to admit. Good, but flawed. A kids’ softball team is not an army troop. Kids need individual attention.
When four-year-old Jamie Newton went to bat, Jessi helped Charlie set up the batting tee. Then Charlie barked Jamie into a decent batting position.
The only problem was, he was on the wrong side of the plate.
I ran over to them. “Charlie, he’s a lefty!”
Gently I tried to move Jamie to the other side. But Jamie refused to budge. “No! Charlie told me to do it this way!”
“Jamie, we’ve been doing it the other way since you started,” I insisted.
“But he’s the boss!” Jamie pleaded.
“Says who?” I blurted out.
“Uh, Kristy’s right, Jamie,” Charlie said gently.
“Okay.” Jamie hopped over to the other side of the plate.
I smiled. I patted Jamie on the head. I trotted into the outfield to coach the kids.
I was grinding my teeth the whole way.
As I stood out there, deep in center field, all the kids were poised around me. In fielding positions. Just the way I’d always told them to be. The batters were lined up quietly. On the sidelines, the sitters and parents were chatting away. Jessi was sitting with Karen and Timmy. Cressida or Spartacus, whatever her name was, was sitting at the edge of the wooden bench, looking intently at my brother.
The Krusher Klinic was starting off with a bang. The kids were full of energy. I should have felt thrilled. Grateful. But I didn’t.
I felt totally useless.
Mal and Jessi were going a little overboard. They were trying to make me feel good. I guess Jessi could tell I was disturbed after Saturday’s practice.
Don’t I have great friends?
Actually, by Sunday I’d gotten over my gloom. As I ate my pre-Klinic lunch, I could hear David Michael, Linny, and Hannie playing catch in the backyard. Softball fever was in the air.
I’d called Klinic for noon again. It was already 11:35, and Charlie wasn’t home. He was supposed to drive David Michael and me to the playground, but he’d disappeared with the car earlier. I figured it had broken down (it’s a real junker).
Across town, Jessi was strolling along Slate Street. She could hear the song “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” blaring from the Pike house.
She followed the sound to the backyard. The Pikes were in the middle of a softball practice, while a boom box played from the picnic table.
If you ask me, an eight-kid family is just about perfect. You can actually field a full softball team, if a parent pitches. Which was exactly the situation Jessi found at the Pikes’.
Well, sort of. Mr. Pike was pitching, but only seven Pike kids were in the field. Mallory the Sports Hater was sitting on the picnic bench, making sketches.
Okay, sports fans, heeere’s the Pike lineup: Leading off in age, after
Mallory, are the triplets, Byron, Jordan, and Adam, who clock in at ten years old. Next is nine-year-old Vanessa, followed by Nicky, at eight. A perky seven-year-old, Margo is the penultimate Pike, with youngest honors going to Claire, who’s five. (I love that word, penultimate. Sportswriters use it all the time. It means next-to-last.)
“Hi, Jesserina!” Mr. Pike called out. (Get it? Jessi plus ballerina? Grown-ups can be so corny.)
“Hi!” Jessi replied. She waved to everyone as she sat next to Mal. “Who are you drawing?”
Mal held up her sketch: a kid with a sideways-turned baseball cap. “Can you guess?”
Jessi looked around the yard. All the kids were wearing sideways-turned baseball caps. “What’s with the hats?”
“That’s the way Charlie wears his,” Mallory answered. “They all want to look like him. Anyway, the drawing’s supposed to be Adam.”
“Clai-aire, hurry up!” Nicky was calling from the outfield. “It’s almost time to leave for the Klinic!”
Claire was stamping down the dirt around home plate (a plastic container lid). Jessi noticed that she had a frilly white glove on her right hand.
“Why are you wearing that?” Jessi asked.
“It’s a batting glove,” Claire answered.
Mal nodded. “Charlie wears one.”
Claire planted her feet, swung the bat around a few times, and spat.
Just like you-know-who.
Well, almost. Usually Charlie’s spit flies out in one piece. Claire’s was more like drool.
“Eeeewwww!” Margo cried out.
Claire tried to wipe off her mouth, but she slimed her glove.
Mr. Pike was struggling not to crack up. The other kids didn’t even try. They were howling. Screaming. Rolling on the ground.
“You silly-billy-goo-goos!” Claire screamed.
Mr. Pike scooped her off the ground before she could burst into tears. “We’ll wash up. The rest of you get ready to go to Klinic!”
Mal and Jessi gathered the kids together and waited out front. When Claire emerged, she was wearing a green-and-yellow-polka-dot mitten.
“Take Claire out to the ba-a-allgame,” Adam sang, “watch her spit on her glo-o-ove …”
“Stop!” Claire cried.
“Buy Adam peanuts and Cracker Jack,” Vanessa continued. “He’ll grow so fat that he’ll fall on his back.”
“Hey!” Adam bellowed.
By the time they arrived at the playground, the Pikes were chasing each other around.
I was already there, playing catch with Buddy and Suzi Barrett.
“Hi, guys!” I shouted. “We’re going to start with throwing and catching. Everyone gather behind home plate.”
I might as well have been speaking Greek. The triplets were trying to corner Vanessa. Claire was trying to bite Adam. Nicky was teaching Margo how to do cartwheels.
“Where’s Charlie?” asked Jessi.
“Who knows?” I said. “He was supposed to drive us here but he never showed up. Watson brought us.”
“The three of us can run the Klinic ourselves,” Jessi reassured me.
Mallory turned green. “Three of us?”
“If you don’t know what to do,” Jessi said, “just ask Kristy.”
Jordan raced to us, breathless. “Where’s Charlie?”
“He’ll be here any minute,” Jessi said.
“He’s not here yet, guys!” Jordan shouted, running off.
He might as well have said, “Time to goof off!” Rounding up the kids was like trying to corral wild horses. Just as we’d pair them into games of catch, other kids would show up — and then the practice would fall apart again.
Jessi, Mallory, and I must have heard the question “Where’s Charlie?” a million times.
One of those questions was from the Hsus’ pretty baby-sitter. It was followed by the question, “And who is he?” She was talking to Jessi, and even though I was clear across the field at the time, I could see that look of longing in the girl’s eye.
“Well, he’s Kristy’s brother,” Jessi replied. “And she says he’ll be here soon.”
The girl glanced in my direction with a big smile. (Right. Now she noticed me.) “They’re related?”
Duh.
Jessi introduced herself and patiently told the sitter our names.
“I’m Angelica,” the girl said. “I’ll be sitting for the Hsus a lot this vacation.”
(Angelica. I knew it was something like that.)
“Great,” Jessi said.
Angelica nodded. “I can see the resemblance. Between Kristy and Charlie.”
They chatted for a while. Angelica seemed pretty friendly. Considerate. Funny. (Talkative, too. At the time, I really needed Jessi on the field.)
RRRRRRUMMMM-PUTT-PUTT-PUTT … BANG!
Their conversation was cut short by a noise that Jessi knew well. The mating call of the Junk Bucket.
That’s the name of Charlie’s car. It looks like a rusted tin can and it sounds like bronchitis on wheels.
The car sputtered and wheezed to a stop at the curb. The kids all ran to it.
“Cool car,” Angelica said, giggling.
Charlie emerged with a huge smile.
And a haircut.
And some new clothes.
I was stunned. The last time my brother actually bought clothes, my mom practically had to drag him to the store by the collar.
The kids were chattering away, yanking on his shirt. Jessi heard Claire say, “P.U.! You stink!”
“Ohhhh, you’ll suffer for that!” Charlie cried out, running after her.
Claire squealed with delight as Charlie chased her around. That was when Jessi caught a very strong whiff of something unexpected.
Cologne.
As Charlie released Claire and bounded onto the field, he winked in Jessi’s direction.
Jessi knew the wink wasn’t for her. And judging by the redness of Angelica’s face, she knew it, too.
“Charlie’s Champs,” I said. “That’s what they should be called.”
Claudia tossed me a bag of licorice strings. “Try some of these. They’ll calm your nerves.”
“Charlie’s Chosen,” I mumbled, digging my hand into the bag. “Charlie’s Chattering Chimpanzees.”
“Kristy,” Mallory said, “they’re still the Krushers. They’re just excited about having a high school kid as a coach.”
“Charlie’s Angels,” I decided. “There we go. Why not fit Angelique’s name in there?”
“Angelica,” Jessi corrected me.
“Whatever,” I grunted.
Claudia’s clock read 5:39. We still hadn’t had one baby-sitting phone call, which didn’t help my rotten mood.
Why was it so rotten? Well, we’d just had Day Three of the so-called Krusher Klinic. Once again, my big brother had shown up smelling like a spice basket. The Hsus’ baby-sitter reeked of some floral perfume. I felt as if I’d wandered into a botanical garden. What was worse, Charlie couldn’t stop showing off. He wore this T-shirt with rolled-up sleeves so he could display his biceps. Then he broke one of my bats, trying to show how far he could hit.
I mean, really, is that the way to run a serious practice?
It was bad enough that my own team wasn’t listening to me. It was bad enough that I was going to have to buy new equipment. But I could deal with both of those things, as long as the players were happy.
If I wanted to watch a love story, though, I could rent a video.
One thing I do know: Sarah, Charlie’s old girlfriend, would never have worn perfume to a practice. Or made googly eyes at Charlie. Or offered him a cigarette. (Yes, she smoked. Gross.)
I was beginning to miss Sarah more and more.
“Lo-o-o-ove is idd the airrrr,” Abby warbled, her voice clogged with allergies.
“Puh-leeze,” I said. “My clinic is turning into a … a public date!”
“They weren’t that bad,” Jessi insisted. “The kids didn’t seem to notice. They played
pretty well.”
I nodded. “Sure. They listen to Charlie even when he’s distracted. What do they need me for?”
“Kristyyy …” Mary Anne said warningly.
“I mean, why doesn’t he just ask her out and get it over with?” I barreled on. “They can dump cologne on themselves, go on a date, smoke cigarettes, and stink up the whole town.”
“Why are you so grumpy?” Stacey asked. “So your brother likes this girl. Is that a crime?”
“She seems nice,” Jessi said.
“He’s just acting so weird,” I replied. “He never rolled up the sleeves of his T-shirt when he was going out with Sarah. I bought him a bottle of cologne for his birthday last year and he used it as a doorstop. He was normal with Sarah. Totally himself. Now look at him.”
“Boys mature slower than girls,” Claudia said, wrapping a licorice string around a pretzel. “Everybody knows that.”
“Tell it to Angelica,” I grumbled. “Maybe Sarah can give her lessons.”
“Sounds like you miss Sarah,” Mary Anne said.
I took a deep breath. “Yeah. She was cool. She actually liked baseball.”
“Give Angelica a chance,” Stacey spoke up. “Maybe she’s just as nice.”
“She seems to know the basic softball rules,” Mallory added.
“Really?” I said. “She hasn’t said a word to me.”
“Aha!” Claudia laughed. “Now we know the reason you don’t like her!”
“I dod’t doe why you guys are baking such a big deal out of this,” Abby said. “They’re just flirtigg a little.”
Rrrrrring!
Claudia snatched up the phone. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club…. Hi, Mrs. DeWitt…. What? … Someone to bring Buddy and Suzi to Krusher Klinic on Wednesday? Okay, I’ll see what we can do and call you back …”
Mary Anne scanned the calendar. “Abby’s available.”
“It’s a deal,” Abby said.
We swung into baby-sitting mode, but I wasn’t really paying attention. My thoughts were swirling around.
Abby was right. I was making a big deal out of nothing. Angelica seemed okay, but she was no Sarah. That was clear. If I could see that, so could Charlie.
Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as I thought he was.
* * *
I didn’t mention a thing to Charlie when he picked up Abby and me from the meeting. I just couldn’t find the words.