Mind Your Own Business, Kristy!

  “Not so fast,” the policeman said. “Do you know that you were going twenty miles an hour over the speed limit?”

  “Twenty?” Angelica squeaked. “Does that mean a ticket?”

  “Let me see your license and registration, please.”

  Charlie reached into the glove compartment. He pulled out a small white computer printout and handed it to the officer. “Here’s the registration.”

  “You’re … Watson Brewer?” the officer asked.

  “No, he’s my stepfather. I’m Charlie Thomas. I have my license.” He dug that out of his pants pocket and flashed it at the officer.

  The officer glanced at it and extended his palm to Angelica. “And you?”

  She pretended to search through all her pockets, then said weakly, “I must have left it at home.”

  “Any other form of ID?”

  Angelica pulled out a card and handed it over.

  The officer examined it carefully. “You’re not seventeen yet. And you’re a licensed driver?”

  Angelica bowed her head. “Well, uh … no.”

  I had a sick feeling in my stomach. Angelica had tricked us. She’d wrecked the car. She’d put our lives in danger.

  “Mr. Thomas, you take the wheel, please,” the officer said. “We have some things to discuss at the station house.”

  “But we’re on the way to a concert!” Claudia protested.

  I nudged her in the ribs.

  Charlie was already scrambling around to the driver’s side. He climbed in, sat behind the wheel, and turned the ignition key.

  Watson’s car sputtered and wheezed. It sounded as if it had the flu. Charlie tried three times, but the car wouldn’t start.

  “Come with us in the squad car,” the officer said wearily. “Lock up and take your keys.”

  The shock was wearing off. I was beginning to think again.

  We were going to a police station. And I had four tickets in my pocket.

  An image flashed through my mind. Blade was running onto the stage, before a sellout crowd of screaming fans having the time of their lives. And smack in the middle of it all, right in the choicest part of the house, were four empty seats. While Charlie, Angelica, Claudia, and I sat in a dark, stinky police station in …

  I looked at the insignia on the side of the police car. STAMFORD.

  Hmmm.

  That gave me an idea.

  Angelica and Charlie were already in the backseat of the police car. Claudia was squeezing in next to them.

  “Excuse me, officer,” I said. “See, I won this contest — free tickets to the Blade concert? — and it’s the only night I can go. And it just happens to be in Stamford. Now, as you saw, my friend Claudia and I did nothing wrong. So, on the way to the station house, would you mind dropping us off?”

  The officer chuckled. “We’ll see if the chauffeur is available when we arrive.”

  “Nice try,” Claudia mumbled.

  We were sunk.

  “This is so embarrassing,” Claudia said. “Everyone in all the other cars is staring at us. I feel like a criminal.”

  “We’re not criminals!” Charlie retorted.

  “Y-Y-You’re not,” Angelica said, bursting into tears.

  Charlie put his arm around her shoulders. To tell you the truth, he didn’t look so stable himself.

  I was expecting a bumpy ride through the streets of Stamford, sirens screaming, lights flashing. But it was a total bore. The officer stopped at every red light and pulled to a safe stop in front of a small, white-brick police building in Stamford.

  He marched us into an inner office with dirty white walls, a long table, and a telephone. We sat in chairs around the table.

  “Do I — do I — have to go to —” Angelica was speaking in breathless gulps.

  “Jail?” the officer said. “No. But what you did was serious. Speeding. Underage driving. Not only were you breaking the law, but you were putting everyone’s life in danger on that road. Not to mention causing an accident that someone will have to pay for, and it won’t be Mr. Brewer’s insurance company. Policies don’t cover unlicensed drivers.”

  Tears were streaming down Angelica’s face. “I’m sorry, Officer —”

  “Bolton.” The officer pulled the phone toward him and lifted the receiver. “Okay, I need to contact all of your parents. Who’ll start?”

  “All?” Claudia said. “But I wasn’t —”

  “All.”

  * * *

  Once, when we were very little, I was playing with Claudia when she took a stack of twenty-dollar bills from her dad’s night table and flushed them down the toilet, one by one. She was waving good-bye to the last bill when Mr. Kishi caught her. It was the only time I ever saw him blow up. To this day I will never forget the look on Claudia’s face.

  It was exactly like the look she had when the Kishis arrived at the station house.

  Officer Bolton carefully explained what had happened. He explained it again to Angelica’s parents when they showed up, and again to mine.

  I could tell Watson was angry. His entire head was red. Mom looked as if someone had just died.

  We were not fingerprinted, or sent to reform school, or interrogated. But Angelica and Charlie both received whopping fines.

  The mood was not festive when we left the station house. Charlie and I didn’t even say good-bye to Angelica.

  We trudged grimly to the family station wagon. We climbed grimly in. We drove grimly away from the station house. I was tempted to mention the concert, but Watson and Mom both had no way written on their faces. So I kept my mouth shut.

  No one said a word until we were on the highway again, heading back to Stoneybrook. When Mom finally broke the silence, her voice was soft and choked back. “When the policeman said accident, I thought something awful had happened to you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” Charlie said. “I’ll pay for the car.”

  “The car isn’t the important thing,” Watson spoke up. “You allowed something illegal and highly dangerous to happen. I would never expect that of you, Charlie.”

  “But Angelica said she had a license,” Charlie said. “I think.”

  “Watson didn’t lend the car to Angelica,” Mom reminded him.

  “We’ll talk when we’re home,” Watson said. “Some of us need to concentrate when we’re driving.”

  Hoo, boy. When jolly old Watson talks like that, he means business.

  It was after eight o’clock when we pulled into the driveway. Emily was asleep, but Sam, Nannie, and David Michael raced to the front door.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “What happened?”

  “Where are the others?”

  The questions flew around us. Poor Charlie had to describe everything, step by step. Nannie was shaking her head in disbelief.

  “That was really stupid,” David Michael said with this disappointed look on his face.

  Charlie nodded. “I know.”

  “I told Sarah about it,” Sam said. “She called while you were away.”

  “Sarah called me?” Charlie asked.

  Sam shook his head. “No, she asked for Kristy. She said she wanted to apologize about something. When I told her you were in an accident, she got upset. She wanted to know if you both were all right. Somebody better call her back.”

  Watson, Mom, and Nannie were already heading into the house. Sam and David Michael turned to follow them.

  Charlie and I looked at each other. “Do you want to call her?” I asked.

  “I don’t have anything to say to her,” Charlie replied.

  “Yeah? How about, ‘I made a big mistake. I never should have broken up with you’?”

  Charlie’s face scrunched up into a mask of scorn. “Butt out, Kristy. You leave my personal life alone.”

  “Fine,” I said. “What’s Sarah’s number? I’ll call her.”

  Charlie turned away and stalked into the kitchen. “Look it up yourself.”

  “Is he here yet
?”

  “Nope.”

  “When’s he coming?”

  “I don’t know. Ask Charlie.”

  I must have had that conversation seventeen times on Saturday morning at Krusher Klinic. The kids were frantic with excitement.

  The “he” they were asking about was Jack Brewster. Old Jack was supposed to show up, but had Charlie given me any details? No.

  I’d meant to ask him, but things had been a little explosive at the Brewer/Thomas house the night before. While I was talking to Sarah Green on the phone, explaining what had happened, Watson was giving the Car Safety Lecture of a lifetime to Charlie. After I hung up, I tried to enter the conversation. I, Kristy the Loudmouth, couldn’t squeeze a word in edgewise.

  If you ask me, Charlie got away with murder. He didn’t have to pay for Watson’s repairs. He hadn’t been grounded. He hadn’t been required to compensate me for my tickets — or for my pain and suffering over missing the concert. What was his punishment? Three things. One, he had to pay for his traffic ticket in full. Two, he couldn’t drive for a month, not even the Junk Bucket. Three, he had to “rethink his social attachments.” (Translated, that meant “find a new girlfriend.”) Charlie was not pleased.

  I didn’t expect him to show up at Krusher Klinic. After breakfast, he’d skulked away, saying he needed to “hang out with buddies” and “clear his head.”

  Personally, I think he needed to fill his head. A few brain cells wouldn’t hurt. (I was angry, big time, about missing the Blade concert.)

  By the way, Angelica was missing, too. Mr. Hsu had brought his sons to the field.

  So, once again, I was running Klinic alone. And I had no idea when Jack Brewster was going to come. Or if. For all I knew, “Jack” was a gag. Knowing Charlie, he had planned to spray his own hair gray and put on a Mets uniform himself.

  “Listen up, guys!” I announced. “I know you’re all excited about Jack Brewster Day, but I’m not totally sure it’s going to happen —”

  “OHHHHHHHH …” The Groan Heard Round the World.

  I gritted my teeth. If Charlie didn’t bail me out of this one, he was going to be in more trouble than he knew.

  “So, until Charlie arrives to straighten everything out,” I continued, “pretend I’m Jack Brewster, and show me what you can do!”

  I split the players into two teams. As they took the field, I spotted Charlie zooming toward us on his bike.

  “There he is!” Jake cried out.

  Forget about the game. The kids crowded by the fence as Charlie glided to a stop.

  “Where’s Angelica?” was his first question.

  Can you believe it? I couldn’t.

  “I have no idea,” I replied calmly. “Your players have a more important question for you. About Jack Brewster Day.”

  “Jack Brewster?” Charlie gulped. “Well, um … I meant to call my connection. I need to find out if we’re still on.”

  I was cringing. I wanted to throttle him. “In other words, you forgot.”

  “Look, maybe another day —”

  “Tomorrow’s the last day of Klinic!” Buddy sounded as if he were about to cry.

  Charlie took a deep breath. “I’ll … I’ll make it up to you. Maybe after the season starts.”

  “Okay, everybody, back into positions,” I said gently. “If we pull together today, I propose a team trip to Pizza Express!”

  That cheered the kids up. A little.

  As they trudged onto the field, my Krushers looked, well, krushed.

  Charlie was mounting his bike again.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I need to find someone —”

  “Angelica?”

  “I’ll be back!”

  With that, he was off.

  I kept my temper. I rallied. I ran the most fantastic practice game you can imagine. Charlie or no Charlie.

  I didn’t even notice when Sarah Green sat in the bleachers to watch. David Michael had to point her out to me.

  The night before, I’d explained to Sarah what had happened. She’d said she would try to stop by the Klinic to say hi.

  “Snack break, guys!” I announced. “Ten minutes.”

  As the kids raced to the snack bench, I walked to the bleachers. “Hi, Sarah.”

  “Hi, Kristy,” Sarah called out. “The team looks fantastic.”

  “Thanks. Charlie helped a lot, you know.” Why was I sticking up for him? I don’t know. The words just popped out of my mouth. And it was the truth, after all.

  “I was hoping I’d see him here,” Sarah said.

  “Me, too. He’s kind of in a weird mood, after what happened.”

  “I guess he decided against calling my uncle?”

  “Who?”

  “Well, not really my uncle. He’s something like a second cousin once removed. You know, Jack Brewster?”

  “Your uncle is Jack Brewster?”

  Sarah nodded. “That day at the Argo? While you were in the bathroom, Charlie asked me if Uncle Jack would come to the Klinic, so I asked him. Uncle Jack said sure. He’s retired, and he loves working with kids. He helps my softball team all the time. Anyway, I left a message for Charlie to call me, but he never did.”

  “Jack Brewster was supposed to come today!” I blurted out. “Krusher Klinic ends tomorrow.”

  Sarah thought for a moment. “Uh-oh.”

  “Do you know his phone number? Could you call him?”

  “Sure! It’s worth a try.” Sarah climbed on her bike, which was propped against the fence, and took off.

  I was grinning. I wanted to shout out the news. Kristy’s Krushers — my little team — was going to have a brush with stardom!

  Might. Might. Sarah was going to call him. That was all.

  Still, I was tingly at the thought.

  Years of video replays flashed through my mind. Brewster, snagging a line drive, touching third, and firing to first for the triple play. Brewster, breaking up a no-hitter with a clutch two-strike, two-out homer. My dad used to make me watch Jack Brewster in slow motion to help my technique.

  I kept it together. I didn’t mention a thing during snack time. I managed to herd the Krushers back onto the field.

  We hadn’t played even one inning before Sarah returned.

  She was smiling from ear to ear as she said, “Tomorrow, noon.”

  “Yyyyyyesss!” I turned to the field and shouted, “Emergency team meeting!”

  Have you ever seen the last game of any World Series? The team swarms out of the dugout and mobs the pitcher, hollering and jumping.

  Well, that’s what happened to me the moment the news left my mouth.

  “YAAAAAAAY!”

  The Krushers lived up to their name. I was buried alive under a pile of deliriously happy players.

  Even the parents were impressed. Jamie’s dad said he belonged to a fan club called the Brewster Boys. Mr. Pike said he used to comb his hair like Jack Brewster.

  When the kids found out that Sarah was related to Brewster, they actually lined up for her autograph. They could not stop chattering.

  “Can we get free Mets tickets?” Suzi asked.

  “Can we get free hot dogs?” added Jackie Rodowsky.

  “Linny Papadakis, plucked from the Krushers to be the youngest player on the Mets’ farm team!” Linny said in a corny sports-announcer voice.

  Claire’s face lit up. “I want to go to the farm, too!”

  “Not that kind of farm, dodo brain!” Nicky groaned.

  Convincing them to play was tough. Sarah helped me. She was great — forceful but kind, helpful but not, well, bossy. She was a good athlete, too. (Which didn’t surprise me. It must be in the genes.)

  She was the coach I could have used all week.

  Once the Krushers got started, they played their hearts out. Even the little ones made plays I’d never have expected of them. The practice flew by.

  I have to admit, I didn’t have one thought about Charlie — until I saw him. He appe
ared about halfway through Klinic, standing astride his bike on the sidewalk at the far end of the field. He was just staring, not making one move to come closer.

  I was about to yell out to him, when he turned and rode away.

  Sarah had seen him, too. “Why didn’t he come over?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  It was a lie. I knew exactly why he hadn’t come near us. He was too embarrassed to face Sarah.

  The players, fortunately, had not seen him. They kept playing harder and harder. By the end of the Klinic, I was thrilled.

  “Krushers, you were sensational,” I announced. “I’m going to be proud to show you off to Jack Brewster!”

  Linny began a cheer, and the others joined in: “Two-four-six-eight, who do we appreciate — Kristy! Kristy! Yaay!”

  I made them do another cheer, for Sarah. She deserved it.

  I was looking at Sarah Green in a whole new way now. I no longer thought she should be going out with my brother.

  She was too good for him.

  Well, Saturday had been almost perfect. But not quite. As David Michael and I sat on the curb after Klinic, waiting for Watson to pick us up, guess who biked by? (Hint: She was about the last person I wanted to see.)

  Angelica came to a stop in front of us. “Hi. I guess I’m too late?”

  “Charlie wasn’t at Klinic today,” I said.

  Angelica took an envelope from her pocket. “Would you give this note to him?”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. She had pulled my brother away from the Krushers all week. Lied about her driver’s license. Made me miss the concert of a lifetime. Wrecked my stepfather’s car. Almost killed four people. Gotten my brother into trouble with the police. And now she expected me to be her private messenger?

  “Deliver your own note!” I snapped.

  “It’s important, Kristy,” Angelica said firmly. “Very important. Charlie’s been leaving messages on my phone machine all day. This is my answer. He needs to read it. If you don’t take it, I’ll just put it in the mail, and he won’t see it for days.”

  I sat there, not moving. Deciding whether I should talk to her at all. David Michael was looking at me curiously.

  “Look, Kristy, I’m sorry,” Angelica continued. “I did a really stupid thing, okay? It’s not like I haven’t suffered. My mom and dad really let me have it. I’m sure they won’t allow me to have a driver’s license until I’m, like, thirty. If I’m lucky.”