Neither Shannon nor I had any suggestions. Kyle was too little to think up awful letters, and Bart doesn’t have any other brothers or sisters.
“It’s got to be a crazy person, then,” I said. “There’s no other answer. He’d been watching our house, he saw Kyle delivering the notes, and he opened a couple before I did. You didn’t always seal them,” I said to Bart. “Sometimes you just stuck the flap down with a sticker. The stickers peeled off easily.” I put my head in my hands. “Oh,” I moaned, “there really is a kidnapper after me.”
“I still think that’s farfetched,” said Bart firmly. “There’s another answer. I just don’t know what it is.”
“Me neither,” said Shannon.
“Me neither,” I said.
I went to bed that night thinking only of being kidnapped. Every creak or rustle in our old house made me jump. A car honked and I nearly fell out of bed. It took me forever to drift off to sleep … after I thought I’d seen a face at my window.
On Saturday, a week before Halloween, and six days before Bart and I would go to the Halloween Hop, I woke up without a pit in my stomach for once; without a worry about being kidnapped.
It was the day of the World Series and I could think of nothing but softball and the game that was to be played. It was going to be a big event. Both the Krushers and the Bashers had been practicing hard and were geared up for the game. Parents and brothers and sisters would be sitting in the bleachers. So would friends, and of course, the members of the BSC. And The Three Stooges would be present to cheer the Krushers on.
There was an awful lot of excitement at my house that morning. Karen and Andrew were not spending the weekend with us, but they had come over early, and both they and David Michael (all Krushers) were racing around in a state of … I’m not sure what. They were certainly keyed up.
“Our T-shirts have to be clean!” I could hear Karen say as I put on my robe and went downstairs for breakfast.
“And we have to bulk up,” added David Michael, whom I found seated in front of an enormous bowl of cereal and a stack of toast. “I need starch,” he was telling Mom matter-of-factly. “So do you,” he added to Karen and Andrew.
“I can’t eat all that!” exclaimed Andrew. “Besides, I already ate breakfast.”
“You guys, calm down,” I said. They were practically bouncing off the walls, just like they’d been on the morning of the first game we ever played against the Bashers. “Eat what you feel like eating,” I said. Then I turned to Mom. “Is everything ready for the refreshment stand?” I asked her. (We were going to have a Krushers refreshment stand, just like we’d had at our first game against the Bashers. The parents had chipped in with cookies and lemonade to sell to the fans. We were trying to earn enough money for team baseball caps. We’d almost earned enough the last time, but then Jackie Rodowsky had managed to knock over the refreshment stand with a flying bat, so we’d lost a few things. In the end, we’d earned some money for our team, but not enough for hats for everyone. We were hoping we could accomplish that today.)
“Everything’s set,” replied Mom. “Sam and Charlie will bring the tables in the station wagon. Oh, and I made brownies for you to sell.”
“You did?” I cried. “Thanks, Mom! You were only supposed to supply the tables. Boy, our refreshment stand is going to be great.”
“Well,” said Mom, “I figured you might need some extra food — in case your walking disaster has another disaster.”
“Thanks,” I said gratefully.
And then, just like before any big game, the phone calls started. Kids were nervous. Kids had lost their T-shirts. They’d forgotten tips that I’d given them. Jake Kuhn’s younger sister was sick and wouldn’t be able to play. I tried to remain calm, mostly for the sake of Karen, Andrew, and David Michael, who were, by then, at about an eleven on an excitement scale of one to ten.
Our game was set to begin at noon that day. But I needed to arrive earlier, so my family left at 10:45. We set out in two cars — everybody, every single person in my family from Emily to Nannie. And we were loaded down with equipment, food, and the refreshment tables.
When we reached the grounds of Stoneybrook Elementary, we were the first ones there, but I knew that a crowd would gather quickly and soon the bleachers would be full.
I was right. By about twenty minutes after eleven, people were streaming onto the playing field. Charlie and Sam, who had volunteered to man the refreshment stand, were already doing business. The Krushers were gathering around me, anxious, and eyeing the Bashers as they appeared. The Bashers, as usual, were impressive. They’re bigger than my Krushers, for the most part, and have T-shirts and baseball caps. (Matching, of course, which was what we were hoping to earn enough money for that day.) Then there are the Basher cheerleaders — four girls with actual cheerleaders’ outfits — pleated skirts, the whole bit. The best that Vanessa, Haley, and Charlotte usually do are Krushers T-shirts, matching flared jean skirts, white knee socks, and sneakers. On the day of the World Series, though, they were The Three Stooges. Nobody knew quite what to make of them. At least they drew attention to themselves.
I hoped their wigs wouldn’t fall off. Or their pants.
I was just about to give the Krushers a pep talk when, for some reason, I glanced up into the bleachers.
My eyes landed on Cokie and her friends!
What on earth were they doing at our World Series? None of them had brothers or sisters on either softball team, and they certainly were not friends of ours. As far as I was concerned their appearance at the game was suspicious. Why were they there? Were they going to make fun of the Krushers? Or me? I know I’m not as cool as they think they are, but that wasn’t any reason to come ruin the game.
I almost went into the stands to talk to them, but then I thought better of it. My Krushers had surrounded me. They needed me. And if Cokie made any trouble, then my BSC friends would take care of them. I hoped.
“Okay, you guys,” I said to the kids. “We’ve still got some time before the game. I’d like you to do some warm-ups. Nicky and David Michael, practice pitching to each other. Jake, you pitch some balls to these five,” (I pulled a group of kids away from the others) “so they can practice hitting.”
When all the kids were busy, I snagged Mary Anne and pointed Cokie out to her. “What do you think she’s doing here?”
Mary Anne shrugged. She wasn’t nearly as suspicious as I was, despite what Cokie had done to her in the past. After a moment she said, “I think Cokie’s just going to watch the game. Grace and the others, too.”
“Oh, you know darn well that’s not —”
“OW!”
Mary Anne and I were interrupted by a cry. Without even looking, I knew it had come from Jackie, the walking disaster. “Oh, brother,” I muttered.
I turned around.
Jackie was rubbing his elbow, but he seemed all right.
I sighed. I hoped the Krushers were really ready for the World Series. They could beat the Bashers again if they tried hard enough. I knew they could. Their record was poor, but they could overcome it.
“What?” said Mary Anne. “Is anything wrong?”
I hesitated. “No,” I said at last.
Mary Anne returned to Shannon and Logan and Claud and the rest of my friends. I searched for Bart and found him breaking up a fight between two of his toughest Bashers. When things had calmed down, we smiled at each other. Boy, was it hard to like a guy and want to cream his softball team at the same time.
“Hi,” said Bart.
“Hi,” I replied.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“As we’ll ever be. Are you?”
“I guess so. My team is all keyed up. They can’t stop thinking about being beaten by the Krushers.”
I couldn’t help it. Inwardly, I gloated.
“So,” I said, “same rules as before? A seven-inning game, Gabbie gets to hit a wiffle ball and stand closer to the pitcher, and we toss a coin to see which
team goes to bat first?”
“Fine with me … Coach,” replied Bart, smiling.
“Oh, and just remind your team that we have to sign to Matt Braddock.”
“You got it.”
Bart was off then, in answer to a kid who’d been pestering him for help with something for at least five minutes.
I turned around, all set to call the Krushers together for a pep talk — and ran right into Cokie.
“Hi, Kristy,” she said a little too casually, if you know what I mean.
“Hi,” I replied coolly.
“So how are things?”
“What things?” I replied
“You know. Things. Life.”
“Fine.”
“Is your team up for the game?”
“Cokie, what are you doing here?” I demanded.
“I just want to see the game.”
“Why?”
“Oh, to show my support for your team.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why?”
“Can’t you accept it, Kristy? I’m not your enemy.”
Well, she certainly wasn’t my best friend.
“Anyway,” Cokie went on, “I thought you might need a little extra cheering. You’ve looked sort of depressed lately. I want your team to win.”
“I haven’t been depressed!” I cried. “I’ve even got a boyfriend. He’s coming to the Halloween Hop with me.”
“Really?” said Cokie. “You must like each other a lot.”
I drew myself up. I knew I was showing off, but I couldn’t help saying, “We plan to spend our lives together.”
I’d thought Cokie might screech, “You mean, you’re getting married?” Instead she said, “Aw. That’s nice. Eternal togetherness?”
Cokie caught what she’d said before I did, and she blushed. That was when I remembered. “Eternal togetherness.” That had been a phrase from one of the lunatic notes. “You wrote the scary letters!” I exclaimed.
It was too late. Cokie knew she’d given herself away. She couldn’t even think of anything to say. She just began to back away from me. I may be short, but I’m strong and good at athletics. Every kid in my grade knows it.
“Just a second,” I said through gritted teeth. I reached out and caught Cokie’s sleeve. “You stay right here. I have some questions for you.”
Cokie looked so afraid that I knew she’d answer anything I asked her — and answer truthfully.
“Did you send all those letters — all the frightening ones?” I demanded.
Cokie looked at the ground. “Yes.” I still hadn’t let go of her sleeve and she tried to squirm away, but I held on tightly.
“Why?”
“Because of … because of what you and your friends did to me and my friends in the graveyard. You made us look like fools in front of Logan.”
“Too bad. You started the whole thing by trying to make Mary Anne look like a fool in front of Logan.” Cokie didn’t say anything, so I went on. “How did you know what to make the letters look like? They match Bart’s perfectly. Stickers and everything.”
“Well, you weren’t too subtle about Bart’s letters. You brought them to school and showed them to your friends at lunchtime. Practically the whole cafeteria saw those letters.” Cokie made it sound like her letters were my fault.
I let go of her sleeve then. I was a jumble of feelings. First of all, I was relieved. There was no one after me. I didn’t have to worry about being kidnapped anymore. Second, I was furious with Cokie. “By Monday,” I said, “the whole school is going to know what you did. And maybe everyone at Stoneybrook Day School, too. Think about that. If you felt like a fool before, it won’t be anything compared to now.”
Cokie ran away. She snagged Grace, Lisa, and Bebe in the bleachers, and the four of them left in a hurry.
More than anything, what I wanted to do then was rush to my friends and tell them the news, but it was almost noon and time for the game. I found that I was filled with rage at Cokie, and therefore filled with energy, almost with exuberance.
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.
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 Perkins, 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 Krushers 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 Krushers. “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 whooping and cheering in the stands. The Krushers were beside themselves but had the 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 Halloween 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.