Karen's Home Run

  If I did not play well, then I would not do either thing.

  Princess Emily

  “They’re he-ere!” I could hear Kristy call.

  “They’re here?” was David Michael’s excited answer.

  “Really?” asked Andrew.

  It was a big-house weekend. It was Saturday morning. The mail had just been delivered. And I was pretty sure I knew what had arrived.

  The Krushers batting gloves.

  I left my room. I crossed the hall and looked through the rails of the banister. Below me, in the front hall, were crowded Kristy, David Michael, and Andrew. They were ripping open a box.

  “Batting gloves!” exclaimed David Michael. “They came at last. We can wear them in the practice game and the real game and then in the parade.”

  “Hurray!” cried Andrew. “Maybe they will help me with my hitting.”

  And Kristy said, “I better call the other Krushers. They’ll want to know.”

  “I’m going to put on my whole uniform,” said David Michael. “I want to see how everything looks together.”

  “Me, too,” said Andrew.

  The boys clattered upstairs.

  “Batting gloves are here!” called Andrew as he ran by my room.

  “Yea,” I said. I went downstairs to see what was going on in the front yard. I knew that Sam and Charlie and their friends were working on the Junk Bucket. The parade was not for two weeks and two days. But the boys said they needed to plan ahead.

  “What are you doing?” I asked Sam.

  “We’re trying to figure out how to make the Junk Bucket look like a giant grasshopper,” he said.

  “How come?”

  “We just thought it would be funny…. Hey, Charlie! I’ve got an idea. Make the headlights look like eyes!”

  “Oh, gross,” I said. I went back into the house. Kristy was on the phone. She was calling the Krushers about the batting gloves. I sat at the kitchen table and listened.

  When Kristy was finished, she said, “Want to help me put together a costume for Emily? She needs something for the parade.”

  “How about a grasshopper suit?” I suggested.

  Kristy gave me a funny look. “I was thinking more along the lines of a princess,” she replied. “Come on. Let’s find Emily.”

  So we did. We took her up to the playroom, and we opened the box of dress-up clothes. Emily peeped inside. “Tinky,” she announced.

  “They’re not stinky!” I cried. (Stinky is Emily’s favorite new word.)

  Kristy poked around in the box. She pulled out a frilly white dress.

  “Tinky!” said Emily.

  Kristy pulled out a sparkly wand and a very beautiful silver crown.

  “Tinky!” said Emily.

  “No, pretty,” I exclaimed.

  “Let’s try this stuff on you,” said Kristy. She slipped the dress over Emily’s head. She handed her the wand. Then she put the crown in place.

  “Perfect!” said Kristy.

  “Princess Emily!” I announced.

  “Tinky!” cried Emily.

  A Real Team

  Emily did not really think her costume was tinky. In fact, she would not let Kristy take it off her.

  “Okay, then,” said Kristy. “Let’s go outside and show you to Charlie. Are you coming with us, Karen?”

  I shook my head. All anybody could talk about today was softball and the parade. I did not want to think about either one. And I still thought I was a jinx on the Krushers. What if I played really badly in the trial game against the Bashers?

  Maybe I should talk to Nannie. Nannie is a good listener and a good thinker. Also, she was not going to be in the parade. Maybe she could tell me what I should do.

  “Nannie?” I called.

  “In my room, Karen,” she answered.

  I ran to Nannie’s room. “Hey, Nannie — ” I started to say. Then I stopped. Nannie was sitting on the edge of her bed. All around her were patches and bowling trophies and bowling shirts, plus some pieces of white cardboard, some stakes, and a fat blue Magic Marker.

  “What’s all that stuff?” I asked.

  Nannie grinned. “I just found out that my bowling team is going to march in the Memorial Day parade.”

  “It is?”

  Nannie nodded. “When we won our last game, we became the senior-citizen bowling champions of Stoneybrook.”

  Boy, I thought. That’s who should be in parades. Champions — not losers like me. I began to worry all over again about the Krushers and the Bicycle Brigade and the trial game. Before I got too far, though, Nannie said, “Would you like to help me with some things?”

  “Okay. What kind of things?”

  “Getting-ready-for-the-parade things. I need to sew these patches onto one of my bowling shirts. Then I have to make some funny signs for my team members to carry in the parade.”

  “Oh.” I did not want to help with parade stuff, but I had already told Nannie that I would.

  First we sewed the patches onto one of the shirts. I am not bad at sewing.

  Then we thought up things to write on the signs. Here’s what we decided on: STONEYBROOK BOWLING CHAMPS!; SENIORS MAKE GOOD BOWLERS; GRAY POWER!; and, WE MAY BE OLD BUT WE CAN BOWL. I was disappointed that we didn’t come up with any sayings that rhymed. But Nannie did not seem to care.

  So we made four signs.

  Then I remembered why I had gone to Nannie’s room in the first place. But I decided not to talk to her about my problem. Nannie looked busy. She was tacking the signs onto the stakes so they would be easy to carry.

  I sighed. Oh, well. At least I could say that I had helped someone to get ready for the parade.

  I wandered downstairs. I looked out the front door. There was the Junk Bucket with its grasshopper headlights. There was Princess Emily sitting on the hood of the car.

  And all over the front yard were Krushers. They had come to get their batting gloves. Kristy was handing them out proudly.

  I closed the door and went upstairs to my room.

  I was Karen, the jinx of the Krushers.

  Bash Those Bashers!

  “A cage?” Andrew was crying. “You’re goint to put me in a cage?”

  “Andrew, it is not as bad as all that,” said Kristy. “You won’t be locked in. You can still run out if you hit the ball.”

  Andrew frowned. He did not look happy. And I understood why. He was nervous.

  It was the day of our practice game against the Bashers. (And it was the day of the game that would decide whether I marched with the Krushers.) The game was very important for a lot of reasons. The Krushers just had to do well, I thought. (That was why Andrew felt so nervous.)

  Anyway, what do you think Andrew and I saw when we reached the softball field? We saw Kristy fixing something on the backstop. Bart was helping her. (Bart is the coach of the Bashers, remember?) Kristy and Bart had fastened extra pieces to each side of the backstop. The pieces were made of wood and chicken wire. They could be folded against the backstop. Or they could be swung out so the batter was standing in a sort of cage, with an opening at the front to run out of.

  Right away, I knew what the cage was for: Andrew’s flying bats.

  “Kristy!” I complained. “Andrew will be embarrassed if he has to stand in a cage. That’s not fair.”

  “Maybe it isn’t fair,” Kristy replied. “But it is safe. Andrew is still letting go of his bat. Someone might get hurt.”

  Andrew and I looked at each other. Andrew’s eyes were full of tears.

  Soon the game began.

  The first time Andrew stepped into his batting cage, the Bashers laughed at him. “Baby!” they cried.

  Andrew tried to ignore them. He wanted to play softball. Our cheerleaders shouted, “Bash those Bashers! Bash those Bashers!” Andrew kept his eye on the ball. He swung and missed. He also threw the bat, but at least it stayed in the cage.

  However, Andrew struck out.

  The Bashers did not yell at him, though. That was b
ecause Bart had yelled at the Bashers. (Andrew thanked Bart.)

  It was my turn at bat. Kristy and Bart folded the extra sides away. I tried to watch the ball. But I kept thinking about Andrew and how he hated his cage. So I struck out, too.

  The rest of the game did not go very well for us Krushers. But guess what? When Andrew went to bat again, he hit the ball. He threw the bat, but so what? Two players crossed home plate. Andrew had earned two runs for our team!

  We still lost, though. And I struck out each time I was at bat.

  When the game had ended, I marched over to Kristy. I told her about the bargain I had made with myself. “So I will not be marching with the Krushers,” I said. “And I will not play in the big game. I am a jinx. I will make the Krushers lose for sure.”

  “Karen,” said Kristy softly. “I don’t care what you do about the parade. I would like you to march in it, but if you don’t want to, that’s okay. However, I do want you to play in the game. You’re a part of the team. We need you.”

  “You need a jinx?”

  “You are not a jinx!” exclaimed Kristy. “You’re in a slump. That’s all. Look. Andrew throws bats through the air. Jamie Newton ducks when the ball comes toward him. Claire Pike has tantrums. But they are all Krushers, and I want them to have the fun of playing softball. I want you to have fun, too.”

  “Well,” I said, “maybe I will come to the big game. Maybe. And Maybe I will play. Maybe. But I do not think I should march with the Krushers.”

  “Fair enough,” said Kristy.

  Dancing Nancy

  Ding-dong!

  The doorbell at the little house was ringing.

  “I’ll get it!” I yelled.

  “Indoor voice, Karen,” said Mommy from the living room.

  “Sorry,” I said. Then I whispered, “I’ll get it.”

  When I reached the door, I peeked through the window. Nancy was standing on the front steps. (It is always a good idea to find out who is at your door before you open it.)

  “Hi, Nancy,” I said as I let her inside. I was surprised to see her. Nancy and I had not been talking to each other very much. Ever since our fight in the garage.

  “Hi,” replied Nancy. She smiled.

  (Did that mean our fight was over?)

  “What’s that you’re wearing?” I asked. Nancy had put on a white leotard, a gauzy white skirt with sparkles and glitter on it, white tights, and pink ballet slippers. Her hair had been combed away from her face. It was caught in a neat ponytail in back.

  “What does it look like I’m wearing?” asked Nancy.

  “A ballet costume.”

  “Right.”

  “How come?”

  “Because this is what I’ve decided about the Bicycle Brigade. I am going to wear a costume. I bet most people will not think of dressing up themselves. They will just think of dressing up their bicycles.”

  “Are you going to decorate your bike, too?” I asked. “Or just yourself?”

  “My bike, too. I have a really neat idea for it.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

  Nancy paused. She looked uncomfortable. At last she said, “I guess maybe I’m showing off. I was excited when I got this idea. I wanted to share it with you. Even if we’re mad at each other, we are still best friends…. But you won’t steal my idea, will you, Karen?”

  “Of course not. I’m glad we’re still friends. Anyway, you know what? I have not made up my mind about the Bicycle Brigade yet. It will depend on how well I play at our big game against the Bashers.” (That was a new bargain I had made with myself.) Then I added, “Just in case I play really badly, I have been working on my bicycle some more.”

  “What will you buy if you win first prize?” asked Nancy.

  “Silver-and-green roller blades. What will you buy?”

  “I won’t buy anything. Well, I won’t buy anything myself. I will give the money to the people at Stoneybrook Manor. I will tell them that they can use it to buy some new books for their library.”

  “Oh,” I said. Stoneybrook Manor is a very nice place. Older people move there when they can’t live on their own anymore. Nancy knows a woman who stays at the Manor. She calls her Grandma B. She and Grandma B like each other very much. Grandma B is not really Nancy’s grandmother. But Nancy likes to pretend she is. Nancy visits Grandma B a lot.

  Buying books for the library would be gigundo nice.

  Buying new roller blades when I have perfectly good roller skates would be greedy-guts. Maybe I should not be in the parade at all.

  The Big Game

  The next weekend was a big-house weekend. And it was a three-day weekend. So Andrew and I got to spend three days and three nights at the big house. Mommy and Seth were not even at home. They had taken a short trip to the state of Maine. (Nancy was feeding Rocky, Midgie, and my rat for them.)

  On Sunday, I leaped out of bed as soon as I woke up. It was the day of the big game! I could not believe that it was already here.

  I ran to Andrew’s room. His bed was empty. In fact, it was made up. (I could tell that Andrew had made it himself because it was all lumpy and wrinkly.) “Andrew!” I called.

  There was no answer.

  I ran downstairs. Boy, was everyone excited about the game! Kristy was running all over the place. She was checking on things.

  “David Michael!” she exclaimed. “How could you lose your brand-new batting glove?”

  David Michael shrugged.

  “Well, luckily, I have a few extras,” said Kristy. “I’ll give you one of those. But do not lose it. I don’t have an endless supply.”

  “Okay, okay,” replied David Michael. “Sheesh.”

  Sam was sitting at the breakfast table. Andrew was sitting across from him. “Andrew,” Sam was saying, “what is a double play?”

  “When you hit the ball and run to second base?” said my brother.

  “No,” said Sam patiently. “That’s when you hit a double. A double play is when two people are put out at once. You better learn this stuff, Andrew.”

  Andrew squinched up his face. “I have a stomachache,” he said.

  Elizabeth had not been listening to the baseball discussion. But when she heard the word stomachache, she turned around fast.

  “A tummyache?” she asked Andrew. She felt his forehead. “You don’t have a fever. I think maybe you’re nervous about the game today.”

  “Maybe,” agreed Andrew.

  He could not eat breakfast that morning, and neither could I — even though David Michael told us we should bulk up before the game.

  An hour later, Andrew, David Michael, Kristy, and I were in our Krushers uniforms. We looked pretty good — Krushers baseball caps, T-shirts, and batting gloves, plus blue jeans and sneakers.

  “Are you guys ready?” Kristy asked us.

  “Yup,” we replied.

  “I’m glad you decided to play, Karen,” she went on. “And remember, I do not expect you to hit home runs. I just want you to have fun. And to do your best. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “And I do promise to do my best.” (I did not expect my best to be very good, though.)

  “Okay! Everybody into the cars!” I heard Daddy call.

  So all of us — my whole big-house family — climbed into Elizabeth’s station wagon, Nannie’s Pink Clinker, and Charlie’s Junk Bucket. (The Junk Bucket looked halfway like a grasshopper.)

  We drove to the softball field.

  As soon as we got out of the cars, Andrew saw his batting cage. He began to look very determined. “Kristy,” he said, “I am not going to play if you and Bart are going to cage me.”

  Kristy did not answer him. The Bashers had just arrived.

  Winners and Losers

  I always like our Krushers uniforms until I see what the Bashers are wearing. They have real uniforms. They have hats and gloves like ours. But instead of T-shirts and jeans, they wear the matching stripey suits like baseball players on TV. The Bashers look
professional.

  I am a teensy bit afraid of them.

  But I could not worry about the Bashers just then. Andrew was throwing a fit. He was jumping up and down. He was shouting, “I will not go in that cage! I will not go in that cage!” He was not crying, but his face had turned dark red. It was almost purple.

  “Andrew,” said Kristy. “Calm down. The game is going to begin. I will have to think about the batting cage. Karen, would you and Andrew please get into batting order? We’re up first.”

  The game began. All the Krusher fans and all the Basher fans were sitting in the bleachers. (They were mostly mommies and daddies and brothers and sisters. I wished that Mommy and Seth could watch the game, too. But they were far away in the state of Maine.)

  Jackie Rodowsky was the first Krusher at bat. He swung at two pitches and missed them. (“Strike two!”) Then he swung at the third pitch. He hit the ball! But it sailed out of bounds and into the bleachers.

  We could hear someone yell, “Oh, gross! It smushed my hot dog!”

  The Bashers laughed at Jackie. He had one more pitch left, but he missed it.

  “One out!” called the umpire.

  Matt Braddock was up next. He hit a double. The Krushers cheered.

  David Michael hit another double. The Krushers were winning, one to nothing!

  Hannie stepped up to home plate. She is not always a very good hitter. But she swung at the first pitch, whacked the ball, and started running.

  “Go, Hannie, go!” yelled our cheerleaders.

  The next thing we knew, Hannie had stumbled. She was sitting on the ground. She was clutching her ankle. “Ow, ow, OW!” she shrieked. Kristy, Bart, and Hannie’s parents ran to her.

  “It’s either twisted or broken,” said Mr. Papadakis grimly. He picked up Hannie and rushed her to their car. He took Hannie to the emergency room. The game had to go on without her.

  “Your turn, Andrew,” I said.

  Andrew walked to home plate. Kristy and Bart began to swing the sides of the cage around. “No,” said Andrew. “I will not play in a cage. I promise that I can hit without letting go of the bat.”