Kristy and the Walking Disaster Page 4

  Tantrum? Uh-oh.

  The purpose of the team? Watson and I talked about that for a long time, and Watson did not say one jerky thing. We agreed that the purpose of the team was the reason I’d started it — to coach kids who wanted to improve their playing skills, but more importantly, just to have fun. I figured I could put the twenty kids on two sides each time we met, and we could have a game — after coaching. Coaching first, I decided, then a game. Maybe just a seven-inning game, or an even shorter one. Coaching (and I promised myself I would never lose my temper with any kid, no matter what) followed by a game should be a lot of fun.

  Does Bart think I’m cute? Well how would I know? Maybe the better question was, Had Bart thought I was cute? I hadn’t seen him since I’d walked Shannon over to his house. And I’d probably never see him again, considering we went to different schools and had different friends. I tried to put Bart and my Gigantic Crush out of my mind.

  That was not too difficult. On Saturday afternoon, we held our first team meeting. Every single kid showed up! So did Dawn and Mallory.

  “Where’d you get all that equipment?” Dawn asked me in awe, as she looked at the things surrounding me — four bats, five mitts, a catcher’s mask, a softball, and a wiffle ball (for Gabbie).

  “Oh, it’s all ours. With six kids in your family” (I count Andrew and Karen as part of my family, of course) “two of whom are guys in high school, you’d be surprised at what accumulates. Some of it’s mine. The only thing we’re low on is balls. All Sam and Charlie have are hardballs, and I couldn’t find any tennis balls.”

  The twenty kids gathered around me eagerly. We were standing at the edge of the blacktopped part of the playground, near a four-square court. I saw that a few parents had come along, and I began to feel nervous. I felt like a teacher on her first day at school when some parents have stuck around to see how good she is. One of the mothers was Mrs. Braddock, and I knew she was just there to translate everything I said into sign language for Matt, but still….

  The kids were looking at me expectantly. I edged away from the blacktop and said, “Let’s sit down. I want to talk to you for a few minutes.”

  The kids plopped down in the grass. Dawn and Mallory sat on either side of me. The parents hovered in the background (except for Mrs. Braddock).

  “First,” I said; “I just want to introduce myself to the three kids I don’t know, the Barretts’ friends.” It was easy to spot them in the crowd. They were the only faces I didn’t recognize.

  I pointed to the oldest-looking one. “You must be Buddy’s friend,” I said. “I’m Kristy Thomas.”

  The boy nodded. “I’m Jacob Kuhn, but call me Jake. I’m eight,” he added.

  The other Kuhns turned out to be Laurel, who was six and so shy that Jake had to say her name and age for her, and Patsy, who was five, Suzi Barrett’s friend.

  “Well,” I said, “I want you guys to know that we’re here to play softball, but mostly we’re here to have fun. I’m going to coach you and teach you skills during the first part of each afternoon, and then we’ll divide into two teams and play a game. If you think you’re not a good player, don’t worry about it. There’s no pressure here. This is just fun. Got it?”

  I saw a few eyes light up, Jackie’s among them.

  David Michael raised his hand, just as if he were in school. “I’m a klutz,” he said.

  “I don’t care,” I replied. “Everybody here is good at some things and not so good at others.”

  Jamie Newton raised his hand. “I’m afraid of the ball,” he admitted.

  “I can never hit it,” Claire Pike announced.

  “Then those are the things we’ll work on,” I said, smiling. “Now. How many of you are friends with Matt Braddock?”

  A few hands went up, including the Barretts’ and the Pikes’.

  “Matt is deaf,” I explained to the others. “He can’t hear and he doesn’t talk. But I’ll tell you something. He is one super ball player.” (Matt beamed when his mother signed that to him.)

  My stepsister Karen raised her hand. “We can talk to him, though,” she informed everyone. “We can talk to him in his secret sign language, just like his mother is doing now.”

  “That’s right,” I agreed. “I’ll show you the signs you need to know to play ball with Matt.”

  “I already know them!” said Nicky Pike proudly.

  “Me too,” said Buddy Barrett.

  “Great. Now today, instead of having a practice first, I think we should just hold a game. I haven’t seen many of you play, and —”

  “Wait!” cried Jackie. “Don’t we need a team name? If we’re going to be a ball team, we need a name like the Mets or the Dodgers or the Red Sox.”

  “Yeah!” cried all the kids.

  Suddenly, they were shouting out dozens of suggestions — the Stoneybrookers, the Tigers, the Big Leaguers. But when Jackie yelled out, “How about Kristy’s Crushers?” everyone agreed.

  “And we could spell ‘Crushers’ with a ‘K’,” added Margo Pike. “You know, to go with Kristy. Kristy’s Krushers.”

  “No!” cried Karen. “That’s wrong. That’s not how you spell ‘crushers.’ You spell ‘crushers’ with a ‘C’!” (Karen takes her spelling very seriously.)

  But she was voted down. Every other kid liked “Kristy’s Krushers-with-a-’K.’”

  “And we should have team uniforms,” added Jake Kuhn. “The kids in Little League do.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. It seemed expensive. “Where will we get uniforms?” I wondered aloud. Even Watson hadn’t thought of that.

  “How about team T-shirts?” suggested Mallory, coming to my rescue. “If each of you could get a plain white T-shirt, you could iron on ‘Kristy’s Krushers.’ You know, with those letters you get at Woolworth’s.”

  This seemed to appease the kids, even though we all knew that T-shirts were not as good as real uniforms.

  “Well,” I said, “let’s get a game going here. Everyone stand in a line.”

  It took a few moments, but the kids organized themselves into a long, straggly line.

  “Now count off in twos,” I instructed them. “One, two, one, two …”

  I gathered the Ones and the Twos. “These are your teams,” I said. “We’ll toss a coin to see which one is up at bat first. Then I’ll assign positions to the rest of you.”

  The game began. Linny Papadakis was the pitcher.

  He pitched to Claire, who missed the ball by a mile.

  He pitched to Jamie Newton, who, at the last moment, dropped the bat, covered his head, and ducked.

  I winced, then hoped that none of the kids had seen me.

  Off in right field, I caught sight of Laurel Kuhn making a dandelion chain. “Hey, Laurel!” I yelled. “Watch the game, okay?”

  Laurel nodded, but over in left field, Hannie Papadakis was looking for four-leaf clovers.

  “Hannie! Heads up!”

  “Left field is boring!” she replied.

  Linny pitched the wiffle ball to Gabbie Perkins, who made the first hit of the game. She even ran for first base, but halfway there she got a case of the giggles, which slowed her down. The first basewoman caught the ball before Gabbie reached her.

  Jackie was up at bat next. He got in the next hit of the game — right into the woods behind the school.

  “Foul ball!” I cried.

  Eight children went looking for the softball. They couldn’t find it, and no one wanted to play with the wiffle ball.

  “Game over,” I announced.

  “Thanks to Jackie,” someone muttered.

  But all I said was, “You guys were great! Keep up the good work. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

  “Bye, Coach!” called Linny Papadakis.

  Coach? … Coach! I liked the sound of that.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Watson about our first practice. No one had cried or gotten hurt. The kids had been excited. They’d had fun. They’d come up with a team name. As far
as I could tell the practice had been a success.

  Monday

  Mallery! What a game!

  I’ll say, Claud. Kristy’s Krushers are terrific.

  We hardly had to babbysit today.

  Nope. We were fans instead.

  Expect for that one tantrum.

  Well, those are bound to happen every now and then. I warned Kristy about them. Claire may be silly, but she’s also got a temper. Especially, when she’s doing something, you know …

  Compertive?

  Well, competitive. And only when it has to do with baseball….

  Sometimes I think the Pikes are the best thing that ever happened to Matt Braddock and his nine-year-old sister Haley. When they moved to the Pikes’ neighborhood, Haley thought it would be the end of the world. She thought that because Matt’s deaf, kids would think he was weird — and if they thought he was weird, they would think she was weird, and that neither one would ever make new friends.

  Luckily Haley was wrong, thanks to Jessi and Mallory. Jessi started bringing the Braddock kids over to Mallory’s house, and Mallory and Jessi told the Pike kids that Matt knew a secret language. What a mystery! They all wanted to learn it, too. Now they can talk to Matt pretty well. If there’s trouble, Haley helps out, since she can sign almost as well as she can speak. Plus, Haley has gotten to be friends with Vanessa, and Matt is friends with the Pike boys.

  Anyway, on the day that Claud and Mallory were sitting for the seven other Pike kids, Jessi brought Matt and Haley over as usual. Claud and Mal were in the backyard with the Pike kids. It was a sunny day, and everyone felt like being outdoors. Margo was jumping rope on the patio, Vanessa was teaching Claire to play jacks, the triplets were trying to do acrobatics in the grass, and Nicky was examining a scab on his elbow.

  “That drives me crazy,” said Mal, watching the triplets. “They’re going to break their backs or something. I just know it.”

  “Oh, they are not,” said Claud. “How many times have you tried stuff like that?”

  “Just once,” replied Mal, “and I sprained my wrist.”

  “Oh.”

  Claudia was saved by a shout of “Hi!”

  Vanessa had spotted Jessi, Haley, and Matt. She left the jacks game and ran to them, waving to Matt. Waving is the sign for “Hi!” (Easy, huh?) Matt waved back, then joined the triplets. The triplets stopped fooling around (to Mallory’s relief).

  “Want to play ball?” they asked Matt with their hands.

  Matt nodded vigorously.

  “Can we play, too?” asked Claire. “Nicky and Margo and me? We’re on a ball team now, you know. We’re Kristy’s Krushers, just like Matt.”

  Mallory could tell that her brothers wanted to snicker — obviously, they didn’t think much of the Krushers — but they didn’t want to hurt Matt’s feelings.

  “Hey!” Adam cried suddenly. “How about Little Leaguers versus the Krushers? That would be an, um, interesting game.”

  “Oh, but it wouldn’t be fair,” spoke up Nicky. “There are only three of you guys … and four of us Krushers.”

  “Believe me, that’ll be plenty fair,” said Jordan snidely.

  By that time, Matt was looking angry, as he often does when he’s left out of a conversation. (It must be awfully frustrating.) Haley rushed over and signed to him. When Matt understood what was being planned, his face lit up. He signed furiously to his sister.

  Haley burst out laughing. “Matt says the Krushers can beat the pants off you Little Leaguers!”

  “Oh, yeah?” said Adam, leaning toward Matt menacingly.

  No one needed to translate that, and Matt’s response was to draw his finger across his throat, clearly meaning, “You die!” But he was smiling and so was Adam.

  “Are we on?” said Byron.

  Claire, Margo, Nicky, and Matt were facing the triplets. Their answer? Yes! And Claire added, “And we’ll beat you, all right!”

  “Oh, sure,” said Jordan. “You know what Claire’s batting average is? Zero. She has never hit a ball.”

  “But I’ve caught a lot of them,” she pointed out.

  Adam and Byron headed into the Pikes’ garage and returned with some mitts, bats, and softballs.

  “Because we’re so nice,” said Byron, “we’ll let you Krushers be up at bat first.” And he signed to Matt, “Your team first.”

  Matt nodded, looking as if he thought the triplets were making a big mistake.

  The triplets held a conference to choose positions, while Nicky signed that Matt should be the first batter up. Matt nodded, all business.

  Jordan was the pitcher. Adam and Byron were combination outfielders and basemen. Jordan stared at Matt. He shuffled his feet around and adjusted the brim of his cap, trying to look professional. Then — zoom! He threw a fastball.

  Matt was ready. His eyes on the ball, he swung, and connected. The ball sailed over Jordan’s head.

  “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” shouted Adam. And he did have it — but not on the fly. He didn’t get it to third base until just after Matt had slid in.

  “Yea!” cheered Vanessa and Haley from the sidelines.

  “All right!” shouted Nicky. “See what us Krushers can do?”

  Matt grinned and waved his fist over his head in a silent cheer.

  “I see what Matt can do,” said Jordan, getting set to pitch. “Now I want to see what you can do, little bro.”

  What Nicky could do was strike out. He handed the bat to Margo. Margo took it, positioned herself in the batter’s box and kept her eyes on Jordan. She concentrated so hard that she didn’t even blink when Adam called out, “Hey Margo, you’re gonna strike out!”

  Or when Nicky retorted, “You guys must be pretty worried if you have to try to scare us.”

  Claud and Mal looked at Jessi and smiled. The triplets shut up. And Margo kept her batting stance.

  Jordan pitched.

  Margo fouled the ball.

  Jordan pitched again. Then seven more times. Finally, Jordan shrugged. Enough was enough. He let Margo walk to first base.

  Claire’s turn.

  “It’s the strike-out queen!” shouted Byron. But the Krushers didn’t react, and Byron shut up.

  “Come on, Claire,” Nicky said seriously to his sister. “One out. Runners at first and third. I know you’ve never hit the ball, but if you hit it now you could send Matt home.”

  Claire nodded.

  “Good. I know you can do it,” said Nicky.

  On the sidelines, the baby-sitters smiled at each other again. Nicky was rarely so nice to his sisters. Usually he teased them with rude songs or played tricks on them or tried to gross them out.

  “The Krushers stick together,” Claudia commented.

  And then Claire struck out.

  “Whoa. Two outs. Tantrum time,” muttered Mallory.

  But nothing happened.

  Nicky was up again. He swung and missed. Then he slammed the ball deep into left field. Matt ran home. Margo ran home. And Nicky reached second base before he realized he better not go any further.

  The Krushers looked at each other proudly. Claudia told me later that the triplets seemed sort of awed. (And maybe just the teeniest bit proud.) To the Krushers’ credit, they didn’t gloat. I wish I’d been there. I would have been proud of them, too.

  I would have been proud right up until what happened next.

  Matt struck out, the triplets ran off the field — and Claire threw a tantrum. I’d never seen Claire throw a tantrum. I didn’t even know she threw tantrums until Mallory mentioned it over the phone. But sure enough, as soon as her team had three outs, Claire clenched her fists, screwed up her face, and began screeching, “No fair! No fair! No fair!” until, according to Claudia, who got the job of calming her down, it sounded more like she was saying, “Nofe-air! Nofe-air! Nofe-air!”

  “She only throws baseball tantrums,” Mallory informed me later. “She does it with ball games on TV, too.”

  However, Claire got over he
r tantrum and Matt pitched to the triplets. They scored four runs in the first inning. In the second inning the Krushers scored zero runs and the triplets scored three more. By the end of the fifth inning, when Mrs. Pike came home, the triplets were ahead, sixteen to five.

  But, with the exception of Claire’s tantrum, the Krushers never once lost their patience or their courage. They did lose their concentration a few times, but what can you expect from 5.8-year-old kids?

  When the game was over, Jordan actually said to Nicky and his sisters, “Good game, you guys.” Then he remembered to sign for Matt. Matt grinned.

  Haley, who had watched the entire game with Claudia, Mallory, Jessi, and Vanessa, just said, “Whew. That was amazing. There was no way they could beat the triplets — but they never gave up.”

  “Never,” agreed the others.

  When Mal and Claudia told me about the game later, I felt terrific. My team, my Krushers, had real spirit.

  “Claire, can you please get out of that tree? And, Karen, stop teasing your broth — Jamie, what are you doing? Leave that bat alone. You’re supposed to hit balls with it, not walk on it.”

  “I’m a tightrope walker, Coach.” Jamie replied, but he stepped off the bat.

  It was the beginning of another practice with the Krushers. I seemed to be having a little trouble getting everyone organized. Claudia was there, and she was supposed to be helping me, but she’d found some candy in the pocket of her jeans and was concentrating on unwrapping it. You could tell that the candy was much more interesting to her than softball.

  I clapped my hands. Suddenly, I felt like Mr. Redmont, my old teacher from seventh grade. He was always clapping his hands to get kids’ attention.

  “Hey, you guys!” I called “Would you come here, please…. PLEASE? … Claudia. I need help.”