Mind Your Own Business Kristy! Page 6

  “You bat lefty?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Where you’re standing. That’s where a left-handed batter would stand.”

  “Oh. I guess I’m wrong.” Mary Anne shuffled around to the other side of the plate. “Now, I just … swing?”

  I put the ball on the tee. “Give it a whack. For practice.”

  “Hit it to me!” cried three or four voices in the outfield.

  Mary Anne swallowed hard. She drew back the bat, closed her eyes, and swung.

  She connected with a solid thud — in the middle of the tee. It flopped over onto the ground.

  The kids cracked up. Mary Anne’s face grew bright red.

  “Try again,” I said.

  On the third try, Mary Anne managed to hit the ball. Well, hit might be too strong a word. Brush against was more like it. The ball fell off the tee and dribbled a few feet.

  “This is ridiculous, Kristy,” Mary Anne said.

  “You’re doing great,” I lied. “Keep it up. Everyone has to start somewhere. Besides, it’s just temporary, until Charlie comes.”

  I ran off to work with the littlest Krushers.

  “Here, Mary Anne! Here!” shouted Karen from shortstop position.

  “Uh, okay,” Mary Anne said.

  She swung the bat clear over the top of the ball. Then she pulled the bat back to try again.

  Whack! The ball shot backward. It smacked against the fence behind home plate.

  “Hoooo-hahahaha!” howled Linny from first base.

  Mary Anne turned to retrieve the ball. She heard the Junk Bucket pull up to the curb, and she thought: rescue!

  Charlie climbed out and jogged toward the field. Behind him, Angelica was helping Timmy and Scott out.

  “Hi!” Mary Anne called out. “Want to hit some grinders?”

  “Grounders,” Charlie said, taking the bat. “Would you do me a favor, Mary Anne?”

  “Sure.” Mary Anne was so happy to be batless, she probably would have done a tap dance if he’d asked.

  “Would you ask my sister if I’m still going to the concert tonight? Or was she so mad at me she gave the tickets away?”

  “I’ll ask,” Mary Anne said uncertainly.

  As she walked toward me. Charlie stepped to the plate. “Okay, all you golden gloves! Show me how you’re going to impress Jack Brewster!”

  SMACK!

  The sound of Charlie’s sharp grounders echoed off the school walls. I saw him, but I wasn’t paying much attention. I mean, if Charlie wasn’t going to say hi to me, I wasn’t going to go out of my way, either. Besides, I was teaching Nina Marshall how to catch. Nina’s four, and she was just starting to get the hang of it.

  “Excuse me, Kristy,” Mary Anne said. “Charlie wants to know if he’s going to the concert, or if you gave his tickets away.”

  I turned away from Nina. “Suddenly he can’t trust me ever again? Tell him I wouldn’t just give the tickets away to someone else without telling him. Even though I probably should.”

  Mary Anne jogged back to Charlie. “She says yes, you’re going.”

  “Great,” Charlie said, glancing my way. “Now, would you tell her I won’t be going home after Klinic, so don’t freak out. I’ll be home later, for dinner, and I’ll drive to the concert.”

  Across the field again went Mary Anne the Messenger. Once again she told me Charlie’s message.

  “Mary Anne, you shouldn’t be running over here like his slave,” I said. “Anyway, ask him if we’re going to pick up Travis, and if we are, tell him we have to leave early. And tell him that Claudia needs a ride, too.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Mary Anne asked.

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you just talk to him?”

  “Why should I, if he can’t talk to me? You can tell him I said that. And you can say you refuse to trot back here again. If he wants to say something to me, he can do it himself!”

  “Okay, Kristy.”

  Mary Anne was beginning to feel like a tennis ball.

  She asked Charlie about Travis and told him about Claudia. Then she quickly added, “And Kristy said she’d love to talk to you, if you wouldn’t mind going over there for a minute.”

  Charlie gave her the bat. “Smack a few, Mary Anne. I’ll be back.”

  Oh, groan. Mary Anne stood there with the bat, looking at it as if it were a dead eel.

  “Um, guys?” she called out. “I’ll throw you the grounders instead, okay?”

  “Let me hit them!” Linny volunteered, running toward the plate.

  “You can’t do that!” Hannie said. “Your grounders will have cooties.”

  “Only if you field them,” Linny shot back.

  Now Buddy was rushing in, too. “Linny always gets to hit! I want to!”

  “No, me!”

  One by one, the fielders ran toward Mary Anne, flinging their mitts away.

  “Wait!” Mary Anne said. “Who’s going to field?”

  “You!” Linny replied.

  Buddy tossed Mary Anne her mitt. “But — but I —” she protested.

  Linny was already in batting position at the tee. “Hurry! This is going to the fences!”

  Mary Anne turned wearily and jogged into the field.

  At the same time, I was running to her with Nina. “Uh, Kristy?” Mary Anne said. “Are the kids allowed to line up for batting with only one fielder —”

  “Do you know what my brother just told me?” I said through gritted teeth.

  “No, but Linny’s about to —”

  “He’s not taking Travis to the concert,” I barreled on. “He’s taking Angelica! I’m going to have to sit with the love birds for three whole hours!”

  WHACK!

  A softball soared above our heads. I watched its flight into the empty outfield. “Who’s supposed to be fielding that?” I bellowed.

  I looked at the infield. Linny was circling the bases, pumping his fists. The others were standing in a clump by home plate, screaming and yelling.

  When I turned back, Mary Anne was gone. She was trudging after the ball, all alone. Looking as if she couldn’t wait to go home.

  Charlie cleared his throat. He leaned forward, elbows on the dining room table. “Watson, you’re not using your car tonight, are you?”

  “Did the Junk Bucket finally break down?” Watson asked.

  “Not yet,” Charlie replied.

  “Flat tire?”

  “No.”

  “Another hole in the muffler?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then why are you asking about my car?”

  “He wants to borrow it,” David Michael piped up.

  Charlie gave him a Look. “The Junk Bucket’s great for riding around town. If it breaks down here, no problem. I walk to a repair station. But Stamford’s a long trip.”

  “He just doesn’t want to be embarrassed,” Sam remarked, “riding in that old jalopy with his new girlfriend.”

  “Charlie and Angelica, Charlie and Angelica!” David Michael sang.

  Watson raised his eyebrows. “Hmmmm, I don’t know, Charlie. Sarah never seemed to mind the Junk Bucket.”

  “That’s not the reason!” Charlie said, his face turning red.

  Watson looked at his watch. “This is short notice …”

  “I’ve been busy,” Charlie said.

  Busy with Angelica, I wanted to say.

  “Well, Kristy and Claudia will be chaperoning you,” Watson said with a smile, “so I suppose you can use it. With a few conditions.”

  “Sure!” Charlie said happily.

  “Drive slowly,” Watson said.

  “Okay.”

  “Use your signals.”

  “Okay.”

  “And load the dishwasher.”

  I have never seen my brother so eager to do chores. He cleared the table. (He tried to clear my ice-cream bowl before I’d eaten seconds, but I grabbed it back.)

  I scarfed down the rest of my Heath Bar Crunch, then
ran upstairs. My heart felt like a tomtom. It was beating to the rhythm of the title tune from Blade’s new CD, Shrunken Heads.

  All day long I’d been singing, humming, thinking Blade tunes. Now it was 6:25. In a little more than an hour and a half, I was going to be meeting Blade, live!

  I changed from my Krushers sweatshirt and jeans into a Blade sweatshirt and a pair of jeans ripped at the knee. I checked myself in the mirror. Fine. Time to go.

  Rrrrrring!

  “I’ll get it!” I ran into my parents’ room and snatched up the phone receiver. “Hello!”

  “Eeeeeaaaagh!”

  My ear was assaulted by a screaming Kishi.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  “I’ve been ready for an hour! When are you going to pick me up?”

  “We’re leaving now!”

  “Great! Oh! Remember my black Spandex pants? I’m going to wear them instead of the jeans. I hope that doesn’t change your plans.”

  “Whaaat?”

  “Good. Be here in thirty seconds. ’Bye.”

  “ ’Bye.”

  Honk! Honk!

  That was the horn of Watson’s car. I bolted downstairs and out of the house, shouting a loud good-bye.

  Watson and Mom were waving to us from the front door as we pulled away.

  Actually, lurched away was more like it. I felt as if I were in a bumper car. “What are you doing, Charlie, trying to activate the air bags?”

  “I’m not used to power brakes,” he replied.

  He turned right at the end of the block, and I slammed against the door. “Owww!”

  “Power steering, too,” Charlie explained.

  I never thought a ride in an Oldsmobile could be so treacherous. By the time we arrived at Angelica’s, I was struggling to keep down my Heath Bar Crunch.

  “Uh, Kristy, would you mind …?” Charlie was eyeing the backseat in a very obvious way.

  Grumbling, I climbed out the front door and into the back.

  I was dreading this moment. Angelica and I hadn’t said a word to each other since the day Charlie told her about the Argo disaster.

  Charlie and Angelica strolled out her front door, arm in arm. Charlie actually held open the passenger door for her. (I had never seen him do that before.)

  Angelica seemed a little puzzled when she saw me. “Hi. Are we driving you home?”

  Charlie zoomed around to the driver’s side. “Kristy’s coming with us.”

  “Oh.” Angelica smiled tightly.

  “You didn’t tell her?” I asked Charlie.

  Charlie shrugged. “Sorry. I forgot.”

  “I was the one who won the tickets,” I reminded him.

  “No problem,” Angelica said.

  No problem?

  Thank you would have been nice. Congratulations, even. But no problem?

  “Everyone belted in?” Charlie asked.

  “Yup,” Angelica and I replied.

  Eeeee, went the tires.

  Thump, went Angelica against the car door.

  “Sorry,” said Charlie.

  “Please take it easy,” Angelica said. “I get motion sickness.”

  Charlie turned white.

  Heh-heh. Now I was glad to be in the backseat.

  We circled around the block and headed for Claudia’s neighborhood.

  Angelica pointed to the left. “Where are you going? The highway’s that way.”

  “Uh, Claudia Kishi’s coming with us, too,” Charlie explained.

  “Oh?” Now the smile was a thin horizontal line.

  When we arrived at Claudia’s, she was waiting at the curb. She was wearing fringed jeans.

  “What happened to the Spandex?” I asked.

  “I thought this would be more Blade,” Claudia replied, climbing into the backseat with me. “Is this Angelique?”

  “Angelica,” said Angelica.

  “Oops.” Claudia giggled. “Just for that, you can call me Claudius.”

  Angelica kind of nodded and looked straight ahead. I don’t think she got the hang of Claudia’s humor.

  “To Stamford, Charles!” Claudia commanded. “Blade, here we come. I am so-o-o-o excited.”

  Charlie popped a Blade cassette into the car radio. The lead singer, Declan Kelly, began wailing at the top of his lungs.

  Eeeeee!

  That was the car, not Declan Kelly.

  We all slammed against the backs of our seats.

  “Uh, don’t be too excited,” Claudia remarked.

  Angelica gestured up ahead. “Charlie, at this stop sign, just ease your foot down slowly, okay?”

  “Okay,” Charlie murmured.

  We jolted forward.

  “At the stop sign!” Angelica said. “Not half a block away from it.”

  “Ride ’em, cowboy!” Claudia shouted.

  “It’s just so different from my car,” Charlie was muttering. “But I’ll get the hang of it.”

  Fat chance. After five or so blocks, I felt as if I’d been in a Cuisinart.

  Angelica was looking grim. “Charlie,” she finally said, “how about letting me drive?”

  “Huh?” Charlie asked.

  My reaction exactly.

  “No offense,” Angelica said, “but I’m already feeling nauseated and we’re not out of Stoneybrook.”

  “But — but —” Charlie stammered.

  “Look, I’m used to this kind of car,” Angelica pleaded. “My mom taught me to drive on one just like it.”

  Charlie was slowing down, steering toward the curb.

  I could not believe my eyes.

  “Charlie, you can’t!” I blurted out. “This is Watson’s car, not yours.”

  “He didn’t say no one else could drive it,” Charlie protested.

  “You didn’t ask him!” I said.

  “It’s okay,” Angelica insisted. “The insurance covers other drivers. That’s the way insurance works.”

  She might as well have ended that sentence with the words little girl.

  Charlie pulled to a stop. He and Angelica climbed out.

  “Kristy, relax,” Claudia whispered. “She can’t be worse than him.”

  “I don’t care! Watson is going to kill him!”

  Charlie was glaring at me as he slid into the frontseat. “He doesn’t have to know, Kristy.”

  “Oh, now I’m supposed to keep your little embarrassing secret?” I snapped.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Charlie.

  Angelica closed her door and put the car in gear. “Off we go!”

  We rolled away from the curb. How was Angelica’s driving? Better than Charlie’s, I think. It was kind of hard to tell. I was nervous. I felt like an accomplice to a crime.

  Aiding and abetting an unexpected driver. Three to five years.

  We zipped onto the highway. We zipped into the center lane. We zipped around a couple of cars that were going too slowly.

  “I love this tune!” Angelica jacked up the volume on the cassette player and began singing along. “I-I-I’m a foooool for aaaaalllll the wrong reeeeeasons …”

  Zzzzip. Right lane.

  Zzzzip. Center.

  Zzzzip. Left.

  “Uh, could we go a little slower?” I said.

  Now Charlie was singing, too. “But, girl, there’s no-o-o foooolin’ yoooooou!”

  Rrrrrrrrrrrrr …

  The distant sound of a siren cut through the noise.

  Angelica and Charlie fell silent. Angelica’s eyes darted toward the rearview mirror.

  I spun around. I saw the flashing lights of a police car, gaining on us.

  “Oh, great,” I said. “Just great!”

  “It’s okay,” Angelica said. “I’ll let him go by. It’s not for us. It’s for another car.”

  “Who else could it be for?” I said. “No one else has passed us!”

  Now the police car was right on our tail.

  “PULL OVER TO THE SHOULDER!” shouted a crackly, amplified voice.

 
“Uh-oh,” Claudia murmured.

  “You see?” I said.

  Angelica was slowing down now. “Switch seats,” she hissed to Charlie.

  Charlie gave her a Look. “What?”

  “When I’m going slow enough, grab the steering wheel and let me slip underneath you,” Angelica said. “Then you slide into the driver’s seat.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” I said.

  “I can’t do that!” Charlie protested.

  “You have to!” Angelica exclaimed. “I don’t have a license.”

  Charlie’s jaw dropped.

  The car was on the shoulder now. Slowing down, weaving.

  Angelica was in a panic. “Just take the wheel, Charlie!”

  Through the windshield, a guardrail loomed closer.

  “Watch out!” Claudia screamed.

  Angelica slammed on the brakes. She yanked the steering wheel to the left.

  EEEEEEEEE …

  The car was fishtailing, heading straight for the rail.

  “Aaaaaaaugh!” screamed Claudia.

  Or maybe it was me.

  I couldn’t tell.

  With a sickening CRRRRUNCH, we hit.

  I was flung to the left. My seat belt kept me from smashing against Claudia. It pulled against my waist, squeezing the wind out of me.

  The car bounced and struck the guardrail again. It swerved once, twice, then stopped.

  “Oh … oh … oh … oh,” Claudia kept repeating. Her eyes were wide with shock, her hand open on her chest.

  I could see Angelica taking deep, deep breaths. Charlie was holding onto the dashboard, frozen. His face shone with sweat. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Fine,” Claudia said.

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  Angelica unfastened her belt. “Let’s switch, Charlie!”

  “But — but —” Charlie stammered.

  She slid toward him. “Now! Before the police see us!”

  Click. Charlie’s belt sprang back into its holder.

  “Charlie, no!” I said. “You’ll be the one who gets the ticket —”

  Knock-knock-knock.

  A burly policeman was rapping on the window.

  Angelica swallowed hard.

  She rolled down the window.

  “Everybody okay?” the policeman asked, gazing into the car.

  “We’re … uh … we’re fine,” Angelica answered. “Thank you very much.” She reached for the ignition.