All-Star Fever

by Matt Christopher

  Mr. and Mrs. Mercer glanced at each other. Mrs. Mercer sighed. “Well, so long as you’re all right, I guess we can overlook it just this once. But if we find out you’ve disobeyed our rules again, we’ll have to take the bike away from you until you prove you can be responsible. Now come inside and get out of those wet clothes and into a hot shower.”

  Bus followed his parents inside. Their kindness only made him feel more guilty. After all, he hadn’t broken only one rule — he’d practically broken all of them!

  What would his parents do if they found out? Even as he asked himself the question, Bus had a pretty good idea of the answer.

  They would take his bike away, that’s what they’d do.

  But what if they didn’t find out?

  6

  The next morning, Bus woke up with a headache. His mother insisted on taking his temperature. But Bus knew he wasn’t sick. He just had had bad dreams all night.

  Dreams of riding headlong down a hill that never ended. Dreams of his parents shaking their heads with disappointment while they wheeled his bike away. Dreams of every Peach Street Mudder but him wearing an All-Star uniform.

  These dreams made Bus’s stomach sink whenever he thought about them. He tried to push them out of his mind, but they just kept popping back in.

  Two days later, the Peach Street Mudders were on the field again. This time, they were up against the Bay Street Stingers.

  Bus carefully locked his bike to the bike stand and joined his teammates in the dugout. Coach Parker read off the roster:

  “Turtleneck at first, Nicky at second, Bus at short, and T.V. at third. Outfielders left to right: Barry, José, and Alfie. Zero, you’re on the mound, and Chess, you’re catching for him. Jack, you and Tootsie stay warm and be ready to take over when needed. Okay, fellas, let’s play a good game!”

  Bus was surprised that the coach hadn’t said anything about the All-Star scouts. He grabbed his glove to run out onto the field, but he turned back before he left the dugout. He had to know if the scouts were at the game.

  “Yes, they are, Bus. They’ll be watching this game and the next one, and then making their decisions,” Coach Parker replied to his question. “But try not to think about them. Just concentrate on playing the best ball you can. That’s all they need to see.”

  Bus nodded and ran to take his place at shortstop. He thumped his fist into his glove. It was his new glove, the one his parents had given him for his birthday. Just wearing it made him think about his other birthday present — and how he might lose it.

  Why didn’t I think before I took off yesterday?he thought miserably.

  He snapped back to attention when he heard the umpire call for the start of the game.

  Through the first four innings, the scoreboard was like a seesaw — first the Mudders were up and the Stingers were down, then the Stingers were up and the Mudders were down.

  Bus made a few good saves and got on base twice, but during lulls in play, he found his mind wandering from the game. For some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about his parents’ faces when they gave him the bike. They had seemed so happy, so proud of him.

  What would their faces look like if they knew the truth?

  At the end of the fourth inning, the score was tied at 3-3.

  The top of the fifth inning started with a loud crackof a bat and the roar of the Stingers fans. The first batter, Frankie Newhouse, had made it safely to first.

  Then the second batter, Henry Shaw, belted a high-bouncing grounder just to the right of shortstop. Bus took a step to the side, caught it, and whipped it to second.

  The throw was high! Too high! It sailed over Nicky’s head. Henry made it to first base and Frankie to second — all thanks to Bus’s error!

  Bus turned and headed for his position at the edge of the grass. His stomach felt as if it were loaded with rocks. Nicky should’ve caught it,he thought. He hardly jumped a foot.

  But deep inside he knew differently. It would have taken a six-footer to catch that throw.

  Put it out of your mind,he thought angrily. Concentrate! No more mistakes!

  Mistakes seem to be all you can make lately,a voice inside him seemed to say. Bus gritted his teeth and shook his head.

  The Stingers’ pitcher was up next. He drilled Zero’s second pitch over T.V.’s head. Frankie made it home, edging the Stingers ahead, 4-3, but Henry played it safe. He stood up at third.

  The next batter smashed a mile-high drive to center. José staggered underneath it, and Bus shut his eyes for a moment, afraid José would miss it.

  He didn’t. One out.

  Zero Ford threw two strikes on the next Stinger before the batter belted a chest-high pitch to deep left. It sailed over the fence for a home run. The Stingers now had a solid lead, with 7 runs to the Mudders’ 3.

  That was the best they could do that inning, though.

  Alfie Maples led off the Mudders’ turn at bat with a walk. Bus was kneeling in the on-deck circle, thinking about the dumb throw he had made. If he had made it good, the Mudders might not be four runs behind. And the scouts —

  “Bus!” T.V.’s shout startled Bus. “What’re you waiting for? You’re up!”

  Bus sprang to his feet and trotted to the plate. His mind hadn’t caught up with his body yet when the first pitch breezed in.

  “Steee-rike!” boomed the umpire.

  The next three were balls. Then the pitcher delivered a streaking fastball level with Bus’s knees. Bus slammed it over short for a single. Alfie stopped on second.

  The hit made him feel a little better. Maybe the scouts would consider the hit more than they would the bad throw. After all, you had to get on base before you could score runs. And scoring runs was what this game was all about.

  Just as this thought crossed Bus’s mind, he happened to glance into the stands. What he saw there made his heart grow cold.

  His parents were sitting with Mr. and Mrs. Adams. What if T.V.’s parents told his parents about their ride down the hill? If they did, then Mr. and Mrs. Mercer would know he hadn’t told them the truth — and his new bike would be as good as gone!

  A sudden shout interrupted his thoughts.

  “Run, Bus, run!” the first-base coach was yelling at him desperately.

  To Bus’s horror, he saw Chess running down the first baseline toward him. Chess had gotten a hit and was trying to beat the throw to first — and Bus was just standing there like a dope!

  Bus spun and started to run toward second as fast as he could. Behind him, he heard the ball smack into the first baseman’s glove, then the umpire’s call: “Out!”

  Then he heard the first-base coach yell, “Slide!” He hit the dirt and felt his foot touch the base just as the ball landed with a thud in the second baseman’s out-held glove.

  “Out!” the umpire yelled.

  7

  Bus felt sick. Never had he made such a foolish error before. If only he had been paying attention, he might be standing on base, cheering on the next batter!

  Alfie was still on base when Barry “Hit-Away Kid” McGee stepped to the plate.

  Pow!

  The Mudders fans let out a cheer as Barry blasted one over the fence for a home run! The score now read Stingers 7, Mudders 5. Then Turtleneck flied out and the teams switched places.

  The Stingers couldn’t change the score during their turn at bat. They got out one, two, three. Bus helped by making a dead-on throw to first that was caught a split second before the runner tagged up. But the cheers of the crowd did little to lift his spirits.

  The Mudders prepared to take their last raps at bat. They were only down by one, so they still had a chance to take the win.

  Bus watched José take a few practice swings, then knock one into deep center that the Stinger fielder caught easily. One down.

  T.V. sliced a line drive through the hole between first and second for a single. Then Nicky followed with a high fly ball that the shortstop bobbled. T.V. slid safely into second and Ni
cky made it to first. Alfie Maples stepped to the plate, and Bus moved into the on-deck circle.

  But he never got his turn at bat. Alfie hit a dribbling grounder that the second baseman fielded easily. He stepped on second, then relayed it to first for a double play. The final score read: Stingers 7, Mudders 5.

  Bus shook hands with the other team along with the other Mudders, but all he wanted to do was get his gear and head for home. He had played badly, probably costing the team the game. No one said anything to him as he left the dugout.

  His parents caught up to him as he unlocked his bike. In silence, they walked home, Bus wheeling his bike at his side.

  One last chance,Bus thought. The scouts will be at one more game.

  Bus gripped the bike’s handlebars and stole a guilty glance at his parents. And how many more chances would theygive him if they found out the whole truth?

  8

  The sun shone bright and warm the following Saturday. It was a perfect day for a baseball game. And, Bus decided, it was the perfect day to come clean about what had happened the day of the storm.

  I’ve had it with sleepless nights!he said to himself.

  But when he wandered into his mother’s office to confess, he found her on the phone. Bus waited patiently for five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Finally, just as his mother hung up, Bus looked at the clock.

  “Yikes!” he yelled. “I didn’t realize it was so late! Bye, Mom!” He ran out to the garage.

  Hurriedly he strapped his glove to his bike rack and made sure it was secure. Then he reached up to his handlebars to unhook his helmet straps.

  But his helmet was gone! The handlebars were empty!

  Bus was dumbfounded. He looked all around the bike. Nothing. He dug through the big wooden box that held his basketball, roller skates, and other sports stuff. Nothing. He even looked in his father’s tool chest. Nothing.

  Bus banged through the door to the house and charged upstairs to his room. Maybe I brought it up with me last night,he thought hopefully. But a quick look around his room showed that the helmet wasn’t there, either.

  There wasn’t enough time for Bus to walk or run over to the baseball diamond. He had to take his bike. But when his parents had given him the bike, they had warned him never to go riding without his helmet. They had also warned him to take care of his equipment, and that included his bike helmet. If he rode over to the game without finding his helmet first, he’d be disobeying two rules!

  But Bus knew there was nothing Coach Parker hated more than tardy players. If he didn’t make it to the warm-up on time, he might have to sit on the bench for the first few innings. That was no way to impress the All-Star scouts!

  Bus knew he had two choices. He could make it to the game on time by riding without his helmet — or he could confess to his mother that he had misplaced it and hope that she would understand.

  Bus walked straight into his mother’s office.

  When she saw him standing there, she said, “I’ll call you right back” and hung up the phone.

  “What’s wrong, Bus?” she asked quietly.

  Bus hung his head. “I — I can’t find my helmet. I know it’s my job to take care of my bike and my equipment, and I’m sure I left it on my handlebars like I always do! But it’s not there, so I guess — I guess I lost it somewhere, and you’ll have to take my bike away,” he finished lamely.

  But when he looked up, his mother was smiling at him. She opened a drawer in her desk, reached inside — and pulled out his helmet!

  “Where did you find it?” Bus cried happily. He quickly fit it onto his head and snapped the buckles under his chin.

  “I have a confession to make, too, Bus,” his mother said. “I took your helmet and hid it.”

  Bus stared.

  “The Adamses told us about your little ride in the rainstorm. When we found out you had disobeyed us so badly and then lied to us, too, we almost took your bike away then and there. But you’ve never deceived us before, Bus, so your father and I decided to test you. Would you disobey our rules again if you had the opportunity?” She thumped him on top of his head. “I guess this answers our question.”

  Mrs. Mercer stood up. “Now, get yourself on that bike and get over to your game! Those Mudders need their number one shortstop to win against the Stockade Bulls!”

  9

  When Bus pedaled out of the driveway, he was grinning from ear to ear. His parents had given him a fright when they hid his helmet. But he guessed it was only fair. After all, he had frightened them when he didn’t come home right after practice that stormy day!

  Bus turned onto the bike path that wound its way past the backyards of many houses in different neighborhoods. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry, he would have enjoyed the way the sun shone through the trees and maybe stopped to watch a squirrel carry an acorn to its hiding place.

  But he was in a hurry. He had to get to that game on time!

  Bus pedaled furiously, harder than he ever had. The paths were all familiar now, and he sped along smoothly.

  Bowowowowowow!

  A flash of brown leapt into the path in front of Bus’s bike. Bus didn’t have time to veer to one side. With a cry, he toppled over and landed in a heap. His head struck the pavement and he saw stars. To make matters worse, something wet and slimy was licking his face.

  Bus struggled to sit up. With a grunt, he pushed away the big brown dog. “Silly mutt,” he muttered. The dog barked a few more times, then sat down and looked at Bus — and the bike.

  The sight that met Bus’s eyes made his heart sink. The frame and the wheels were fine, but his chain had fallen off. Bus had no idea how to fix it. He could have cried.

  “Hey, kid, are you okay? Waldo! Waldo, come here, boy!”

  Both Bus and the dog looked up at the sound of the man’s voice. It was the dog’s owner. Waldo jumped up happily, tail wagging. Bus just sat on the pavement. He was going to be late to the game now for sure.

  “Kid, are you okay?” The man knelt down beside Bus, looking closely into his eyes.

  Bus nodded. “I’m okay, but my bike isn’t,” Bus said sadly. “And I absolutely have to make it to my baseball game on time!” The man helped him to his feet and picked up his bike.

  “Is that so? Well, it’s a good thing you were wearing your helmet, or you might not have made this game or any other!” the man said. “Now, don’t you worry. I’ve fixed a few bike chains in my time. While I fix yours, why don’t you tell me about your team and why it’s so important you make it there on time.”

  So Bus told the man all about the All-Star scouts and his hopes of playing on that special team. He told him about how his parents had tested him, too — and how he had passed. As he did, he suddenly realized that he felt happier than he had in days.

  Why is that?he wondered to himself.

  A few minutes later, the bike was as good as new. Bus’s hopes soared.

  “Thanks a lot, mister!” he said. He climbed onto the bike. “I’m sorry, but I have to get going.”

  “Hold on just one second more, Bus, and let me write a note for you to give Coach Parker. Maybe he’ll understand.” The man took a notebook out of his breast pocket and scribbled something. Then he tore the paper off, folded it in half and handed it to Bus. “You just see that Coach Parker reads that before he decides who’s going to be playing at shortstop today, okay?”

  “Okay!” said Bus. He stuffed the note into his pocket and sped away. “Thanks again!” he called over his shoulder.

  It wasn’t until he saw the baseball diamond up ahead that something strange occurred to him.

  I never told that man my name. I wonder how he knew what it was?But he brushed the thought aside just as quickly as it had come to him. To his dismay, the Mudders were already running in from their warm-up in the field. If he was going to explain things to Coach Parker in time, he had to hurry!

  10

  Coach Parker read the note Bus handed him, then looked up.

  “Y
ou sure you didn’t get hurt in that fall, Bus? You know I can’t play you if you’re injured,” the coach said.

  Bus told him he felt fine. “I was wearing my helmet,” he added.

  The coach nodded his approval. “That’s good, but it doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t make it here in time for the warm-up. Bus, I’ve already put Jack Livingston in the roster as shortstop. You’ll have to sit out the first inning or two.”

  Bus’s heart sank. No way he’d make the All-Star team now. Who would pick someone who was riding the pines, especially if that someone had made stupid mistakes in each of the past few games?

  Then suddenly the coach’s advice from the first game rang in his head.

  “A good attitude is as important as a good play. Don’t dwell on something you can’t change — just try harder the next time.”

  Bus straightened up. The coach was right. Each game, each turn at bat, each ball hit your way was another chance to play the best ball you could. But to do that you had to learnfrom your past mistakes, not worryabout them. Somehow, Bus had forgotten that. But he’d remembered it now.

  The Mudders were on the field first, with Sparrow on the mound. His first pitches to the Stockade Bulls were sizzlers — two batters went down swinging. The third batter blasted a hot grounder to shortstop. Bus held his breath as Jack Livingston caught it on a high hop. But his throw to first was wild! The runner made it safely to first.

  “C’mon, Jack, shake it off, shake it off!” Bus yelled along with the rest of the bench. Jack did. He made a beautiful play, covering second base when Nicky stepped off to field a ground ball hit between first and second.

  The Mudders took their turn at bat, but by the end of the first inning the score still read Mudders 0, Bulls 0.

  The second inning saw no change in the Bulls’ score. But thanks to a single from Sparrow Fisher followed by a line drive from Barry McGee, the Mudders crossed home plate. Mudders 1, Bulls 0.