by Dan Gutman
“Where are we going, then?” Coke asked as they drove right past the sign for SIX FLAGS OVER TEXAS. Another sign pointed toward RANGERS BALLPARK.
“Are we going to a Rangers game?” Pep asked.
“No . . . ,” Mrs. McDonald said mysteriously.
The car pulled into a parking lot. A large office building in the distance had a sign in big letters on it: USBC.
“What’s that?” Pep asked.
There was no need to answer, because as they got closer Pep could see what the letters stood for—United States Bowling Congress.
Other signs indicated the International Bowling Museum and Hall of Fame, the International Bowling Campus, and the International Bowling Training and Research Center. It was all part of a giant bowling complex.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Coke said. “They do bowling research? You roll a ball down an alley and try to knock down pins. What is there to research?”
“Keep an open mind, son,” said Dr. McDonald. “I think you’re going to like this.”
“I’d rather go to Six Flags,” Coke grumbled.
They parked near a giant white bowling pin and Mrs. McDonald bought tickets for the bowling museum.
Everything has a history. If you take any object, any activity, any sport, there was somebody who invented it a long time ago. Somebody else probably improved it or perfected it. A third person may have made it into something that millions of people use or do every day. And if we personally are interested in that thing, we want to know more about it. That’s why there are museums devoted to yo-yos, mustard, Spam, gourds, rock and roll, spies, and yes, bowling.
The place was enormous, and even the twins found the displays to be interesting. Who knew that primitive bowling pins were found in an Egyptian tomb that was dated 3200 BCE? Who knew that ninety-five million people around the world bowl, in ninety different countries? The museum was filled with information and interactive exhibits that explained just about everything you always wanted to know about bowling but never thought to ask.
Even so, after a while Coke and Pep were a bit tired of reading about it and ready to do some actual bowling.
“Can Pep and I blow this pop stand while you guys finish the museum?” Coke asked his parents.
They agreed, and found out that there was open bowling across the street at the International Bowling Training and Research Center. The twins had no trouble finding it, and there weren’t that many people on the lanes in the late afternoon.
Coke and Pep went to the front desk, which was raised a few feet above the floor. A woman was behind the desk, and when she turned around to face them, the twins shrank back in terror.
“Mrs. Higgins!”
“If it isn’t the McDonald twins!” she said cheerfully. “Are you two stalking me or something?”
Who would have thought that their psychotic health teacher would now be working at the International Bowling Training and Research Center?
Pep instinctively started to run, but Coke held her back. He remembered that the last time they had encountered Mrs. Higgins, she hadn’t laid a hand on them. She had even been nice to them and their parents. Maybe she had truly been rehabilitated.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you were working at the Bauxite Museum. It was just a few days ago.”
“I quit,” she replied. “I decided that bauxite was boring. I wanted to devote my life to something more exciting.”
“Bowling?” asked Coke.
“It’s a trick,” Pep said. “Don’t fall for it.”
“Bowling is the only pure sport,” Mrs. Higgins said, a rapturous smile filling her face. “It’s just you against the pins. They stand, or they fall. There’s no in-between. No interpretation of the rules. No instant replay. No referee or umpire is necessary. It’s pure . . . magic.”
“I never thought of bowling that way,” admitted Coke.
“And we have some of the most innovative and cutting-edge coaching technologies available in the bowling industry today,” Mrs. Higgins told the twins. “High-speed video cameras, motion-capture devices, foot-pressure sensors. Anyway, what size do you kids wear?”
“What size of what?”
“Bowling shoes, of course,” she said. “You can’t bowl without bowling shoes.”
“Oh, yeah.”
The twins told her their shoe sizes and she handed them each a pair of bowling shoes.
“Lane three,” Mrs. Higgins told them. “Have fun!”
The twins put the shoes on and went to look for bowling balls.
“I really think she’s changed,” Coke said. “She’s really into bowling. You can see it in her eyes. She’s not going to bother us anymore.”
“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Pep said. “It can’t be just a coincidence that she gets a job wherever we happen to be.”
“You think too much,” Coke said as he picked up a ball that felt good in his hands. “That’s your problem. Just try to have a little fun for a change.”
They each found a ball to their liking, and they brought the balls over to lane three. Pep punched their names into the computer, letting her brother go first. He was a good bowler, once scoring a 203 at a friend’s birthday party.
“Watch and learn,” Coke said as he prepared to make his first roll.
He eyed the pins, made a smooth five-step approach to the line, and let the ball go.
Gutter ball.
“Ha!” Pep shouted. “Loser!”
“I’m just getting warmed up,” Coke replied as he waited for his ball to come back.
Actually, he was suddenly feeling overheated. Coke held his hand over the blower for a moment to dry off the sweat. Then he picked up his ball, aimed more carefully . . . and threw another gutter ball.
“Oh man!” Pep shouted, jumping up to take her turn. “You are pathetic!”
Pep wasn’t much better, knocking down three pins on her first roll and one on her second. But she had never been a very good bowler. Now, at least, she was ahead by four pins.
As Pep was throwing her second ball, Coke tried to think of the last time he threw two gutter balls in a row. Probably when he was in second grade, he thought. First grade, maybe. He was anxious to redeem himself in the second frame. He was better than this.
“The ball feels so heavy,” he said as he picked it up.
“No excuses, loser,” his sister shouted. “I am crushing you.”
Coke rolled the ball down the alley, but his heart wasn’t in it. After the ball slid into the right gutter three-quarters of the way down the alley, he sat down on the bench heavily. He was perspiring.
“I don’t feel so good,” he told Pep.
“Me neither,” she said. “I feel really tired, like I’m going to pass out.”
She threw a couple of weak gutter balls and then plopped down on the bench next to her brother.
“I don’t know what’s the matter,” Coke admitted. “This never happens to me. I can barely raise my arm.”
At that point, Mrs. Higgins strolled over, a jaunty spring in her step.
“How are you kids doing?” she asked cheerfully. “Having fun?”
“Not so much,” Coke said slowly, his eyes half closed. “We’re sick. It must have been . . . something we ate for lunch.”
“Oh, I don’t think that was it,” said Mrs. Higgins. “It was probably the poison I put in your bowling shoes.”
It took a moment to register what she had just said. Coke’s and Pep’s brains seemed to be working in slow motion.
“Did you just say you put poison . . . in our bowling shoes?” Coke asked wearily.
“Yes, it looks just like talcum powder,” Mrs. Higgins replied matter-of-factly. “It will take a few minutes for it to be fully absorbed into your system. The skin on the feet is very thick. It’s not the best way to deliver poison.”
“That’s not a very . . . nice thing to do,” Pep said drowsily. “Why would you . . . put poison in our bowling shoes?
”
“How else could I get you to take the poison, silly?” asked Mrs. Higgins. “You can’t just hand somebody a poison pill and expect ’em to take it willingly.”
Fighting to keep his eyes open, Coke let out a little involuntary laugh.
“You . . . poisoned us . . . through our bowling shoes,” he mumbled. “What a . . . brilliant idea.”
“Well, I thought about sprinkling the poison on a pizza and bringing it over to you,” said Mrs. Higgins, “but I didn’t think you’d trust me enough to eat it.”
“Are we going to . . . die?” Pep asked, putting her head down on the bench.
“Of course not,” Mrs. Higgins said. “You’re just going to sleep for a while. Once you’re unconscious, I can do anything I want to you.”
“Didn’t you tell us . . . you weren’t going to hurt kids anymore?” Pep said, yawning. “You said you were going to be . . . nice.”
“Oh, yeah,” Mrs. Higgins said with a chuckle. “That was what’s called lying.”
“I can’t believe we let you fool us . . . again,” Coke said, resting his head on the floor next to his sister.
“Yes, I’m pretty good at that,” Mrs. Higgins said. “Always have been. When I was in high school, I was voted Most Likely to Mislead. And look at me now. I can stare you right in the face and say one thing while meaning the exact opposite thing. Not many people can pull that off. It’s my gift.”
But the twins didn’t hear any of it. They were unconscious.
Chapter 18
A NEW SPORT
When he opened his eyes, Coke was sprawled across lane two, his head and feet in the gutters, about ten feet in front of the pins. Pep was in the same position, lying across lane three.
But neither of them knew that yet, because except for a few pinpoints of light, they were in total darkness. Somebody had taken off the poisoned bowling shoes and put their sneakers back on their feet.
“Where are we?” Coke asked his sister. “What time is it?”
“How should I know?” she replied. “Mrs. Higgins probably kidnapped us and put us in a cell while she decides what to do to us next.”
“How could we have been so stupid?” he said. “I can’t believe we ever trusted her.”
“We?” Pep replied. “I didn’t trust her. You trusted her. I tried to run away as soon as I saw her face. You stopped me, remember?”
“There’s no point in arguing about it now,” Coke said.
“There’s no point in arguing about it because I’m right,” Pep replied angrily. “You have no argument.”
Actually, there was no point in arguing about it for another reason—they were about to be attacked.
At the far end of lanes two and three, two men silently picked up bowling balls and got into position to bowl.
Suddenly, all the lights in the International Bowling Training and Research Center flashed on.
“What the—” Coke said, looking up.
“I hear something,” Pep said, her voice cracking. “What’s that sound?”
It was the distinctive sound of a fifteen-pound bowling ball hitting the wood floor and rolling down an alley. Two bowling balls, to be precise. They were rolling down lanes two and three.
“Watch out!” Coke shouted to his sister.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” she screamed.
One of the balls was coming on a direct line toward Pep’s head. The other one was about to hit Coke in the midsection. At the last possible instant, both twins flopped out of the way and narrowly avoided getting slammed. The balls passed harmlessly by, knocking down some of the pins behind them. The two men at the other end of lanes two and three had already picked up new balls and were preparing to heave them.
“Stop!” Pep shouted uselessly. “Are you crazy?”
“They’re not crazy! They’re trying to kill us!” Coke said.
“Who are they?”
“Who do you think? The bowler dudes!”
Yes, the bowler dudes. The two mentally challenged lunatics, who had been terrorizing the twins from the very beginning, were at it again.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha!” cackled the bowler dude with the mustache. “This is fun!”
He let loose with his second ball. Pep stumbled while trying to get up to dodge it and almost got hit in the ankle. Coke jumped up at the last instant and the clean-shaven bowler dude’s ball passed right beneath him.
“You like bowling?” shouted Mrs. Higgins from the front desk. “Let’s see if you like it from the pin’s point of view!”
“We gotta get out of here!” Coke shouted, reaching over to grab Pep by the hand and pull her up. The bowler dudes had already picked up balls from the ball return.
“Where are we going to go?” Pep yelled.
“Over there!” Coke shouted, pointing to the far corner of the large building. “There’s a fire exit! Follow me!”
The twins, still feeling the effects of the poison that had been put in their bowling shoes, struggled to get their footing on the slippery surface. Gingerly, they stepped over the gutter of lane three and hopped onto lane four.
The bowler dudes, watching them carefully, moved over to lane four, both heaving balls down that alley at the same time.
“Jump, Pep!” Coke shouted.
They both jumped and narrowly evaded the balls.
“Ooooh, I almost got a strike that time!” one of the bowler dudes shouted gleefully.
“You need to work on your follow-through,” his brother cackled as he picked up another ball.
As the McDonald twins frantically scampered across lanes five and six, the bowler dudes moved across the floor with them, picking up balls and whipping them down the alley as fast as they could roll them.
“Watch your left!” Coke shouted as he ran across lane seven. Pep dodged that ball, and the next one too.
As the twins dashed from lane to lane, the bowler dudes ran across the floor, chucking shot after shot at them. It was as though Coke and Pep were being attacked with cannonballs.
“This is much more fun than aiming at pins,” the mustachioed bowler dude said as he ran from lane nine to lane ten to let loose his next shot.
“Yeah,” said his clean-shaven brother, already at lane twelve. “It adds a human dimension to the game.”
“Hey, we invented a new sport!” the mustachioed bowler dude said, racing to pick up the next ball. “This should be in the Olympics! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Stop fooling around, you idiots!” shouted Mrs. Higgins from the front desk. “Knock them over! That’s what I’m paying you for! Quick! They’re getting away!”
Coke and Pep managed to make it to lane nineteen without getting hit with more than a glancing blow. Coke was the first one to reach the emergency exit. He ignored the warning on the door and pushed hard on the handle, which set off an alarm. But at least the door opened, and Coke and Pep dashed through it and out into the parking lot.
It took a few minutes to find their parents, who had just come out of the International Bowling Museum and were walking back to the car.
“Did you kids have fun?” asked Mrs. McDonald. “I got you a souvenir—a bowling pin refrigerator magnet.”
“Let’s go!” Coke shouted breathlessly when he reached the car. He was panting and sweating, and his hair was all messed up.
“Look at you two,” Dr. McDonald said with a laugh. “Were you bowling, or playing ice hockey?”
“It’s a long story,” Pep said, getting in the car and flopping onto the rear seat.
“I had no idea that bowling could get so physical,” marveled Mrs. McDonald.
Go to Google Maps (http://maps.google.com).
Click Get Directions.
In the A box, type Arlington TX.
In the B box, type Mineral Springs TX.
Click Get Directions.
Chapter 19
SPIN CYCLE
Coke and Pep weren’t laughing. There was no doubt anymore. Something had happened. Something had changed. Mrs. Higgins and
the bowler dudes were out to get them again. Maybe Dr. Warsaw had recovered from his meltdown and decided to resume his quest to eliminate them. Whatever had happened, their lives were obviously in danger.
It had been a long day. The twins weren’t in any mood to make chitchat in the car. Dr. McDonald pulled into a drive-through joint for burgers and then got back on the road, heading west on I-30 from Arlington. His plan was to get on I-35 and stop somewhere at a motel for the night.
Mrs. McDonald was looking through her guidebook, as usual. Just as they were about to pull off I-30 at the exit for I-35, she shouted, “Ben, stop the car!”
Dr. McDonald slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the shoulder of the road. Fortunately, everyone had a seat belt on. They were all getting used to this kind of thing.
“What is it?”
“We have to go to the washing machine museum!”
“Are you out of your mind?” Dr. McDonald shouted at his wife. “I almost caused a huge accident just then! You could have gotten us all killed!”
“I had to stop you before you took the exit,” Mrs. McDonald explained. “My readers would never forgive me if I didn’t tell them about the washing machine museum.”
“There’s really a museum devoted to washing machines?” Pep asked.
Coke just shook his head. Nothing surprised him anymore. Dr. McDonald let out a sigh.
“Where is it?” he asked.
“Mineral Wells,” Mrs. McDonald replied. “It’s only an hour west of here.”
“Bridge, it’s been a long day . . .”
“That’s for sure,” Coke said.
“. . . and now you’re asking me to drive an hour out of the way—to go to a museum about washing machines?”
“It’s free, Ben,” said Mrs. McDonald.
“Of course it’s free!” he exploded. “Nobody wants to go there. Nobody’s going to pay good money to look at a bunch of old washing machines! I wouldn’t go if they paid me.”
“You don’t understand, Ben,” said Mrs. McDonald gently. “The museum is just a part of a regular laundromat. All the clothes we bought back in Memphis are dirty now. We’ve got to do a load of wash anyway. We might as well do it at the washing machine museum.”
