Kristy's Mystery Admirer (9 page)

"As we'll ever be. Are you?"

"I guess so. My team is all keyed up. They can't stop thinking about being beaten by the Krashers."

I couldn't help it. Inwardly, I gloated.

"So," I said, "same rules as before? A seven-inning game, Gabbie gets to hit a wiffle ball and stand closer to the pitcher, and we toss a coin to see which team goes to bat first?"

"Fine with me . . . Coach," replied Bart, smiling.

"Oh, and just remind your team that we have to sign to Matt Braddock."

"You got it."

Bart was off then, in answer to a kid who'd been pestering him for help with something for at least five minutes.

I turned around, all set to call the Krushers together for a pep talk — and ran right into Cokie.

"Hi, Kristy," she said a little too casually, if you know what I mean.

"Hi," I replied coolly.

"So how are things?"

"What things?" I replied

"You know. Things. Life."

"Fine."

"Is your team up for the game?"

"Cokie, what are you doing here?" I demanded.

"I just want to see the game."

"Why?"

"Oh, to show my support for your team."

I rolled my eyes. "Why?"

"Can't you accept it, Kristy? I'm not your enemy."

Well, she certainly wasn't my best friend.

"Anyway," Cokie went on, "I thought you might need a little extra cheering. You've looked sort of depressed lately. I want your team to win."

"I haven't been depressed!" I cried. "I've even got a boyfriend. He's coming to the Hallo ween Hop with me."

"Really?" said Cokie. "You must like each other a lot."

I drew myself up. I knew I was showing off, but I couldn't help saying, "We plan to spend our lives together."

I'd thought Cokie might screech, "You mean, you're getting married?" Instead she said, "Aw. That's nice. Eternal togetherness?"

Cokie caught what she'd said before I did, and she blushed. That was when I remembered. "Eternal togetherness." That had been a phrase from one of the lunatic notes. "You wrote the scary letters!" I exclaimed.

It was too late. Cokie knew she'd given herself away. She couldn't even think of anything to say. She just began to back away from me. I may be short, but I'm strong and good at athletics. Every kid in my grade knows it.

"Just a second," I said through gritted teeth. I reached out and caught Cokie's sleeve. "You stay right here. I have some questions for you."

Cokie looked so afraid that I knew she'd answer anything I asked her — and answer truthfully.

"Did you send all those letters — all the frightening ones?" I demanded.

Cokie looked at the ground. "Yes." I still hadn't let go of her sleeve and she tried to squirm away, but I held on tightly.

"Why?"

"Because of ... because of what you and your friends did to me and my friends in the graveyard. You made us look like fools in front of Logan."

"Too bad. You started the whole thing by trying to make Mary Anne look like a fool in

front of Logan." Cokie didn't say anything, so I went on. "How did you know what to make the letters look like? They match Bart's perfectly. Stickers and everything."

"Well, you weren't too subtle about Bart's letters. You brought them to school and showed them to your friends at lunchtime. Practically the whole cafeteria saw those letters." Cokie made it sound like her letters were my fault.

I let go of her sleeve then. I was a jumble of feelings. First of all, I was relieved. There was no one after me. I didn't have to worry about being kidnapped anymore. Second, I was furious with Cokie. "By Monday," I said, "the whole school is going to know what you did. And maybe everyone at Stoneybrook Day School, too. Think about that. If you felt like a fool before, it won't be anything compared to now."

Cokie ran away. She snagged Grace, Lisa, and Bebe in the bleachers, and the four of them left in a hurry.

More than anything, swhat I wanted to do then was rush to my friends and tell them the news, but it was almost noon and time for the game. I found that I was filled with rage at Cokie, and therefore filled with energy, almost with exuberance.

I signaled to Bart. "Time to start the game," I told him, "and I've got news. I found out who the letter writer is and we don't have a thing to worry about. I'll tell you everything after the game."

Bart grinned. "Okay, Coach."

We gathered our teams and tossed a coin. The Krushers would be at bat first.

"Play ball!" shouted Bart.

Chapter 13.

The game was off to a good start. I sent Matt Braddock out as our first batter, and he hit the first pitch with a resounding whack, running to third base before I signaled him to stop.

Next I sent Jake Kuhn to bat. He made it to first base and Matt made it home. One run for the Krushers! They were elated. They were also very involved with the game. Sometimes while they're waiting for their turn at bat, the little ones get fidgety and I have to recruit my friends to keep them occupied. Not during the World Series, though.

By the end of the first inning, the score was two to one, in favor of ... the Krushers. The game was intense. I stood on the sidelines, chewing gum and paying attention to every little thing that happened. I remembered which kids needed what coaching tips when. I didn't let my team members try anything

fancy. I shouted encouragement — but never scolded.

Bart began to look nervous.

During the second inning, although I thought it was a little risky, I let Gabbie Per-kins, Claire Pike, and Jackie Rodowsky go to bat. Gabbie (with her special playing rules) hit a single, Claire struck out but did not throw a tantrum, and Jackie hit a home run! (He lost his balance, tripped, and fell as his teammates surrounded him to congratulate him, but I don't think the Bashers noticed. At any rate, nobody laughed at him.)

The Bashers, tough as nails, were now on their guard. There was no jeering at the Rrush-ers as there had been during past games. They concentrated, playing a game that was as intense as I felt.

At one point during the third inning, with the Krushers still ahead (by one run), I glanced at Bart. He was looking at me rather fiercely. Oh, no, I thought. We just got over the nasty note business, and now we're going to go back to our old competitive selves. If the Krushers won today, would Bart still go to the dance with me? I wondered. I couldn't worry about that. I put the thought out of my head and whispered to David Michael, who was about to go up to bat, "Bunt it!"

When the score was six to five (still our favor!) we took a fifth-inning stretch. "You guys are doing a great job!" I told the Krush-ers. "Absolutely terrific. You're playing well, you're trying hard, and you're not letting the Bashers scare you."

The Krushers beamed.

I wandered over to the refreshment stand.

"You've easily got enough money for hats now," Sam told me. "People have been buying stuff all morning. And — and your team is playing, um, well." (It is not easy for Sam to be serious or to give compliments.)

"Thanks," I said gratefully, and bought a cup of lemonade. Then I sought out The Three Stooges. "I think you're a hit," I told them. (Their wigs and pants were still on.)

"Really?" exclaimed Charlotte from under a fringe of black bangs.

"Goody," added Haley.

I had to admit that the Bashers cheerleaders were more polished — but The Three Stooges attracted more attention.

Twenty minutes later, the game began again. And two innings later, it was over. The score was eight to seven.

The Krushers had won the World Series!

You should have seen the hugging and jumping up and down, and heard the whoop-

ing and cheering in the stands. The Krushers were beside themselves but had j:he presence of mind to join The Three Stooges in a cheer of, "Two, four, six, eight. Who do we appreciate? The Bashers! The Bashers! Yea!"

Almost too soon the bleachers had emptied and I found myself helping my brothers dismantle the refreshment stand. Around us milled a few stray ball players, my family, the BSC members . . . and Bart.

I was afraid to look at him. My team had beaten his. Was he mad at me all over again, but for a different reason? We have always known how competitive we are. Now, I wondered, could we really coach opposing teams and go out together, too? Let alone — maybe — be boy- and girlfriend?

I put off finding out by running to my friends and telling them what Cokie had done. They were all properly incensed.

'Cokie wrote the notes?" exclaimed Claudia.

"That — that sewer rat!" said Stacey, who still thinks in New York terms half the time.

"You should get back at her," said Jessi.

"I think I already did," I replied. "I told her I'd make sure that by Monday everyone at SMS and Bart's school will know what she's done. That's enough for Cokie. Besides, I don't want to continue this war with her."

Slowly my friends began to leave then, until only Shannon remained.

"Anything wrong?" she asked me.

"I don't know. I have a feeling Bart's upset. Do you think I should have let the Bashers win? I could have done that, you know."

"No way!" exclaimed Shannon.

"But will he still want to come to the Hal-loween Hop with me?"

"Go find out," said Shannon.

Reluctantly, I walked across the field to Bart, who was tossing equipment into a canvas bag.

"Hi," I said.

Bart glanced up. "Hey!" He grinned. "Good game."

I paused. He didn't sound mad. "So. Are you still up for the Hop?"

"Can't wait. Now tell me about the letters."

I did, after breathing a huge sigh of relief.

"Kristy!" called Charlie then.

"Bart!" called Mr. Taylor.

And then in unison they said, "Time to go!"

"See you Friday," whispered Bart, "but I'll probably talk to you before then."

"You got it, Coach!"

Later that afternoon, when I was recovering from the game, Shannon surprised me by coming over unannounced. She walked into

my room, where I was lying on the bed.

"I'm dead," I told her.

"Too dead for some tips?"

"What kind of tips?"

"Oh, makeup, stuff like that."

"I don't wear makeup," I told her.

"Not even to dances?"

I rolled over. "Hmm. I'm not sure."

"You want to look good for Bart, don't you?"

"I just want to look like myself. And if I'm going to look good, I'll look good for me."

"Okay. So what about makeup? And what are you going to wear?"

"Wear? I don't know."

"You do own a dress, don't you?"

"Of course I do ... I think." I got up and went to my closet. "There must be a couple here somewhere." I pawed through my collection of shirts and sweaters. "Oh, here's one. I wore it when Mary Anne 's dad and Dawn's mom got married. And here's another. This is the one I wore when my mother and Watson got married." I held it up.

"Well, you can't wear that one to the dance," said Shannon. "It's much too dressy. It's a long dress for heaven's sake. Let me see the other one."

I put the fancy dress away and showed

Shannon the more casual one. "Of course, Bart and I could go in costume/' I pointed out. "A lot of kids do go to the Hop in costume."

"But don't you want to look special for Bart?" asked Shannon. "And that dress is perfect. Who helped you pick it out?"

"Stacey did/' I admitted.

"Well, it's great for a dance. Okay, put it on."

"How come?"

"Because I can't figure out your makeup and nail polish until I see you in the dress."

"Nail polish? No way! I'll wear makeup — a little makeup — but no nail polish."

"Okay, okay. Calm down."

Luckily, before we had gotten too far into the makeup ordeal, Watson stuck his head in my room and told me that Bart was on the phone.

"Thanks," I said, but as soon as he had left I moaned to Shannon, "I just know he's decided he doesn't want to go to the dance after all. I should have let the Bashers win the game today."

"Kristy," said Shannon sharply, "you should not have. Go see what Bart really wants. I'm sure he's not backing out."

I picked up the phone as if it were a dead

snake. I barely touched it. "Hello?" I squeaked. "Bart?"

"Hi, Coach/' said Bart cheerfully. "Listen, you won't believe this. I have the greatest costumes for us to wear to the dance. I know we didn't say anything about costumes, but I was just up in our attic and I found — I know you're not going to believe this — but I found two lobster costumes. My parents wore them to a party once. A long time ago. I think my mom's costume would fit you. Do you want to wear it?"

Did I want to wear it? Of course I did! Then I wouldn't have to wear a dress. Or nail polish. "Oh, yes!" I cried. "Definitely. That's terrific, Bart. You know, they're giving out prizes for costumes this year. Scariest, funniest, that sort of thing. Hey, do these costumes have masks?"

"No," replied Bart. "We'll have to do a little makeup. Is that okay?"

"It's great!" I said. "Thanks. I'll talk to you soon. 'Bye!" I hung up and ran back to my room. "Shannon," I said, "that was Bart. Guess what. I'm going to do my own makeup. Watch this." I smeared my entire face with liquid rouge. I looked as red as a you-know-what.

Shannon gaped. "Kristy!! That's not a makeup job."

"It is when you're going to be a lobster."

I explained to Shannon about the costumes. Then I gleefully took off my dress and put it back in the closet.

"Kristy?" said Shannon.

"What?"

"You're weird."

"Thank you."

Shannon grinned at me. "You and Bart are going to have a great time," she said.

"I hope so," I replied.

Chapter 14.

It was Friday night, the night of the Hallow-een Hop.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom.

I was wearing a lobster costume.

"Not bad," I murmured. I certainly did look like a lobster — if lobsters were able to stand up and walk on their tails with their legs waving around in front of them. I had antennae, the proper number of legs, and even claws. (The claws fitted over my hands, like mittens.) The other six legs were stiff with wire and were fastened to the body of the costume.