All-Star Fever (3 page)

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?

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
crack
of 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.

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 Nicky 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
they
give him if they found out the whole truth?

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!