All-Star Fever (4 page)

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!”

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!

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

“You 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
learn
from your past mistakes, not
worry
about 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.

Bus was cheering for Turtleneck Jones when he heard Coach Parker call his name.

“Bus, grab a glove and warm up with Rudy. Jack, you’ve played a good couple of innings, but now it’s Bus’s turn.”

Bus wasted no time. He and Rudy played catch for about ten minutes, watching first José, then T.V. get out at first. The inning
ended when Nicky hit a pop fly that the pitcher caught.

Bus ran out onto the field, determined to make every play count. And he did just that.

His throws hit their mark every time. He remembered to “keep his tailgate down,” as Coach Parker would say, when fielding
grounders. He covered second and third base when Nicky and T.V. needed backup support. He even managed to make a double play
by catching a line drive and throwing the runner out before he could get back to first.

And at bat, he concentrated on each pitch as never before. He was rewarded with two singles, plus a double that scored Alfie
Maples. By the end of the fifth inning, the Mudders had earned five runs. The Bulls had three.

The Bulls looked ready to change that score at the beginning of the sixth and last inning. The first batter socked a high
fly ball to deep center field. José Méndez was just able to catch it before it could go sailing for a home run. One out.

“Okay, Sparrow! One down, two to go!” Bus yelled.

The second batter singled.

Then Sparrow threw three strikes for the second out. But the next batter blasted a double. Men on second and third, two out.

The crowd was shouting their encouragement to both teams as Sparrow let the next pitch fly. But their cheers couldn’t drown
out the sound of bat connecting with ball. A hard-hit baseball shot toward Bus. If he missed this catch, at least one man
would score. Maybe two.

He had only a second to react. Up shot his glove. The ball hit so hard, it made the palm of his hand sting. But he had caught
it!

The game ended with the score reading Mudders 5, Bulls 3.

Bus was congratulated by all his teammates and Coach Parker. He hadn’t felt so good for a long time.

Only one thing can top this,
he thought as he hopped on his bicycle to ride home.
And that would be getting a call from the All-Star scouts tonight!

He had started to pedal away when he heard a loud
woof
from the stands. He looked up and saw two familiar faces grinning down at him. It was the brown dog and the man who had fixed
his bike! The man waved but disappeared into the crowd before Bus had a chance to get near him.

I wonder who the heck he was,
Bus thought.
Sure wish I could thank him again.