Wild Pitch Read Free

her. She had reached the bag and was standing with one foot on it, the other on the ground.
    “Maybe her father’s got something to do with it,” he said. “I’ve heard of families with only one daughter, and the father
     pushes her into something he’d been planning on a son to do.”
    “I don’t know whether she’s an only child or not,” said Puffy. “Whatever she is, she isn’t bad.”
    “But I wouldn’t want her to play with us,” Tip said.
    “Neither would I,” agreed Eddie. He looked at Puffy. “I suppose you would.”
    Puffy turned to him. “Who said so? I’m just saying she’s not bad.”
    She scored easily on a drive to right center field. “Let’s go,” suggested Tip.
    “I’m ready,” said Eddie.
    They left the park and went home.
    Eddie lived on Baker Avenue, a block away from Tip and three blocks away from Puffy. It was a relatively new neighborhood.
     Most of the homeswere less than five years old. Some of the lawns looked like pictures cut out of
House and Garden
magazine.
    Eddie found his mother paring potatoes at the kitchen sink.
    “Hi, Mom,” he greeted her. “What’re you making for supper?”
    “Steak and potatoes,” she answered promptly. “Hamburg steak, that is.”
    She was short, brown-haired, and had a weight problem. Once a week she attended a weight-control class, but Eddie couldn’t
     see that it was doing much good.
    She had taken to the new town right away. Besides working with her husband at the gift shop, she was secretary of the Junior
     Women’s League, a member of the church’s women’s auxiliary, and she sang in the choir.
    “How’d you boys do?”
    He took off his cap and headed toward the bathroom. “We won.”
    “Score?”
    “Six—four.”
    He walked on past the bathroom, took a look inside the living room, and saw his sister Margie sprawled out on a chair. She
     was reading a teens’ magazine.
    “Hi,” he said.
    The magazine lowered below a pair of sharp, intelligent blue eyes. “Hi.” Above the eyes was a head of straight dark hair that
     disappeared again as the magazine resumed its former position.
    “Hey, pie face,” said Eddie, “you know a girl named Monahan? Phyllis Monahan?”
    The magazine lowered again, this time enough to reveal a button nose and a small, perky mouth. Margie was twelve.
    “Phyl Monahan? Sure. Why?”
    “What do you know about her?”
    The eyes brightened with interest. “Not much. Except that she’s popular. Why?”
    “What do you mean, popular?”
    “She’s a nice kid. She’s a brain. And she’s got a lot of friends. Why?”
    “Where does she live?”
    “On Brenda Ave. Hey, what’s going on? Why all this interest in Phyllis Monahan?”
    “She plays first base for the Surfs.”
    Margie’s eyes almost popped. “She what?”
    Eddie smiled.
    “See ya later,” he said, waving to her. “I’ve got to wash this stinking sweat off.”

3
    Tip came over on his ten-speed bike after supper
. Eddie heard the sound of its bell from inside the house and went out to meet him in the driveway. He had one similar to
     Tip’s, except that his was three years old, and rust had begun to show.
    “Where you heading?” asked Eddie.
    Tip stood astride his bike and took off his bright blue helmet.
    “Thought we’d go for a spin and stop for some soft ice cream,” he replied. “You got enough dough? If not, I —”
    “Yeah, I’ve got enough,” said Eddie.
    “Good. Get your wheels.”
    Eddie went into the house and found his mother cutting coupons out of a newspaper.
    “Mom, Tip’s here. Okay if I get my bike and go with him for a spin?”
    “Just get back before dark,” she told him.
    He grinned. “Don’t I always?”
    He hurried out to the garage, grabbed his helmet off a wall hook, and took out his bike. He was careful not to scrape it against
     his father’s crimson-colored Thunderbird. One scratch on that baby and he might as well figure on being grounded for a week.
     His father had planned