Wild Pitch Read Free Page A

on owning a Thunderbird as long as five years ago and had had this one for only three months.
    Eddie pulled down the door, got on the bike, and took off down the street after Tip.
    They rode side by side, Eddie between Tip and the curb. Riding to Big Mike’s Soft Ice Cream Shop was a regular ritual for
     them. But this time Eddie thought about taking a different route to it.
    “Let’s turn right on the next street,” he suggested.
    Tip looked at him. “Why?”
    “Trust me,” replied Eddie.
    They reached the end of the block and turned right, both making the turn at precisely the same time. Eddie thought it would’ve
     made a neat picture if a photographer had been standing close by then.
    “We’re going out of our way, you know that?” Tip said.
    “Not for long,” said Eddie.
    They rode on for six more blocks. Tip looked at Eddie again and wanted to know what he had on his mind to want to ride out
     of their way like this.
    “Tell you later,” Eddie promised, getting a kick out of keeping Tip in suspense.
    Trees lined both sides of the street, providing plenty of shade for the elite-looking, two- and three-story homes. Cars were
     parked along the curb, most of them big and shiny, with spoke wheels, new tires, and vinyl tops.
    They reached the intersection. Eddie looked to the left and right and saw a girl riding a three-speed bicycle. She was about
     halfway down the block. She had long, blond hair and was wearing a cap. She looked as if she were carrying something on one
     arm, and steering with the other.
    “Tip!” shouted Eddie, recognizing her. “This way!”
    He slowed down, made a sharp, right-hand turn, and headed up the street after the girl. He waited for Tip to catch up to him,
     then pedalled faster.
    “Hey! Where you going?” Tip called after him.
    Eddie smiled. “That’s her,” he said.
    Tip frowned. “That’s who?”
    “Monahan.”
    “Monahan? You crazy? Is that why you wanted to come this way?”
    They drew up fast behind her, Eddie leading the way. She was riding her bike near the right side ofthe street, but leaving enough space for Eddie to ride up between her and the curb.
    He turned and motioned to Tip to ride up on the other side of her, trying to hide a mischievous smile that tugged at the corners
     of his mouth.
    She was a ballplayer, right? She was one of the guys. Okay, let’s see how she’d take to two guys riding shotgun with her.
     Eddie almost burst out laughing at the thought.
    He saw her turn and look at him, her eyes widening. Then she turned and looked at Tip. Whatever it was — surprise at their
     sudden appearance, fear that they might run into her, or both — caused her to lose control of her bicycle.
    She let out a scream as it started to weave. Both Eddie and Tip, seeing what was happening, pedalled harder. She lost her
     balance and fell, spilling the contents of a bag she was carrying. Onions, tomatoes, a head of lettuce, a box of salt, and
     a carton of eggs all hit the street, and everything that could roll, rolled. What couldn’t, thumped, thudded, and then spilled
     over in a slimy yellow and white pattern on the street.
    “Oh, no!” Phyl Monahan screamed. “You freaks! You dirty, awful freaks! Look what you made me do!”
    Eddie wished he could turn time back. Of all thedumb moves, this idea of taking a different route to Big Mike’s, meeting Monahan, then riding up on both sides of her was
     the dumbest.
    He stopped his bike next to her, kicked out the stand, and rushed over to her. Close by, Tip was doing the same thing, the
     expression on his face full of accusation and disgust. The look on his face said, “I hope you’re satisfied, you jerk!”
    “I’m sorry,” Eddie said to Phyllis Monahan. “Geez, I’m sorry.”
    “Me, too,” murmured Tip.
    She stared at one of them and then the other, daggers shooting from her fiery blue eyes.
    “Let me help you up,” Eddie offered.
    “Don’t touch me!” she yelled, drawing away from him as