BSC085 - Claudia Kishi, Live From WSTO! - Martin, Ann M.
Chapter 1.
"So the bases are loaded, okay? The score is tied, two cuts — and the batter hits a slow grounder to Jake Kuhn at first. ..." Kristy Thomas was talking.
And talking.
Me? I was working hard. Trying to keep my eyes open. If I fell asleep, my face would land in my lunch. And I did not want to go to my next class with hair full of chipped beef with cream sauce.
Baseball is not my favorite topic. It's not rock bottom, but it's pretty close. If Kristy had been talking about spelling, or techniques of room cleaning, my nose would already have been in the beef.
"So what do you think Jake does?" Kristy looked around. Her face was all a-twinkle, as if we were on the edges of our seats.
Now, if you were talking, and you saw three droopy-eyed girls staring back at you, slowly chewing their meals, would you assume they were dying of suspense?
"Give up? He fields the ball and runs home!" Chew, chew, chew. We raised our eyebrows and tried to seem fascinated.
"Maybe he had to go to the bathroom," I suggested. "Those games are long." Kristy looked at me blankly for a moment, then snapped, "Home plate, Claudia! See, he wanted to stop the run, even though all he had to do was step on first. Which would have ended the game without a run scored!" Oh.
The chipped beef was looming closer.
Kristy, as you can guess, is a sports fanatic. She's the founder, manager, and head coach of Kristy's Krushers, a softball team for little kids.
Are you sitting down? I, Claudia Kishi, Dunce of All Sports, was once the co-coach of the Krushers. Yes, it's true. When Kristy joined the Stoneybrook Middle School softball team and didn't have time to coach, my friend Stacey McGill and I took her place.
It didn't help. I still don't know how to play the game.
"Well," Kristy said grumpily, "I guess you had to be there." She took her fork and began shoveling in her lunch, as if she hadn't eaten in days.
"Ew, Kristy, please eat with your mouth closed," Dawn said. "Who wants to watch you chew up murdered mammals?" Kristy burst out laughing so hard, I thought she was going to hurl. "Murdered mammals?" "Well, that meat in your mouth was once a living, feeling cow." Dawn lifted a forkful of lettuce and pointed it at Kristy for emphasis. "Have you ever seen photos of what happens inside a. slaughterhouse? The poor, shivering beasts heading toward their death — " "Dawn, please," Mary Anne said.
I pushed my lunch aside. Suddenly I wasn't hungry.
Kristy shrugged. "Some people collect dolls. Some collect baseball cards. Dawn Schafer collects pictures of cow torture." "Can we change the subject?" I asked.
"Yes!" Mary Anne agreed. "Um . . . Logan and I are making a tape tonight. You know, a collection of our favorite songs." "I did that once," Kristy said.
"Thirty-two renditions of 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game/ " I remarked. (Sorry, it just slipped out of my mouth.) Kristy pelted me with a roll.
Don't worry. Kristy and I are friends. If she didn't like me, she would have thrown something harder.
Actually, Kristy has pelted me with a lot of things over the years. We grew up across the street from each other here in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. My mom says Kristy used to bop me with her Raggedy Ann because I didn't learn to walk as fast as she did. (Figures.) As I walked home from school that afternoon in the spring sunshine, my jacket slung over my shoulder, I wished Kristy still lived in her old house. On gorgeous afternoons like these, she had all kinds of great outdoorsy plans.
"Hi, Janine!" I called to my sister as I breezed in the front door and through the living room.
"Hello, — "I was halfway up the stairs when Janine saw me. "Claudia, what on Earth are you wearing?" Gulp.
I was wearing a backward T-shirt, overalls I'd made by sewing together two halves cut from different pairs, and mismatched socks. It was my "deconstructionist" look. You know, like the art movement? Those paintings that show you the parts
Chapter 1.
"So the bases are loaded, okay? The score is tied, two cuts — and the batter hits a slow grounder to Jake Kuhn at first. ..." Kristy Thomas was talking.
And talking.
Me? I was working hard. Trying to keep my eyes open. If I fell asleep, my face would land in my lunch. And I did not want to go to my next class with hair full of chipped beef with cream sauce.
Baseball is not my favorite topic. It's not rock bottom, but it's pretty close. If Kristy had been talking about spelling, or techniques of room cleaning, my nose would already have been in the beef.
"So what do you think Jake does?" Kristy looked around. Her face was all a-twinkle, as if we were on the edges of our seats.
Now, if you were talking, and you saw three droopy-eyed girls staring back at you, slowly chewing their meals, would you assume they were dying of suspense?
"Give up? He fields the ball and runs home!" Chew, chew, chew. We raised our eyebrows and tried to seem fascinated.
"Maybe he had to go to the bathroom," I suggested. "Those games are long." Kristy looked at me blankly for a moment, then snapped, "Home plate, Claudia! See, he wanted to stop the run, even though all he had to do was step on first. Which would have ended the game without a run scored!" Oh.
The chipped beef was looming closer.
Kristy, as you can guess, is a sports fanatic. She's the founder, manager, and head coach of Kristy's Krushers, a softball team for little kids.
Are you sitting down? I, Claudia Kishi, Dunce of All Sports, was once the co-coach of the Krushers. Yes, it's true. When Kristy joined the Stoneybrook Middle School softball team and didn't have time to coach, my friend Stacey McGill and I took her place.
It didn't help. I still don't know how to play the game.
"Well," Kristy said grumpily, "I guess you had to be there." She took her fork and began shoveling in her lunch, as if she hadn't eaten in days.
"Ew, Kristy, please eat with your mouth closed," Dawn said. "Who wants to watch you chew up murdered mammals?" Kristy burst out laughing so hard, I thought she was going to hurl. "Murdered mammals?" "Well, that meat in your mouth was once a living, feeling cow." Dawn lifted a forkful of lettuce and pointed it at Kristy for emphasis. "Have you ever seen photos of what happens inside a. slaughterhouse? The poor, shivering beasts heading toward their death — " "Dawn, please," Mary Anne said.
I pushed my lunch aside. Suddenly I wasn't hungry.
Kristy shrugged. "Some people collect dolls. Some collect baseball cards. Dawn Schafer collects pictures of cow torture." "Can we change the subject?" I asked.
"Yes!" Mary Anne agreed. "Um . . . Logan and I are making a tape tonight. You know, a collection of our favorite songs." "I did that once," Kristy said.
"Thirty-two renditions of 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game/ " I remarked. (Sorry, it just slipped out of my mouth.) Kristy pelted me with a roll.
Don't worry. Kristy and I are friends. If she didn't like me, she would have thrown something harder.
Actually, Kristy has pelted me with a lot of things over the years. We grew up across the street from each other here in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. My mom says Kristy used to bop me with her Raggedy Ann because I didn't learn to walk as fast as she did. (Figures.) As I walked home from school that afternoon in the spring sunshine, my jacket slung over my shoulder, I wished Kristy still lived in her old house. On gorgeous afternoons like these, she had all kinds of great outdoorsy plans.
"Hi, Janine!" I called to my sister as I breezed in the front door and through the living room.
"Hello, — "I was halfway up the stairs when Janine saw me. "Claudia, what on Earth are you wearing?" Gulp.
I was wearing a backward T-shirt, overalls I'd made by sewing together two halves cut from different pairs, and mismatched socks. It was my "deconstructionist" look. You know, like the art movement? Those paintings that show you the parts
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