Field of Screams by R.L. Stine Read Free Book Online Page B

these people could even move, they ate so much!
    I loaded my plate with some pancakes and bacon. “Where’s Coach?” I asked Boog.
    He scowled at me. “At work, stupid.”
    While Boog and I ate, Mrs. Johnson fluttered around, dusting things. She wore a pink dress with a flowered apron tied over it.
    I can’t imagine my mom doing housework in a dress. She cleans in a grubby sweatshirt and a pair of old jeans.
    I pushed my plate away and glanced at Boog. “What time is the game?” I asked.
    â€œAbout three. Dad is leaving work early to make it there on time.” He shoved one last giant forkful of eggs into his mouth and stood up. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s hit some flies and rollers.”
    â€œOkay,” I agreed after a second.
    I was surprised that Boog wanted to play ball with me. I hoped he wasn’t just trying to get me alone so he could finish beating me up.
    But I figured I might as well take the chance. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do before the game.
    The sun was already beaming through the clouds when we went outside. We crossed to Ernie’s house and went through his backyard. Boog shoved aside the same fence boards I crawled through all those years in the future. We squirmed through the fence, into the same field where Eve and I practiced.
    I mean, where we were going to practice, in fifty years.
    Whatever. My brain was starting to hurt.
    Boog’s version of flies and rollers went like this: You catch five flies or ten ground balls to earn a turn at bat. Boog batted first, and man, did he make me work! He swatted balls all over the field. By the time I earned my chance at bat, I must have trotted two miles.
    â€œMade you run,” he snickered when he handed me the bat.
    â€œYeah, well, we’ll see how you do, big guy,” I puffed. I was so hot, I thought I might explode.
    Boog hustled across the field, and I started hitting to him.
    Anything I hit above his head, he could catch. No problem. But grounders and drives below the waist were hard for him.
    After watching him for a minute, I waved him over. We ran and met about halfway.
    â€œI think I know what you’re doing wrong,” I said.
    Boog flushed. “Oh, yeah? I do all right, smart guy.”
    â€œHey, chill out. I’m just trying to help.”
    â€œChill out?” he sneered. “Where did you learn that dumb expression?”
    â€œUh, I—I heard it somewhere, I guess,” I stammered. I had to watch what I said. Chill out was from way after Boog’s time. “Anyway, I think I can help you with those low ones.”
    Boog folded his arms. “Is that so?”
    Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, I thought. Boog was starting to look as if he wanted to pound me again. And anyway, the worse he played, the more chance we would have of losing the game today—and missing the championship.
    â€œAll right, genius, I’m waiting,” Boog growled.
    Me and my big mouth.
    â€œSee, it’s natural to catch a high one,” I began. “You put the glove between your eyes and the ball.But for low ones, you put the glove between the ball and the ground, or the ball and your body. So you have to hold your head differently for those.”
    He looked slightly puzzled. “Yeah?”
    â€œYeah. Watch.” I bent over and showed him what I meant, following the path of an imaginary ball.
    He turned his glove, mimicking my moves.
    Then, to my surprise, he grinned. “Hit me some.”
    He turned and chugged across the field. I trotted back to the fence and hit him a short fly ball, making him run up. He turned his glove at the last minute. The ball bounced off.
    â€œHold it like a basket for those,” I yelled. “Open.”
    I hit him another. He got it that time. Then the next one, and the next, and the next.
    By the time we finished, Boog was snagging everything I could hit. He ran up, grinning. “It