Skinnybones by Barbara Park Read Free Book Online Page B

News pulled up and a cameraman got out. He lifted some heavy equipment out of the back door.
    “Are you guys going to be filming that graduation ceremony over there?” I asked.
    The man didn’t pay much attention to me. “What graduation? That’s a baseball game,” he mumbled.
    All of a sudden, the cold sweat was back.
    Okay. Okay. Don’t panic. There’s a reasonable explanation here, Alex. Nothing to get excited about
.
    I swallowed hard. “A baseball game? Like what kind of baseball game? Like the middle school championship game, do you mean? ’Cause that would make sense, because I mean the crowd is huge.”
    The cameraman shook his head. “Nope. It’s not a championship. It’s just a regular Saturday morning Little League game. In fact, somebody told me that one of the teams hasn’t won a game all season. What losers, huh?”
    I collapsed on the sidewalk. Just flat out collapsed.
    The cameraman glanced down. “You okay, kid?”
    I opened one eye and stared up at him.
    “Okay?” I asked. “Am I okay? No. I am
not
okay. That’s my team you’re talking about, mister. It’s my team that hasn’t won a game all year. What kind of man are you, anyway? What kind of man would want to embarrass a pathetic Little League team by showing them lose on the six o’clock news?”
    “Whoa! Wait a minute, son. Calm down,” he said. “I’m not here to embarrass anyone. It’s the
other
team we’re interested in. The one with that hotshot pitcher on it.”
    I threw down my cap. “T.J.! I knew it! I knew this was his fault! He probably called the station, didn’t he? He probably called the station and invited you here personally!”
    The man shrugged. “I don’t know who set it up, kid. The story was headline news in the paper this morning, though. That probably explains all the people. It said this kid has won every single LittleLeague game he’s ever played in. If his team wins today, it will be his 125th straight winning game. That’s quite a string,” he said.
    I closed my eyes. “String, schming,” I muttered miserably.
    I got to my feet and started walking.
    Desperately, I looked into the sky again. “God? Remember a few minutes ago when I was thanking you? Well, it was my understanding that you’d done a little miracle for me or something. But now it turns out you didn’t. And so I think it would be a nice gesture on your part if you could make it up to me.”
    I racked my brain for a plan.
    “Okay … got it. Just make the people in the bleachers go home. You could do that, couldn’t you, God? Just make everyone think they left the water running in their bathtubs. That would be easy enough, right? It might even be kind of amusing, don’t you think?”
    I looked around to see if anyone was leaving. People were still piling into the stands.
    “Okay, then how about this?” I bargained. “Just make the cameraman go home. Just that one little man, God. If the cameraman goes home, I will go to Sunday school every single Sunday for the rest of my life without a fight. I promise.”
    I turned around. The cameraman was walkingbehind me, carrying his equipment to the field.
    “All right. This is it … my last idea. And this is something right up your alley, God. A lightning bolt. Close enough to scare them … but far enough away not to hurt anyone. Just one tiny little lightning bolt, God, and I promise I will run home this very minute and read my entire book of Bible stories from cover to cover.”
    I looked into the sky. It was the sunniest day since my pitching contest.
    My shoulders dropped even lower than before. I hung my head. God is not the pushover that some people would like you to believe.
    When I finally arrived at the field, my team was already out there warming up. I could see the tension in their faces. It was obvious I wasn’t the only one who was sick about this.
    I headed out to right field. My knees were shaking underneath me.
    “Hey, Frankovitch! Where in the heck have