Wall Ball by Kevin Markey Read Free Book Online Page B

Before we could run out to check on him, he popped up to his feet.
    “I’m okay,” he shouted. Grinning crazily, he fired the ball back to Skip.
    “This is not good,” muttered the Glove. “We need to figure out some way to help him.”
    “What we need,” grumbled Tugboat, “is for winter to end and spring to begin. I don’t know about you guys, but my hands are freezing.”
    As we talked, we heard a terrible whooping. Snowballs filled the air. A fat one nailed me square in the chest.
    Yowch!
    That smarted. Really smarted.
    I turned to find out who had thrown it and saw a band of Vikings storming the field. Ourfield. The big, hairy marauders shouted war cries and fired snowballs every step of the way. Icicles dripped from their bushy mustaches and beards. Leading the charge was a tall warrior with a mean face and a meaner arm. He wound up and whistled a cold one inches over my head. I would’ve recognized that delivery anywhere.
    It belonged to none other than Flicker Pringle, star pitcher of the Hog City Haymakers.
    “Take cover,” I shouted to the guys. “Defend our turf!”
    “What turf?” the Glove asked. “All I see is snow.”
    “You know what I mean,” I said as our rivals charged forward.
    Dodging a storm of snowballs, we scrambled behind the mounded snowbank along the first baseline and swiftly packed a stockpile of ammunition.
    “On three!” Slingshot yelled.
    He gave the count, and we sprang out of our bunker and returned fire. Meanwhile, Kid Rabbit led a flanking movement from left field. As we blasted away, the outfielders maneuvered behind the Haymakers. The invaders had nowhere to hide. Our snowballs crashed down on them like meteors.
    “You’re just mad we beat you for the pennant,” I shouted.
    “That was last year,” bellowed Flicker from atop the pitcher’s mound. “This is now. You won’t get lucky twice!”
    Lucky! Luck had nothing to do with it. We’d beaten them fair and square.
    His eyes were smoky and full of fire as he reared back and blasted another snowball my way. His long arm snapped like a whip. The frozen sphere sliced the cold air like a hot comet.
    Holy hand grenades!
    It was coming right at me!
    I dropped behind the bank and tried toget small. But the ball was coming too fast, a whizzing, dimpled blur with my name on it. I squeezed my eyes shut and prepared to meet my maker.
    The icy blast never came.
    Instead, a metallic clink rang out inches from my face. It sounded like an aluminum bat meeting a baseball.
    When I opened my eyes, I was staring close-up at a metal tube. I blinked, and the object came into focus. It was Gasser’s crutch. Gasser himself lay sprawled across the snow, the crutch extending from his outstretched arms. Right down by the tip was a big white blotch, the harmless remains of Flicker’s snowball. Gasser had batted it away at the last second.
    “Thanks, dude,” I said. “I thought I was a goner!”
    “No problem,” he said. “These things are pretty handy.”
    We sprang up to return the volley, but the Haymakers had already pulled out of range.They slipped safely through the gate, jeering all the way.
    “See you Saturday, chumps!” yelled Flicker as he and his gang disappeared into the flakes swirling down from the cold, gray sky. “Expect a serious beating!”
    Then they were gone.
    And we were mad.
    Really mad.

CHAPTER 12
    S plashed across the front of The Rambletown Bulletin the next day was a picture of the snow mountain at school. While my mom and dad bustled in and out of the kitchen doing morning stuff, I sat down at the table with a bowl of Pirate Crunch cereal and looked at the paper. Gabby had gotten a really good shot. You could practically feel a cold wind whistling right off the page. Huddled together for warmth, the four blurry presidents glowered down from their icy heights.
    “Check it out, Mr. Bones,” I said. “How’d you like to snowboard down that?”
    At the mention of snowboarding, he scampered into the