Teeny Weenies: Freestyle Frenzy Page 3

  Jacob went down.

  The world turned black and silent before he even hit the ground.

  The light trickled back first. The world went from black to gray.

  He heard a sound. Someone was calling his name.

  He opened his eyes. But he wasn’t on the field. And he wasn’t on flat ground. He was lying on steps. He rolled over, sat up, and touched his forehead, expecting to find a large bump. But his forehead was fine. He reached around and discovered that the ball had hit him in the back of his head. He winced as his fingers felt the swelling lump.

  People were crowded around on both sides, staring at him.

  He parents were there. They looked worried.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “I’m a pro. I can take a hit. That’s part of the game. Did we win?”

  His dad frowned. “It’s just the third inning.”

  “But I was…” Jacob thought about all his heroic efforts in the field and at the plate. Looking back, some of his actions seemed hard to believe.

  “You got hit by a foul ball,” his mom said.

  “No,” Jacob said. “Not me. Him.” He pointed toward the field. “And it wasn’t a foul ball. There aren’t any foul balls near second base. It was a line drive.”

  He dropped his hand as he spotted the second baseman, standing unharmed at his position.

  “It was a dream,” his mom said.

  “Dreams are a good start,” his dad said. “Think you can handle a hot dog now?”

  “I can handle anything,” Jacob said.

  He walked up the rest of the steps and got his hot dog. It smelled wonderful. But another smell caught his attention as he got ready to take his first bite—a sweet green smell.

  Jacob stared at the hot dog. There wasn’t any relish on it. Then, he noticed a green stain on his palm.

  He looked at second base again, where he had plucked a few blades of grass from the infield.

  He smelled his hand, and knew his short time on the field had been more than a dream. Now he just had to work hard, so he could make that dream come true for more than a day, and play on a real team all the time.

  And he had to remember to always keep his eye on the ball.

  THE PET SITTER

  Daryl decided he needed to earn some money. There were just too many things he wanted, most of which his parents wouldn’t buy for him. He sat down on his couch and tried to think up a good job.

  “I could babysit,” he said.

  His mind offered him the image of a baby with an overfilled diaper.

  “Nope, never mind,” he said, wrinkling his nose. He realized another reason that would be a bad idea. His parents still got a sitter for him when they went out.

  He thought about washing cars, but that seemed like too much work. He also didn’t like the idea of sitting in the hot sun selling lemonade. He was much happier sitting at home, watching TV.

  “Too bad I can’t get paid for that,” he said.

  As he spoke those words, the perfect idea hit him. “I can be a pet sitter!” He leaped up from the couch and clapped his hands together. “I can sit somewhere else just as easily as I can sit here. And I’ll get paid for it!”

  He went to his parents’ computer and worked up a flyer. Then he printed it out and put copies on telephone poles all around the neighborhood.

  Having done all the hard work, he sat back and waited for someone to call.

  Nobody called.

  He put up more flyers the next day, in nearby neighborhoods.

  Nobody called.

  Finally, on the third day, the phone rang.

  “Are you available?” a man asked.

  “Yes, I am,” Daryl said.

  He got the address and headed over. The man who answered the door was old and small, barely taller than Daryl.

  “Come in,” he said. “I have to go out often. I don’t like leaving Dulcinea alone.”

  “I can keep her good company,” Daryl said.

  “Wonderful,” the man said. “But I need to make sure she likes you.”

  “I’m sure she will,” Daryl said. “Animals love me.” He’d never had a pet, but he was pretty sure he was telling the truth.

  The man led him to a door. “This is her room,” he said. “You go ahead. I’ll be right there.”

  “Okay.” Daryl stepped inside. The room was empty, except for a large cage. Inside it was the biggest rat Daryl had ever seen, outside of a carnival. It was almost as large as a lap dog.

  Daryl fought back a scream. Then he reminded himself of all the things he was going to buy with the money he earned from pet sitting. If the sight of the pet made his skin crawl, he’d just have to learn to get used to it. He stepped closer. And then, being a sneaky little Weenie, he got an idea how he could make sure the man gave him the job.

  “I know what to do. I’m going to pick you up. When that guy sees us together, he’ll definitely give me the job.” He reached for the latch. “Okay?”

  The rat seemed to nod.

  Daryl unlatched the door and opened the cage. He reached inside to pick up the rat.

  It bit him. Daryl screamed and jumped back, clutching his hand. The rat squealed and leaped from the cage. Then it scurried off, flattened itself in a rodent-like way no lap dog could ever dream of doing, and slipped under a baseboard heater. Daryl could hear shuffling in the walls. And he could feel his chances of a pet-sitting job vanishing.

  Oh, no! He thought. She escaped.

  He was startled by the sound of the door opening.

  Daryl tried to babble out an excuse. His words got tangled. “It … she … I didn’t mean … accident…”

  “Oh, dear,” the man said as he walked over to the empty cage. “Dulcinea will not like this.”

  “I’m sorry,” Daryl said. “I can help you catch her.”

  “I can’t believe you let her meal escape,” the man said. “She gets very cranky when she’s hungry. Well, I guess that will be the real test of how much she likes you.” He walked over to the side wall to the left of the door and flipped a switch.

  Daryl watched as a hatch swung open in the wall. Behind him, he heard the door close. He realized the man had gone out. He also realized something enormous was wriggling through the opening behind the hatch.

  It was a snake. It was huge. It was bigger than huge. It was enormous.

  It was also enormously hungry.

  Dulcinea, it turned out, liked Daryl very much. But not as a friend or a pet sitter.

  She liked him as a meal, sitting inside of her.

  WATCHING WENDEL

  Here it comes, Susan thought, looking at her mother and waiting for those horrible words.

  “I have to run to the corner store,” her mother said. “I’ll be right back, but I need you to watch Wendel while I’m gone.”

  Susan just nodded. Calm down, she told herself as her mother left the house. What could happen in ten minutes? What could happen in six hundred short seconds, even with Wendel the miniature wrecking machine, the two-year-old teeny-Weenie terror tot, the—

  Her thoughts were knocked to a halt by a crash from the kitchen. “Wendel!” she shouted, running to see the damage. There were pots and pans all over the floor. Wendel had pulled everything out of the bottom cabinets. Susan bent to fix the mess. She knew she didn’t have time to put the pots back where they belonged, so she started stacking them on the counter. Just as she got the last one off the floor, there was a thump and a shout from the other side of the house.

  She ran from the kitchen, skidded down the hall, and raced into the living room. “Yahoooo!” Wendel shouted. Susan saw he had taken all the cushions off the couch and piled them on the floor. He was leaping from the arm of the couch to the cushions. When he noticed his big sister, he squealed and started crawling under the rug.

  “Come back,” Susan shouted as she replaced the cushions on the couch. But Wendel ignored her and crawled toward the middle of the rug. Susan stared at the wiggling lump. There was only one wa
y to get to him. She started rolling up the rug. But Wendel didn’t stay still. He kept just ahead of her. It was like chasing a bubble in a bathtub. Wendel popped out the end just as Susan rolled up the last of the rug.

  “Wendel, stop making me chase you. Please, Wendel,” Susan begged. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep up with him.

  Wendel jumped to his feet and toddled rapidly down the hall. Susan ran to follow, but slipped on the wood floor beneath the rug. By the time she caught her balance, Wendel was out of sight. Frantically, Susan ran from room to room. There was no sign of him. Then she heard squeals coming from upstairs. She raced to her parents’ bedroom.

  “Wendel!” She looked in disbelief at the mess. Her brother had pulled all the sheets off the bed. She reached for him. He dove under the bed. Susan started to crawl after him. He slithered out the other side and ran from the room. In a flash, he’d skittered down the stairs. Susan was right behind him this time. Wendel made a dive for the kitchen door. Susan grabbed for him and missed. She followed him outside, into the backyard.

  After two quick laps around the swing set, it was over. Wendel had more energy, but Susan had longer legs. She clutched him in her hands. He looked up at her and smiled.

  “Hug?” he asked.

  What could she do? “Hug,” she answered, giving her brother a squeeze.

  She couldn’t be angry with Wendel, but she knew she’d be in big trouble when her mother saw the mess in the house.

  I tried my best, she thought.

  “Susan, come here.”

  “Uh oh,” she whispered, seeing her mother on the porch. She noticed her mother was holding a bag from the store.

  “You’re home,” Susan said, letting go of Wendel and walking toward the porch. Her brother skittered back into the house.

  “I can’t believe all this,” her mother said.

  “I can explain…” Susan didn’t know what to say.

  “I really can’t believe this,” her mother said. “I was just gone ten minutes. Look at what you did.”

  “But…”

  Her mother took something from the bag. “How did you know I was going to put new shelf paper in the kitchen?” She held up a roll of white paper. “I wasn’t looking forward to emptying those cabinets. And I certainly didn’t want to take up the rug by myself, but I just have to clean the floors. You even stripped the beds so we can wash the sheets. I can’t believe you did all this and watched Wendel at the same time.” She smiled.

  “Actually,” Susan said, “Wendel was a big help. He should get most of the credit.”

  “Now don’t be modest. I see that we won’t be needing a sitter anymore. It looks like the job is yours from now on.”

  Susan was about to answer when they were interrupted by a crash from the kitchen.

  “I’ll take care of it,” she said as she ran inside to see what Wendel was up to this time.

  OFF THE MAP

  “Herbert, you’re missing all the sights,” his mom said as they drove down a deserted road, past endless large rocks.

  “But I’m slaying a level thirty-eight hydra,” Herbert said. He didn’t risk looking up from his game. The hydra was a tricky boss.

  “You’re such a game Weenie,” his sister, Olivia, said.

  “And proud of it,” Herbert said.

  “Stop that, you kids,” Herbert’s father said. “And Herbert, your mother’s right. You’re missing all the natural wonders we came out here to see. You might as well have stayed home.”

  “That’s what I wanted,” Herbert muttered. But he kept his voice quiet enough so nobody heard it except for Olivia.

  They drove on, through splendid canyons and towering cliffs. Herbert did his own exploring, in the ancient world of Druidaria. Following directions he’d received at the start of this particular quest mission, he took the severed head of the hydra to the town of Qal’braz.

  It was a difficult journey, not only because there were monsters to fight, rivers to cross, and mountains to climb, but also because every five minutes, Olivia would say, “He’s playing that game again.”

  Then, one of his parents would say, “Herbert, put that silly game away.”

  Herbert would put the game away. But as soon as Olivia got distracted by the scenery, he would slip the game out of his backpack and continue his journey. The fact that the car trip seemed endless meant that, even with the interruptions, Herbert managed to make good progress in the game.

  Finally, he reached Qal’braz. Once there, he found his way through winding, narrow streets and alleys, to the home of the alchemist Wizreth the Wise.

  Just as Herbert was receiving his reward, and a hint to where he could find his next quest, he felt the car stop.

  He looked up, and saw that his father had pulled over to the side of the road.

  “What’s wrong?” his mother asked.

  “Stupid GPS quit working,” Herbert’s father said. He reached out and tapped his phone, which was clipped to a holder on the dashboard.

  “That won’t help,” Herbert said. He could see quite clearly that the phone was showing the message No satellite signal.

  While Herbert wasn’t an electronics genius, he was fairly positive that no amount of tapping would bring back the satellite signal.

  “Maybe we should just keep driving,” his mother said.

  “That’s all we can do,” his father said.

  “Are we lost?” Olivia asked.

  “No, we’re right where we are supposed to be,” her father said.

  They drove onward.

  “We’re lost,” Herbert’s father said half an hour later. “We should have come to a town by now.” He pulled over again.

  “We can’t just stay in the middle of nowhere,” Herbert’s mother said.

  Herbert sighed. It looked like the vacation was about to become even less fun.

  “Wait,” his mother said. She opened the glove box and felt around. “Here it is! I was pretty sure we had one of these.”

  Herbert watched as she unfolded a map. The paper was yellow with age, and there were holes worn in some of the creased folds. Both of his parents looked at it. They stared. They turned it different ways. They pointed at various spots and read place-names out loud. They exchanged shrugs.

  “I haven’t used one of these in ages,” his father said.

  “I’m not sure I ever did,” his mother said.

  From the backseat, Herbert noticed that the map looked strangely familiar. “Let me see,” he said, holding his hand out.

  His parents frowned at him. “It’s too complicated for you,” his father said.

  “Please…?” he asked.

  They handed him the map. Herbert remembered they’d passed a small lake right after the last time they’d made a turn. He found five lakes on the map. But only one was near a crossroad.

  Despite what his parents thought, he really did look up from his game once in a while to observe the world around him. But what they didn’t know was that his game required a lot of map reading. Herbert played so much that he was not just good at reading maps, he was great. And his skill at reading maps in the game worked just as well in the real world.

  After checking several more landmarks they’d driven by, he tapped a spot on the map and said, “This is where we are. If you go three and a half miles more, straight ahead, we’ll reach a bridge on the left. Turn there, cross the bridge, take the next right, and it will lead us to town.”

  His parents stared at him like he’d just pulled a hydra out of a hat, or sawed a wyvern in half.

  “Do you have a better plan?” he asked.

  They drove, reached the bridge, turned left, reached the next turn, where they went right, as directed, and reached town.

  As they got out of the car, Olivia pointed at Herbert and said, “He’s still playing that stupid game.”

  “Thank goodness for that game,” Herbert’s mom said.

  “And for that kid.” Herbert’s dad threw him a wink and said
, “We’d be lost without you.”

  Herbert didn’t look up from his game. He was too busy slaying a level forty-three manticore to take his eyes away from the screen. But the words weren’t lost on him. He heard what they’d said. And he smiled.

  OPENING DAY #2

  “Opening day!” I said, whispering those wonderful words so I wouldn’t wake Mom or my brothers. “I thought it would never come.”

  “But here it is,” Dad said. “And here we are, Rachel.”

  We slipped out to the porch, eased the front door shut, then headed for the car. I loved every moment of our opening-day daddy-daughter fishing trip, from the twinkling stars in the early morning sky to the drive home at the end of the day when, happy and tired, we’d stop for a milk shake at our favorite roadside stand. It was almost as good as my birthday.

  “Look at that one,” I said, pointing to an especially bright star.

  Dad glanced up as he opened the trunk. “I think that’s Venus.”

  After we put our tackle boxes and rods inside, Dad closed the trunk as quietly as we’d closed the front door. We didn’t want to wake anybody this early. It was barely past five. The fishing season didn’t officially open until eight, but we had a long drive ahead of us, and a hike through the woods to get to the stream.

  “Hey, neighbor!”

  The shout startled me.

  I looked across the street, and saw Mr. Humblebacker stumbling out of his garage, carrying a huge tackle box in one hand and a pair of fishing rods in the other. He was wearing chest waders and a fishing vest. A landing net dangled from his waist, along with a knife in a sheath, a pair of pliers, and a fishing license in a plastic holder.