Too Hot to Handle by Matt Christopher

question,” replied Dad. “However, I think her crust isn’t
     as hard as she pretends it is.”
    Dad bowled at eight o’clock. Usually, David and Ann Marie went with him on Friday nights. Tonight, Ann Marie stayed home,
     and David and Don went.
    “Well,” said Dad as he started to sit down to put on his bowling shoes, “look in Lane Number Four. Am I seeing things, or
     is that really
her?
”
    The boys stared.
    Bowling in Lane Number Four was Mrs. Finch! Of course Mr. Finch was bowling, too. But everyone in Penwood knew that Mr. Finch
     bowled.
    “Just a minute,” said Dad. He went over to the Finches and watched Mrs. Finch throw the big black ball down the lane. The
     ball knocked down three pins. Mrs. Finch snapped her fingers disgustedly, turned around and stopped. She was staring at Dad.
    “Mr. Kroft,” she said, “are you spying on me?”
    Dad laughed. “This is my bowling night, too,”he said. Then he added, “Mrs. Finch, is it possible that you’re becoming soft? That you really don’t think sports are so bad
     after all?”
    Mrs. Finch glared at him. “I won’t answer that question,” she said, “on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”
    She turned to David and Don, her eyes snapping. “Your father,” she said, “just loves to argue!”
    The boys burst out laughing. They knew that Mrs. Finch was really having a wonderful time.

13
    I N the next two games David showed improvement at third base. He even passed Bonesy in a one-hundred-yard sprint. He knew he
     would never be as good a ballpayer as Dad, or Don, or any of the other Kroft boys, though.
    He was a fair hitter. After that last game his batting average was .289. But even Don hinted that David wasn’t doing as well
     as he should at the hot corner.
    “Sometimes you’re playing the ball as if you’re depending a lot on the shortstop,” said Don. “You can’t do that. You must
     go after every ball you can.”
    On Sunday afternoon — the first Sunday of August — David and Bonesy went bike riding in the country. It was a lovely day,
     and they hadn’t taken a long trip on their bikes in weeks.
    The sun was bright and hot. As the boys pedaled along the road, the trees on the distant hills looked purple and blue. A field
     of buttercups sparkled like a sea of yellow dust.
    They arrived at a picnic area, rested, then rode on.
    At last they reached a small village. They bought a bottle of Coke each to quench their thirsts, then got on their bikes and
     started back for home.
    They took their time. They were not in a hurry. They talked about baseball — about their own team and also the major leagues.
     They talked about David’s coin collection and about Mrs. Finch. They talked about Don’s bad leg and whether he would ever
     be as good a ballplayer as before. They talked about a lot of things.
    Before they realized it, they were back in Penwood. And the long ride had made them hungry.
    They rode up the sidewalk, Bonesy riding behind David. Finally, Bonesy turned up the street on which he lived.
    “See you later, David,” he said.
    “Okay,” said David.
    It had been a long, pleasant ride. And it seemed to have ended so quickly.
    David rode on.
    A dog began to bark behind him. David looked back and recognized a new dog in the neighborhood. It belonged to the Elwoods.
    Let him bark, thought David.
    Soon he reached the corner where the Finches’ big white house stood.
    Just as he started to turn the corner, the dog ran up beside him. His bark turned into a growl, and he lunged at David’s leg.
    David swerved so quickly that he lost control of the bike. The bike swerved into the Finches’yard and struck the statue of a boy holding up a sign with the finches printed on it.
     

    The statue fell over and struck the sidewalk leading up to the Finches’ front porch.
    It crashed into many pieces.

14
    D AVID looked in dismay at the pieces and then at the Finches’ house. There was no one on the porch. No one looking from a