Switcharound by Lois Lowry Page B

had to let the fellow who ran the computer go, because he took two tennis rackets. We didn't even prosecute.
    "But I guess that was just the start of a run of bad luck. It's been a nightmare since then. I thought we were making plenty of money—we've always made plenty of money this time of year—but the money isn't there.
    "I don't know where it went. And I'm in charge—it's my responsibility—it's my store. Meet your fate with Herbie Tate, right?"
    He stood up with a rueful smile. "Back to the salt mines. I have three accountants in there trying to sort things out. And they're costing me seventy-five dollars an hour. Apiece."
    Slowly he took out his imaginary pistol. This time he aimed it at his own head. "Blam," he said. Then he added quickly, with a nervous laugh, "Only joking."
    Caroline watched through the window as he backed the car out of the driveway. Her throat hurt. He should have explained before, she thought. I wouldn't have minded baby-sitting. I would have come to Des Moines to help out, without even complaining, if I had known.
    And I sure wouldn't have done what I did this morning, she thought, feeling a little like crying. Because I can't undo it.
    Through the closed bedroom door, down the hall, she heard the little thumping and laughing sounds as the babies began to wake up.

    Caroline arrived at the ball field with the babies in their carriage at the usual time, just as practice was about to end.
    Out in center field, Matthew Birnbaum was industriously picking his nose. In right field, Eric the Beaver was hopping up and down, in circles, as if he were practicing ballet. Someone unidentifiable was lying on his—or maybe
her
—back in left field, getting a suntan.
    Poochie was at bat, and J.P. was throwing to him.
    "Pooch!" Caroline called. "Don't forget to—"
    J.P. glared at her. "Do you mind?" he asked sarcastically.
    "Well, I was practicing with him yesterday, remember?" Caroline called. "And I realized—"
    "You want to take over as coach?" J.P. yelled angrily.
    Yes, Caroline thought. I'd love to. And I could do a better job of it, too. But she didn't say that. "I'm sorry," she called to her brother. "I'll wait for you over by the bleachers. I want to talk to you after practice."
    She steered the heavy carriage toward the bleachers and parked it so that the babies were in the shade. One of the twins—she peered in and saw that it was the one in the yellow hat—was fretful. She whimpered and pulled at her hat. Her face was flushed.
    "Shhh," Caroline said impatiently and jiggled the carriage.
    When practice, followed by all the usual after-practice insults, punching, kicking, name-calling, and crying, had ended, J.P. and Caroline walked home with the babies and Poochie. Caroline wanted to tell her brother about her conversation with Herbie. But she had promised not to tell Pooch, and Poochie was walking beside them.
    "You know what we were talking about before, J.P.?" Caroline asked. "Something that you were going to do—actually, you already did it—and something that I was going to do?"
    J.P. looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. She gestured toward Poochie to explain why she was being so secretive. "Yeah," J.P. said finally. "What about it?"
    "Well, ah, is yours undoable?"
    J.P. considered that. "If I undid it right away, it would be," he said. "But there's a time limit on that. Why?"
    "Well," Caroline explained miserably, "I did mine this morning, and there's no way to undo mine. And I wish there were. I'll tell you why later."
    "It had better be good," J.P. said. "Because only some gigantic reason would make me undo mine."
    "This is truly gigantic," Caroline said emphatically.
    Poochie looked up. "Like the Incredible Hulk, I betcha," he said.
    "Exactly," Caroline said.

11
    "Well, I don't understand that
at all,
" J.P. said. "How can he be on the verge of bankruptcy? We had steak for dinner the other night. And he gave me that baseball