Wild Pitch by Matt Christopher Page A

sake?”
    “Because her cousin was there,” he said. “He doesn’t like me. He thinks I hit Phyllis on purpose and wants to get even with
     me.”
    “Get
even
with you? What do you mean? How is he going to get even with you? You mean, beat you up?”
    “I don’t know. But he came up awfully close behind me with his car the other day while I was riding my bike on the street.”
    His mother stared at him. “Why did you wait until now to tell me that?”
    “I didn’t want to worry you,” he said.
    “But it’s okay to worry me now.”
    “Oh, Mom,” he said, stuck for anything more to say.
    “Do you know his name?” she demanded. “Such terrible behavior should be reported to the police, and I’ve got a mind to do
     it.”
    “Forget it, Mom,” he said calmly. “I think he was just trying to scare me. He wouldn’t dare run me down.”
    She looked at him worriedly. “Suppose he does it again?”
    He took hold of her hands. They felt cold and damp. “Take it easy, Mom. Okay? Don’t worry. Once I see Monahan and explain
     things to her everything will be straightened out. I’m sure it will.”
    “But you’ve just been to the hospital, and you didn’t go to see her,” his mother said, looking him straight in the eye.
    He went to the table and sat down, and remembered back a few years ago when she was in the hospital.
    “Mom, I remember that Dad used to visit you sometimes in the mornings when you had your operation. Do you suppose I’d be able
     to see Monahan sometime in the morning, too?”
    The concern slowly left her eyes. “It won’t hurt to try.”
    He smiled, as if he’d just discovered an ace up his sleeve. “I’ll go tomorrow morning,” he said, enthusiastic. “Like you say,
     it won’t hurt to try.”
    After breakfast the next morning he got to thinking about his proposed visit to Phyllis Monahan anddecided against taking flowers to her. He was fed up picking flowers and then not being able to see her for one crazy reason
     or another. He would rather not take anything, just in case he wouldn’t be able to see her again this time. But he felt that
     a gift, no matter how simple, would be good.
    “I’m going to try to visit Phyllis Monahan in the hospital this morning, Rox,” he said to his sister. “I hate to carry something
     in, but I feel I should. What do you think?”
    They were in the kitchen, and she was putting fingernail polish on her nails.
    “I think you should, too.”
    “Got any suggestions? And don’t mention flowers. I’ve been batting zero with them.”
    She laughed. “Take her a box of chocolates. I know where you can get the best for less.”
    “Yeah. Me, too,” he said. “Okay. That’s a good idea. Thanks.”
    It was ten minutes of eleven when he rode his bike to his parents’ gift shop and picked up a box of chocolates. His mother,
     who was working this morning, was easily convinced that the candy was for a good cause and therefore wouldn’t charge him for
     it. (He knew she wouldn’t have charged him even if he’d wanted it for himself, as long as he didn’t make a habit of it.)
    She wrapped it up for him, and he carried it to the hospital, arriving there at about ten after eleven.
    The receptionist greeted him with a smile, and when he politely told her that he would like to see Miss Phyllis Monahan she
     politely informed him that he couldn’t, because visiting hours were from two to four in the afternoons and seven to nine in
     the evenings.
    His mouth sagged and he blinked a couple of times while he searched for words that might change her mind.
    He looked down at the nicely wrapped box of chocolates in his hand and felt a tightening in his belly. What could he say to
     this sweet old lady anyway that could make her break that rule for just this one time? That he knew it was broken before?
     And that breaking it wasn’t such a terrible infraction as she might want people to think?
    He heard a soft voice and looked up to see the telephone