Read Online Wing Ding by Kevin Markey - Free Book Online

Stump. We had to find a way to cure him.
    And we had to do it fast.
    Before the All-Star Game.
    The only question was…how?
    We filed out of the dugout and onto the bus. From time to time during the ride home, a gust of wind tried to push the bus off the road. A cow or two sailed past the windows. But we all were too gloomy to pay much attention.
    Stump, Slingshot, and I sat in our usual places in the back. Mr. Bones curled next to Stump, his head resting in Stump’s lap. Mr. Bones is not the type to hold grudges.
    Gabby finally broke the silence.
    â€œStump,” she said softly, “I hate to bring it up, but I’m going to have to mention your game in my story.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” Stump said dejectedly.“Write what you saw.”
    â€œNothing personal, you know. If you don’t mind, I’d rather just leave the yips out of it. It doesn’t seem right to go there.”
    â€œTo me it looked like the wind,” I said. “Gave everyone fits today. The ball did crazy things.”
    â€œDefinitely,” Gabby said.
    Stump started to say something, but I cut him off.
    â€œYou saw how those fly balls behaved,” I said firmly. “It was the wind, all right.”
    Gabby nodded.
    We said no more on the subject.
    The minute Skip Lou pulled up at Rambletown Field and cranked open the door, everybody cleared out of the bus. Nobody said anything, but I could tell the guys wanted to put some distance between themselves and Stump. Fast. Nothing like the yips to kill a party. Not that the game or ride home had been much of a party.
    More like a funeral.
    Picking our way around branches downed by the storm, Stump, Slingshot, and I went to get our bikes. The wind hammered less forcefully than before. When I turned my back to it, my ears didn’t get folded into origami.
    The yips weighed so heavily on my mind that it took me a minute to notice that more than the wind had quieted.
    â€œHey,” I said. “You guys hear that?”
    My friends cocked their heads and listened.
    â€œI don’t hear anything,” Slingshot said after a few seconds.
    â€œExactly,” I agreed. “The buzz is much fainter.”
    We jumped onto our bikes and rode onto the diamond to have a look around. Mr. Bones charged ahead of us. He must have thought he was finally going to get a shot at those critters.
    â€œWhoa!” Slingshot whistled as we wheeled toward the mound, which the wind had lowered by a good three inches. The whole field looked like it had been run through a blender.
    Grasshoppers had torn the turf to smithereens. Sections of outfield wall lay toppled by the storm. Beyond the field, in Rambletown Park, uprooted trees sprawled every which way, their branches tangled like the tentacles of giant squids spit out by the sea.
    â€œThree days until the All-Star Game,” Slingshot said.
    â€œThe grass will never grow back in time,” Stump said. “Not that I’ll be playing. Grass or no grass.”
    From the distance came a familiar whine.
    Slingshot nodded toward a cluster of large trees still standing beyond the ruined wall. Packed tightly together, they’d shielded one another from the storm and survived without damage.
    â€œIt’s coming from there,” he said. “The wind must have picked up the grasshoppers and swept them into those trees.”
    â€œThink they’ll come back to the field?” I asked.
    â€œNot unless the wind changes direction,” Slingshot said. “Even if it did, there’s not much left for them here.”
    Mr. Bones ran barking around the dirt. Dust puffed up at his every step. The diamond looked more like a giant sandbox than a place to play ball.
    â€œThey’re gone, boy!” I called. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
    With that, we turned our bikes into the breeze and headed for home. When we reached our block, Stump and Slingshot peeled off one way, and