Strikeout of the Bleacher Weenies by David Lubar Page A

between those points. People aren’t meant to get stretched out across a span of time any more than they are meant to get stretched out over an expanse of space.
    Once my brain understood what my eyes had fed it, I puked. Big time. I splattered a tree three feet away from me. But I couldn’t keep from staring at the ropelike mess that was stretched out in front of us. It was sort of fleshy, and sort of wet. Parts of it pulsed and throbbed weakly. It was Rooney—flesh, bones, and blood—extending through the present to the past and future.
    We all travel through time—one second at a time. That’s the way it’s meant to be. And, as Toby and I had just learned, we could even jump back or forward without any permanent damage.
    But going both ways at once proved to be a very bad idea.
    â€œI don’t think he’s coming back,” I said after several minutes had passed.
    â€œYeah. He’s permanently stretched between the past, present, and future.”
    â€œTough break,” I said.
    â€œBetter him than me,” Toby said.
    I looked at Toby. He looked at me, then at the remaining time grenades. He picked up the box.
    â€œYou’re keeping them?” I asked.
    â€œSure. We can’t leave them here where anyone could find them. Who knows what would happen?”
    â€œWe know,” I said. I gave Rooney one last glance, shuddered, then followed Toby out of the woods. It was definitely time to leave.

 
    TANKS FOR YOUR CONTRIBUTION
    Okay, so I was tapping on the glass at the aquarium. And, yeah, there are big signs all over saying, PLEASE DON’T TAP ON THE GLASS. So, big deal, I broke a rule. But there was no reason a couple guards should come over, pick me up, and drag me to an office in the basement of the place. I hadn’t even wanted to come here, but my folks had dropped me off on the way to some sort of meeting and told me they’d be back for me in two hours.
    The guards plopped me down in this chair by a desk. It wasn’t even a regular chair. It was one of those beanbag things that looks like a giant pillow.
    There was a guy on the other side of the desk. He was wearing a shirt and tie, but no jacket. He was sitting in a regular chair, which meant he was a lot higher than I was. I guess that made him feel powerful. I shifted around in my seat. It might have been low, but it was pretty comfortable.
    â€œWell,” he said, looking down at me, “I see we have a problem.”
    â€œ We don’t have a problem,” I said. “ You have a problem. This is kidnapping.”
    He laughed, like I was making some sort of joke. “We are perfectly within our rights to detain vandals.”
    â€œVandals? You’ve got to be kidding. I just tapped the glass. I didn’t smash it.”
    â€œYou disturbed the fish. You caused them discomfort. If it was up to me, I’d have you converted into fish food. Unfortunately, that happens to be illegal.”
    I stared at him. He had to be crazy. Even though I was pretty sure I wasn’t in any danger of being chummed, a chill ran through me. No joke. I actually shivered. I wanted to get out of there. I figured the quickest way to get him to let me go was to show I understood what I’d done. “Okay—I learned my lesson. Tapping is bad. Fish have sensitive hearing. I’m a vandal. I did a terrible thing. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Are we done?” I asked.
    â€œNot yet.” He glanced at his watch for a moment, as if he was figuring something out, then stared at me and said, “You young people have no idea what a treasure this place is. We have so much to offer. And we have to squeeze by with so few resources. The state cut our funds again this year.”
    I yawned. He was boring me now. I guess that was my punishment for tapping on the glass. I hoped he’d be finished soon. I shifted in the chair and enjoyed the way it moved beneath me.
    â€œDo