Switcharound by Lois Lowry Page B

way."
    Caroline stroked the baby's hair. "I
was
worried,"
she confessed. "It didn't seem good enough, relying on a whistle."
    At the sound of the word, Ivy puckered her lips. This time, instead of a "Bpheeewwww," she gave a piercing whistle, just as accomplished as her sister's.
    Poochie looked up. "She learned just in time," he said. "Now they can
both
whistle when I hit a home run!"

15
    It was the top of the sixth inning of a game that was only six innings long, and Caroline was exhausted but exhilarated. The Half-pints were at bat, and the Tater Chips were ahead by one run. The score was 32 to 31. If the score held, the Chips would win. But the Half-pints were at bat.
    "I didn't know baseball games had such high scores," J.P. remarked. He was sitting beside her on the bench, as assistant coach. "I thought that was football."
    "It usually is," Caroline said. "But when nobody can catch, a lot of runs score. I forgot that the other team would be six-year-olds, too. They're just as bad as the Chips."
    She was whispering so that the three players on the bench wouldn't hear. But they weren't listening, anyway. They were yelling insults to everyone who was wearing a uniform: to the players on the other team as they came to bat and to their own players who were out in the field.
    "You can't catch, poophead Jason!" one little Tater Chip yelled to his own team's first baseman.
    "Can too!" Jason yelled back just as the Half-pints' batter hit a line drive toward first base. The ball went between Jason's legs and rolled toward right field.
    Eric the Beaver was ready for it. It was amazing. At every practice, Caroline had watched as Eric had missed ball after ball because he always seemed to be doing some odd sort of ballet out in the field. She hadn't understood it until she had read her brother's revenge game plan.
    "Eric the Beaver," his page had said. "Losing strategy: Supply with soda between innings. Do not suggest bathroom."
    Caroline had simply cut off Eric's Pepsi supply and had ordered him to the men's room after each inning. Now, instead of prancing and twirling in the field, the Beaver was alert and attentive. He had already caught two fly balls and had dropped only one.
    As she watched, cheering, Eric grabbed the ground ball. With his buckteeth firmly grabbing his bottom lip, he looked around for the runner, who had just passed first base. Jason, angry because the ball had gone between his legs, tried to trip him; but he missed, stumbled over his own foot, fell, and started to cry.
    Eric threw to second, where Adam Donnelly was waiting.
    "Adam Donnelly," his page in J.P.'s book had said. "Uses his brother's hand-me-down left-handed glove. Don't tell him he needs a right-handed glove."
    Caroline had simply convinced Adam and Poochie to trade gloves. Poochie was left-handed and hadn't known it. Adam was the reverse.
    Now, wearing Poochie's old glove, Adam leaned down and, with his left hand, scooped the ball successfully into the glove.
    "WAY TO GO, ADAM!" yelled Caroline. But Adam looked around, confused. He was quite a distance from second base. The runner ran past him and reached the grubby bag that was the base marker. Panic-stricken, Adam threw the ball at the runner. It missed and rolled. The runner headed on toward third base, and the ball bobbled haphazardly across the bumpy infield toward the pitcher, Matthew Birnbaum.
    Matthew was the Tater Chips star player. He could hit, throw, and catch. There were no losing instructions on Matthew's page at all, except: "This kid can do everything. Have him bat first, when no one is on base. And substitute a bad player whenever possible."
    Caroline had ignored that. She had made Matthew starting pitcher, and she had him batting cleanup, after three other batters, so that maybe he could help the others score. So far, in five and a half innings, he had scored twenty-seven other players, plus a few home runs all his own.
    Now he scooped up the runaway ball and yelled, "Heads up,