About the B'nai Bagels by E.L. Konigsburg

Author:E.L. Konigsburg
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781442439665
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Published: 2011-05-10T07:00:00+00:00

Even after the season officially began, I continued going to the Projects on Saturdays. After those first two times, I went in the afternoons. Every Saturday, and usually on Sundays, too, even if I wasn’t buying Playboy. I went until the incident with Botts. There was something about handling a ball there at the Projects that was like magic. The ball would come to me: in my mitt if I was fielding or square onto my bat if I was batting. At Little League I was like a watched kettle; I got hot, but I never got up enough steam to boil. I was better than average. Better enough than average to be in the starting line-up even though Mother and Spencer never worked with me at home, the way I had thought they would. And I no longer wanted them to. When I played at the Projects, I wasn’t anybody’s pupil or somebody’s brother or someone’s son. I was myself, and I liked that. I felt guilty for sometimes preferring the Projects to the Bagels.

The thing with Botts happened late in June, more than three-quarters of the way through our season. Cookie had made a habit of walking me part of the way home. Every time she would ask me to bring back my good jacket, the one whose lining I had ripped. Finally, one Saturday I remembered, and I brought it in a brown paper bag. And that was the last Saturday I went to the Projects.

Who would ever have taken Cookie’s walking me part way home seriously? Certainly not me. Cookie was like a puppy or a mascot or something. After the first week I mostly forgot that she was a girl. Except when she smiled. One time I had asked the kid with the beginnings of a beard why it was that everyone listened to Cookie. (He really ought to have started shaving. He didn’t look kempt.) He explained that there were seven Riveras; six of them were boys. Cookie had to do a lot around the house. She was a little bit spoiled, being the only girl, but only a little bit; being that she worked so hard around the house, I guess she deserved it.

On the Saturday it happened with Botts I had gotten into the game right away. Botts had been waiting and my arrival made an even number. Our teams were not full count, and the guys in the outfield had to cover a lot of ground. Which they did. I dropped one fly ball, but since it didn’t break a window or anything, the only comment was Stupid and Greasy-fingers. At first I tried to say something in my own defense, but they didn’t care; they just wanted to pitch the next ball, and we all had to concentrate on that. It was great not having an audience.

Then Fortune came down and called time out.

Just like that.

And everyone took time out.

Just like that.

“I want to see Mark Bagel,” she said.

I walked over to her.

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