Free Coach Amos by Gary Paulsen Page B

driveway. He stepped off his bike and walked it into the garage. Amos followed, except he dropped his bike on Dunc’s front lawn. It bounced once and rolled backward down across the lawn, tipping two garbage cans where the garbage men had left them. Amos watched the bike and shrugged.
    “You haven’t said for definitely sure that you’re going to help me on this yet. You are, aren’t you?” Amos asked.
    Dunc sighed. “Amos, how do you manage to get into these things?”
    “Well, I heard a phone ring and I thought it was for me, and—”
    “Never mind.”

Dunc was trying to read the T-ball handbook and ride his bike at the same time. “It says here that you only play four innings per game.”
    “That’s good. The shorter the better.”
    “Amos, don’t you think you should study the rules a little before we get there?”
    “How hard can it be? We’re talking five- and six-year-olds.”
    “They’re going to expect you to know something.”
    “Duncan Culpepper. Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? In baseball trading card circles, I am known as the king.”
    “There’s a slight difference between collecting baseball cards and dealing with little kids.” Dunc slid the book into his pocket and stopped in front of Posey’s Sporting Goods. “It’s nice of Mr. Posey to sponsor our team. He doesn’t even have any kids playing.”
    Amos locked his bike. “Advertising. The sponsor provides caps and jerseys with their store’s name on them for advertising.”
    “Still, it’s nice.” Dunc headed into the store.
    Mr. Posey was a short heavyset man with gray hair. When he moved, he breathed like a freight train. He said it was from emphysema. But Amos thought, because of the way Mr. Posey’s stomach hung over his belt, it was from too many Twinkies.
    Mr. Posey was working on a football display. “Can I help you boys?”
    “Ms. Fishbeck, from school, said you were sponsoring a T-ball team this year,” Amos said.
    Mr. Posey stood up. “As a matter of fact,I am. Or I was until Coach Sanders resigned.”
    Amos smiled proudly. “We’re the new coaches of the team you’re sponsoring. Our first practice is today. Ms. Fishbeck said you had the jerseys and equipment.”
    Mr. Posey rubbed his chin and studied the boys. “Have you ever coached T-ball before?”
    Amos put his arm around Dunc. “My friend here is a walking encyclopedia of T-ball facts. Don’t worry about a thing.”
    Dunc moved out of Amos’s reach. “Mr. Posey, why did Coach Sanders resign?”
    “It was a sudden decision. Turns out it was for the best, though. Two days later, he wound up in the hospital. He’ll be laid up for a while.”
    Amos looked at his watch. “I guess we’d better go, Mr. Posey. If you could get that equipment for us …”
    “Oh, sure, son. Hang on. It’s in the back. Won’t take me a minute.” Mr. Posey headed for the storeroom. The sound of his breathing filled the store.
    Amos noticed Dunc staring off into space. He’d seen that look. That was the look that always started something—the one that meant trouble.
    “What is it this time?” Amos asked.
    Dunc blinked. “What?”
    “You know. That inquiring-minds-want-to-know look.”
    “Since you asked, it’s Coach Sanders. Why would he resign like that on such short notice? And why has it been so hard to get a replacement?”
    “This is so like you. It wouldn’t matter what we were doing, you would find some way to turn it into a big deal. It’s what you live for.”
    Dunc shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt to check into it.”
    Mr. Posey came back carrying a duffel bag. He handed it to Amos. “All the equipment’s in here. I’ll have the jerseys and caps ready by your first game. You boys let me know if you need anything else. Good luck. Oh, I almost forgot—from what I hear, you’ll be needing this.” He handed Amos a chain with a silver whistle on the end.

“I don’t suppose you’d want to take turns carrying this thing?” Amos held