Supercharged Infield (6 page)

“No,” said Penny seriously. “I’ve got to do this myself, Mel, and make sure he doesn’t get suspicious.” She heaved a sigh
of relief, flung her arms around her friend, and exclaimed, “Oh, I feel so relieved! I had to talk to someone, Mel, and I
couldn’t think of anyone better than you! You’re a peach!”

“Thanks,” Melanie said evenly. “But I hope that neither of us turns out to be a fruitcake.”

Penny laughed.

That evening she telephoned Harold and got him on the first ring. He was probably home alone, she thought, or had a phone
right next to his computer.

“Harold Dempsey speaking.”

“Hi, Harold. This is Penny.”

“Oh! Hi, Penny! Well, this is sure a surprise.”

Penny smiled. “Yes, I suppose it is,” she said. “Anyway, that invitation you offered me today? About going to a movie?”

“Oh, I’m
so
sorry, Penny.” Harold’s deep, drawling voice sounded sincere. “But I’ve already asked Gloria to go with me.”

Penny’s throat went dry. Gloria? Gloria Johnson? “Oh.” She tried not to sound too disappointed.

“Look! Maybe I can cancel it. I can tell her — ”

“No. Don’t do that,” Penny cut in. “You take Gloria. It’s . . . okay.”

“Maybe next week?” Harold asked hopefully.

“Maybe,” said Penny, her voice barely audible. “So long, Harold.”

She hung up, staring at the floor, her nerves strung tight as violin strings. Gloria was an outfielder. Harold’s taking her
to a movie was breaking the pattern. All the other girls who had “changed” were infielders. But he was willing to break his
date with Gloria and take me, Penny thought. And I’m an infielder.

Was Gloria going to be one of his victims even though she was an outfielder? Or would Harold wait now till next week, to see
if Penny would go to a movie with him or not?

Penny closed her eyes tightly and shuddered.

G
LORIA HAD TO BE WARNED
about Harold, Penny thought, the urgency of it making her more nervous than ever. If Gloria agreed to go to a movie with
him, okay. If she agreed to go to a fast-food restaurant with him, okay. But she should go home immediately afterwards. If
Harold invited her to his home after that, she
had
to refuse. That was it. Otherwise . . .

Her hands trembling, Penny picked up the phone book, found Gloria’s number, and dialed it. Mrs. Johnson answered.

“This is Penny Farrell,” said Penny, trying to keep from sounding worried. “May I speak to Gloria, please?”

“I’m sorry, Penny,” Mrs. Johnson replied in her pleasant, high-pitched voice. “But Gloria’s gone for the day. She’s going
to spend today and most of tomorrow with her aunt in Fort Mill.”

“Oh?” Penny was so disappointed at the news she was speechless for a minute.

“Can I give her a message when she gets home?” Mrs. Johnson asked.

“No. No, thank you. It’s not important. Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. Goodbye.”

“Is anything wrong, dear?” Mrs. Johnson hastened to ask before Penny could hang up. Something in Penny’s tone must have hinted
to her that something was bothering the girl.

“No.” Penny laughed. “Nothing’s wrong at all, Mrs. Johnson. Goodbye.”

She hung up the phone, and stared again at the floor. What was she going to do now?

A voice jarred her thoughts. “Penny. Is something wrong? You look as if the world’s problems have all been suddenly dumped
onto your shoulders.”

Penny glanced up and saw her mother peering anxiously at her from the kitchen doorway. She had on a light jacket, as if she
were ready to go out.

Penny forced a smile. Should she tell her mother about her suspicions? How could she, and make it sound convincing? She had
told Melanie, but now that her plan to go to a movie with Harold had gone awry, she had to tell someone else. And soon.

Her mother came into the room, put a hand on Penny’s shoulder, and smiled. “I don’t have much time. I have to leave for a
dentist’s appointment. But, if there’s something that’s bothering you . . .”

Penny looked at her. “Mom, is it possible for somebody with a computer to . . . to learn something from it to be able to change
the behavior of people, and turn them into . . . superathletes?”

Her mother’s brown eyes looked serious for a moment, then suddenly changed to amusement. “Oh, darling! Your imagination can
certainly take off at times!” She put her hand on Penny’s shoulder and looked into her eyes. “A computer can do a lot of things,
but change the behavior of people? Turn them into superathletes?” She shook her head. “It sounds impossible to me. That’s
not something I’d ever worry about, honey.” She leaned forward, kissed Penny on the forehead, and smiled. “Well, I’ve got
to run.
Leave a note if you’re going anywhere, okay?”

“I will.”

Penny watched her mother leave, then sat there awhile, wishing she hadn’t said a word to her. Speaking to someone about her
suspicions wouldn’t get her anywhere until she had some proof.

But there had to be someone who would listen. Someone who would believe . . .

Jonny! Why not? At least he would listen. He was intelligent, more intelligent than a lot of kids his age. And understanding.
She had to tell him. And now. She couldn’t delay it any longer.

Her hands trembling, she picked up the phone book again, looked for Jonny’s number, found it, and dialed it. The line was
busy. She waited a few minutes and tried again. Still busy.

Penny felt
sure
that she could trust Jonny and talk to him confidentially. She decided not to wait any longer for the phone to ring. She
raced to the bathroom, ran the brush through her dark hair about a dozen times, checked her pink blouse and blue skirt in
the full-length mirror, left a note for her mother, and left. She rode her bike, because
the sooner she got to Jonny’s and told him about Harold, the quicker something could be done —
if
something could be done — to make him stop it.
Correcting
whatever he’d done to the girls was something else again. But that, too, had to be reckoned with. Maybe Jonny would know
what to do.

It was still hot even though it was late in the afternoon, and by the time Penny had pumped her bike the four blocks to Meadow
Street, where the Keeches lived, flecks of perspiration glistened on her forehead and above her mouth. She left the bike standing
up on its kickstand next to the steps leading to the Keeches’ front porch, lifted up her hair in back to free it from sticking
to her neck, and approached the front door. Her heart was pounding.

She was just about to ring the doorbell when the door opened and a girl came out, a pretty, dark-haired girl with an oval
face and a small mole on her left cheek. Jean Zacks. The Hawks second baseman.

Penny froze as she stared at the masklike face of the girl before her. There was something about Jean that immediately reminded
Penny of the other infielders who had been
supercharged by, Penny thought, Harold Dempsey’s computer. But this was Jonny Keech’s house, not Harold’s. And the boy standing
directly behind Jean — the smile on his face suddenly disappearing — was Jonny himself.

J
ONNY STARED
over Jean’s shoulder at Penny, a surprised look coming over his face.

“Penny!” he exclaimed, the tone of his usually velvety voice matching the surprise on his face.

Penny looked from Jean to him. Jean glanced at her. “Hi, Penny,” she said, her voice flat and wooden, as she walked out the
door past Penny to the street. Penny watched her until she turned left at the sidewalk in the direction of her home. Then
she looked back at Jonny, feeling rooted to the porch but wanting to run away, to put as much distance between her and Jonny
as she could.
Suddenly she feared him as much as she had liked him before. And all the time she had blamed Harold for what had been happening
to the girls!

“Penny,” Jonny said again. “Hello.” He said the words haltingly and guiltily. Their eyes locked.

“So it was you all the time,” Penny said accusingly. “You’re the one who’s been turning those girls, including your own sister,
into heartless wonders.”

“No,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “That is . . .” He hesitated, looking away.

“That is
what?
I just saw Jean Zacks walking out of here looking like . . . like a robot!” Penny thundered. “How can you explain
that?”

Jonny’s face paled. Penny could see that he was fighting his emotions: he knew he was guilty for doing what he had done, but
hated to admit it.

“I didn’t do it,” he said, his voice almost quavering. “I mean, I’m not really responsible for what happened.”

Penny frowned. “You’re
not?
Then who is, Jonny?” she asked, her voice rising.
“Who is?
”

“Well . . . I mean . . . Harold.”

“Harold?” Her eyes widened. “How?”

Jonny’s mouth opened, closed. He looked away from her, at the floor, the walls, as if searching for the right answer to give
her.

“How, Jonny?” Penny repeated. “How could Harold in any way be responsible? Are you two working together in this . . . this
monstrous
thing?”

“Well, sort of.”

“How?”

“It was Harold’s computer,” Jonny answered slowly. “My dad bought it from him about a month ago.”

“That
still
doesn’t make it Harold’s fault,” Penny said, “unless I’m missing something here.”

“Well, I mean . . . if my dad hadn’t ever bought the thing, and I hadn’t started fooling around with it . . .” His voice trailed
off.

“I
thought
a computer was involved in this thing,” Penny said, her shock over Jonny’s involvement conflicting with her satisfaction
in knowing that her early hunch was right. “But how could it change people? How could it turn a person into a superathlete,
and . . . and deaden their feelings?”

“They’re not deadened,” Jonny said hastily. “They’re just . . . well, sort of relaxed. Weak.”

Penny stared at him, suddenly furious. “I can’t understand it. How could a simple computer — ”

“It’s not simple,” Jonny cut in. “Harold’s father did some work on it, making it more sophisticated than it was before. Then,
when Dad bought it for me, I upgraded it more.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off him. “ ‘Upgraded it more’?” she echoed, and waited for him to explain.

He nodded. “Look, our air conditioner is on,” he said. “It’s more comfortable talking inside than it is out there. Do you
want to come in?”

Penny hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “Really.”

He stepped back. Then, still a bit cautious, Penny entered the house, and Jonny closed the door behind her. He was right:
it was much cooler inside.

“Come on. I’ll take you to my computer room,” Jonny invited, heading toward a narrow, carpeted hall. “You probably want to
see it now that you’re here, anyway, I think.”

“Yes. I do,” Penny replied. “But I don’t know whether I should.”

Jonny glanced back at her. “I want you to,” he insisted. “Please.”

He sounded sincere. Penny considered his invitation, and her situation. If he tried to do anything to her — grab her, force
her into whatever kind of invention he used for his incredible purpose — she could turn and run. She was a fast runner. She
was sure she’d be out of the house and down the street before he was out the door.

“Okay,” she said, making sure, though, that there was a gap of several feet between them.

Jonny turned into the open door of his room and Penny followed him in. The moment she stepped across the threshold she stopped,
breathless. The room wasn’t large, perhaps not more than nine feet square, but every shelf was crammed with books, magazines,
and cassettes. Along two walls were the components of a computer. No.
Two
computers, on tables against each wall.

“You can see I’ve got two monitors and two keyboards,” Jonny explained as he stood next to the system across the room from
Penny. “This smaller one here is the one Dad bought me a couple of years ago. That
set there,” he pointed to the larger monitor and keyboard on the table near Penny, “is the one I got from Harold. It’s got
a dual disk drive, whereas this one is a single disk drive. With two drives you don’t have to keep switching disks, like you
do with a single. But I guess you know that.”

“A little,” said Penny, who was learning the fundamentals of computer literacy in school. “But how did you use it to supercharge
those girls — or whatever it was you did to them?”

Jonny went to the system that was next to Penny, reached around the monitor, lifted a latch, and pulled down a flap, revealing
four sets of inch-wide rubber cups.

Penny stared at them. “They look like electrodes,” she exclaimed, “those things they use in lie-detector tests.”

“They’re similar,” said Jonny. He pulled one out and Penny saw that a tube was attached to it. “Put two on each arm, turn
on the switch, and you’re ready to go,” he added, a sly grin coming over his face.

Penny’s eyes widened. “That’s it? Put two on each arm, turn on the — ”

“Not quite,” Jonny cut in. “There are certain
commands you have to give the computer.”

Penny frowned, curious. “Commands? Where did you learn about the commands?”

He looked at her. Once again he was very serious. “I programmed them into the computer.”

“You
programmed them?” Penny felt her spine turning into an icicle, felt herself frozen to the floor. She was afraid Jonny might
grab her, sit her down on the chair next to the computer, stick the electrodes onto her arms, and presto! change her into
another super player. But he didn’t, and she was sure then that he wasn’t going to.

“I programmed them,” he repeated. “I started with my simpler computer first, about a year ago, experimenting with mice.”

“And it worked?” Penny heard her voice sounding almost like a screech. She repeated her question, more softly. “It worked?”

Jonny nodded. “It was a long time before I started to get results, but I had the mice lifting stones five times their own
weight.”