Chapter 1.

"Merrily we roll along, roll along, roll along — "

"Row, row, row your boat — " "Jingle bells, Santa smells, a million miles away — "

My head was pounding. I felt as if I were trapped in a hot, tiny room with nine munchkins who were all singing different songs. And in a way, I was. The tiny room was a van, which my big brother Charlie was driving along the highway. It was hot because — well, because it was a hot, muggy day. The munchkins were nine little kids who make up a soft-ball team that I co-coach. And those kids were singing nine different songs, all at the same time.

"Comet, it makes your mouth turn green — " "Doe, a deer, a female deer — " "Boys are made of greasy, grimy gopher guts - "

I looked over at Bart Taylor, the other coach. He had pressed his hands over his ears. He grinned at me and shrugged. "A hundred bottles of pop on the wall —” "The wheels on the bus go round and round — "

"The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout — "

I couldn't take it anymore. But what could I do? The kids were just bursting with energy. They were probably also a little nervous about the game they were going to be playing that afternoon: They would be facing the Redfield Raiders for the first time. I realized that singing was probably just the kids' way of working out some of their heebie-jeebies. (I love that term! It's much more fun than "anxiety," or "apprehension.") But even though I knew it was good for them, I couldn't stand the racket they were making. Suddenly, I had an idea. It was a good one, too, and I acted on it right away. I whistled loudly to get their attention. "Hey, kids," I said. "Let's play chorus. We can take turns being the conductor, okay? I'll go first to show you how."

They looked up at me expectantly. I raised my arms. "First of all, we're going to sing the same song," I said. "And not 'Jingle Bells.' It's too hot and muggy to sing Christmas carols. All right, let's try something simple, like — "