by Derek Jeter
* * *
Derek had just gotten off the bus Monday morning when he saw the black sedan pull up to the curb in front of the school. Dave got out and shut the door behind him. He slowly trudged toward the school’s main entrance, looking neither left nor right, but only straight ahead, into the far distance. His feet shuffled as he walked, which certainly wasn’t normal for him, and he slouched forward, like a defeated soldier limping home after a battle.
He looks like a zombie! Derek couldn’t help thinking.
Derek tried to get through the crowd of kids to see if his friend was okay. As bad as Derek had felt the night before—and he only felt slightly better this morning—Dave certainly seemed to be taking things much, much worse!
But it was impossible to get through the mass of kids funneling through the front doors, hurrying to get to class before the bell sounded. Derek watched Dave’s head disappear down the hallway and around the corner. I’ll have to find him at lunch, he told himself.
* * *
That morning, as the class reviewed for finals, Gary’s snide whispered comments, which usually amused Derek, irritated him far more than usual.
How was he supposed to concentrate under these circumstances?
The morning went from bad to worse when Ms. Terrapin handed out practice standardized tests, along with number two pencils, so they could practice against the time clock.
Derek’s anxiety caused him to put too much pressure on his pencil, and the point quickly broke off, which meant he had to get out his pencil sharpener and make a new point.
This kept happening, and half the time the pencil left marks in the wrong circles, which Derek had to erase, leaving smudges, costing precious time, and—UGGHH!
He didn’t have to glance to his left to see the amused look on Gary’s face. He just knew it was there.
Derek could have kicked himself now for accepting Gary’s dare! Of course, he’d never been one to shrink from a challenge.
But he couldn’t have foreseen the news about Dave. And that changed everything.
For the second time that week, he caught himself grinding his teeth.
* * *
Derek found Dave in the cafeteria. He was sitting alone at a table in the far corner, taking the occasional bite out of his sandwich, and slowly chewing it while staring into space. Derek plopped his tray down and sat next to him.
“Man, this stinks,” Derek said, not feeling much like eating.
“You can say that again,” Dave agreed. “I was so mad! For two days I just wouldn’t talk to my folks. I even threatened to fail my finals on purpose.”
“Wow!” Derek was shocked that Dave would go so far.
“Chase finally calmed me down. I mean, he was right. It’s not my parents’ fault. It’s just the kind of work they do. And there’s nothing I can do to change it anyway, so what’s the point of punishing myself, right?”
“Right.”
“But it still doesn’t make me feel any better,” Dave said, putting his sandwich down instead of biting into it. “You want this? I’m not hungry.”
“No, thanks,” said Derek, who was barely eating his own lunch. “I feel crummy too.”
“I’ve been trying to study, but I just can’t concentrate.”
“Me neither.”
“Yeah, but you’re not the one who’s moving. It’s not as hard for you.”
“Do you think Chase is right?” Derek asked. “I mean, what he said about writing to each other?”
Dave stared straight ahead, but he wasn’t really looking at anything. “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s what my old friends and I promised each other when I moved here.”
“And?”
Dave shrugged. “One or two of them still write now and then, and I write back, but…”
“But what?”
Dave turned to look at Derek, a hopeless expression on his face. “But I’ve never seen any of them since we moved. Not a single one.”
Chapter Six PLAYOFF FEVER
When Derek and Vijay arrived at Westwood Fields after school that Wednesday, Derek saw that the Reds were already out there, taking fielding practice. They sure got here early, he thought.
“I’ll go park,” said Mrs. Jeter as she pulled up to the curb. “See you out there, boys. Go get ’em.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Jeter!” said Vijay.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Derek grabbed his mitt and jumped out of the station wagon, then swung the door shut behind him. As he and Vijay jogged over to meet their teammates, Derek noticed that the Reds were making some sparkling plays in the field.
This was not going to be easy. The Reds had finished the regular season 5–3, the same record as the Yankees. But the Reds had beaten them head-to-head during the season, so that meant the Reds finished fourth, ahead of the Yanks. Which also made the Reds the home team today.
Whichever team took this wild-card game would win the “big prize”—a matchup against the undefeated first-place Giants in the next round.
Meanwhile, Dave’s Tigers and the Marlins, tied for second place with identical 6–2 records, would meet up to decide the other finalist.
Derek understood why the Reds were here early, getting extra practice in before the big game. It had originally been scheduled for last Saturday, but the rain had forced them all to wait… and wait. If it had been up to Derek, he and the Yankees would have been here since dawn this morning.
He greeted his teammates, then looked around for Avery. There she was, coming down the block, with her mom and two of Avery’s brother’s friends who’d been to nearly every game this season.
The sun was behind her, and Derek squinted to keep the sun out of his eyes. Wait… was she walking funny? She seemed almost to double over once or twice, grabbing her stomach.
By the time she’d reached the Yankees bench, though, she seemed okay. She high-fived the rest of the kids as usual, not cracking a smile. Then she sat down at the end of the bench, staring out at the field, a baseball in her hands. All business.
Derek wondered if he should go over and see if she was okay, but if she was getting her head ready for the game, he didn’t want to interrupt.
Had he imagined her wincing in pain like that? Maybe it had just been the sun in his eyes.
Turning his attention back to the Reds, Derek could see that they were a tight-knit team. They all worked well together, encouraging one another at every turn—even in practice.
Good coaching, Derek thought, feeling a wave of worry come over him. The Yankees had walked a tightrope for the entire second half of the season to get here. They hadn’t dominated any single game they’d played. They’d come close to losing so many times—and yet, here they were.
Was this going to be the day their luck ran out?
Derek shook off the feelings that were trying to invade his brain. No way, he told himself. Not if I have anything to say about it!
* * *
It wasn’t just fielding that made the Reds tick—their starting pitcher was really tough. His pitches had all kinds of movement. Derek was the only Yankee to hit a fair ball in the first inning—a weak pop-up to second. Mason had fouled out to lead off, and Pete struck out to end it—one, two, three.
In the bottom of the first, the Reds, who were not a particularly big team size-wise, surprised Derek by teeing off on Harry’s fastballs for three straight hits and two quick runs! With a runner on second, nobody out, and the cleanup hitter coming up, Derek found himself getting nervous, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
Luckily, the cleanup man smacked a line drive right up the middle—right to where Derek was playing him, because the hitter was left-handed. Derek snagged it and stepped on second to double up the runner, who had started for third on contact. Two outs, and nobody on!
The number five hitter kept the pressure on, though, doubling to Vijay in right. Derek looked in at Harry, who seemed half-defeated, confused by his inability to get the ball past the hitters.
Derek jo
gged quickly to the mound. “Mix it up more, Har,” Derek told him in a low voice. “They’re onto your fastball.” Then he got back into position, ready for anything.
Harry threw a big, fat changeup. Derek was right—the hitter was keyed to the fastball and swung way too early. The bat barely touched the ball, and it landed right in front of JJ, the catcher, who grabbed it and threw to first to end the threat.
“That-a-way, Harry!” Derek shouted, raising his hands over his head. But Harry only shook his head in reply, exasperated with himself.
As he was watching his team hit again in the second, Derek found his tension meter rising again. Vijay, sitting next to him on the bench, must have noticed, because he said, “Only two runs—no problem. We’ve got this, right, Derek?”
“Totally,” Derek said, forcing himself to think positive.
“Hey, loosen up!” Vijay said, hearing the doubt in Derek’s voice. “What’s up with you? Your shoulders are so tense, they’re scrunched right up to your ears!”
“Huh?” Derek suddenly realized it was true. Without noticing it, he’d scrunched himself up into a ball of muscle. “Wow. I see what you mean.”
He rolled his head around in a circle, trying to get the kinks out of his neck. Then he rolled his shoulders around, to loosen them up too. “Thanks, Vij,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on with me today.”
But he did know. At least he thought he did. It was the news about Dave that had shaken him up, thrown him off his game.
“No problem,” Vijay said with a smile. “Like I said, we’ve got this, right?”
“Right!” Derek replied. And this time he really meant it.
Then he looked over at Avery, who was sitting on the bench, rocking back and forth and biting her nails. He’d seen her like that a few times before, in tense moments of earlier games. But this time it looked like she was in actual physical pain. She seemed to almost be wincing.
He was about to go over and demand that she tell him what was wrong, when JJ struck out to end the Yankees’ half of the inning.
Wow, Derek thought glumly as he ran back out to short. That happened fast.
He forced himself to shake free of his troubles and concentrate with every fiber of his being. He’d have to talk to Avery later.
Harry started the second by tossing a lot of off-speed pitches to the Reds. They hit the ball but didn’t make any solid contact. Even though they put two men on base with walks, they didn’t score, and the game stayed 2–0.
With Avery batting seventh and leading off the top of the third, Derek had no chance to talk to her. But he noticed she still had that pained look on her face, and she kept wincing every once in a while.
She seemed determined, all right—but it didn’t help her any. She struck out on three straight fastballs.
“AAARRRRGH!” she roared, smacking her bat on the ground and yanking off her helmet before stomping back to the bench. She plunked herself down at the far end, away from the rest of the team.
Vijay followed with an infield single—the team’s first hit! “Let’s go, Yankees!” he shouted, putting his hands over his head and clapping as he stood on first.
Elliott grounded out, sending Vijay to second. Then Mason walked, and Derek came to the plate with two runners on.
Vijay took a big lead off second on the pitch—and Derek saw the shortstop try to sneak in behind him for a pickoff play!
“Get back, Vij!” Derek shouted, just as the catcher fired a bullet to second. Vijay dived back in—and was safe by a whisker.
“Good read, Derek!” Coach K called out to him. “That’s heads up! Nice job, Vijay!”
Derek smiled, happy that Vijay had gotten called out for doing something good. But it wouldn’t mean much unless Derek drove in the runners in front of him!
The shortstop had backed off from the second base area now and was playing Derek to pull. That left a hole up the middle. Derek planned to put one right through the empty spot. He waited until he saw a high, outside fastball, then swung—
The pitcher dived for cover, and the shortstop and second baseman had no chance, as the ball ripped right up the middle into center field! Vijay, not the fastest kid on the team by any means, still scored—and on the throw, Mason went to third, and Derek wound up on second base!
Now the score was 2–1, and the Yanks had a great chance to take the lead with their home-run leader at the plate. But Pete, too eager to be the hero, swung at a pitch over his head, and popped out to first to dash their hopes.
It wasn’t just Pete, Derek knew. A lot of the Yankees were playing tense today. Not Vijay, that was for sure. But everybody else was unusually quiet. They’d come to life when Derek had driven in that run. But now that the rally had been squashed, everything felt flat again.
Harry kept things close, shutting the door on Reds rallies in the third and fourth. In between, the Yankees came close, loading the bases on two hit batters and a walk, but two strikeouts and a groundout finished off the rally. Derek groaned in frustration with each out, and he wasn’t the only one.
Now the Yankees were down to their last six outs. One run wasn’t much to make up, for sure. But time was running out, not only for the game but for their season!
He could feel the pressure rising, and so could the rest of them. Only Vijay seemed immune, telling everybody they were going to pull this one out of the fire. “Just like we did already. Four times this season, we came from behind to win!”
He’d make a great cheerleader, thought Derek, starting to smile himself—until he caught a glimpse of Avery, sitting at the end of the bench.
She was wincing. He hadn’t imagined it—and holding her stomach too. He made his way down the bench to her, stepping around his other teammates to get there. “You okay?” he asked.
“Been better.”
Well, at least she hadn’t blown him off. “Do you need a doctor or something?”
She looked at him as if he were from Mars. “Are you for real? We’ve got a game to win!”
“Right.” Okay, so she didn’t want to go into it now. Fair enough.
“Okay, then.”
“Jeter!” Coach called out to him. “Let’s go! You’re on deck.”
Mason led off the fifth with a walk. Derek doubled him over to third, hitting the first pitch down the right field line. Once again, the Yanks were threatening! Pete hit a line drive right to the shortstop, who grabbed it, then fired to second. Derek narrowly escaped being doubled off the bag, diving back in just in time. One out.
Harry swung wildly at two bad pitches. Derek winced, wishing Harry would calm himself down. He looked tight as a drum. The next pitch was right over the plate, but Harry watched it go by for strike three. Two outs.
Ryan walked to load the bases.
“I’m on deck,” Avery said, getting up and pushing past Derek, wincing once again.
“Go get ’em!” he called after her, but she didn’t react.
Derek blew out a breath. He sure hoped there was nothing seriously wrong with her. It was all up to JJ now. All he had to do was make solid contact and hit the ball hard someplace—anyplace!
He hit it hard, all right. But it was right at the center fielder, who put it away for the third out, leaving three Yankees base runners stranded for the second inning in a row!
A huge groan went up from the entire Yankees bench. Another golden opportunity, maybe their last, had been snuffed out, just like that.
As Avery tossed away the bat she’d been holding, Coach K came up to her. “Mullins,” he said, handing her the ball, “you’re pitching. Get out there and warm up.”
Avery nodded, tensed her jaw, and pounded the ball into her mitt as she ran out to the mound, all fire and determination.
Nobody was immune from nerves, though—not at this point. The Yankees had only three outs left! They had to hold the Reds here, just to give themselves a fighting chance!
Standing at short, Derek could tell right away that Avery was in a zone.
She never took her eyes off the catcher as she wound up and threw.
“Strike one!”
Avery hadn’t even pitched for the Yankees until halfway through the season. In fact, she’d mostly ridden the bench. It was only after Derek and Vijay had talked her up to Coach Stafford that he’d given her a try at second base in a high-pressure situation. She’d come through with flying colors. Later, after Derek had told the coach she could pitch, he’d tried her there, too, and she’d come through again.
On the next pitch the hitter smacked a grounder Derek’s way. He fielded it cleanly and fired to Ryan at first. One out.
The next hitter clobbered one to center. But Mason, with his speed, caught up to it and made a really clutch grab.
Derek saw Avery breathe a sigh of relief. Mason’s great play must have psyched her up even further, because she put the next hitter away on three perfect pitches—a fastball sandwiched between two wicked changeups.
“All you, Mullins!” Coach K yelled, and the rest of the Yankees cheered as well. Avery didn’t acknowledge any of it. She didn’t even smile. She just dropped her mitt onto the bench, grabbed a bat, and walked straight to the batter’s box.
“Go, Avery!” Derek yelled. “Let’s get this rally started!”
She let a fastball go by for a strike. The next pitch was low—but the umpire called it a strike anyway.
“No way!” Avery groaned.
“Play ball!” the ump replied. “Let’s go!”
Avery shook her head and dug in. Derek hoped she wouldn’t let the ump’s bad call get to her. But she did.
The next pitch was outside, but Avery swung anyway, not willing to risk having the ump get it wrong again. The ball ticked off the end of her bat, and the soft liner landed right in the third baseman’s glove. Avery groaned.
It’s not over yet, Derek told himself. They still had two outs left. Miles came to the plate, hitting for Vijay, who he’d replaced the inning before. He came through, hitting a long fly—but it was run down by the left fielder for the second out.
