by Derek Jeter
He tried to spin out of the way, but the ball plunked him square in the left arm, halfway between his elbow and shoulder.
“OW!” Derek cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground, grabbing his arm where the ball had hit it. “Owww.”
“Take your base!” the umpire said.
Derek got up and jogged down to first, fighting back tears. He didn’t want to give the pitcher the satisfaction of seeing how badly he was hurting.
Standing at first, Derek tried to rub the pain out of his arm. He saw his father and Sharlee in the stands, concerned looks on their faces. His dad stood up, pointed to Derek, and mouthed, “You okay?”
Derek nodded, because even though he wasn’t really okay, he was pretty sure nothing was broken and that he would be okay soon enough. His dad sat back down, patting Sharlee comfortingly on the shoulder.
Pete got into the batter’s box and watched the first pitch. As soon as the ball crossed the plate, Derek took off for second base. He could hear everyone yelling, but he never looked up. He just kept on running until it was time to slide—his dad had taught him how when he was still in T-ball—and then down he went, kicking up a cloud of dirt.
“Safe!” the umpire called.
Derek looked up to see that the catcher had never even thrown the ball. Over the cheers of his teammates, he could hear his dad and Sharlee whooping it up. “Attaboy, Derek!” Mr. Jeter shouted.
He got up and dusted himself off. That was when he noticed that his arm had stopped hurting. Nothing like a stolen base to take away the pain, he thought with a grin.
Derek’s steal of second base must have shaken the pitcher’s confidence, because on the very next pitch Pete smacked a fastball way over the left fielder’s head!
Derek motored easily around third and scored, while Pete, who wasn’t exactly a speed demon, kept on chugging all the way around the bases. “Safe!” called the umpire as Pete slid under the catcher’s tag.
All the Tigers let out a whoop, and Derek slapped Pete on the back along with the rest of them. They were teammates, after all, weren’t they? Besides, the Tigers were now ahead, 2–0, with only one out, and it was still the top of the first inning!
Hey, Derek told himself, maybe we can compete for a championship after all.
Ryan walked and Isaiah singled, sending Ryan to third. Ernesto followed with another walk, loading the bases!
The whole team was standing in front of the bench, gripping and shaking the chain-link fence. The Tigers were already giddy with success, and it was only the first inning of the first game.
Alas, Sims popped up to second, and Elliott struck out swinging at a pitch that was nowhere near the plate. All the Tigers groaned. They’d had such a good start and gotten only two runs out of it.
Oh well, Derek thought. I guess two runs is better than none. He trotted out to second base for the bottom of the first.
When he got there, he saw Pete already at shortstop, acting like he owned the position. “Focus, Derek!” he heard his father call out. Immediately, Derek snapped to attention as if he’d had an electric shock. Forgetting all about Pete, he stared in at the hitter and got into his defensive crouch, ready for action.
“Hit it here,” Derek muttered under his breath. “Hit it . . . right . . . here. . . .”
As if in answer to a prayer, the hitter whacked a sharp line drive over Derek’s head. Derek leapt into the air, stretching his arm up as far as he could—and came down with the ball!
“Yeah! Attababy!” he heard Coach Kozlowski shout. “Woo-hoo! We’ve got ourselves a second baseman!”
Uh-oh, Derek thought. Did I just mess up my chances of ever playing shortstop?
The next batter hit a pop-up between third and short. Sims, who was at third, and Pete both called for it, and although it was a much easier play for Sims, Pete didn’t back off. The two boys bumped into each other, and the ball dropped between them.
“I called it!” Pete yelled at Sims. “I’m the shortstop. I’m supposed to catch anything I call for!”
Taking advantage of the fact that Pete was busy yelling at Sims and paying no attention to him, the runner kept on going!
“Second base!” Derek yelled. He raced to the bag ahead of the runner, but by the time Pete picked up the ball, he had to rush the throw, and it went wide, bouncing into right field.
The runner kept on going. By the time Norman got to it in right field and threw home, it was way too late.
“Come on, you guys!” Pete complained, looking around at the rest of them. “Let’s go!”
He said it like he was blaming the other kids for the mistakes. But it was Pete, not Sims, not Derek, not even Norman, who was to blame. What should have been an out had turned into an unearned run, all because Pete had made two errors on the play!
Luckily, Ernesto, the Tigers’ pitcher, buckled down after that, striking out two of the next three hitters, and the Indians settled for just one run.
As the Tigers gathered at their bench, Derek watched to see if Coach Kozlowski would say anything to Pete about the way he’d yelled at his teammates. But the coach seemed not to have noticed his son’s behavior, or if he had noticed, he had decided it wasn’t worth mentioning to Pete.
Derek shook his head. If anybody needed a contract, it was Pete. If that had been Derek yelling at his teammates, and if it had been his dad who was the coach? Whoa. Derek knew he would have gotten a real talking-to, one he wouldn’t have forgotten for a long, long time.
But his dad wasn’t the coach. And Pete’s dad was. And that was the way it was going to be for the rest of the season. There wasn’t a thing Derek could do to change it. He knew he would just have to find a way to deal with the cruel reality and make the best of it.
The Tigers’ first two hitters grounded out, and Derek stepped up to the plate for his second at bat. He stood a little farther away from the plate this time, just in case another pitch strayed too far inside.
But the pitcher must have been thinking the same thing, because he threw outside on every pitch. Derek swung at the first one but couldn’t reach it. He told himself to stay disciplined—it was what he knew his dad would have said—and refused to swing at anything that was clearly a ball.
Four pitches later he was on first with a walk.
Pete came to the plate again, taking practice swings that were so furious, Derek was afraid he would hurt himself. Pete’s first-pitch swing was even harder—and he popped up meekly to the pitcher to end the inning.
Pete whacked the plate with his bat before heading back to the bench. Again, his father seemed to ignore his outburst.
Luckily, the Indians didn’t appear to have a lot of great hitters. Ernesto didn’t throw very fast, and he threw over the plate a lot. So while there weren’t many walks, there should have been plenty of hits. But after the first inning, Ernesto held them hitless until the fourth.
But then, with two outs and the score still 2–1, Ernesto’s arm seemed to get tired. He started missing the plate and walked two batters in a row. Then he grooved a pitch right over the plate, and the Indians’ hitter whacked it deep to left, way over Elliott’s head!
Elliott stood there, stunned, as if he didn’t know what to do. Meanwhile, the center fielder, little Chris, used his speed to quickly run down the ball and throw it back in. Derek grabbed the relay and fired home just as the batter came barreling into Isaiah.
“OUT!” called the umpire as Isaiah held the ball up in his hand to show he still had it. Chris, Derek, and Isaiah had kept the third run from scoring, but both of the other runners had already come around ahead of the hitter to score on the play. The Indians were in the lead, 3–2.
Derek led off the fifth inning for the Tigers. This time he was determined to make contact, start a rally, and get his team right back into the lead.
The first pitch was over the plate, and Derek swu
ng hard, smacking a sharp grounder to short. The shortstop was right there, but the ball was hit so hard, he couldn’t field it cleanly, and Derek wound up with an infield single.
Well, it wasn’t a home run, true, but at least he had his first hit of the season. And on the very next pitch he stole second base for the second time that day!
Pete proceeded to drive him in with a long triple to left to tie the game back up. Then Pete scored on a groundout by Ryan, putting the Tigers back in the lead, 4–3!
That was the way it stayed, until the Indians’ last licks in the bottom of the sixth.
Derek knew that according to the rules of the Westwood Little League, every player had to play at least two innings in the field in every game. Coach Kozlowski had waited until the fifth to put in his subs, swapping Sun and Mark in as outfield replacements for Elliott and Norman.
Sun and Mark had been to only one of the team’s practices. They seemed unsure of where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to be doing out there. Derek now wished that the coach had put them in for the beginning of the game instead of the end.
As for Vijay, Derek was surprised to see Coach Kozlowski put him in at first base. Ryan was pitching now, and Ernesto had sat down along with Elliott and Norman.
The bottom of the inning started well. Ryan threw a lot harder than Ernesto, and he fanned the first batter. Two more outs, and the Tigers would notch their first victory!
But the next two hitters walked, and then the top of the Indians’ order came to bat. On Ryan’s second pitch, the hitter smacked a sharp grounder to Derek’s left.
Derek made a neat play on it and pivoted to throw to second, where Pete had gone to cover the base. Pete took the throw for the second out of the inning, then fired to first, trying to complete the double play that would end the game . . .
Except he threw it on a bounce, and the ball hopped up and over Vijay’s mitt! It bounced off the chain-link fence that protected the Indians’ bench, and skittered into short right field!
Vijay quickly got to it, while Derek and all the Tigers started yelling, “Home! Home!”
Vijay threw, but his aim was off. Isaiah caught it too far from the plate to tag the runner. Now it was a tie game, and the winning run was standing on second base.
“How did you not catch that ball?” Pete yelled at Vijay, throwing his arms out wide. “You just cost us the game!”
Derek wanted to tell Pete how mean he was being, to tell Vijay to pay no attention.
But he didn’t say any of that. They had a ball game to play, and he meant to make sure they didn’t lose it. “Hey, we haven’t lost yet!” he told both Pete and Vijay. “Let’s go.”
Ryan got two strikes on the next hitter. On the second strike, the runner took off for third. Isaiah reared back and fired over there.
“Safe!” yelled the umpire as Sims applied the tag a little too late.
“He was out!” Pete practically screamed.
“Play ball!” the umpire warned Pete.
On the next pitch, the batter hit a ground ball to Pete’s right. Pete knocked it down, then grabbed it.
“First! First!” Derek yelled, seeing that the runner at third was already close to scoring.
Pete either didn’t hear him or didn’t listen. He threw home, and the play at the plate was not even close. “SAFE!” the umpire shouted.
And just like that, the ball game was over. They’d lost, 5–4. Their record was 0–1, and at least until the next game, they were tied for last place in the league!
Those were the thoughts in Derek’s head when he saw, on the other end of the bench, Pete poking Vijay’s chest, saying, “Do you realize you cost us this game?”
Derek went right over there. “Hey,” he told Pete. “That’s no way to treat a teammate.”
“This kid can’t even play,” Pete said, giving Vijay a disgusted look. “Did you see that throw home? Pathetic.”
“First of all, his name’s not ‘this kid.’ It’s Vijay.”
“Whatever,” said Pete as Vijay shot Derek a grateful smile.
“And second of all, it wasn’t all his fault. Not nearly. I could name plenty of other kids who messed up.”
“Are you saying I messed up?” Pete said, a challenging note in his voice.
“I’m saying a lot of us messed up. Including me.” Derek wanted to say something else, something a lot less nice, but he knew it wouldn’t help the team win their next game.
“That’s right, Jeter. Including you.” Pete walked away, picked up the full duffel bag, and headed off toward his dad’s car, where the coach had already popped the trunk.
“Thanks, Derek,” Vijay said. “I hate that kid.”
“Aw, he’s just upset,” Derek said. “Don’t take it personally. It wasn’t your fault we lost.”
“He messed up at least twice himself,” Vijay said, still feeling the sting of Pete’s harsh words.
“I know it. He knows it too. He’s just going to have to deal with it himself—and not take it out on other kids.”
“Meaning me.”
“You, or me, or anybody else,” said Derek, although he knew he would never get into a real fight with Pete. Fighting never solved anything, and it could cost you plenty, not to mention the fact that Pete was way bigger and stronger.
Derek said good-bye to Vijay and went over to meet his family.
“Good game, old man,” said his mom, kissing him on the forehead.
“Yay, Derek!” said Sharlee, hugging him around the waist.
That made Derek smile. He kissed her on top of the head. “Thanks, Sharlee.”
“How’s the arm?” asked his dad.
“Fine,” Derek said, noticing for the first time in two hours that it still hurt, plenty.
“You didn’t look too bad out there at second,” said his dad. “Pretty good, in fact. Made some nice plays.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
As they got into the car, Derek saw Coach Kozlowski and Pete driving by on their way home. Pete was slamming the dashboard with his mitt, while his father just gripped the wheel and stared straight ahead, tight-jawed, stone-faced.
“Sheesh,” Derek whispered under his breath. He sure would have hated to be Coach Kozlowski at that moment. He actually felt sorry for him, having to put up with Pete. He couldn’t understand why Coach didn’t just tell his son to quit it.
At the same time, while Derek would never have acted like such a baby, he understood how Pete felt. They both hated the fact that the Tigers had blown the game. Derek too wished he could be on a great team, a team that won almost every game.
And the Tigers did not look like that team.
Chapter Seven
STIFF COMPETITION
“‘GATE.’ Very good. Let’s see, that’s double word score . . . double letter on the A. . . . Twelve points.” Derek’s dad offered him the bag of Scrabble tiles to replace the ones he’d just laid out.
“Your turn,” Derek said. He reached up to massage his left arm, which was still throbbing from the fastball that had hit it that afternoon.
“Did you ice that down?” his dad asked him.
“Nah, I’m all right.”
“You sure? Ice is good for swelling. You might want to try it.”
“Maybe later.”
“Okay . . .” Mr. Jeter studied his rack of tiles, then laid them out one by one in front of the word Derek had just made. “I-N-V-E-S-T-I-GATE. ‘Investigate.’ Let’s see. That’s fifty points for using all seven letters . . . plus two double letter scores . . .”
“Dad,” Derek moaned.
“Hey, it’s not my fault I had such good letters,” said Mr. Jeter, raising his arms in a gesture of helplessness.
“Two Is and a V are not good letters!” Derek pointed out, getting up from the table.
“He
y, where are you going?” his dad called after him as Derek left the living room for the kitchen.
“I’m going to get some ice!”
He made himself an ice pack and wrapped it around his left arm.
Though he had never come within thirty points of his dad, he still believed he could beat him if he just kept at it. Besides, as his father often pointed out, playing Scrabble certainly helped Derek’s English grades. He’d been acing vocabulary and spelling tests ever since they’d started playing, back when Derek was in second grade.
He went into the living room and sat back down.
“See?” his dad said, smiling. “I told you ice would make it feel better.”
“I guess.” Derek sighed deeply. “I just don’t feel like playing anymore, Dad.”
“What’s the matter? Too much losing for one day?”
Derek could tell his dad was just teasing him, and usually Derek took it very well, giving back as good as he got. Today, though, he just wasn’t in the mood.
“It’s just not fair.”
“Well, hey, I understand you’re frustrated. So here’s the way to get to where you can win.” He lifted up the thick, heavy dictionary that lay on the nearby end table and handed it to Derek. “Just start with the letter A and keep reading.”
“Dad, it’s not about Scrabble.”
“Okay. You want to talk about it?”
“I hate being on a team where I don’t get a chance to play shortstop!”
“Oh, so that’s it. I had a feeling.” Mr. Jeter took off his glasses. “You probably would make a better fit at shortstop than the coach’s son. But that’s how things sometimes go down in life. If you’re going to make it all the way to the major leagues, you’re going to have to accept some things not going your way.”
“But—”
“Derek, I know it’s not fair. But you’ve got to accept that it’s the coach’s decision. You may not like it, but you’ve got to abide by it, and respect it. Even if he’s doing it to keep peace at home.”
“Then why aren’t you the coach?”
