The Winning Stroke

by Matt Christopher

  “Pretty good for a first baseman,” she said cheerfully. He liked the way the freckles around her turned-up nose seemed to dance when she smiled.

  Jerry shrugged. “I just hope I'll be back playing ball in a little while,” he said. “I'm only here to make the doctor happy. She thinks I need a little more therapy. You know, for my leg.”

  “Right, I remember when you had the accident,” she said. “But this is a pretty nice place to be if you can't play ball. Ever seen a race?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “In person?” Tanya asked. “You know, not on TV like the Olympics.”

  Jerry hesitated. “Not really,” he admitted.

  “Well, then, why don't you stick around for a little while and watch a few,” she suggested. “Lars Morrison is going against Wayne Cabot in the hundred-yard breaststroke. They were the top two swimmers in that stroke last year, but they kept trading places for the number one spot. Coach Fulton wants to see who's the stronger this year.”

  As she spoke, Jerry could see two swimmers vigorously ploughing their way through the water at opposite sides of the pool.

  “It'll only take a few minutes,” she said.

  Jerry hesitated. “I don't know, I feel kind of dumb sitting around in a wet bathing suit.” He hated to admit that all he could think about right now was getting home to a hot shower and a comfortable chair to relax in.

  Tanya shook her head. “Maybe some other time, then.” She turned and took off like a shot, doing more laps.

  Jerry sat for a minute longer, then slowly stood up. He limped to the locker room to collect his things. He'd just pulled on his sweatshirt when he realized he'd left his towel in the bleachers.

  Jerry was amazed at the change of atmosphere in the pool area. Before, all the swimmers had been in the pool, doing leisurely warm-up laps and joking around with one another. Now, only six swimmers, one per lane, were in the water. Each was swimming the crawl as if his life depended on it. The pool water sloshed over the sides from the waves they made as they raced from one end of their lanes to the other.

  Shouts of encouragement rang off the tiles. Jerry heard Bob Fulton's voice boom out over the others. But he was too busy watching the lead swimmer to hear what the coach had said.

  The front-runner was one arm's length away from the lane's end. Jerry expected him to slow down and turn in the water. But instead, in a movement too quick for Jerry to see clearly, the swimmer's hand brushed the pool wall and his head disappeared beneath the water. His feet broke through the surface for a split second. Then, suddenly, his head reappeared five feet from the wall — pointed in the opposite direction.

  One after another, the other swimmers performed the same swift turn. Jerry's eye was too slow to figure out how they reversed direction. It seemed they were doing a somersault of some sort.

  What a crazy sport, Jerry thought. Then the race came to an end, the lead swimmer winning easily.

  He could see Coach Fulton talking to the guys who would be racing next. Since they were all wearing the same practice suits, they looked an awful lot alike. But gradually he could see differences. Lars Morrison, with deep auburn hair, had wide shoulders and long skinny arms. Wayne Cabot, with wavy brown hair, was a few inches shorter but much more muscular. He looked as if he might be a weight lifter when he wasn't swimming.

  Suddenly, the group around the coach broke up. One by one the swimmers took their places on the blocks at the edge of the pool. Jerry realized another race was about to start and quickly took a seat in the bleachers.

  Everyone had quieted down now. All eyes were focused on the lineup of swimmers in blue-and-white striped suits poised and ready to plunge forward.

  As he saw them crouch slightly to get the most spring, the athlete in Jerry began to stir. He, too, could sense the tension. He, too, could feel the cold, clammy chill of excitement surrounding the pool.

  Screeeeeeech!

  The whistle blew, and the swimmers were off like a shot.

  3

  The six swimmers worked their way up and down the pool, arms drawing the water back as their legs flashed beneath the surface. Jerry had a little trouble seeing who was ahead. Wayne and Lars, swimming in lanes next to one another, were at least three feet ahead of the others.

  At first, it looked as if Wayne had the lead. His muscular arms worked furiously, his shoulders knotted with exertion, dragging his body forward by their sheer power. But, then, Lars slipped ahead. His long arms parted the water in front of him in clean, regular strokes.

  As they started the fourth and final lap, they were side by side, so close it was impossible for Jerry to see who was ahead. It really didn't matter. He just wanted one of them, clearly the two best swimmers in the pool, to be the winner.

  “Come on, Lars! Come on, Wayne!”

  He found himself shouting and cheering along with the other spectator swimmers.

  People must think I'm nuts, he figured. I don't care. I just want to see the best one win!

  And then it was over. In a final burst of speed, someone had touched the edge of the pool first. Coach Bob Fulton had been crouched right there in his white thongs, watching to see whose extended fingertip had made first contact with the tile.

  Now, the coach stood up and blew his whistle for attention.

  “The winner is — Lars Morrison!” he announced.

  There was a scattering of applause from the stands. Lars and Wayne slapped high fives on each other. Then they splashed a little water in fun at the other guys and climbed out of the pool.

  “So, what did you think?” asked Tanya.

  Jerry had been so caught up in the race, he hadn't seen her come up beside him. She stood next to him carrying a jacket and an armful of books.

  “It was okay,” he admitted. “Is that it? I mean, are there any more races?”

  “No, we had a meet last Saturday, so Coach made it a light workout for the team today,” she said. “Some of the others will do some extra laps now, but I have a lot of homework. Are you ready to leave?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said.

  As they left the pool area, he glanced back and saw Lars and Wayne. Both of them were thrashing their way through the water again. You couldn't even tell that they'd been in a race a few minutes ago. They really must love swimming, he thought. I don't get it.

  Dr. Gold and Coach Fulton had agreed that Jerry should do his pool therapy only every other day. So he wasn't back in the pool until Wednesday after school.

  As he got into his swimming trunks, he felt a little more at home than he had on Monday. He wondered whether there would be a regular team practice today. Who would be there? Both the guys and the girls? Would Tanya be swimming again? Would Lars? Wayne? And what was practice like, anyhow?

  With those thoughts running through his head, he got into the water to begin his therapy. Therapy? Hah! It was a real workout. He was surprised to find his arms still hurt from Monday's laps. It sure was nothing like the warm-up exercises he'd done at baseball practice last year. Gee, they'd probably be getting set for spring training, and he'd be splashing around in a stinky old swimming pool.

  “Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty! Done!”

  He'd finished the last exercise. The pool was still empty. None of the members of the swim team had arrived for their practice yet. He was all alone in this big space, surrounded by the tiled walls, the wooden seats, the sunken lights, and the cool, green water. All he had left was his swimming laps.

  As he swam up and down the pool in his usual lazy crawl, his arm muscles started to loosen up. His leg still hurt a bit, but it wasn't as bad as Monday. By the time he'd done four laps, he was feeling much better. And he was no longer alone. Several others were parting the waves in different lanes.

  As Jerry pulled himself out of the water, he wondered if these swimmers felt like part of a team. Sure, they had uniforms and a great coach, but it wasn't the same thing as running out on the field with eight other guys at the start of the game. And
warm-ups in baseball meant throwing the ball around with your teammates, not plowing through the water in your own lane. You won a game because your team worked like a well-oiled machine, each player doing his part. In swimming, the team members competed against one another!

  Still, as Jerry toweled off, he could feel a kind of team spirit float over the water.

  Yeah, but it's weird, Jerry thought. Why would anyone choose this sport over baseball or another team sport?

  That got him thinking about baseball tryouts. They'd be starting any day now. He might not be able to join the team right away. But even Doc Gold had said he should be able to play later in the season. Maybe he could pinch-hit or fill in if someone got sick.

  Jerry tried to push the image of himself sitting on the bench as far from his mind as possible. It was too painful to imagine waiting in vain for someone on the team to drop out.

  “Hey, you're becoming a regular swimming fan!” The voice at his elbow startled him out of his gloomy thoughts.

  “Well, I can't really play baseball yet,” he said. “It helps pass time.”

  “You ought to think about swimming,” said Tanya. “I saw you doing your laps. You're not all that bad.”

  “Laps? Oh, you mean my therapy.”

  “Whatever you call it, I've seen worse,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, I'll stick to my exercises,” he said. “That's what's going to get my leg back in shape so I can play baseball.”

  But that Friday, after he had whipped through his routine exercises, he found himself looking forward to swimming his laps.

  Coach Fulton came by and watched him do the first two runs back and forth. “Let's put a little more zip into it,” he called. “Get that blood circulating!”

  Jerry tried to swim harder, but he didn't manage to go any faster.

  When he climbed out of the pool, the coach was gone. He knew that there was another half hour before practice because he had checked the schedule outside the coach's office. As usual, a few early birds had arrived and started their warm-up on the other side of the pool. Tanya was one of them. She left a group of girls and came over to talk to him.

  “Not bad,” she said. “Until the coach yelled at you and you choked.”

  Despite the coolness of the water, Jerry's face burned.

  “I didn't choke,” he protested.

  “Yes, you did,” she said matter-of-factly. “You tried too hard and you got sloppy. I do it all the time. Everyone does. But I'm getting better.”

  “I can see,” he said.

  “You know what would really help me?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “If someone would swim with me when I do my extra practice,” she said. “I hate doing it alone. It feels strange being all by myself in the pool — not like competition. What do you think? Would you mind helping me out?”

  “Me? Swim with you?”

  “I'm not asking you to jump blindfolded off the high diving board,” she said. She took off her bathing cap and shook out her short blonde hair. “I'll just come by at the end of your therapy. We can do laps side by side, okay?”

  “Well, okay, I guess so,” he said. “My exercises are getting real boring. Maybe doing the laps with someone will make my leg heal quicker.”

  “Uh huh,” she said. “Just one more thing.”

  “What's that?”

  “Get a decent swimsuit,” she said, giggling.

  4

  On Monday, Tanya showed up at the pool just as Jerry finished his last leg exercise. Without a word, she jumped into the pool and got ready to start her laps.

  “Okay, six laps?” said Jerry, wiping off his face with his palm. She nodded, and he moved into a lane right next to her.

  “Ready, set, go!” she shouted. And off they went.

  Jerry kept up with her at first. But to his surprise and embarrassment, he finished almost a full lap behind. And then, as he cooled off and stood there in the water, she swam two more laps before quitting.

  Beaten by a girl! Jerry groaned inwardly. Get me out of this pool and onto the baseball diamond! Then he heard a familiar footstep behind him.

  “Nice stroke, Tanya,” said the coach. He paused and looked at Jerry. For a minute, Jerry thought he was going to say something about his stroke. Instead, he just asked, “How do you like swimming against someone?”

  “It's okay, I guess,” Jerry replied. But I'd like it much better if I won, he added silently.

  The coach went on. “Why don't you come to practice some time next week and work out against some of the guys? Not that Tanya can't give you some real competition. But mixing it up might be a good change. We only do an hour workout on Mondays, and I think it would benefit your leg. It certainly won't hurt it.”

  “Well, okay, if you think it'll help,” said Jerry. But secretly, he wasn't sure he'd like it all that much. Losing to Tanya was bad enough — now the whole team would see him come in last!

  “I'm sure it'll be good for you,” said the coach. “You can cut the exercises in half And skip the laps. You'll get enough of those in practice.”

  Tanya was patting herself down with a towel when Jerry came out of the pool.

  “I overheard what the coach said. Don't worry —he wouldn't suggest you swim with the team if he didn't think you could keep up. And by the way, nice threads,” she said, admiring his new navy blue swimmer's briefs.

  He smiled. Secretly, he was glad his mother had gotten them for him at the mall on Saturday. It really did feel a lot better cutting through the water than when he had his aloha trunks on. And, after all, since they were dark, he figured no one would notice him when he showed up at practice.

  Over the weekend, Jerry tried not to think about what it would be like at the pool with all those kids who were really into swimming. He was used to being in top shape for any sport he played. Even though baseball was his number one choice, he liked to play touch football, too. He was a terrific passer, and he loved scoring touchdowns. He also loved playing one-on-one basketball with his kid brother in front of the garage and could hold his own with any of the kids on the street. But swimming, real sports swimming, was something new. He decided he'd just be cool and push it out of his mind until the time came.

  Instead, he spent his time doing a few chores he'd put off for a while. He started out by giving the family dog, Yogi, a good brushing. The gray-and-white miniature schnauzer loved to be brushed, and Jerry really put some effort into it.

  “Don't wear out that brush,” his father called over to him as he vacuumed the inside of his car.

  The two of them were alone in the garage, doing their respective jobs.

  “I've gotten so used to counting,” said Jerry. “I gave her fifty strokes on one side, then fifty on another, then fifty on her back … and then I lost count and started all over again! Say, Dad, what do you think of swimming?”

  “A little early for a trip to the beach, I'd say,” replied Mr. Grayson.

  “I mean competitive swimming, as a sport,” Jerry said.

  “I think it's great,” said his father. “Takes a lot of discipline as well as ability. You can get a lot of satisfaction out of swimming for a long time, even after you stop competing. Why? Are you thinking of taking it up?”

  “Nah,” said Jerry. But in the back of his mind, he was thinking about what Tanya had said. Did Coach Fulton really think he could hold his own against the more seasoned swimmers?

  By Monday afternoon, Jerry could hardly wait for classes to end. You might think I was going to batting practice, he said to himself. But, instead, the minute the closing bell rang, he made his way over to the poolside locker room. He changed into his new blue nylon swimsuit and headed for the pool.

  There was still a half hour before team practice began, plenty of time to do his exercises.

  “Twenty-four, twenty-five!”

  He looked up at the clock. Ten minutes to go.

  The pool quickly began to fill up with boys and girls. He now recognized on
e or two from classes.

  Tanya came in talking to Tony Kendrix, who was in his earth science class. Tony was almost a foot taller than Tanya, but he was all legs. He had jet-black curly hair that looked like a mop on his head from the other side of the pool. But he was no one to laugh at. When he dropped the towel that was draped around his shoulders, Jerry could see how muscular his upper body was, like a weight lifter's.

  Tanya and Tony joined the others in the pool, paddling about, showing each other certain moves, and generally having a good time.

  Coach Fulton interrupted their playing around by blowing his whistle. Before he even said a word, the boys and girls started separating. Jerry automatically fell in with the boys over on his side of the pool.

  “Okay, I want three lanes each,” he said. “We have a one-hour practice today, and I want to spend it on the backstroke. Everybody swims. But for now, let's just have three swimmers to a lane, the first one in each lane in the pool. The rest of you, come on out.”

  Jerry's heart pounded. Now that he was actually taking part in a practice, he realized how little he knew about how they were run. He was grateful that he was number five in his lane. This way he'd get to see how the drill worked before he had to do anything. He'd also get to watch how others did the backstroke, a stroke he was only a little familiar with.

  With these thoughts racing through his mind, he found a spot near the edge of the pool that would give him a good view of the drill.

  Standing in the shallow end of the pool, the line of boys and girls turned their backs to the pool. Each gripped the legs of a diving podium and, with their knees bent and their feet flat against the wall, they pulled themselves into a crouching position. When Coach Fulton blew the whistle, they let go of the bars and pushed off from the pool wall as hard as they could. Once the first line of six swimmers had begun their laps, the second line got into position and waited for the whistle. The water churned as six, then twelve, then eighteen swimmers filled the lanes.