The next afternoon, Jerry skipped practice at the pool. The minute classes were over, he marched down the school steps, still limping a little, and went home.
He was up in his room oiling his baseball glove, when his mother called up to him.
“Jerry! Can you come down here, please?”
He carefully put the glove and the oil away in his closet, and went downstairs. A strong smell of something baking was in the air. He followed the aroma into the kitchen and found a surprise.
Tanya and Tony were seated at the kitchen table.
“We could smell your mother's chocolate chip cookies a mile away,” Tony explained, with a silly grin.
Jerry said, “Yeah, sure.”
Tanya gave him a look that seemed to say, “You dumbbell.” At least, that's how it appeared to him.
“There's more milk in the fridge,” said Mrs. Grayson. “Help yourselves. I have to pick up your father at the dentist, Jerry. I'll see you later.” She put on her coat and went out the back door to the garage.
“So what are you guys doing here?” Jerry asked. He eyed a chocolate chip cookie, but he didn't pick it up.
“I told you, we're here for the cookies,” said Tony. He stuffed his mouth with another one.
“Oh, cut it out,” said Tanya. “We're here to talk to you about swimming practice. You skipped it today.”
“So what? I don't have to go to practice, you know,” said Jerry. “I'm not trying out for the team.”
“What about your exercises? You know, for your leg?” asked Tanya.
“I can do them when I want,” said Jerry. “How do you know I didn't do them at the Y?”
“The Y pool is used for diving practice in the afternoon,” said Tony. “Can't swim there for another half hour.”
“Maybe I'll go then,” said Jerry.
“Aw, you're just sore 'cause Lars and Wayne showed you up yesterday,” said Tony. “That's so dumb. I told you they were just fooling around.”
“Yeah, but everybody else was laughing, too,” said Jerry. “Their girlfriends thought it was great the way they made me look like a chump. Boy, if it was out on the baseball diamond, I could show them a thing or two!”
“What if one of them had a real natural swing at bat? If one of them could really hit the ball once he learned a thing or two?” asked Tanya. “Wouldn't you want him to play for the team?”
“Sure, but he'd have to show he could really hit all the time, that he wasn't just a flash in the pan,” said Jerry.
“And how, Mr. Sports-Expert, would you be able to tell that?” asked Tanya.
“You could tell in practice,” said Jerry “And after he played a few games.”
“That does it,” said Tony, getting up from the table. “If you substitute swimming for baseball, you could have been talking about yourself.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jerry.
“Sit down, Tony, and let's explain a few things to him,” said Tanya.
“You start,” said Tony, sitting back down at the table and picking at the edge of another cookie.
“You have a terrific natural crawl, Jerry,” said Tanya. “I saw it when you were doing your laps that first day at the pool. Remember how I told you that you were pretty good for a baseball player?”
“Yeah, but when we did laps together, you were better. You beat me by a mile,” he said.
“Right, because I've been practicing for a long time. And, besides, I knew what I was doing in a race,” she said.
“Yeah, it takes more than a natural crawl,” said Tony. “How do you think people like Lars and Wayne got so good? And they didn't even have the advantage of a natural stroke to start out with. I've seen Lars practice nothing but the breaststroke or the butterfly for hours. And Wayne still puts in time doing land drills for the backstroke. So do I. So does every good swimmer.”
“So you think I might be a pretty good swimmer if I worked at it?” Jerry asked.
“I'm sure you could develop a great crawl without much trouble,” said Tanya. “But to be a really good swimmer, you have to know all the strokes — butterfly, backstroke, and breaststroke, too. You have to know how to dive and how to turn. And you have to know the rules.”
Jerry was surprised to hear the serious tone in Tanya's voice. Did she think he wasn't enough of an athlete to learn all that? He would show her — and Tony — and Lars and Wayne, too. But there was still something holding him back.
“What about Coach Fulton? How come he never told me I should go out for the team?” Jerry asked.
“He probably wanted you to decide for yourself,” said Tony. “He doesn't like to put pressure on anyone.”
“I have to admit he was pretty nice when I was doing my therapy at the rehab center,” said Jerry
“He's the same at the pool,” said Tanya. “Except when he sees someone goofing off or not making an effort. Then he can be a real shark!”
“So, you think if I asked him if I could try out for the team, I mean as a replacement or something, he'd help me learn all that stuff?” asked Jerry.
“Only one way to find out,” said Tony. “Hey, was that the last cookie?”
Jerry wiped the crumbs off his face and smiled.
After Tanya and Tony left, Jerry went for a walk down the street. Sometimes, if he sat too long, his leg still stiffened up a little. Walking it off made him feel better.
He found himself heading in the direction of the neighborhood playground. That was where his accident had happened on the baseball diamond so many weeks back. As he approached, he could hear voices.
“Come on, Sonny, let 'er rip!”
“Easy out, Jimmy, easy out!”
A couple of the guys he used to play ball with were fooling around with an old tennis ball and a broom handle. It wasn't like real baseball, but it still stirred up the old feelings in him.
“Hey, Sonny. Hi, Pete. How's it going, Jimmy?” he called over to them.
“Great,” shouted Jimmy from the mound. “Soon as I woof this guy!”
He did. In three swings and misses, Sonny went down.
Pete got up next. He hit the ball on the second try. According to the unofficial sandlot rules, that put him on first base.
“What do you say, Jerry? Want to send him all the way home?” called Jimmy.
Jerry looked at the field. There was no one around except the three guys. And it wasn't a real baseball game. It couldn't hurt to take a few swings.
“Just a couple of swings,” he said to the others. “I…I gotta be home in time for supper.”
“Sure,” said Jimmy. He flashed a big grin.
Jerry could tell he was dying to strike out the sandlot batting champ. Well, I'll give him a good workout, he thought.
He gripped the sawed-off broom handle in his old familiar way. It was so much lighter than a bat, he was a little awkward at first.
Two pitches went by. All four guys argued whether they were strikes or balls. Jerry found he could still out-shout the others, and they were declared balls.
The third pitch was straight down the middle.
“Thwunk!”
The broom handle connected, and the ball went sailing deep over the pitcher's head.
With a smile, Jerry dropped the broom handle, turned up his jacket collar, and called over, “See you later, guys. I gotta go.”
Not bad, he thought, but not ready. Still not ready to play baseball. The thought turned over and over in his mind as he made his way home. But I can still play sports. Swimming is a sport, after all.
Just before the next swimming practice, Jerry went over and spoke to Coach Fulton.
“I was thinking,” he said. “I was wondering if you thought it would be okay, you know, for my leg, that is. I mean, I thought I might try out for a spot on the swimming team, if you'd be willing to teach me the rules and stuff.”
Coach Fulton put down his clipboard and extended his hand to Jerry.
“I think it would be terrific,” he said, shaking Jerry's hand. “You h
ave a lot of athletic ability and a nice easy crawl. It would be a shame to waste it. And I'd be happy to show you how to improve your other strokes. I can't promise you a spot right away, but you keep working at your swimming and learning all the strokes, well, I think something will turn up.” He picked up his clipboard. “I'll just add your name to the roster.”
From that day on, Jerry worked out every afternoon with the swim team — but still did his leg exercises beforehand. Sometimes he would swim with Tony and Tanya, sometimes he'd practice by himself. But those two became his regular pals and strongest supporters.
Tony worked with him mostly on the butterfly and the breaststroke. Jerry took to the first one pretty easily. He had a lot more trouble with the breaststroke.
“Come on,” said Tony. “It's fun when you get the hang of it. Let's start off with a little land drill.”
Jerry groaned. He knew what that meant: flapping his arms and legs about while he was still outside the pool. He always felt a little stupid doing land drills.
But he soon mastered a basic breaststroke and could hold his own while doing laps with Tony.
And after a little practice with Tanya, he started feeling more and more comfortable, too, with the backstroke.
But his greatest pleasure was in doing sprints with either one of them using his overhand crawl. Neither of them said much in the way of pointers. He figured he had that stroke down pretty well on his own.
At the end of two weeks' time, Jerry's head was spinning with everything he had learned about the different strokes. “Next week,” Tanya said with a twinkle in her eye, “we'll start teaching you about flip turns, hand touches, medleys, false starts, disqualifications —”
“Whoa! Slow down! No more!” groaned Jerry. He held his nose and ducked under water. But not before he saw Tanya grinning at him.
He came up for air just as Coach Fulton blew his whistle. “Okay, everybody, listen up,” he said. “You all know we've got a meet tomorrow, ten A.M. sharp. Even if you're not scheduled to swim, I'd like you to be here, in uniform, to cheer your teammates on. Remember, all your names will be on the roster in case I have to bring you in as a substitute for any reason. But for now, everyone hit the showers, and get a good night's sleep!”
7
The day of the meet, Jerry was more excited than he ever imagined. He could barely drink his orange juice, and his vitamin pill felt like the Rock of Gibraltar on its way down his throat.
“How about a nice big bowl of oatmeal?” his mother asked.
Jerry just shook his head and ran upstairs to make sure his gym bag was packed. It felt so funny with nothing much more than a bathing suit in it. This sure was different from baseball. He glanced into his closet. There was his glove, all oiled and ready for use. That's okay, he thought, still time for baseball as soon as the leg is one hundred percent.
Mr. Grayson had another session scheduled at the dentist, so his mother drove him to the pool for the meet.
“Are you sure you don't want me to come?” she asked. “Your Aunt Helen said she wouldn't mind driving your father home from the dentist if he doesn't feel up to it.”
“No, that's okay,” said Jerry. “I'm not even swimming in a race. But maybe next time.”
He unbuckled his seat belt and dashed out of the car the minute it stopped outside the school.
“I'll get a ride home with Tanya's folks,” he called over his shoulder. His mother knew that Mr. and Mrs. Holman wouldn't mind dropping him off.
In the locker room, there was a lot of joking among the twenty-three boys who would be swimming that day. But there was a silent air of competitiveness just the same. Lars and Wayne kept pretty much to themselves, but Tony came over to say hello.
“Geez, I'm nervous and I'm not even racing,” said Jerry.
Tony stared at him. “Hasn't Coach talked to you yet? Kevin Kincaid has the measles and can't swim the hundred-yard freestyle. I overheard the coach say he was thinking of putting you in to fill the lanes for the team!”
Jerry's heart almost stopped. “What?” he squeaked. Just then he saw Coach Fulton walking toward him.
“Jerry, I can see by your face that Kendrix here has spilled the beans. Now you've got three options. I want you to think about them carefully. One, you can refuse to swim. Two, you can swim but choose not to be officially entered in the race. Or, three, you can race officially. It's up to you.”
Jerry considered what the coach had said. Not race when he had the chance? No way! But what about competing but not being counted? It was hardly worth even racing then, Jerry figured. That would be like hitting a home run but not having it show up on the scoreboard! Still… he'd never been in a race before. What if he made a fool of himself? Or worse, what if he came in last?
Jerry shook his head. It was a chance he'd have to take. “Count me in — all the way, Coach!” he said.
Coach Fulton looked at him thoughtfully, then nodded. “The hundred-yard freestyle is raced about halfway through the meet. Don't forget to check in. And listen carefully for your lane number when the announcer calls the race. Just swim the way you always do, Jerry, and you'll do fine.” With that, he turned and left.
Sure, that's all there is to it, thought Jerry. Just a few minutes in the pool and it's all over. Tony will probably win, but I just want to place. I don't want to—
He couldn't even think of the word lose. Tony slapped him on the back encouragingly, but the butterflies that danced around in Jerry's stomach wouldn't calm down. He drew a deep breath and went out to the pool.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Bolton Middle School swimming pool. Today's competition features the mighty Bolton Blues in the — you guessed it — blue-on-blue swimsuits who are pitted against the red-and-gold-suited Hall Junior High Cougars.”
Jerry looked down at his Bolton Blues team suit. This is it, he thought. I'm really swimming for the team.
Since his race wasn't scheduled until midway through the program, he had plenty of time to watch how the rest of the team acted. When it came time for his turn, he didn't want to make a fool of himself.
“Our next event will be the one-hundred-yard freestyle —”
What? Already? No, it must be a mistake. He could hardly believe that the time had come.
“Swimming for the Blues in lane one will be Tony Kendrix, in lane three will be Randy Epstein, and in lane five, Jerry Grayson. Swimming in lane two for the Cougars will be —”
Jerry took his position on the number 5 block. He was numb. He couldn't tell whether it was a hundred degrees or ten below zero. There was no feeling in his body whatsoever. His heart was pounding so loudly, he didn't think he'd be able to hear the starting signal.
“On your mark!”
There was a pause while the judges made sure everyone was in a legal position.
“Get set!”
Jerry thought the next pause would never end, that he would fall over in a dead faint before the gun went off.
BANG!
He unflexed his legs and dove into the pool.
When he emerged, he could hear the steady splash of water and excited cheers of the crowd. To his horror, he realized that the other swimmers were already making their way down the lanes — and he hadn't even started swimming!
Panic-stricken, Jerry struck out wildly, slashing through the water with a choppy, uneven stroke. The race would be only four laps, and then it would be over. He had to catch up with the other competitors!
Jerry's breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to swim as fast as he could. He touched the wall at the end of the first lap and lunged around through the waves to begin the second. Suddenly, he saw something that turned his heart cold — two of the other swimmers were coming back toward him. They had already begun their third lap.
He started slicing away at the water, flipping his head each time it came out of the water, and kicking wildly behind him. After the third turn, he just wanted to finish the race. His arms felt like limp s
paghetti, his legs seemed to have lead weights attached to them, and his lungs hurt so much, he thought they were going to burst open. He just managed to reach the edge of the pool where the race had started before he collapsed in the water.
He didn't need to look up or listen to the announcer. He could tell that all the others had finished ahead of him. He was dead last. And, for one second, he almost wished that he were dead.
“The next event will be the one-hundred-yard backstroke —”
Trying not to look anyone in the eye, Jerry dragged himself out of the pool and over to the team bench. Coach Fulton was waiting for him with a towel.
“Nice work, Jerry,” said the coach.
Nice work! Hah! Who was he kidding! Jerry wanted to crawl under the bench or slide down the drain in the center of the pool.
The coach went on, “I probably shouldn't have put you in without more instruction, but I thought that you'd benefit from being in a real race. It looks all too easy when you're just doing laps or watching a practice. There's a lot more to racing than a good stroke and muscle power.”
“I… guess you're right, Coach,” said Jerry “But, you see, I think my leg is still a little weak, too. I don't think it was really up to the pressure, yet.”
Jerry could tell from the look on his face that the coach didn't buy that excuse.
“Let's just say there's more work to do,” Coach Fulton said. “I'll catch up with you next practice. Meanwhile, let's see what's going on in the pool. I think Tanya is about ready to compete in the hundred-yard backstroke.”
They turned to the pool, where Tanya was indeed lined up for the backstroke event. She stood in the shallow water at the edge of the pool in lane three, wailing for the sounding gun.
BANG!
And off the six girls went.
The race was really close. During the third lap, it was almost impossible to see who was ahead. But during the fourth lap, the girl in lane two started to break away. Tanya kept up with her about halfway down the pool — and then lagged behind. Still, she finished strongly enough to take second place.
As disappointed as he was with his own performance, Jerry was happy for her. When she made her way over to the Blues' bench, he flipped his towel at her and called out, “Way to go!”
The Winning Stroke Page 4
