The meet was scheduled to take place at the school pool. When he got there, he could see the visiting team's bus parked outside. On the outside there was a big black-and-gold banner that said “Ridgeway Rams.” He remembered playing against the Little League team from Ridgeway a few years ago. The Bolton Little Leaguers had won that game.
And we're going to win this one, too, he said to himself.
The first person Jerry saw in the locker room was Tony.
“How're you doing, slugger?” asked Tony. Somehow or other, Jerry's fondness for baseball had become known. A lot of the guys on the team had started using that nickname. It always made Jerry smile.
“I'm okay,” Jerry answered.
“Oh, yeah?” said Tony. “So how come you've spun the dial on your combination lock about fifty times? And I still don't see you opening it.”
Jerry grinned at him sheepishly. “I guess I am just a little nervous,” he admitted.
“Good,” said Tony. “Shows you're human.”
“Yeah, some of the guys were beginning to wonder,” said Lars, who had been sitting nearby. “As a matter of fact—”
“Don't start in on him,” said Tony. “It's Jerry's first official meet, so we have to go easy. We'll take care of the slugger here after we win the meet.”
“Let's go, Blues!”
The cheers rang out as the team left the locker room and entered the pool area.
Coach Fulton was talking to some of the other guys on the team. Then he came over to Jerry.
“Are you all set?” he asked.
“I think so,” Jerry replied.
“Okay, just relax then until your event is announced,” said the coach. “Then get out there and do the best you can. That's all I ask.”
But that's not all I want to do, Jerry said to himself. I want to do well enough to score some points for the team. I want to show everyone that I have learned a thing or two.
He stepped into the water and splashed around for a few seconds. Then he did some exercises to loosen up a little.
“Testing—one—two—three.”
The sound coming over the loudspeakers quieted everyone down.
Jerry climbed out of the pool and went over to the Blues bench. He toweled off as the announcer greeted everyone and introduced the officials who would be judging the events at the meet. Then, along with everyone else, Jerry stood and sang the “Star Spangled Banner.” Deep in the back of his mind, he could almost hear an umpire shout, “Play ball!”
Okay, he thought, he would play ball—but in the cool, green water of a swimming pool.
It didn't take long for the first few events to be run. The Bolton team held its own, and the scoreboard showed only a slight lead for the Rams.
And then it was time for the boys hundred-yard freestyle.
“Swimmers, please take your places,” said the announcer.
Jerry was swimming in lane three, smack in the middle of the pool.
Maybe I'll get lost in all the splashing on either side, he thought for a second. Then, he caught himself. What kind of an attitude is that? I'm going to be right in the thick of it and I'm going to give it all I can—for the team!
He climbed up on the starting block and shook loose some of the tension. Then he positioned himself for the dive.
Just four laps, he said to himself. Just four—but I have to pace them. And I have to remember everything I've learned.
“On your mark … get set… BANG!
At the sound of the gun, he sprang forth and dove into the water. He remembered to keep it shallow for a quick return to the surface—and then to start his crawl immediately.
The lesson was well learned. Jerry could tell that he was right up there with the swimmers on either side by the time he was midway down the pool for the first lap.
And then he reached the end of the pool and went into his turn. It was swift and smooth—and quickly put him back on track for the next lap.
In the distance, he could hear the noise of the crowd and the sound of the loudspeaker, but he paid no attention to it. Just do everything you've learned, he kept saying to himself over and over.
He tried to ignore the Rams swimmers on either side. Still, he could tell that he had gotten a little bit ahead of both of them.
For one second, it flashed through his mind that he might be the leader, that he might just win the event. But he quickly slammed the door shut on that thought and kept up his stroke, nice and steady.
Going into the last lap, he was clearly ahead of the Ram swimmer in lane two by several lengths, and a little bit ahead of the competing Ram in lane four. It was time to put on the steam.
Jerry took deep, measured breaths as he extended his arms in front of him, powerfully slicing his way through the water. In careful, timed sequence, he kicked his legs, churning up a wake that helped to propel him forward faster and faster. With each stroke, he tried a little harder to go a little faster as the pressure within his body expanded.
And then he felt the tips of the fingers on his right hand touch the tile at the end of the pool. The race was over.
For a second, Jerry expected to see the water filled with steam all around him. He gasped as he caught his breath, holding on to the side of the pool. In the distance, he could just hear the announcer's voice.
“The winner of the one-hundred-yard freestyle in lane five for the Bolton Blues was Ace Willoughby—”
Ace! Good for him, thought Jerry, splashing some water on his face to cool off. That's one for the good guys!
“In second place, also for the Blues, in lane three, was Jerry Grayson.”
Another one for the Blues, hey, that's great, thought Jerry. Hey! Wait a minute! That's me! I came in second!
He leaped out of the pool and dashed over to the Blues bench. Ace was the first one to slap a high five on him.
“Nice going, slugger,” he said.
“Nice going, yourself,” said Jerry. He was almost as happy for Ace as he was for himself.
“Settle down, you two,” said the coach after he had congratulated all the guys who had just finished the hundred. “Rest up, there isn't that much time until the two hundred.”
Jerry was really revved up now. For the first time, he felt the taste of success as a swimmer. Sure it was only a short race. Sure it was his best stroke. But he still had placed in the top three—in the top two, for that matter. He knew he was headed in the right direction.
But he settled himself down and tried to concentrate on the next event he'd be swimming. The two-hundred-yard freestyle wasn't just double the distance; it called for a lot more discipline. The increases in his output had to be more gradual, but more powerful if he were to make any headway. He knew that the coaches often saved their best swimmers for just one or two big races like the two hundred.
Paul Prescott and Kevin Kincaid, who had gotten over the measles, would be swimming in the two hundred for the Bolton team along with him. When the event was announced, they clapped their arms around him as they left the bench.
This time Jerry discovered that he was swimming in lane six. He'd have just one competitor on one side. The tiled wall of the pool and the fans above would be on his other side.
Hope it doesn't make me lopsided, he thought to himself, grinning.
As he stepped up on the diving stand at lane six, he felt really comfortable. After all, he'd been in a race just a few minutes ago. There was nothing to it. All he had to do was swim eight laps. Eight! That was twice as many as he had just finished swimming.
Suddenly, all the fears buried deep down in the pit of his stomach rose up. Would he measure up? Was the hundred just a fluke? Or would he be able to swim well enough to help out the team?
Jerry knew what he had to do. He had to swim the race exactly the way the coach had taught him. There was no room for any mistakes.
BANG!
Jerry unflexed his knees and dove into the water straight ahead. He cut through its surface like a sleek surfboard and star
ted to swim.
One strong arm forged its way through the cold green water as the other forced the backwater away like a powerful paddle wheel.
He kept his breathing steady as his head emerged from the water with each stroke. There were no extra flips, no unnecessary motions. He cut his way through the water like a well-oiled machine.
Alongside, the swimmer in lane five had stayed with him lap after lap until midway through the race. As he headed into his fifth lap, Jerry could see the distance opening up between the two of them as he took the lead.
But what was happening in the other lanes? There was no way to tell.
Jerry remembered what the coach had told him way back: never mind the announcer or anything else. Swim your own race.
That was exactly what he did. Lap by lap he stretched himself further and further. Stroke after stroke, his powerful arms never let up. Both legs kept up a steady kick, helping to propel him faster and faster through the water. His whole body responded in perfect sequence at the turns, and his lungs seemed to expand more and more to contain the deeper and deeper breaths he had to take on the way to the finish.
And then it was over. He could hear the shouts from the stands as the Ridgeway and Bolton fans broke out into loud cheers.
Before the public address system could make the announcement, Jerry knew that something special had happened. Paul and Kevin had come rushing over to him while he was still in the water, and Coach Fulton was approaching with a smile that went from ear to ear. The whole Bolton team was jumping up and down at the bench.
Finally, the sound of the announcer's voice broke through the rest of the noise, and he could hear:
“The winner of the boys two-hundred-yard freestyle is Jerry Grayson—”
He had won! He had come in first!
Jerry managed to work his way over to the Bolton bench, where everyone couldn't wait to lay high fives or tens on him, hug him, or just shout congratulations in his ear.
But the meet wasn't over. As Jerry sat down to watch the rest of the events, he glowed with an inner pride. He had proved that he could compete in this new, exciting sport—and that he had what it took to win.
Still, he knew that he hadn't completely conquered swimming.
There was another thought hidden way, way in the back of his mind. It was definitely something he didn't want to discuss with Tony or Tanya or anyone else on the team. And not even Coach Fulton, yet.
Secretly, he wanted to compete in the five-hundred-yard freestyle. The way Jerry looked at it, that was the big test. It was the longest distance, and it took the strongest swimmers to even enter the event.
Sure, Coach Fulton had said he had a good crawl—but it probably wasn't ready for the big time yet. He would simply have to keep at it.
“How many laps is that?” Tanya asked one morning as she stepped into the pool. He had just finished his longest distance so far—fifteen laps back and forth. That was the same as 375 yards.
“Oh, who knows?” he replied. “I don't bother counting sometimes.” It was just a little fib, he thought. No real harm done.
“You should get into the habit,” she said. Without another word, she plunged forward and began to do the butterfly down the lane at the opposite side of the pool.
By the end of the week, he was able to go the full distance for the five hundred. And a few sessions later, he started feeling pretty good about it. Still, with so little experience, he could hardly broach the subject to Coach Fulton.
“Are you practicing your backstroke on your own?” asked the coach one day.
“Every day I do at least a few laps,” answered Jerry.
“Good,” said Coach Fulton. “What about the others? Breaststroke? Butterfly?”
“I, uh, I do them in regular team practice,” said Jerry.
“All right,” said the coach, nodding. “Just want to make sure you're getting an all-around education here.”
“What about my crawl, you know, for the freestyle?” asked Jerry. “Aren't you going to ask me about that?”
“Don't worry,” said the coach. “I've been keeping my eye on your crawl. I can tell that you're getting enough practice there.”
“I … I, uh, I had a question,” said Jerry. “I was wondering if, maybe, I could try out for the five hundred.”
“The five hundred?” asked the coach. “That's a big step. I don't know if you're ready for that yet, Jerry.”
“I've been practicing on my own, Coach,” Jerry said. “I really think I can help out the team in that event.”
“Let me think about it,” said the coach. “And I'll put you into a practice race, just to see how you do. We'll take it from there.”
“Uh, Mom,” said Jerry, tying up the stack of newspapers in front of him, “would you mind if I was a little late for dinner tonight? I want to put in some extra time at the Y this afternoon, and the only time the pool's available is just before dinner.”
“Jerry, I'm starting to look for fins,” said Mrs. Grayson. “You spend so much time in the water, you're beginning to turn into a fish, I think!”
“Is that a yes?” Jerry asked.
“Well, it isn't exactly a no,” she said. “But one half hour—and not a minute more.”
“By the way, what are we having for dinner?” he asked.
“Fishcakes,” she said, with a smile.
“Okay, have the following six boys line up for the five hundred freestyle,” said Coach Fulton one afternoon. He called out the names, one by one, until he came to the final spot.
“Jerry Grayson.”
Several heads turned in his direction. Tanya glanced over at Tony as if to ask, “Did you know Jerry was up for the five hundred?”
Tony just shook his head.
Just as the six swimmers got into position for the start of the race, a loud wailing siren was heard over the speaker system.
“Oh, no,” groaned Tanya. “A fire drill!”
“What if it's a real fire?” asked a girl sitting next to her.
“We could all jump into the pool!” suggested another girl.
Coach Fulton blew his whistle and shouted, “Let's all leave the way we've practiced!”
They filed out in an orderly way through the locker room, grabbing their gym bags on the way. As soon as they got outside the building, they threw on shoes, jackets, pants, or whatever minimum clothing they needed.
The drill took about twenty minutes—long enough to put an end to swimming practice for that day.
“There's no time to post the final roster,” Coach Fulton said. “So I'll just announce any changes to the usual lineup on Saturday. See you then.”
With the next meet scheduled for the day after tomorrow, Jerry was left hanging.
Will I get another shot at the five hundred? he wondered. Or was that my only chance?
10
“You won't forget,” said Jerry. He swallowed the last mouthful of the milk in his glass. “You're all coming to the meet. I'll see you afterward?”
“We won't,” said his father. “Don't worry, we'll all be there. Right, kids?”
“Right,” said David.
“Yup,” said Lucie.
“And you, too, Mom, right?”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Grayson. She handed him his gym bag. “Now just try to relax. This isn't your first race, you know.”
He nodded. But inside his stomach, there were flip-flops all over the place. It wasn't his first race, but it was the first one his whole family would attend.
Gulp! What if he made a fool of himself?
On the other hand, he thought, it wasn't as if he hadn't ever been under pressure before. What about the Little League playoffs, when he made the final out by leaping half a mile into the air for that incredible catch? That was pressure.
Face it, he said to himself, I'm an athlete. Athletes live with pressure. So what's another couple of races?
And then he thought about the five hundred. Would Coach Fulton put him in instead of on
e of his regulars?
The flip-flops started all over.
On the bus to the meet, the coach called for quiet.
“Let's hold it down,” he said. “I have a few announcements.”
He ran through the listing of all the swimmers in the various events. Jerry had been pulled from the one-hundred-yard freestyle and the two-hundred-yard freestyle.
Did this mean he wasn't going to swim at all? Wasn't he a member of the team?
The coach continued to go over the rest of the events until he came to the five-hundred-yard boys freestyle.
Again, the sixth name on the list was Jerry's!
That was it—all or nothing. The coach was letting him swim the one big race that he had asked for.
Okay, thought Jerry. I'll show him. I'll show everyone I have what it takes.
Then he remembered that his whole family would be sitting in the stands. What would they think? Would they understand why he wasn't in the other events? Would they realize that he was being saved for the one big race?
Yeah, that's it—he was the coach's secret weapon. Coach Fulton was counting on him. He wouldn't let him down.
But as the whole team stood for the playing of the “Star Spangled Banner,” Jerry felt those flip-flops return to his stomach.
Tony must have noticed that he was ghost white. The curly-haired swimmer moved over next to him on the bench and said, “Deep breaths, real slow.”
“What?” asked Jerry.
“Lower your head a little, and take just a few deep breaths,” said Tony. “It helps me when I do that. You know, get rid of that funny feeling in my stomach.”
Jerry didn't say a word. He just dropped his head and started breathing deeply.
“Our next event will be the boys one-hundred-yard freestyle,” said the announcer over the loudspeaker.
That's the one I could have been in, thought Jerry. But Tony's in it. I'll root for him.
“Come on, Tony!” he shouted during the final lap when the top two swimmers were coming down to the finish. It was so close, he couldn't tell from where he sat. But the judges soon made the announcement. The winner was Tony Kendrix!
Jerry was really glad for him. At the same time, his competitive juices were stirred. He hoped he would do as well in the big five-oh-oh.
The Winning Stroke Page 6
