Change Up

by Derek Jeter

  That made the score 4–3, Giants, but Jonathan gave up two more runs in the bottom of the inning, putting the Indians back down by three.

  Still, the team showed they weren’t done yet, mounting another rally in their half of the third.

  Derek was right in the middle of it, legging out an RBI triple, and then stealing home on the catcher’s slow throw back to the mound. That bit of daring took everyone by surprise, causing the Giants’ players to throw up their hands in frustration, and making the Indians’ bench stand up and cheer.

  Derek saw that even Gary was jumping up and down! Maybe there’s hope for him after all, Derek thought as he high-fived teammates and got congrats from his dad and Chase. Hey, if Gary had become a believer, how could you count the Indians out?

  From the beginning of the game the score had been seesawing, with the Indians putting runs up, and Jonathan giving them back. The Giants’ hitters were making good on their fearsome reputation by pounding his pitches, inning after inning.

  By the bottom of the fifth, it was tied, 7–7, but the Giants had the bases loaded, with two outs and their cleanup man at the plate.

  Standing at shortstop, pounding his glove, Derek wished his dad would come out to the mound and give Dave the ball. But Mr. Jeter didn’t know about all the progress Dave had made under Derek’s coaching. As far as Derek’s dad was concerned, Jonathan might have had his flaws, but he was still the best pitcher the team had.

  Sweat was dripping down Jonathan’s face. Derek knew how nervous he had to be, and shouted encouragement to him. Jonathan nodded back, showing he was listening. He reared back and threw his best heater. The batter made solid contact, sending the ball flying out to right field.

  Gary was positioned perfectly, because Derek had taught him how to shift for lefties and play deep for power hitters.

  Gary looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun with his mitt, just as Derek had shown him. At the last moment he ducked, but he kept his glove up and open—and somehow the ball found it!

  Gary clamped his mitt shut with both hands, and the umpire signaled the out that ended the inning and kept the score tied!

  Everyone cheered as Gary trotted back to the bench. Now it was his turn to get high-fived, and he sure seemed to be enjoying it. He nodded and strutted, and acted like he’d had that ball all the way.

  Derek had to laugh. Was this the same kid who’d nearly brought the team to its knees with all his negativity the first three weeks of the season?

  It sure didn’t look like it. This was the first time Gary had been made to feel part of the team, and Derek knew how great that had to feel to Gary.

  “Come on, Indians!” Chase shouted. “We’ve got these guys nervous! They haven’t had a close game all year till now!”

  “That’s right,” said Mr. Jeter. “If we take the lead now, they’re going to start worrying!”

  Derek hoisted his bat and headed to the plate to lead off the top of the sixth. Glancing over to the bench, he caught sight of Gary, who tipped his cap and nodded, pointing to him as if to say, You’re the man!

  Derek tipped his batting helmet in a return salute and settled into the batter’s box. He scanned the field and saw that the outfielders were playing him to pull the ball. So he made up his mind to hit it to the opposite field if he could—in other words, to hit it where they weren’t. Something else his dad had taught him over the years.

  He fouled off three pitches in a row, took two that were out of the strike zone, then fouled off three more trying to go the other way.

  If the Giants’ coaches saw what he was trying to do, they didn’t make their fielders adjust. So Derek kept to his plan, and on the next pitch he dinked one over the first baseman’s head.

  The ball landed just fair, and just far enough in the outfield for Derek to leg out a leadoff double!

  With the go-ahead run at second, Dave’s job was to knock him in. But Dave hit into bad luck. The second baseman grabbed his line drive with a last-second dive. Derek had to hustle back to the base to avoid making the second out.

  Tito struck out, and Paul walked. That brought Gary up to the plate with two on and two out. Derek knew this was the biggest at bat of the game so far. If the Indians didn’t score now, the Giants could win the game in the bottom of the sixth against whomever Mr. Jeter put in to replace Jonathan, who by league rules had reached his pitching limit.

  Gary waggled the bat over his shoulder, leaning back toward the catcher, with all his weight on his back foot, just like Mr. Jeter had taught him at the cages. He swung through the first pitch, which was way over his head.

  “Easy, Gar!” Mr. Jeter yelled. “Make him throw you a strike!”

  Gary nodded to show he’d heard, and got ready. Here came the pitch. . . .

  Gary swung, and hit a grounder between the first and second basemen. Both tried to catch it, and it bounced off the first baseman’s mitt. Meanwhile, the pitcher was late covering first base. Gary, slow runner that he was, beat out the throw to first—barely, huffing and puffing like a locomotive.

  Meanwhile Derek, who had rounded third, saw that everyone’s attention was on first base, and he just kept going.

  “Home! Home!” the Giants’ catcher yelled. The pitcher, who was holding the ball, saw what was happening and fired it in. Derek slid, and the tag came right on his helmet.

  “Safe!” yelled the umpire.

  “YEAH!” yelled the entire Indians bench.

  The next batter struck out to end the rally, but now the Indians led, 8–7, and the Giants were down to their last licks.

  Sure enough, they seemed tight and nervous, just as Chase and Mr. Jeter had predicted. Paul, the Indians’ new pitcher, was finding it hard to get the ball over the plate, but that was just as well, since the hitters seemed anxious and overeager to swing.

  Swinging at balls, not strikes, the first hitter dribbled a grounder back to the mound for an out. The second man up lined out to Derek, who made a spectacular leap to grab it before it went into the outfield.

  Then the Giants’ coach called his team together. Derek knew he had to be telling his hitters to make Paul throw strikes, that a walk right now was as good as a hit.

  The next two men walked, and Mr. Jeter walked out to the mound and took the ball from Paul, who looked dejected. “Derek!” he called.

  Derek blinked in shock. No! he thought. Not me! Not now!

  “Dad,” he said as he reached the mound. He was about to say something about giving Dave a try, but his dad never gave him the chance.

  “Just get us one out, Son,” he said, handing Derek the ball. “I know you can do it.”

  Derek nodded, took a deep breath, and accepted the fact that he had no choice but to get this done. He reared back and threw the ball as hard as he could. But his first three pitches missed badly, and he wound up walking the first man he faced.

  Now the bases were loaded. He couldn’t afford to walk this next guy, or the Indians’ lead would be gone, and with it their best chance of winning the game.

  So Derek took a little speed off his fastball, concentrating instead on getting it over and hoping that his fielders would make a play behind him if the batter made good contact.

  On a 1–1 count the hitter smacked a high fly deep to right. Gary got a good jump on it, took the perfect route to the ball, and, miracle of miracles, reached out and grabbed it one-handed to end the game!

  In the celebration that followed, there were no pranks from Gary, no snide negative comments, no put-upon sighs or rolling eyes—only high fives, cheers, and hugs from his teammates.

  Their coaches were ecstatic too. “Gary, you get the game ball!” said Mr. Jeter, and everyone cheered again.

  “I’m going to have to revise all those crummy stats,” Gary cracked, and everyone laughed.

  Derek felt deeply happy. Not only had his team finally won a game, but he’d contributed in a number of areas. Gary might have been awarded the game ball, but Derek knew he’d had a whole lot to do w
ith Gary’s improved fielding.

  Not to mention that, at 1–3, the Indians had a pulse. They’d beaten the mighty, previously unbeaten Giants! Now the Indians could at least hope this was the beginning of better times for the team, with more wins to come in the future.

  All that, thought Derek, plus he was going to get a great grade on his math project!

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE ROAD BACK

  “A-plus! Ha!”

  Gary waved his and Derek’s project paper high in the air for everyone to see. Derek was almost embarrassed by this public display of their success. After all, it was meant as much to make the other kids feel bad as to make Gary and Derek feel good.

  “What did you get, Hennum?” Gary asked Dave, who was examining his and Teresa’s paper. “B-minus? Aww, that’s too bad.”

  “Buzz off, Parnell,” said Dave, clearly irritated.

  “Bzzzzz. . . . I’m buzzing. But it’s you who got the ‘bee.’ ”

  “Hey, knock it off, Gar,” said Derek, sensitive to his best friend’s feelings, and tired of Gary’s constant needling. “Just be happy with our grade, and quit rubbing it in. Nobody likes that.”

  “That’s the point,” said Gary with a satisfied smile on his face. “What good is winning if you can’t enjoy your triumph at other people’s expense?”

  “It’s the expense part that stinks, actually,” said Derek, who could see that Dave was sulking. “You should apologize.”

  “Dream on, Jeter. You know, I don’t understand why you always hang out with those jocks you call your friends. You may not be as dumb as you look—or as dumb as your friends are—but they’re just dragging you down.”

  “They’re not dumb! And oh, by the way, I hope you notice that you and I make pretty good teammates. We don’t have to compete against each other, you know. It’s not like it’s a rule or anything.”

  “Don’t get carried away,” said Gary, making a sour face. “We might have aced this project together, but you’re still the competition in my book. And you should be flattered. At least you have enough intelligence to give me a run for my money once in a while.”

  Derek laughed. He wasn’t about to let Gary annoy him, not when the two of them had just gotten the best mark in the whole class, and not when Gary had finally started to act like a team member on the Indians.

  Besides, what did it matter if he and Gary never became friends? Gary had the competitive spirit, that was for sure—same as Derek—and either way, compete or cooperate, they seemed to make each other perform better.

  Still, for the sake of the Indians, Derek hoped Gary would continue to act like a decent teammate, at least for the rest of the season. The Indians, he knew, would keep winning only if every member of the team pulled his weight, and pulled together.

  • • •

  Today the Indians were scheduled to play the Nationals. The boys all seemed excited to be there, and Derek knew it was because they’d finally tasted victory, and beaten the best team in the league too. In short, they had begun to believe in themselves.

  Derek’s dad was talking to the other team’s coach before the game, and Derek noticed that he’d left his scorebook on the bench.

  Knowing his dad wouldn’t like it if he saw Derek looking, but unable to resist taking a peek, Derek examined today’s lineup—and was shocked to see that he was slated to be the team’s starting pitcher!

  He quickly stepped back from the bench to avoid being seen. But he couldn’t hide his shock.

  Derek had to make him consider Dave, even if his dad got mad at him for pleading on Dave’s behalf. Taking a deep breath, Derek started over there, determined to speak up before it was too late for the team.

  But then he had a flash—remembering a phrase he’d heard once from his teacher, who’d been commenting on some assignment or other where they were supposed to explain things in front of the class.

  “Show, don’t tell,” Ms. Fein had said. Derek had forgotten all about it till now, but suddenly it had come back into his head.

  And that gave him a great idea. . . .

  “Dave!” he said, turning to his friend, who’d been penciled in at third base as usual, and who already had his glove on, ready to start taking infield practice. “Come here!”

  “What’s up?”

  “Pitch to me!”

  “Huh? Now? It’s almost game time.”

  “Now!”

  “What for?”

  “Don’t ask questions. Just . . . just trust me, okay?”

  Dave shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Get out to the mound,” Derek ordered.

  “Uh, why don’t we just go into the outfield or someplace? I don’t want to be in the way of the pitcher getting his warm-ups.”

  “The pitcher is me,” Derek said. “And you won’t be getting in my way. Just trust me, okay? Get on out there and throw me everything you’ve got.”

  Shaking his head in confusion, Dave reluctantly went out to the mound. Derek grabbed the team’s catcher’s mitt before Miles got to it, and crouched down behind the plate, giving Dave a target.

  Dave started throwing his heater—once, twice, three times—then threw a changeup, before hurling another fastball, right on the corner of the plate.

  “Hey!” It was Miles in his catcher’s gear, coming up to Derek. “I need my mitt, Derek. I’ve gotta warm you up. Your dad just said you’re pitching today.”

  “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” said Derek.

  “Come on, give me the mitt,” said Miles impatiently.

  “Just a couple more minutes. Come on, Dave. Right here.” Derek pounded the catcher’s mitt and stuck it out, making a perfect target for Dave to aim at.

  “What’s going on over here?” said Mr. Jeter, suddenly aware that Derek was hogging home plate. “Derek, I’ve got you pitching today, not catching.”

  Derek didn’t answer. “Throw me the changeup,” he called to Dave.

  Dave threw it, and Derek’s dad saw that the pitch was as tricky as it was supposed to be. “Huh,” he said thoughtfully. “Do that again, Dave.”

  Dave threw another one. “Nice,” said Mr. Jeter. “Very nice. You’ve been working on that one, haven’t you?”

  “Yessir,” Dave said.

  “How’s your fastball?”

  Dave threw one to show him. It was on the corner and at the knees.

  “Give me one up high,” said Mr. Jeter. Dave did as he was told.

  “Wow. I’ve got to say, you’ve really improved, Dave. Good going.”

  After taking his pencil from behind his ear, where he’d been stowing it, he scratched something into his scorebook. “You know what? I think we’re going to slot you in as starting pitcher today. Let’s see how you do.”

  “Yesss!” said Dave and Derek together.

  “What about me, Dad? I mean, Coach?” asked Derek.

  “I’ll shift Jonathan over to third. You can take over at short.”

  “Yesss!” Derek said again. “Thanks, Coach!”

  Chase came over to see what was going on. Mr. Jeter cocked his head. “I don’t suppose it was you who worked with Dave on his pitching?” he asked.

  “Not me,” said Chase, who had clearly been watching the whole thing. He gave Derek a quick wink.

  “Not me either,” said Mr. Jeter. He looked at Derek and Dave, who looked at each other and shrugged, pretending not to know anything. But Derek knew they weren’t fooling anybody.

  “Here,” said Derek, giving the catcher’s mitt to Miles as the coaches walked back to the bench. “You can take over from here. Make sure you have him throw changeups whenever the hitter’s expecting a fastball.”

  “Got it,” said Miles. “Hey, Derek?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It was you, right?”

  Derek gave him a wink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and they both shared a laugh. “Let’s go get ’em today.”

  “Right on,” said Miles, crouching down and poundi
ng his mitt as he prepared to finish warming Dave up for the game.

  Derek got his own mitt and trotted out to short, feeling mighty pleased with himself.

  Now if only Dave can take advantage of the opportunity . . .

  • • •

  All Derek could do was watch and stay ready in case the ball was hit to him. Dave was doing the rest. He made the first two Nationals hitters look helpless, getting two quick strikes with his fastball, then finishing both off with his changeup.

  Cheers went up from the fielders behind him with each strikeout, and Dave seemed to gain confidence with each swing and miss.

  The third batter hit a fastball, looping it over Derek’s head. Derek ran back on the ball, then leapt at the last minute and snagged it—and held on as he landed hard on the grass.

  “Woo-hoo!” Vijay shouted out in left field. “Derek Jeter! I think you are ready for the New York Yankees right now!”

  Derek grinned as he got up, threw the ball in, and trotted back to the bench, shaking his head. “Come on, Vij. Cut it out,” he said.

  Vijay knew it was Derek’s dream to start at shortstop for the Yankees, and when Vijay believed in something, he believed it with his whole heart.

  That was one of the things Derek liked best about him. But sometimes he wished Vijay wouldn’t say some of the things he did. It just embarrassed Derek to have people talk about the dreams he was striving for.

  Mason led off for the Indians in the bottom of the first, and promptly got hit by a pitch. “Ow!” he said, rubbing his butt where the ball had plunked him. “That hurt!”

  “You okay, Mason?” Chase called out.

  “I guess,” said Mason, who had been limping toward first but suddenly seemed able to walk normally.

  Dean was up next. He grounded out to first, but Mason made it to second base in spite of his sore rear end. Now it was Derek’s turn to hit.

  The Nationals’ pitcher was a real fireballer, which explained Mason’s sore butt. But Derek had never been afraid of the ball, or even of being hit by a pitch. So when the ball came straight at him, he calmly ducked, then got right back into the batter’s box, ready to give as good as he got.