Hit & Miss

by Derek Jeter

  But Dave seemed to have a fighting spirit much like Derek’s. He might have given up on making friends with the other guys, but he hadn’t given up on baseball. He seemed focused and ready, even if he didn’t say much to anyone but Derek.

  “How’s it goin’?” Derek asked him.

  “I’m all right,” Dave assured him. “I’m gonna hit one out today, and show those guys.”

  “Attaboy,” Derek said. “Me too.”

  They high-fived, just as the umpire yelled, “Play ball!”

  Today they were facing the Yankees, the team Derek had always wanted to be a part of—even in Little League.

  The Yankees’ pitcher started out wild, walking Cubby and Jason. Derek came to the plate with two men on and nobody out. He was psyched!

  In fact, he was so excited about driving those two runs in that he struck out swinging. He returned to the bench, furious with himself. He’d overswung at every pitch. He promised himself not to do that again next time up.

  Luckily, the Yankees’ pitcher was so wild that he walked three runs in before the coach came in and made a substitution. Derek felt bad for the kid, but he was happy his team was up 3–0.

  Unluckily, the new pitcher threw strike after strike, mowing down Vijay and Miles to end the inning.

  Worse, in the bottom of the first, the Yankees took the lead. Coach Kaufman had started Buster instead of Jeff at pitcher, not because Jeff had pitched the game before but because Coach Kaufman wanted to give other kids a chance at key positions.

  But there was a downside to Coach Kaufman’s good-heartedness. Buster didn’t have Jeff’s accurate arm, or Derek’s power fastball, and the Yankees torched him for four runs in the first inning.

  After that the game settled down. Nobody on the Red Sox was hitting, even though they were putting runners on base via the walk.

  Derek kept coming up with men on base. Maybe because of that, he kept getting too excited—swinging too hard, or too late, or at pitches that were wide of the plate, or in the dirt, or over his head.

  He was lunging and jumping at the ball, and he struck out twice more, missing big chances for RBIs.

  Late in the game, standing at shortstop, he found himself thinking about his at bats so far. He was 0 for 7 already! He’d never hit so poorly in his life, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

  Coach Kaufman was a nice guy, but he didn’t seem to know many of the fine points of the game, let alone Derek’s swing. There wasn’t going to be any help from that direction. Derek wished his dad were his coach, so he could give Derek some quick pointers that would help fix his swing.

  By the sixth inning the score was 6–3 Yankees, and time was running out for the Sox. Derek stood in the on-deck circle with one out and two men on, and watched as Jason came through with a clutch single that scored the Sox’s fourth run.

  Okay , Derek told himself, trying to think what advice his dad would have given him in this situation. Stay calm . . . stay back . . . swing at strikes.

  There was so much to keep straight in his head! When you were the go-ahead run at the plate, it was hard to keep from overswinging—but Derek was determined to make solid contact this time around.

  He let two pitches go by, just to calm himself down. Then, with the count 1–1, the pitcher threw a curveball.

  It should have been easy to hit, but Derek hadn’t been expecting it. He tried to stay back, but his bat hit slightly over the ball, and he grounded right back to the pitcher, who started an easy double play to end the game.

  Derek sank to his knees and put his head in both hands. How could he have messed up so badly? Now his team was 0–2. And worst of all, he’d played two games and hadn’t gotten even one hit yet!

  Chapter Nine

  THE SWING DOCTOR

  After shaking hands with the winning team, Derek looked for his parents in the stands. There they were, with Sharlee standing close to their mom, looking sad.

  He hugged her but avoided her hurt-looking gaze, focusing instead on his father. “Dad,” he said with a pleading note in his voice, “will you take me to the batting cages after school tomorrow?”

  “Hmm . . .” Mr. Jeter seemed to be thinking it over. “Tell me, Derek, how’d you do on that science test?”

  “I got a ninety-two,” Derek said. “It was hard, too!”

  “All right, all right,” Mr. Jeter said with a smile. “I guess ninety-two isn’t so bad.”

  “Yessss!”

  “How about you invite your new friend?” Mr. Jeter suggested. “And Vijay, too. Maybe they’d like to come along.”

  “Sure!” Derek said excitedly, turning to see where Dave and Vijay were. Dave was alone at the end of the team bench and was about to leave. Derek knew the Mercedes would be around the corner, where no one could see it or connect it to Dave.

  Derek felt sorry for him. Dave didn’t want anyone to know he was rich, but really, it was way too late for that. He’d have been better off just being who he was and giving the kids time to get to know him.

  “Dave!” he called.

  “Hey,” said Dave, looking as defeated as the rest of the Red Sox.

  “Want to come with me and my dad to the batting cages? He’s great at fixing swings.”

  “Sure! I could really use some work on mine!” Dave’s face brightened hopefully. “When?”

  “After school tomorrow?”

  “Great! I’ll just ask Chase, but I’m sure it’ll be okay. Meet you there?”

  “Cool.” They high-fived, and Derek turned to find Vijay, who was standing with a bunch of the other kids, talking in low voices and glancing over at Dave, who was already walking away.

  “Hey, Vij, want to come to the cages with me and my dad after school tomorrow? We can drive you.”

  “Sure!” Vijay said instantly. “Definitely yes!”

  “Dave’s going to come too, probably,” Derek added.

  Suddenly Vijay’s expression changed. “Oh,” he said, looking away, over at the other kids nearby. It was almost like he wanted to make sure they weren’t listening. “Well . . . um, okay,” he said in a hushed voice. “Never mind the lift, though. I’ll ask my parents to drop me there.”

  “Cool.”

  Derek was confused. What was up with Vijay? It was the strangest thing—and it seemed to be connected to Dave . . . .

  Whatever it was, Derek hoped it went away fast. Like, before their batting session the next afternoon.

  • • •

  Dave leaned back on his right foot, waiting for the ball machine to fling its next missile his way. When the ball shot out of the chute, he made sure to keep his swing level all the way through the strike zone.

  “There you go! That’s right, like you’re chopping down a tree. Good! Swing down at it. Yeah. You see how you hit that one?”

  Derek’s dad clapped his hands and patted Dave on the back as he left the cage and handed the bat to Derek. The three boys were taking turns being coached by Mr. Jeter while Chase looked on, silently observing.

  Meanwhile, Derek’s mom and Vijay’s parents stood watching from a distance, talking and drinking coffee from wax paper cups. Sharlee had a Slurpee, and was trying to eat it before it melted all over her.

  “Your swing is getting long, Derek,” his dad said. “Get your weight on your back foot more—that’s it.”

  Derek was a hard worker when it came to most things, but he never worked harder than when he was in the batting cages. He would take as many swings as his dad would let him, even if his arms felt like they were falling off.

  After several turns, each lasting twenty swings, Derek was hitting nearly every ball solidly, thanks to his dad’s expert tips. He felt more and more confident that come next game, he would break out of his 0 for 8 slump and start hitting like the player he knew he was.

  While Vijay took his last turn, Dave said to Derek, “Your dad is an awesome coach.”

  “Yeah,” Derek agreed with a sigh. “I only wish he would finally coach me sometime.�
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  “What do you mean? He’s coaching us right now,” Dave pointed out.

  It was true. Derek realized he was lucky to have a dad who cared enough to take time out of his busy day to help him improve his skills.

  Still . . .

  “I mean coach my team,” Derek said.

  “You really should be a coach, Mr. Jeter,” Vijay piped up. “Did you guys see me just now? I smashed that ball!”

  “You boys know I’m in school,” said Derek’s dad. “And you all know school comes first. When I finish my degree, we’ll see.”

  “Dad!” Derek cried, alarmed. “What do you mean, ‘we’ll see’?”

  “Mind your contract, Derek,” said his dad, giving him a smile and a wink.

  Chase came over and clapped Dave and Derek on the shoulders. “You’re a natural athlete, young man,” he said to Derek. “Ever think of taking up golf? You’d be good at it, you know.”

  “Oh. Thanks,” Derek said. “Maybe after baseball season is over . . .”

  “By the way, I noticed a little hitch in your swing. You might want to keep an eye on it.”

  “Huh? Oh! Okay.” Until that moment Derek hadn’t had the slightest idea that Chase knew a thing about baseball. That man was full of surprises!

  At that moment Jeff and Jason stepped out of a car that had just parked in the lot. They saw Derek, Dave, and Vijay, and waved.

  Derek noticed that Vijay ran right over and high-fived them. The three boys stood near the shed where the cashier sold the tokens for the machines, huddling and talking, glancing over at Derek and Dave every now and then.

  Derek shook his head. Vijay was acting weird again, but it was too late to find out why. Chase and Dave were already walking over to the Mercedes, and Derek’s parents were waiting by the station wagon. As he walked over to them, Derek caught Vijay’s voice.

  “I just happened to run into them here . . . ,” he heard his friend say.

  More troubled than ever, Derek got into the car for the short ride home.

  “Hey, old man,” his mom said cheerfully over her shoulder from the front seat. “You looked good up there.”

  “Yeah, I felt good,” Derek said. “Thanks to Dad.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Mr. Jeter. “You and your friends all made some nice improvements.”

  “You guys seem like the Three Musketeers, you were having so much fun together,” said Mrs. Jeter.

  “Yeah,” said Derek. “Till the end, when Jeff and Jason showed up.”

  “Oh? What happened then?”

  Derek clucked his tongue. “Vijay started acting weird. It’s like, he’s cool as long as it’s just me and him and Dave. But as soon as someone else comes around, he’s laughing and joking with them, and I know they’re making fun of Dave.”

  “What?” his mom said, surprised. “Really? Why would anyone make fun of Dave?”

  “Because he’s new, and he’s super rich, and he has a huge Mercedes with a driver, and lives in a mansion, and—”

  “Okay, okay, I get it,” said Mrs. Jeter. “Well, maybe you should have a talk with Vijay about it. Tell him how you feel.”

  “I don’t know . . . .”

  “Hey, Derek,” said his dad. “We’re proud of you for the way you went and made friends with someone who didn’t have any friends yet. You made Dave feel welcome, and that’s a good thing.”

  “Funny that Vijay wouldn’t understand that,” Mrs. Jeter said. “I remember when their family first came here.”

  “I will talk to him,” Derek decided.

  That was the easy part. The hard part was figuring out what to say, and how to say it.

  • • •

  Soon it was time for dinner, and it was one of the quietest dinners the Jeter family had had in a long while. Normally there was lots of conversation and plenty of laughter. But tonight Derek was subdued, playing with his chicken parm more than eating it.

  Even stranger, Sharlee was almost totally silent. “Yes, please,” “No thank you,” and “I don’t know,” were all she would say.

  “What’s wrong, Sharlee? Don’t you feel well?” Mrs. Jeter asked worriedly.

  “I don’t know,” she said, pushing her food around the plate with her fork.

  “Are you sick? Is something bothering you?” Mr. Jeter wondered.

  “I’m not hungry. May I be excused?”

  Mrs. Jeter felt Sharlee’s forehead. “I’m not sick! I told you,” said Sharlee.

  “No fever,” Mrs. Jeter said to her husband. “Well, Sharlee, if there’s anything on your mind, you know—”

  “I’m tired,” Sharlee said. “I want to go up to bed.”

  “What?” Derek said, his eyes wide. He never thought he’d ever hear those words come out of his sister’s mouth.

  Sharlee, however, was already halfway up the stairs. “Something’s on her mind,” Mrs. Jeter said. “I should go up and talk to her.”

  “Wait a while, Dot,” Mr. Jeter advised. “She’ll come out with it herself when she’s ready.”

  “I’ll go talk to her,” Derek said. “Soon as I finish dessert.”

  Mrs. Jeter bent over him and kissed him on top of the head. “That’s a good big brother,” she said.

  But by the time Derek had finished his chocolate chip cookie, washed up, and put his pajamas on, Sharlee was already fast asleep.

  Derek frowned. He agreed with his parents. Something was definitely up with Sharlee—something she didn’t want to talk about but serious enough to ruin her usual good mood.

  Oh well, he thought. It would have to wait till morning, or till the next time he got to talk to her alone.

  Anyway, what could be so bad at five years old?

  Dimly he remembered what it was like to be five, when any little thing could get you upset. Yeah, this was probably a big nothing. Nothing as complicated as his own problem with Vijay, or his problems at the plate.

  As he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, he tried one last time to guess what could be bothering his sister.

  And as he fell asleep, a memory flashed before his eyes—the memory of the Jeter family on the local basketball court, and of a couple of boys passing by . . .

  Sharlee’s mood had taken a dive then, too. Derek wondered if there could possibly be a connection . . . .

  And then he fell asleep.

  Chapter Ten

  GAME ON!

  On Saturday, Derek arrived at Westwood Fields early, as he always did. He liked being the first one there. It gave him more time to warm up, practice throwing and catching, and get his head into the upcoming game.

  It was especially important today. Derek was concentrating hard, trying to hold on to all the adjustments he’d made under his father’s guidance the day before.

  He’d felt sure yesterday that his hitting would improve. But now he was starting to wonder. It had been a whole twelve hours since then. What if he’d lost the groove he’d been in?

  But all of those thoughts left his head when he got to the field and saw that Dave was already there—and in a total panic.

  “I can’t believe this!” he told Derek. “My parents found out it was my turn to bring snacks for the team, so Mom’s assistant called a gourmet catering company, and they sent over all of these crazy snacks. I mean, look at this mess!”

  Derek looked. He didn’t see a mess. Not at all. What he saw, instead of the usual orange slices, plain popcorn, raisins, and cooler of ice water, was a luxurious spread of foods from some local gourmet market.

  There were little sandwiches with the crusts cut off the bread and toothpicks stuck into them, all wrapped in multicolored plastic. He saw three different kinds of popcorn, none of them plain, all of them dolled up with some fancy coating or other. One was marked “truffle oil,” something Derek had never even heard of. There were organic fruit juices, and there was a platter of raw vegetables all cut and placed neatly around a bowl of dip.

  “This looks pretty good,” he offered.
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  “Are you kidding me?” Dave moaned. “Everyone’s gonna laugh their heads off about me being a brat. They already hate me for it!”

  “Aw, come on, man. Nobody hates you . . . .”

  Derek realized he wasn’t getting through when Dave started ripping the nice plastic wrap and ribbon ties off the trays. “Chase went to the grocery store to get normal stuff,” he said. “But he’ll never get back here in time.” He sighed and grasped his head in both hands.

  “Come on. Let’s get to work,” Derek told him, dropping his mitt and helping Dave get rid of at least the most obvious signs of luxury in the spread of food.

  By the time the other kids started arriving, things didn’t look quite so flashy. The toothpicks were gone, the ribbons and plastic wrapping had disappeared into a nearby trash can, the cards naming the three kinds of popcorn were gone, and the wood-shaving confetti underneath it all had been disposed of the same way.

  “Hey, looks good!” said Jason as he surveyed the snack table. Tasting the popcorn with truffle oil, he added, “Outstanding. Hey, Hennum, what’s this made with? It’s pretty good.”

  Other kids heard him, and soon they were all devouring the snacks.

  “Whew,” Dave said, pretending to wipe sweat off his brow and shooting Derek a secret smile. “Just made it!”

  As he said that, they both spotted Chase coming down the street with two huge shopping bags full of snack food. “No!” Dave mouthed, waving his hands for Chase to turn around and get lost before he gave away the whole thing.

  Chase seemed confused at first, but then, seeing all the kids surrounding and devouring the existing snacks, he smiled and turned around, heading back to where the Mercedes was parked around the corner.

  Warm-ups followed, and soon it was game time. The Red Sox were 0–2, and Derek was 0 for 8 at the plate, but he felt sure that today would be different—and better.

  Their opponents, the Mets, were 1–1 so far, and they came to bat first.

  From the moment the first pitch left Jeff’s hand, Derek was totally into the game. He shouted encouragement as Jeff mowed down two Mets hitters. Then Derek lunged to his left to stop a sharp ground ball, and fired to first, just nipping the runner for the third out.