by Derek Jeter
He fouled the next pitch off. It was outside, but not by much, and he couldn’t have risked the ump calling it a strike. He fouled another one off, and then another—and then another!
He was just barely making contact each time, but he was fouling off good pitches—ones that might have been called strikes if he’d let them go by.
Sooner or later, he knew, the pitcher would make a mistake and throw one over the heart of the plate, where he could—
“OW!” The pitcher had made a mistake, all right, but instead of throwing a hittable pitch, he’d hit Derek square on the shinbone!
“Take your base!” the ump shouted, pointing to first. Derek hopped there on one leg, grabbing his sore shin, while the Red Sox and their fans erupted in cheers as Miles scored the winning run!
Derek crossed the first-base bag still yelling, “Ow, Ow, OW!” He had to laugh, even though his leg still hurt enough to make him cry.
Getting hit on the shin hurt, for sure, but it had gotten his team into the championship.
What a way to be a hero!
• • •
That night before dinner, Sharlee was all smiles. “You think you had a good day,” she told Derek. “Wait till you hear what happened to me in school.”
“What? What happened, Sharlee?” he asked. “It must be pretty good to top me getting hit on the shinbone with a fastball.”
“It is!” she chirped. “Guess who invited me to his birthday party?”
“Umm . . . I don’t know,” Derek said, furrowing his brow and stroking his chin. “The prince of Persia?”
“No, silly,” she said, giggling. “Jimmy Vickers!”
“What?” Derek couldn’t believe his ears.
“Yes!” she confirmed. “And guess what kind of party it is.”
“I don’t know,” he said, laughing. “Tell me.”
“A kickball party—and he wants me to be on his team!”
“Wow, Sharlee! How about that?” He gave her a big hug, and she squeezed him tight.
“It’s all thanks to you,” she said.
“Sharlee, don’t go there. I should never have—”
“No, I don’t mean that part. I mean when you said he should give me another chance.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess I did say something like that,” he said. “Well, good. That’s great.”
“Um . . .”
“Something else?” he asked.
“I was thinking of inviting him over here to watch that Yankees-Tigers game on TV. You know, the one you can’t go to?”
Derek winced. “Don’t remind me,” he said. “What makes you want to invite him to watch that?”
She grinned, showing her dimples, and swayed from side to side. “Jimmy says he’s a Yankees fan too!”
Chapter Sixteen
WINNER TAKES ALL
The end of the season had arrived. It had happened so suddenly that Derek hadn’t seen it coming. His attention had been riveted on the Red Sox run for the playoffs, and now it was all coming down to one final game. Tomorrow it would end either in a blaze of glory or in the flames of defeat.
The end of school had taken him by surprise too. For two weeks they’d been taking tests, and then one day there weren’t any more tests to take. His grades were all As and B-pluses, though he wound up lagging behind Gary yet again.
It bothered Derek, but not too much. He’d long ago decided that sports were anything but a waste of time. Gary wasn’t going to change his mind, either.
The main reason Derek wanted to beat him so badly was to prove that playing sports didn’t mean you were stupid. But Derek also knew that the competition helped them both get better grades. And now, for next year, Dave was in the mix too!
On that Friday, when everyone got out at one o’clock and hung around to say their good-byes till September, Derek suddenly realized that next week he’d be heading for New Jersey, to spend the summer with his grandparents at their home on Greenwood Lake, as he did every year.
He was happy about it, of course. He loved his grandparents, and his grandma always took him to see the Yankees at the big ballpark in the Bronx. Those outings to see the Bronx Bombers were Derek’s favorite time of the whole year. Every time he watched them play in person, it made his dream seem more real—that someday he too might be out there, starring at shortstop.
Tomorrow, though, it would be his job to help the Red Sox beat a team called the Yankees.
“Hey, Derek!” Dave called, coming down the school’s front steps. “Slap me five, man. School’s out for summer!”
They high-fived, then gave each other the secret handshake that only kids on Jeter’s Hill used.
“You ready for the big game tomorrow?” Derek asked him.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Dave said. “And oh, by the way, I got us a tee time for Sunday afternoon at the municipal course—just us and Chase, but if your dad wants to come . . .”
“Oh, wow,” Derek said. He’d forgotten completely that he’d promised Dave he would switch to golf the minute the baseball season was over. “I guess we’re really playing then, huh?”
“Did you think I wasn’t serious?”
“What about clubs, though? I don’t have any. They’re expensive too, right?”
“No worries,” Dave said with a grin. “You’re shorter than me. You can use my old set.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” said Derek. “I’m not exactly short, you know. Just next to you.”
“I can’t wait to get out there,” said Dave. “I’m gonna play every day this summer. It’s so fun! You’ll see. Once you try it, you’ll forget all about baseball.”
“That,” said Derek, smiling, “is not going to happen.”
He suddenly realized he’d never told Dave about being in New Jersey for the summer. “By the way,” he said, and laid it on him, as gently as he could.
“Oh,” said Dave, the reality dawning on him.
“But I bet you could get some of the other guys to play golf,” Derek said. “Vijay for sure. Maybe even Jeff, Jason . . .”
“I don’t know,” Dave said, still dealing with the news of Derek’s coming departure for New Jersey.
“Hey, and I’ll be back late August,” Derek said. “We can play all fall, you know? At least till it gets too cold.”
That prospect seemed to brighten Dave’s mood. “Anyway, first things first. Right, Derek? Let’s win us a baseball trophy!”
“Now you’re talking!”
• • •
This was, without a doubt, the biggest game Derek had ever played in. Nothing else even came close. If the Red Sox won, they would be champions!
Derek had never been a champion before. Not once. In fact, this was his first chance at being one, and he was determined not to let it go to waste!
Coach Kaufman gathered the team together before the game. “I’m looking around,” he said, “at a fantastic bunch of guys. You kids have done yourselves proud, whatever happens today. So hold your heads up, give it all you’ve got, and above all, have fun!”
The team let out a ferocious cheer. And they were a team now. At the beginning they’d been just a bunch of kids. Some had been friends before the season; some, like Dave, had been new and had struggled to fit in.
But somewhere along the way they’d started to play like a team—and about the same time, they’d started winning. Now here they were, playing for all the marbles.
The Yankees were the home team, thanks to their first-place finish. So Derek’s Red Sox batted first. “Let’s jump on ’em!” Coach Kaufman told them.
Derek nodded. Coach Kaufman might not have been the best coach in terms of teaching the fine points of baseball, but he was good at getting the team motivated. He was a really nice guy, too. Derek decided that all in all, he’d been a good coach, if not a great one.
That great coach—the one he hadn’t had yet—was his very own dad, Derek knew. There he was, standing up and clapping, urging Derek and the Sox on to victory.
<
br /> Next to his dad stood Derek’s mom, with Sharlee jumping up and down next to her. “Go, Derek!” He heard her high, piercing yell above the rest of the crowd.
Everyone was here to see this game. Derek saw players from other teams in the league, some of them wearing their jerseys one last time. Of course, there were plenty of Yankees fans too.
The Yankees, for their part, looked quiet and confident—and why not? They hadn’t been beaten yet—not even once. Why should they have expected today to be any different?
Derek set his jaw and gripped the handle of his bat. He was hitting third in the lineup, but he was already set to go.
Cubby started things off right with a walk. He’d had so many this season that it seemed like he was always on base—and stealing. Sure enough, before Jason even swung at a pitch, Cubby was standing on second base.
Jason drove him in with a single, and the Sox had the lead, 1–0. Now it was Derek’s turn. He stepped into the box, nodded once in the direction of his family, and settled in.
Somehow he didn’t need to calm himself down this time. Something about this moment was like being in a dream . . . .
CRRACK! The ball sizzled down the right-field line, and Derek was off and running. He was halfway to third before he realized that Jason hadn’t kept going and tried to score! Derek had to scramble back to second base, disappointed that he hadn’t driven in that second run.
It wound up being a big deal too, because the next three hitters—Jeff, Isaiah, and Dave—all popped out to the infield, stranding both Jason and Derek, and forcing the Sox to settle for a one-run lead.
It quickly disappeared in the bottom of the inning, as Jeff walked two men and then gave up a double. Now it was the Yankees who were in the lead, 2–1.
Derek led off the third with his second hit of the day, a clean single to center. He stole second on the first pitch to Jeff, who let the strike go by so Derek could get into scoring position. But that strike led to another, and another, for the first out—and Derek was still at second.
Isaiah hit a tapper to second, and Derek took off for third. He made it safely, but now there were two outs—and Dave was coming to the plate.
“Get into one, big guy!” Derek yelled, clapping his hands.
Dave nodded back at him. He’d heard. But could he come through in the clutch?
The first two pitches came in high and over the plate. Dave swung through one and let the other go for a second strike.
Derek winced. “Keep it level, Dave! Remember—level swing!” He sure hoped Dave was listening . . . .
The ball came in low—in fact, it was in the dirt—and Dave couldn’t help himself. He swung, with his old, long, loopy swing—and sent the ball far over the left fielder’s head.
“YESSS! Home run!” Derek screamed, looping his arm in a circle as he trotted home in front of Dave, who seemed to be positively floating around the bases.
3–2, Red Sox!
But not for long. In the bottom of the third, the Yanks came roaring back, scoring three runs off Jeff, who wasn’t having his best game. He continued to walk people, and they hit him hard whenever he threw one over the plate.
Derek made two great plays at shortstop to save at least a couple more runs, but by the end of the third inning, it was 5–3, Yanks.
The game stayed that way for a while. Then, in the top of the sixth, the Red Sox took the lead again. Derek, with his third hit in four at bats, singled home Cubby and Jason. Two outs later Dave hit a line drive double to left, and Derek raced across the plate for the team’s sixth run!
Buster followed with a strikeout to end the inning, but now the mighty Yankees were up against the wall, facing imminent defeat. Derek couldn’t help feeling that victory was within their grasp. Just three more outs!
Just three . . . more . . .
It was soon clear that the Yankees were not going to go down without a fight. Their first hitter fought off six straight fastballs from Buster before lacing a double to right. The guy after him grounded out, but the next hitter smacked a long double, scoring the tying run.
Derek groaned, along with everyone else on his team and all their fans in the stands. Suddenly the tide had turned once more. On the mound Buster slumped, his head down, looking like he’d already lost the game.
“Come on, man!” Derek told him, running over to give his friend some encouragement when he needed it most. “You’ve got this. These guys can’t touch you. Just reach back and throw it right by them!”
Buster didn’t look Derek in the eye, but he did nod his head. And sure enough, he blazed three fastballs past the next hitter for the second out.
One more out, and they’d go to extra innings. There would be no tie today, whatever happened. It was only two in the afternoon on this warm, sunny Saturday in the middle of June. Plenty of time for lots of extra innings.
Somebody was going to win this game, and Derek knew that with one more out, their chances were back to fifty-fifty again.
But the next batter walked, as Buster seemed to lose both the plate and his confidence. A wild pitch sent both runners flying, and now it was second and third.
Coach Kaufman told Buster to intentionally walk the next hitter, to load the bases and have a force play at any base. That way no tag would be necessary—just touching the base would get the third out of the inning.
Buster walked the hitter, and the next man came up. Derek set himself, ready to grab even the fastest line drive. “Hit it here,” he murmured. “Come on, right here.” He pounded the pocket of his mitt, feeling sure that the ball would come his way . . . .
But it didn’t. It went rocketing into center field, where Cubby lay out trying to make the diving catch—but couldn’t. The Yankees runner came home from third base with the winning run.
The game and the season were over.
Derek sank to his knees. He could feel tears spring to his eyes. They’d been so close! Soooo close.
Looking up, he saw that Buster was sitting on the mound, staring at his shoes. Derek realized he must feel worse than anybody else.
Cubby, Miles, and Vijay were walking in from the outfield, watching the Yankees as they celebrated, mobbing one another along the first-base line.
Coach Kaufman gathered them all together. “All right, guys. I know you feel bad. I feel the same way.”
Derek could see that it was true. Coach Kaufman really did care—the sight of his team so downcast had brought him to the brink of tears too. “But you played a great game. You showed everyone what you were made of. I’m proud of each and every one of you, and you should be proud too.”
Maybe on another team, in a moment like this someone would have said something bad, like “This stinks,” or “So-and-so messed up.” But nobody on this team was going to blame someone else for the loss. They’d gotten this far as a team, and they’d gone down as a team.
When it was all over, and the two teams had finished shaking hands, it was time for the league commissioner to hand out the trophies to the champs.
This part was hard for Derek to watch. He felt such a letdown, after all his hopes and dreams of a championship had so quickly vanished.
Looking up, he was surprised to see his mom by his side. “Hey, old man,” she said, giving him a kiss on the head. “Great game today. You guys played your hearts out.”
Derek didn’t answer. He just stared at the Yankees, holding their trophies high.
“Look, I know you feel bad right now,” she said, squatting down by his side and taking his arm. “Just remember, it’s a long road you’re on. This is just one tiny stumble, and believe me, there’ll be plenty more of them. If you want to get where you need to go, it’s just part of the journey. Better learn to be okay with it.”
“How?” Derek asked in a plaintive voice. “What am I supposed to do? Enjoy losing?”
“Of course not,” his mom said. “But hey, think about your whole season. Your team made the playoffs. That’s the first time ever you’ve made a p
layoff!”
Derek shrugged, and nodded. He had to admit, that much was true. It was progress, for sure.
“And you guys nearly won today. PS, you went three for four in your first playoff game. That gives you a .750 playoff batting average. Not too shabby.”
Derek had to laugh, as sad as he was feeling. His mom, always with the facts and figures.
“You hit above .350 for the season, old man,” she went on. “And you guys had fantastic team spirit. Some great wins this season. Great wins. And what did you make, one error at short all year?”
Derek nodded, smiling now for real. His mom had a way of always seeing the bright side—and making everyone around her see it too.
“Not for nothing, don’t forget that last year you didn’t even get to play short most of the time! And you got to pitch a bunch this year too. Not too shabby.”
“Okay, okay,” Derek told her, giving her a hug and a kiss. “I get the point.”
“I’m not done yet,” she said. “You had a heck of a year, and I just want you to get it. An A-minus average . . . a new friend . . . Plus, you learned a couple hard lessons, right? Like how to be a role model for your sister, for instance. And how to think before you act. Am I right?”
“You’re right, Mom,” Derek said. “As usual.” He cracked a teasing smile, and she laughed and kissed him on the head again.
“If you want to achieve your big dreams someday, Derek, you can’t let one loss get you down.” She clapped him on the back. “Okay, old man, enough’s enough. Go see your friends. Oh, by the way, I hear you’re playing golf tomorrow, huh?”
Derek’s smile vanished. “Oh. Right. I kind of forgot . . . . I don’t really feel like it anymore, honestly,” he said.
“Never mind,” she said sternly. “You did tell your friend you’d go, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but now . . .”
“Now you don’t feel like it? So, you’re just going to do whatever you feel like, even if it hurts your new friend’s feelings?”
Derek hadn’t thought of that, but of course it would totally hurt Dave’s feelings if Derek didn’t go. “I guess you’re right.” Dave had supported him when he’d been in his batting slump, and Derek was going to return the favor by cheering on Dave’s big drives and long putts.
