by Derek Jeter
“ ‘Thriller’?”
“What? You don’t know it?”
“Of course I know it—everyone knows it! It was number one all last year—how could I not know it?”
“So, what? You don’t like it? You think people are tired of hearing it?”
“No, I think it’s really cool—it’s kind of a story, right? So we can act it out with our dancing.”
“Like a horror story!”
“Right!”
Now they were both excited. Derek was up and pacing. Ideas for dance moves came into his mind, one after another.
“Okay, let me get a pen and paper so we can sketch out the routine,” Vijay said. “You can play it line by line, and we’ll pause it and figure out what we’re doing.”
An hour later, they had a basic outline of their dance: Two sixth-grade friends foolishly enter the local haunted house only to have the daylights scared out of them by a real-life monster, who emerges from the shadows and chases them away.
“Good work, partner!” Vijay said. “We have a killer song, a great story, and two fantastic, world-class dancers! We are going to win this talent show for sure!”
Derek laughed. He didn’t know about winning the talent show—although that would be great if it happened. But he had his doubts. There were some super-talented kids at Saint Augustine’s, and most of them had been practicing their skills for years. The competition was going to be fierce.
But he didn’t say that to Vijay. After all, what was the point of being in a contest if you weren’t going to try all out to win?
“I feel so much better now,” Vijay admitted. “I was afraid for a minute there that you were going to chicken out on me.”
“No way!” Derek protested. “When I said I wanted to do this, I meant it. We are good to go! And don’t worry—after all this other stuff is out of the way, we’re going to work this thing until we’ve got it totally down.”
“Good!” Vijay said. “There’s just one other small problem.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Who are we going to get to play the part of the monster?”
Yikes. Derek hadn’t thought of that.
“Never mind—we can figure that part out later,” he told Vijay. “Just leave that job to me.”
Chapter Seven TESTING TIME
The week flew by, yet it seemed to take forever.
Every moment of Derek’s life was taken up with school, sleep, study, homework, eating, or practicing basketball—sometimes more than one of them at a time!
Sam was trying his best, but there was no doubt that tutoring him—which was what Derek was pretty much doing—was slowing Derek’s own studying down. On the other hand, going over things so thoroughly for Sam’s sake did make Derek understand them better. So it wasn’t a total waste of time, really—it just felt like it.
Derek and Vijay had touched base a bunch of times during the week. Vijay had not lost his enthusiasm for their project. In fact, ever since Derek had come up with their song, Vijay had been imagining how the dance/story would play out.
“I have choreographed practically the whole thing!” he told Derek that Thursday. “Don’t have any worries—we are surely going to win first prize!”
Derek wasn’t sure exactly what Vijay had cooked up. But he had to go along with it. There wasn’t time for him to have any input—at least not yet.
All this had made the week fly by. It was Derek’s impatience that made it feel endless. He couldn’t stand waiting any longer—the sooner tryouts started, the sooner he would know whether he’d made the cut.
And now, it was Saturday at last! Here he was, getting out of the car with the basketball that hadn’t left his hands all week, except in bed and in class and while he was studying with Sam. His left hand—his whole left arm—was tired and a little sore from all the dribbling.
Derek went inside the Y, headed for the gym. His dad drove on into the parking lot to find a spot.
In the gym Derek spotted Sam with his mom. She looked anxious, constantly checking her watch. Derek knew she was more concerned about Sam’s grades than his hoop dreams. He wondered whether she was more worried Sam would make the team, or that he wouldn’t.
“Derek! Hi!” Sam called, waving. Derek waved back but didn’t go over there. Instead, he went into the gym, looking for Dave, with whom he’d been practicing for the past three days.
There was a confident look in his eyes, Derek noticed. Dave’s game had come a long way, thanks to their coaching sessions with Derek’s dad.
“You ready?” he asked as they exchanged their usual elaborate handshake.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. You?”
“Now or never.”
“Right. Good luck, man.”
“You too.”
Derek sure hoped they both made it. He knew he would feel bad if he made it and Dave didn’t.
He didn’t even want to think about the opposite result.
Mr. Jeter came into the gym and found a seat in the bleachers just as Coach Nelson blew his whistle for tryouts to get started.
Derek felt an incredible surge of energy course through his body. He kept hopping up and down, eager to get going. Looking around at all the other hopefuls, he saw that Dave was one of the tallest kids there. That would be a big advantage for him.
And what would be his own advantage? His speed? Maybe, but there looked to be plenty of fast-dribbling would-be point guards here.
Derek remembered what his dad had told him. “You might not be the most talented kid trying out. But you can make sure you outwork everybody else.”
From the beginning, it was clear there weren’t many slackers trying out. Everybody knew this was a competitive league, and it seemed like that had kept any so-so players at home.
There were fifteen spots on the team—three players at each position—and Derek could see that there were easily fifty kids there in the gym—probably even sixty.
Derek’s energy kept threatening to overflow as he paced back and forth and hopped up and down, waiting for his turn to get on the court.
The coaches began by dividing the boys into groups of ten. Derek and Sam were put into the same group, and Dave in another. Derek wished it were the other way around. He did not relish the thought of having to go directly up against Sam. He wished Sam the best, but if only one of them was going to make the team at point guard, Derek didn’t want to be the odd man out.
“Okay, kids,” said Coach Nelson as everyone came to attention and stopped chattering. “We, um, well, I have to admit, more of you showed up than we expected. So my apologies to those of you who are going to have to wait a little while, but we can only handle three groups at a time. All right? Let’s go!”
There were murmurs from the kids and concerned looks from their parents, who began checking their watches. But really, what could anyone do? There were only three coaches, and the gym was packed with kids wanting to try out.
“First group, go with Coach O’Neill. Second group”—this was Dave’s group—“you’re with Coach Bernstein. Group three, you’re with me. Groups four through six, hang out here awhile. We’ll get to you in a few minutes.”
So Derek, who was in group four, had to sit there, along with Sam and about thirty others, watching the first groups do drills.
It was pure torture. Derek was so full of nervous energy that he felt like it was going to overwhelm him, like a giant wave. Pretty soon he found himself unable to sit at all. He popped up like a piece of toast and began pacing around in front of the bleachers.
He wasn’t the only one, either. It’s hard to wait when you’re primed for action—especially when people are going to be judging you on your performance!
Derek watched impatiently as Dave, Sam, and the others were put through a series of drills by the coaches. Dave and Sam’s group started with layups, taking their turn in line before running toward the hoop and taking the bounce pass from the coach.
When they were done with layup
s—after tossing up five or six shots each—they switched over to Coach Nelson, who had them running up and down the court doing suicide sprints till they were ready to drop. Then they were sent to the other end of the gym, where they had to take shots from various points on the court, including free throws from the line.
Finally, the three groups took a seat, and groups four through six were finally called. With a quick wave to his dad, who gave him two thumbs up, Derek joined the other kids gathered around Coach Nelson.
As they got ready for their first set of sprints, Derek snuck a quick glance across at Sam—but Sam was busy concentrating and didn’t notice. If he was feeling the heat from Derek’s being there, he sure wasn’t showing it.
Derek knew that Sam was the only kid he’d ever played ball with who was faster than he was. And sure enough, while Derek ran plenty fast enough to impress Coach Nelson, Sam edged him out every single time.
“Okay, boys, good job,” said Coach Nelson when they were bent double and breathing hard and deep. “Head on over there to Coach O’Neill.”
Derek had been practicing layups all week long. Just sink the first one, he told himself as he waited in line for his turn. Don’t try anything fancy. Not yet.
He took off toward the basket, took the pass in stride, and laid it in as if he could have done it in his sleep.
“Attaboy!” said Coach O’Neal. “Next!”
Derek nailed his first three, then used his next three tries to show something extra. He drove left-handed and laid it in. Then he did a reverse layup from the right side. And on his final drive, he did a quick spin before laying it in with his left hand!
Derek was proud of himself. On this element at least, he’d posted a high bar for his competition to beat. And though Sam had nailed all his righty layups, he’d struggled from the left side, missing both times.
It wasn’t that Derek was happy about it—Sam was his friend, after all, and Derek really did like him. But this was a competition. And he knew there might not be room on the team for both of them.
“Okay, men,” said Coach O’Neill. “Go and check in with Coach Bernstein.”
Derek had always been a pretty good shooter. But after Sam swished three incredible shots, Derek’s confidence began to falter.
Between all that excess energy and the pressure Sam was putting on him, Derek found himself clunking shots he usually made. His aim was as true as ever, but every shot had either too much or too little behind it.
By contrast, Sam’s shooting stroke showed no sign of wavering. He sank all seven shots he took, whispering “Yessss!” after each one and pumping his fist. Derek’s shoulders slumped as he realized Sam was totally in his own happy zone. Not only was he not worried about Derek or anyone else as competition—he didn’t even know anyone else existed!
They did another set of drills—five-man weave, set plays, running the court while passing back and forth—a lot of them the same ones Derek and Dave had practiced with Mr. Jeter.
Derek was in his element now, comfortable with the ball and accurate with his passes. He began to feel more confident again—but not enough to do any fist pumps. Not yet.
Groups four through six took their seats as the first three groups got up to do the second set of drills. After a further five-minute break for water and rest, the coaches lined all the boys up by position. Derek saw that there were eight other kids—including Sam—trying out for point guard. Yikes.
By contrast, there were only five kids vying for center, and Dave—lucky him—was one of them. The less competition, the better chance of making the team.
“We’re going to have some scrimmages now,” said Coach Nelson. “Two courts, four teams of twelve guys each. Everyone will get a turn, so be patient if you’re not in the starting lineup. It’s no reflection on how you’re doing so far.”
Derek and Dave wound up on opposing teams. “Good luck,” they told each other before heading to their separate benches. Both boys knew that how they did here would tell whether they made the cut or not.
Derek was second in line to play point guard for his team. By the time he entered the scrimmage, the score was 10–4 in Dave’s team’s favor. Derek quickly moved the ball up the court, drove to his left, and dished off to one of the forwards for an open bucket.
“Nice! Nice!” Coach Nelson yelled, applauding. Derek felt his heart swell with happiness. Coach had noticed him!
But in that very second, the point guard for the other team blew past Derek and sank an easy layup. Dang!
Derek wasted no time in making up for his mistake. He protected the ball, drawing a double-team, then dished off to the center and rolled toward the basket. The center hit him as he went airborne, and Derek sank the layup—left-handed!
Without a second’s pause, he ran back upcourt, just in time to foil a fast break by the other team. He dived at the other point guard from behind and knocked the ball away—straight to his own power forward!
Derek had skinned his right knee sliding on the polished wood floor. But he didn’t mind that it was smarting a little. He knew his effort wouldn’t go unnoticed.
Over the course of the next ten minutes, he sank another layup, had two more takeaways on defense, and took excellent care of the ball.
On the other hand, his shooting touch stayed cold—he wound up 1 for 5, and had two shots blocked—by Dave, of all people, who was putting in a really good showing on defense.
When Derek’s replacement took over for him, his team had cut the deficit to two points. Dave remained in the game for his team the whole time, since he was their only center.
Coach Nelson gathered everyone in the bleachers when both scrimmages had ended. “Good job, everyone. You boys all gave it your best. Now Coach O’Neill and Coach Bernstein and I will huddle up and decide who makes it to the next round. Check the bulletin board out front here on Monday afternoon to see if you’re on the list. Final tryouts are same time next Saturday. So I’ll see some of you then. If you’re not on the list, thanks for coming out today—and try again next season.”
Everyone clapped, and Derek went over to where Dave was standing. “Good job, man,” he said sincerely. “You’re definitely going to make it.”
“Thanks!” Dave said, a big grin on his face. “You think so?”
“Definitely. You stuffed me twice, you dog!”
“Sorry. Doing my job.”
“Totally. That’s why I say you made it.”
“Yeah. Well, you too!”
“Aw, I don’t know… ,” Derek said, shaking his head. “A lot of competition.” He couldn’t help looking over to where Sam was standing. “A lot.”
“No worries,” Dave said. “You were awesome!”
“Well, see you at school, I guess.”
“Yeah. Testing time,” said Dave. “You ready?”
“I guess,” said Derek, again looking Sam’s way. “You?”
“I’ve been pounding away at it. Nothing else to do except get ready for today.”
Dave, of course, wasn’t planning on being in the talent show. That’s why he hadn’t been under the kind of pressure Derek had been.
“Hey,” said Derek, getting an idea. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to do a small part in Vijay’s and my routine? Nothing big, just—”
“No way!” Dave said, putting both hands up. “Don’t even think about it. I’d never get up in front of everybody and dance. Every time I’ve ever tried to, I got total stage fright!”
“You can’t be afraid to fail, Dave! If you don’t even try, you’ve already failed!”
Derek knew it was true—at least in his head. But what he didn’t say was that he himself was nervous about getting up there. The only people he’d ever break-danced in front of were his family and Vijay—certainly not the whole school!
“Derek, you’re my best friend—I would do anything for you, man. Just not this.”
“But—” Derek sighed, giving up. “Okay. I just thought I’d ask.”
&nbs
p; “Sorry. I hate to let you down. I feel bad.”
“You do?”
“Yeah… but not that bad.” Dave said good-bye and went back to where his dad was waiting.
Too bad, thought Derek, watching him go. He would have made a great monster.
When he told Vijay he would find someone to play the monster, Derek didn’t think it would be so hard to do. In the back of his mind, he’d figured he could always get Dave to do it.
But Dave’s reaction didn’t totally surprise him. Lots of people—especially shy ones—got stage fright. He would not have been in the talent show himself if he’d had to get up there and give a speech. Dancing was one thing—he had some decent moves—but speaking was another!
The problem was, with Dave out of the picture, where was Derek going to find a monster?
* * *
“Hey, Jeter! It’s D-day! Zero hour! You ready to do battle with The Great Par-Nell?”
Derek rolled his eyes. “Morning, Gary.”
Gary rubbed his hands together with relish. “English today, math tomorrow, and when it’s all over, you shall be defeated, and I shall be your final boss! Bwah-ha-ha-ha!” Gary burst out laughing.
“Seriously?” Derek said a little lamely. “Gary, why don’t you just come back down to Planet Earth? I know it seems alien to you, but… ”
“Face it, Jeter, you are toast. You can study from now until forever, and I’ll still be smarter than you. There’s no substitute for genius.”
Genius?
Gary’s casual use of the word suddenly gave Derek a genius idea!
“So wrong,” Derek said, a sly smile on his lips. “So very, very wrong.”
“Ha!”
“Shall we make a little bet?”
“Okay, Einstein,” Gary said, swallowing the bait. “You’ve got yourself a bet. If I beat you on the tests—no, when I beat you—I’m going to make you a T-shirt that says ‘Gary P. Is Smarter than Me.’ And you are gonna wear it. To school.”
“And if I beat you,” Derek said, “you have to be part of Vijay’s and my talent show dance!”
“Ha! No way!” said Gary, smirking. “There’s nothing lamer than a talent show—other than sports, of course.”
