For game two, against the Yankees, Derek found himself playing the outfield—punishment, he assumed, for getting into it with Gary during the team’s first game. Derek was totally bummed about being in center field, especially since Gary was starting the game in right.
“This stinks,” Gary said with a sigh. “I’d much rather be anywhere else than here. Even worse is, your dad made my mom promise that I wouldn’t get to have any fun at all around here.”
Ah, so that was it! His dad had gotten through to Mrs. Parnell, and they were going to work together on Gary’s behavior! So there would be no more clowning around on the bench, or sabotaging team spirit!
Well, that was a relief, for sure. Derek’s confidence in his dad’s wisdom returned to its normal, high level. “So, no more gags or stupid comments?”
Gary shook his head. “Depressing,” he said.
“So . . . what are you going to do?”
Gary shrugged. “I guess I have no choice but to do my best, as painful as that may be. If I don’t go along, my mom’s not gonna let me go to math camp this summer.”
Math camp? Derek rolled his eyes. How in the world did Derek’s mom think he and Gary had anything in common?
At any rate Gary was going to give it his best. His best wasn’t very good, of course, but at least he was going to try. That had to be an improvement.
“Play ball!” shouted the ump, and the first Yankees batter came to the plate.
The Indians started out with Dave on the mound for the second game in a row. And even though this time it was Miles catching instead of Derek, Dave fared no better. He was wild, in and out and up and down, walking three men in the first inning and two in the second. And when he did get it over, the Yankees hit it hard.
Worse, they hit it to Gary, not Derek. And Gary, even though he actually tried for once, still had trouble catching fly balls, or getting a good throw back in to the cutoff man.
The Yankees brought five runs across in those first two innings, while on their end the Indians scored three, behind Derek’s and Dave’s back-to-back homers in the first.
Still, the Indians were behind, and when they failed to score in their half of the second, Mr. Jeter took the ball from Dave.
Dave seemed downcast. It must have felt like he was getting fired from his job, thought Derek.
Chase was looking over at Dave like he wanted to console him. But Chase, like Mr. Jeter, had to be a coach first and a parent—or, in Chase’s case, a substitute parent—second.
“Dean, take center field,” Mr. Jeter continued. Turning and handing Derek the ball, he said, “You’re pitching. Go out there and make Coach Bradway and me proud.”
Derek nodded and set his jaw. “You got it, Dad—I mean, Coach.”
Derek didn’t really like pitching. Maybe he would have if he’d thought he was better at it. But at least it beat the outfield, or catching, for that matter. You got plenty of action, without getting banged up and sore. Plus, the game was pretty much in your hands.
Derek knew that, like Dave, he had to put aside his own desires, for the good of the team. Okay, so he wasn’t playing shortstop like he wanted to. But at least he wasn’t on the bench!
Derek focused on what he’d learned in the past about pitching, from his dad and previous coaches. He tried to throw strikes, and he did pretty well.
He tried to keep the hitters off balance by changing speeds and the timing of his delivery. He succeeded at first, getting pop flies and ground balls. But after a while the Yankees started to figure him out.
In the fifth inning he gave up his first walk, to the leadoff batter. Then the cleanup hitter came up and doubled, hitting a slow pitch that hadn’t fooled him. That scored a run to make it 6–3, Yankees.
The next batter hit a grounder to short, where Derek would have been playing if he’d had his wish. Instead it was Jonathan manning the position. He bobbled the ball, and it trickled to his left.
When the runner at second saw that, he took off for third. Jonathan recovered quickly and fired to third, but his throw was wild, and the runner came all the way home for the seventh run, while the hitter advanced to second!
The next batter hit a sharp liner to Jonathan, who ducked, sticking his glove out—and missing the ball. The eighth run scored, and Derek felt all the fight go out of him. Looking around, he saw that all his teammates had sagged after the two errors.
The coaches kept on shouting encouragement, and Derek rallied to strike out the next three hitters in a row, stopping the bleeding. But in spite of a sixth-inning comeback, the Indians lost their second game in a row, 8–5.
After the game Derek’s dad told the team not to get down. “You boys played better today overall than last time,” he said. “And I believe you’ll play better in the next game than you did today. I see you all improving, every last one of you.”
Derek looked around at his somber teammates. Even Gary seemed down, a change from the past, when he would have been exulting in the team’s agony. Attitude-wise, at least, that was an improvement. Finally everyone on the team seemed to be on the same page.
Chase spoke up. “I know some of you made mistakes out there today,” he said. “And I’m sure we’ll be making our share of mistakes in the future. Everyone does. But if you keep working hard, keep the faith, and keep getting better every game, that’ll translate into victories before too long. Are you with me?”
“Yeah,” several team members said halfheartedly.
“Coach just said, ‘ARE YOU WITH ME?’ ” Mr. Jeter echoed, sounding like he was still in the army.
That got them. The Indians all yelled, “YEAH!”
“That’s better,” Mr. Jeter said. “Now go home and think on all the things you did right today. We’ll see you next time.”
The team scattered. Mr. Jeter, Chase, Dave, Vijay, and Derek gathered all the gear and packed the team’s duffel bags.
“Dave,” said Chase, “take this bag over to the car, okay?”
“Sure thing,” said Dave, hoisting the heavy bag and trudging off.
“Let’s get these other bags,” said Mr. Jeter. He and Vijay each hoisted one and took off for the station wagon. “Bye, Chase,” said Derek, about to follow them. “Tell Dave I felt bad about being put in to replace him today.”
“Derek, sit down for a second.”
Derek did as he was told. What is this about? he wondered.
Chase cleared his throat and ran his hands through his close-cropped hair. “I was just wondering how things were going for you.”
“Me? Okay, I guess,” Derek said flatly.
“I mean, you always seemed to be having so much fun out there playing ball. Big smile on your face and everything . . . But lately . . . well, let’s just say your focus hasn’t been the same. I was wondering if you noticed the same thing, and what might be throwing you off the track.”
Derek shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it’s just that I haven’t been playing short . . .”
“I know you want to be a shortstop, Derek, and your dad wants you to be too, of course. But do you want to know what I think? He’s trying to get something across to you. Do you know what it is?”
“I’m . . . I guess I’m not sure.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out for yourself,” said Chase. “Just focus on how you can get back your love of playing the game. You’ll get there, Derek. I know you will.”
Derek got up to go. He hoisted the gear bag and started toward the car again. Why did everyone expect him to figure stuff out for himself? Why couldn’t they just tell him what to do?
“Hang in there, Derek!” Chase called after him. “Just trust. Things will get better soon. Teams go through growing pains, you know—just like people.”
Derek supposed Chase was right. But he sure hoped things turned around soon, before the season became a total bust.
Funny. . . . Both his mom and Chase seemed to be saying it was up to him to turn things around. But how could he do that? After all, he was only one player. Besides, he was just a kid! How was he supposed to figure everything out for himself?