“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?”
“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 pounding 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.
The next pitch came in over the outside corner, and Derek was ready. He went the other way with it, slapping it right over the first baseman’s head.
Derek steamed around first and headed for second. When the throw came in to the plate, too late to nail Mason, Derek kept on going and slid safely into third before the throw got there!
Dave was up next, and he didn’t disappoint. On the very first pitch, he clubbed one to deep center field. The Nationals’ outfielder sped back and grabbed it with a fine catch, but Derek tagged up and came in easily to score the Indians’ second run.
Dave’s shot was the only hard-hit ball the Indians managed during the first four innings. But the score stayed 2–0 because Dave, who had settled into a great rhythm, was keeping the Nationals’ hitters off balance with his changes of speed.
He wasn’t walking anybody either. He would throw balls off the plate, both inside and out, both high and low. But because his pitches were close to being strikes, the hitters were fooled and went after them, and ended up missing or making weak contact.
“Amazing!” Mr. Jeter crowed when Dave came back to the bench after the top of the fifth. “How are you holding up, Dave?”
“I’m fine,” Dave said, nodding and smiling. But Derek noticed—and he was sure his dad did too—that Dave was rubbing his right biceps when he thought no one was looking.
Well, thought Derek, it was no wonder that Dave was getting tired and his arm was starting to feel sore. He wasn’t used to throwing this many pitches—not even close. Derek wondered if Dave’s fatigue would start to show late in the game, and what would happen if it did.
The Indians put two men on in the fifth—one on a walk, the other on a hit batsman. The Nationals’ pitcher was still throwing fire, but his control was starting to go out the window as he too began to tire.
With two out Derek came to the plate, knowing that if he could somehow drive the runners in, the Indians would have a commanding lead going into the sixth and last inning.
He swung at the first pitch and hit a screaming line drive, but the pitcher reached out his mitt and snagged it!
Derek groaned and grabbed his batting helmet with both hands. The pitcher groaned too, shaking his glove hand out and wincing in pain.
The inning was over, and the Indians were going to have to protect their slim two-run lead for three more outs.
Dave took the mound and started throwing his warm-up pitches. But it was easy to see he’d lost his command. Every pitch was wild; not one came near the plate.
When he walked the first hitter on four pitches, Mr. Jeter came out to the mound and took the ball from him. “Outstanding work, Dave,” Derek heard him say. “I think we’ve found ourselves a new ace, but enough’s enough for one day.”
He turned toward Derek, and Derek was afraid his dad was about to ask him to take over, but Mr. Jeter called for Jonathan instead, and sent Dave to the bench, putting Paul at third base.
Now the tying run was at the plate, with nobody out, and Derek was starting to get nervous. The Nationals were 4–1 on the season so far, with their only loss coming to the Giants. With a pitcher like they had, it was no wonder they had such a good record, Derek thought. Dave had held his own, but he’d run out of gas one inning too early.
In games to come Dave would be more used to pitching. He’d be stronger and better able to continue, but that was no help today. And today’s game meant everything. If they lost after leading the whole game, all their momentum and good feelings about themselves would be gone!
Jonathan’s fastball was not as hard or accurate as Dave’s, and he had no changeup to keep the hitters off balance. The second batter shot a hard grounder between the second and first basemen for a single, sending the runner all the way to third.
The next hitter popped out to Paul, and the ball was too shallow for the runner at third to score. Derek breathed a sigh of relief. But the Indians were hanging on by their fingernails, and it was going to take some luck to win this game.
The cleanup man came up to bat, with murder in his eyes. He swung so hard at the first pitch that he nearly came out of his shoes, but the rocket he hit fell just foul of the right field line for a long, loud strike one.
“Get him, Johnnie!” came a voice from right field. Gary. Derek had to smile. Gary’s fierce competitiveness and drive to win was overcoming his usual obnoxiousness. And that inspired Vijay, Dave, and the others to join in, loudly yelling for Jonathan to strike the big guy out.
Jonathan must have heard them, because he reared back and threw his fastest pitch of the season. The hitter missed, and suddenly the count was 0–2.
“One more!” Gary yelled from the outfield. “Come on, get him!”
Again the team roared encouragement in response.
Jonathan geared up and fired another heater. But by now the hitter had timed his swing enough to catch up with the pitch.
He hit a long shot to left, but Vijay had been playing him deep and was able to catch up with the ball and make a running grab.
“Yeah!” Derek yelled, thrusting his arms into the air, even as the runner at third tagged up and scored the Nationals’ first run, cutting the Indians’ lead in half.
It was a play Vijay could never have made in years past. But over the last few weeks Mr. Jeter and Chase had taught him to play the outfield with his mind as well as his body. By putting himself into a better position, and taking better routes to the ball, he’d become a decent outfielder.
Derek felt really proud of him. Nobody worked harder on his game, or cared more, than Vijay.
Now there were two outs and a man on first. Jonathan walked the next batter, and the Nationals were just a single away from tying the game—or a double away from taking the lead!
Jonathan quickly went 2-and-0 on the hitter. “Just get it over, Johnnie,” Derek called to the mound. “Let him make contact. We’ve got your back!”
Jonathan nodded and stared in at the catcher, determined to throw a strike. The hitter dug into the batter’s box, knowing a fastball was coming right down the middle.
The batter hit it as hard as a grounder can be hit, so hard that it made Jonathan duck out of the way instead of trying to field it.
Derek reacted instinctively, moving to his left and speeding behind second base. He reached out and snared the ball, but his momentum was carrying him into right field. He knew he had no chance to catch the runner at first, and if he tried, he might throw the ball away and let the tying run score!
But in that split second his instincts took over, and he flipped the ball behind his back to second base, where Mason was standing, glove outstretched, foot on the bag. The ball sank into his mitt a moment before the runner’s foot hit.
“OUT!” cried the ump.
The game was over! They’d done it! And Derek had made the defensive play of the season to nail down the victory, just when the win had been about to slip out of their grasp!
As the team celebrated their second straight win, Derek and Dave were right in the middle of the pile.
“Awesome!” cried Derek, high-fiving his best friend.
“Thanks, Chief!” Dave replied.
“This game ball belongs to you, Mr. MVP.”
“How ’bout we share it?” Derek suggested.
“Sounds good,” said Dave, and the two friends high-fived again.
“You know what?” Derek said. “I’ve got a feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful winning streak.”