The flip-flops in Jerry's stomach had long since disappeared. They were now replaced with a burning sensation down in his chest. He tried to draw the air in rapidly and let it out at the exact time his head went below the water's surface. But as he stretched his arms overhead to make his way swiftly through the water, his breathing became more and more of a challenge.
The water, too, seemed to have changed. When the race began, the light, clear fluid had offered little resistance. Now it seemed to be more like thick, tough, gray motor oil that dragged down his arms as he made his way down the final two laps.
At this point, the announcer's voice was drowned out by the shouting from the stands. He heard his name and all the others amid the whistles, cheers, and general noise that floated above his head.
Every muscle in his body strained to propel him forward—and every one of those muscles cried out in pain as they were stretched to their utmost limit.
And then it was over.
The fingers of his outstretched right hand touched the edge of the pool, just below the watchful eyes of a judge with a clipboard.
Jerry couldn't tell whether he had come in first, second, or third—but he knew he wasn't last. As he lifted his body up from the water, he could tell that the swimmer in lane one, Flash Gordon, had trailed him by at least half a lap and was just now finishing.
Well, at least I wasn't a complete bust, Jerry thought, as he stood there with his chest pounding, trying to cool off.
There was still so much noise and cheering, no one seemed to know how the race had turned out. Jerry made his way out of the pool and over to the Blues bench, where his teammates had gathered around its three contenders.
“There's some sort of a problem, I think,” said Tony, wrapping a towel around Jerry. “But you did great. You should be real pleased.”
“Attention, please,” came the announcer's voice. “We have a disqualification in the five hundred boys freestyle. For failure to make contact properly at the end of a lap, the swimmer in lane five has been disqualified. The winner of the five-hundred-yard freestyle was Paul Prescott of the Bolton Blues!”
The Bolton bench and fans exploded into loud cheering.
“In second place, was Danny Chang in lane three.”
This time, the Clapham bench led the cheering.
“And in third place, was lane two, Ace Willoughby, followed by lane six, Jerry Grayson, and lane one, Flash Gordon.”
Everyone now applauded briefly as the meet continued.
Jerry stood there numb with disappointment.
Fourth! And it could have been worse. Silvio was ahead of me most of the race. If he hadn't been disqualified, I might have come in fifth! Maybe that Gordon kid had a cramp, or I wouldn't have even beaten him. Who am I kidding? I shouldn't have been in this race, he thought.
Coach Fulton had congratulated Paul and Ace. He made his way over to Jerry, who had clutched the towel around him and was trying to bury his face in its folds.
The coach reached forward, found his hand, and forced a handshake out of the reluctant swimmer.
“Jerry, you should be pleased with yourself. I had my doubts about putting you in, but I'm not in the least sorry that I did,” he said.
“You're not?” Jerry asked. “Even though I didn't do that well, I mean, fourth.”
“I have my own standards, Jerry,” said the coach. “At this point, standings shouldn't matter to you so much. You have to learn to evaluate your own performance against how well you know you can do. That's what counts.”
“I guess you're right, Coach,” Jerry said.
“So you made a few mistakes,” said the coach. “You can learn to correct them and do better next time.”
Next time. Those two words lifted Jerry's spirits a little. But mistakes? What had he done wrong?
It looked as though the coach had read his mind. “Don't worry,” he said. “We'll go over everything in practice. Let's just watch, the rest of the meet.”
But Jerry itched to know where he had messed up. He squeezed in next to Tony on the bench and said, “Hey, Tony, I was wondering—”
But Tony held him off. “Look, Jerry, I'm swimming the backstroke in the one-hundred-yard medley relay. I have to concentrate.”
Jerry could tell that he'd get nowhere asking anyone else while the meet was still taking place. He decided to hold off.
When it was over, the Blues had won another competition by a wide margin. The whole team was in great spirits as they left the locker room. Jerry tried to act cheerful, but he wasn't looking forward to seeing his family outside. He slung his gym bag over his shoulder and trailed the others into the fresh air.
“Way to go!” said Mr. Grayson, hugging him around the shoulder right away.
“You were terrific,” agreed Mrs. Grayson, kissing him on the cheek.
Even Lucie seemed proud of him. She hugged his leg and said, “I saw you swimming back and forth for a long time. Weren't you tired?”
Jerry smiled at her and nodded. “A lot,” he said.
David gave him a friendly punch on the arm and said, “I was worried when you didn't swim in the events you were supposed to. But then I figured the coach was saving you for something special. The five hundred, wow!”
The whole family was so happy for him, Jerry couldn't let them know how disappointed he was in how he had finished. Fourth place. It still stuck in his throat. But he felt he had to say something about it.
“I …I just wish I'd ended up better,” he said softly.
“Hah! You've done a lot worse,” said David right off. “Remember when you struck out three times in that Little League playoff game?”
“Or the time you threw your mitt instead of the ball in the game with the Plattstown Panthers?” said his mother, with a big smile.
His father started laughing. “I think the funniest was when you swung the bat so hard you got in a twist and ended up almost knocking yourself out.”
At the memory of that particular goofy move, even Jerry couldn't keep from laughing. The whole family was still chuckling as they made their way to the car.
“Mom, I'll have my dessert later,” said Jerry. “Tony and Tanya are coming over. If there's any pie left, is it okay if I give them some?”
“Of course,” she answered. “And if David doesn't make a pig of himself, there will be some left over.”
“Oink,” said David.
“Never mind,” said Mr. Grayson. “You and Lucie put these dishes in the dishwasher. And when you're through, come on in to the living room. We'll leave the kitchen for Jerry and his friends.”
Briiing!
The doorbell announced the arrival of Tanya, who had a small container of vanilla ice cream.
“I thought we could have a treat,” she said. “To celebrate your first five hundred.”
“Great,” said Jerry. “We have some pie to go with it.” Before he could tell her he didn't think his performance in the five hundred was much to rave about, Tony arrived.
“Pie à la mode,” he said. “My favorite.” He didn't waste time helping himself to a large scoop of ice cream and a sizable wedge of pie.
When they had finished eating, Jerry came right to the point. “So where did I mess up?” he asked.
“Didn't the coach say he'd go over it with you?” asked Tanya.
“He did,” said Jerry. “But I figured the sooner I knew the better.”
“You put too much pressure on yourself,” said Tony.
“During the race?” asked Jerry.
“No, now!” said Tony. “You have to learn to relax once in a while.”
“Leave the swimming in the pool, Jerry,” said Tanya. “Believe me, the coach will go over every detail. It's incredible how he remembers these things.”
“So, you aren't going to give me any clues?” Jerry asked.
“Not a one,” said Tony.
“All right, I want my pie back,” said Jerry.
“What?” cried two voices at the same time.
“You heard me,” said Jerry, trying to keep from smiling.
“You know what?” said Tanya. “We ought to give it back to him. You know how?”
Tony pointed with his finger toward his open mouth, his tongue hanging out.
She nodded.
“You're both disgusting,” said Jerry. “But let's finish off the ice cream anyhow.”
When Jerry finally found himself alone with Coach Fulton at the pool, he discovered that none of his mistakes were big ones.
“You were thrown by the false start,” said the coach. “And your next start was a little weaker. Swimming isn't like tennis. If you make a mistake the first time, you don't have to be cautious the next time. Go for it with as much zip as if it were the very beginning—because it is.”
Jerry hated to admit it, but he knew the coach was right.
“Another thing,” Coach Fulton went on. “You're listening to the announcer too much—instead of swimming your own race. You know about pacing. We've talked a lot about it. But you rushed headlong into the last two laps and threw away a lot of what you had gained. You might even have won that race, even after a slightly weak start.”
I might have won! Jerry thought.
“But don't beat on yourself too much,” said the coach. “You were a little rough on the turns, too. And you still need to work on your breathing. Remember that exercise I taught you? Have you been practicing it?”
Jerry had to admit he hadn't. Breathing was something you did naturally, he'd thought. Why waste time on something like that?
“Listen, I want you to go all the way back to the basics,” said the coach. “Do your land drills, your kicking drills, your turns, your breathing exercises, all of it. And I don't want you to spend a lot of time practicing the crawl by doing laps. There's a lot more for you to learn.”
“There is?” asked Jerry.
“You still haven't swum a backstroke race yet,” said the coach. “And what about your breaststroke? And your butterfly? If you're going to become an all-around swimmer, you have get those down, too.”
Jerry stared at him wide-eyed.
“And you have to be an all-around swimmer before you can even think of really making a mark in this sport. You have the potential to be a great swimmer. Don't waste it.”
The coach moved on to a group of girls who were practicing their flip turns.
“That's it, push!” the coach shouted.
But all Jerry heard was “You have the potential to be a great swimmer”
The words were carved indelibly in his mind.