Hit & Miss (10 page)

“Wait a while, Dot,” Mr. Jeter advised. “She'll come out with it herself when she's ready.”

“I'll go talk to her,” Derek said. “Soon as I finish dessert.”

Mrs. Jeter bent over him and kissed him on top of the head. “That's a good big brother,” she said.

But by the time Derek had finished his chocolate chip cookie, washed up, and put his pajamas on, Sharlee was already fast asleep.

Derek frowned. He agreed with his parents. Something was definitely up with Sharlee—something she didn't want to talk about but serious enough to ruin her usual good mood.

Oh well,
he thought. It would have to wait till morning, or till the next time he got to talk to her alone.

Anyway, what could be so bad at five years old?

Dimly he remembered what it was like to be five, when
any little thing could get you upset. Yeah, this was probably a big nothing. Nothing as complicated as his own problem with Vijay, or his problems at the plate.

As he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, he tried one last time to guess what could be bothering his sister.

And as he fell asleep, a memory flashed before his eyes—the memory of the Jeter family on the local basketball court, and of a couple of boys passing by . . .

Sharlee's mood had taken a dive then, too. Derek wondered if there could possibly be a connection . . . .

And then he fell asleep.

On Saturday, Derek arrived at Westwood Fields early, as he always did. He liked being the first one there. It gave him more time to warm up, practice throwing and catching, and get his head into the upcoming game.

It was especially important today. Derek was concentrating hard, trying to hold on to all the adjustments he'd made under his father's guidance the day before.

He'd felt sure yesterday that his hitting would improve. But now he was starting to wonder. It had been a whole twelve hours since then. What if he'd lost the groove he'd been in?

But all of those thoughts left his head when he got to the field and saw that Dave was already there—and in a total panic.

“I can't believe this!” he told Derek. “My parents found out it was my turn to bring snacks for the team, so Mom's assistant called a gourmet catering company, and they sent over all of these crazy snacks. I mean, look at this mess!”

Derek looked. He didn't see a mess. Not at all. What he saw, instead of the usual orange slices, plain popcorn, raisins, and cooler of ice water, was a luxurious spread of foods from some local gourmet market.

There were little sandwiches with the crusts cut off the bread and toothpicks stuck into them, all wrapped in multicolored plastic. He saw three different kinds of popcorn, none of them plain, all of them dolled up with some fancy coating or other. One was marked “truffle oil,” something Derek had never even heard of. There were organic fruit juices, and there was a platter of raw vegetables all cut and placed neatly around a bowl of dip.

“This looks pretty good,” he offered.

“Are you kidding me?” Dave moaned. “Everyone's gonna laugh their heads off about me being a brat. They already hate me for it!”

“Aw, come on, man. Nobody
hates
you . . . .”

Derek realized he wasn't getting through when Dave started ripping the nice plastic wrap and ribbon ties off the trays. “Chase went to the grocery store to get normal stuff,” he said. “But he'll never get back here in time.” He sighed and grasped his head in both hands.

“Come on. Let's get to work,” Derek told him, dropping his mitt and helping Dave get rid of at least the most obvious signs of luxury in the spread of food.

By the time the other kids started arriving, things didn't look quite so flashy. The toothpicks were gone, the ribbons and plastic wrapping had disappeared into a nearby trash can, the cards naming the three kinds of popcorn were gone, and the wood-shaving confetti underneath it all had been disposed of the same way.

“Hey, looks good!” said Jason as he surveyed the snack table. Tasting the popcorn with truffle oil, he added, “Outstanding. Hey, Hennum, what's this made with? It's pretty good.”

Other kids heard him, and soon they were all devouring the snacks.

“Whew,” Dave said, pretending to wipe sweat off his brow and shooting Derek a secret smile. “Just made it!”

As he said that, they both spotted Chase coming down the street with two huge shopping bags full of snack food. “No!” Dave mouthed, waving his hands for Chase to turn around and get lost before he gave away the whole thing.

Chase seemed confused at first, but then, seeing all the kids surrounding and devouring the existing snacks, he smiled and turned around, heading back to where the Mercedes was parked around the corner.

Warm-ups followed, and soon it was game time. The Red Sox were 0–2, and Derek was 0 for 8 at the plate, but
he felt sure that today would be different—and better.

Their opponents, the Mets, were 1–1 so far, and they came to bat first.

From the moment the first pitch left Jeff's hand, Derek was totally into the game. He shouted encouragement as Jeff mowed down two Mets hitters. Then Derek lunged to his left to stop a sharp ground ball, and fired to first, just nipping the runner for the third out.

“Attaboy, Derek!” Coach Kaufman yelled, high-fiving Derek as he returned to the bench. “Way to snag it!”

“Thanks,” Derek said, giving his coach a quick thumbs-up before grabbing a bat and getting ready for his first turn at the plate.

Cubby started the Sox off with a dribbler that turned into a single. Then he stole second. With one out Derek came to the plate, ready to put his newfound hitting confidence to the test.

His father had reminded him to “swing at strikes.” It sounded obvious, but when you were at the plate, anxious to drive that run in from second, it was hard to hold back. You might think you were going to hit it a mile, but if it wasn't in the right hitting zone, you would succeed only in getting yourself out.

Derek waited, letting the count go to 2–1. Then, seeing the next pitch, a fastball, come right down the middle, he let it rip.

Crack!
The ball screamed right back at the pitcher, who ducked to save his life—or at least his face.

But because Cubby was at second, the second baseman was playing close to the bag, and Derek's hot shot came right to him. The second baseman snagged it and stepped on the bag before Cubby could get back there.

Double play!

Derek looked up at the sky and groaned. He'd hit the stuffing out of that one! Yet all he'd gotten for his success were two outs for his team, and a snuffed-out rally.

Jeff had started the game as pitcher, but he was on a short pitch limit because the league rules said you couldn't overuse one pitcher, for fear of hurting their arm.

Derek wondered if Coach would make Derek pitch again, like he had in the first game. Derek had done okay that time, but he didn't want to pitch. He wanted to be here, at shortstop!

The Red Sox scored twice in the second inning, with Vijay knocking in both runs with a scorching double down the first-base line!

“Yeaaah!” Derek screamed, applauding his friend.

For his part, Vijay was so excited that he kept jumping up and down, his hands skyward, until Coach Kaufman reminded him to keep his head in the game.

Then Dave came up to the plate, hitting eighth because he'd done so poorly up till now in the sixth spot. Derek had been afraid Coach would demote
him
in the batting order too, but it hadn't happened, at least not today.

Dave let two high strikes go by. Then the pitcher tried throwing one in the dirt.

Big mistake.
Dave's beautiful golf swing met the ball an inch above the ground and sent it soaring to left field, where it landed ten yards behind the outfielder. By the time he'd caught up to it and thrown it back in, Dave was stomping on home plate with his first home run—and RBIs—of the season!

“Your dad is
the man
!” Dave told Derek. “Did you see that?”

“Yeah, man. And so did he!” Derek answered, pointing to his dad in the stands. Dave raised a triumphant clenched fist in Mr. Jeter's direction, and Derek saw that his dad was beaming with pride, applauding.

In the third inning, with the score still 4–0, Derek got his second turn at bat. This time there was one man on and nobody out. All he needed to do was advance the runner, but Derek wanted badly to do more—much more!

In spite of all the good advice his dad had given him, he swung too hard and popped up to short for the first out.

Derek wanted to slam his bat onto home plate, but he knew that would be bad sportsmanship. It would also show disrespect for the game, and disrespect definitely was banned by his contract.

So he kept his temper and walked slowly, silently back to the bench.

“You'll get 'em next time, kiddo,” said Coach Kaufman, clapping him encouragingly on the back.

But Derek wasn't so sure. His dad's coaching had helped his friends a lot, but he couldn't see that it had done anything for him at all.

Luckily, the Sox continued to score runs without his help. Before the inning was over, it was 6–0, thanks to another extra-base hit by none other than Vijay. “Oh yes!” he cried from third base, doing a little happy dance on the bag. “Ooooh yes, oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes!”

Derek laughed. Good old Vijay. No matter how down Derek felt, Vijay could always snap him out of it by being his silly, free-spirited self.

Dave proceeded to single Vijay in for the team's seventh run. When the inning finally ended, Dave was surrounded and congratulated by everyone on the team.

Derek shook his head, smiling. Suddenly everyone was Dave's good buddy. There was nothing like winning to make friends out of strangers, he thought. Just like his mom had said.

In the fourth inning Coach Kaufman moved Jeff to first and put Buster in as pitcher. The Mets, who hadn't even made good contact against Jeff all game, must have been glad to see him leave the mound. They started hitting Murph right away. Before the Red Sox knew it, they saw their big lead cut to 7–4.

With the bases loaded and only one man out, Coach
Kaufman came out and made another switch, this time handing the ball to Derek.

It was exactly what he'd been afraid of, but Derek knew he had to stay positive and just be the best pitcher he could be.

He threw the first pitch as hard as he could, right over the heart of the plate. The hitter was ready for it, though, and smashed it right back at him.

Somehow—whether it was instinct, athletic ability, or just plain luck—Derek stuck his glove out to protect his head, and the ball smacked right into the pocket!

Realizing he had the runner stranded off first base, Derek threw there to complete the double play and end the inning. Amazingly, it was exactly the same kind of double play he'd hit into himself, back in the first inning.

Everyone on the Sox roared with triumph. “What a catch!” Coach Kaufman yelled. “Did you see that?” he asked no one in particular.

Derek breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he'd been lucky. That ball could just as easily have knocked his head off. Still, he felt better having done something to contribute to the team's effort.

That good feeling didn't last long, though. Derek struck out in the fourth and felt like he was going to explode in frustration. It took a supreme effort to keep his cool and not melt down in front of everybody.

The game continued, with the Red Sox scoring three
more runs in the fifth. Derek could have been a big part of it—he came to bat with two more men on base—but in spite of the fact that he stayed calm, swung at strikes, and kept his swing level, he wound up hitting only a long fly ball that was run down by the center fielder for an out.

The runner at third did come home, for Derek's first RBI of the season, but that didn't make him feel much better. Three games, and he still didn't have a single hit! His batting average was still a big fat .000.

Still, the Sox had a 10–4 lead with just half an inning to go. Derek's arm was sore and tired, and he allowed two runs to score in the top of the sixth, but in the end he managed to seal the Red Sox's first victory of the season with a pair of strikeouts.

Derek joined in the team's raucous celebration at the mound. He was happy his team had won, happy for Vijay and Dave—but as for his own performance, he couldn't help feeling terribly disappointed.

“Hey, come on now,” his dad said when Derek came over to greet his family. “Why the long face?”

“What do you mean?” Derek said. “I stunk. Again.”

“Don't say that!” his mom jumped in. “How are you going to get out of your slump if you keep thinking negative thoughts?”

“Exactly,” said his dad. “Instead of thinking how badly you did, look at the bright side.”

“What bright side?” Derek asked. “That we won? Okay, I'm glad about that. But I still stunk.”

“Nonsense!” said his mom. “You played great in the field, and you hit the ball hard almost every time. You just got unlucky a couple times. But you got an RBI.”

“You didn't pitch too badly either,” his dad added.

“I gave up two runs.”

“You struck out five guys,” his dad said. “And both those two runs came on that one home run.”

“Hey, old man, keep your chin up,” said his mom. “Take this win and build on it.”

“That's right,” said his dad. “You keep swinging like that, and just be patient. Bad luck tends to even out over time. Next time you might be as lucky as you were unlucky today. The main thing is to be consistent with your approach. Don't get too high or too low.”

“All right, Jeter,” his mom told his dad. “Derek's had enough coaching for one day. He's got a lot to digest. Speaking of which—it's time to go home and have dinner.”