Hit & Miss (11 page)

Derek knew they were right, but he still didn't feel very good about his performance. He was quiet on the way home in the car—and so was Sharlee. In fact, she had hardly said a word the whole time.

He thought back to the other night, when she'd seemed so down and he'd promised his parents he'd talk to her.

Well, he hadn't—not yet. Derek promised himself to
look for the right moment to approach her about it.

Sharlee didn't like talking about her problems any more than he did, so he had to pick his moment carefully. But he was determined to get to the bottom of what was bothering her. Stewing about things was no good, he knew that from his own experience. Only talking things out made it any better.

Derek spent the next Monday in school trying not to think about all the important things on his mind. It was important to pay attention, he knew. All this stuff they were studying now would be on their finals in June.

Gary didn't make it any easier with his constant whispered taunts. “Nice doodles,” he commented now, as Derek tried to cover up the drawings he'd been idly making while only half-listening to the math review.

Derek had been thinking of all kinds of things—his hitting slump, for one. But most of all, his mind had been on Sharlee, whom he
still
had not asked about what was bothering her.

He could have asked her the night before, he knew, but
she hadn't seemed too bummed out at that moment.

Still, she hadn't been her old bubbly self for at least two weeks, and he knew he would have to make her tell him what was on her mind the very next time he saw her.

But none of these thoughts were supposed to be on his mind
in class
.

“Maybe you should take up art instead of sports,” Gary suggested with a snigger.

Derek gritted his teeth but didn't answer back. He knew it would only get him in trouble with Mr. Beckham, and more trouble was the last thing he needed—especially considering the warning his parents had given him about violating his contract again.

He was glad he had that contract, come to think of it, or he might have gotten himself into trouble with a rash reaction just now. Still, he was glad—and relieved—when the bell rang. Grabbing his book bag, he rushed out of there, determined to get home and over to Westwood Fields as soon as possible.

•  •  •

As usual, Derek got to the field before any of his teammates. Westwood Fields weren't that far away from Mount Royal Townhouses—just a five-minute drive—and one or both of his parents always made themselves available to drive him to practices and games, and to stay to cheer him on.

Today it was his dad. Sharlee had a kickball tournament
at her kindergarten, and their mom had gone with her.

Derek knew Sharlee would be disappointed that he and his dad weren't there to see her play in her first sports tournament. But in the Jeter family everyone's events were equally important. Even Sharlee would understand that Derek's game meant as much to him as her kickball match did to her.

“Now remember,” his dad counseled as Derek got out of the car, “just try to make solid contact; stay level and in control. Positive thoughts only, right?”

“Right!” Derek chirped, and headed toward the diamond where his game would soon begin.

As his teammates arrived, Derek noticed that they were in a more hopeful mood than usual. Clearly the Red Sox's recent victory, their first, had changed the atmosphere. Today's opponent, the Angels, were 3–0, though. It would not be easy to beat them and keep the victory train rolling.

Derek's mind was especially focused on his own hitting slump. Would today be the day he broke out of it? On the way to the game, his dad had reminded him about how hard he'd hit the ball in the last game, even though Derek was still without a hit for the season.

Still, as he came to the plate in the first with two men on, his heart was racing and pounding hard inside his chest. “Steady . . . ,” he muttered to himself. “Stea . . . dy . . . .”

WHACK!

The ball rose over the second baseman's head and
was still rising, a long line drive, as it went over the right fielder's head. Derek's heart leapt with excitement, and he took off as fast as he could run. He was already around second base by the time the throw came back in, and he slid into third with a ringing triple—and two runs batted in!

“Yesss! Finally!” he shouted, thrusting both fists into the air.

“Yeah, Derek!” He heard his father shouting himself hoarse to be heard above everyone else's cheers. “That's the stuff!”

Clapping his hands together, Derek got his head right back into the game. Jeff, batting behind him, hit a ground ball to short, and Derek was off to the races. He slid into home plate a second ahead of the tag. “Safe!” yelled the umpire, and the Sox led 3–0.

Before the first inning was over, they scored five runs, thanks to a two-run homer by Dave, who was back in the number six spot in the order. This time, Dave clobbered a pitch that was only at his knees, not in the dirt.

Jeff came around to score ahead of him, and as Dave rounded third, he pointed at Mr. Jeter and tipped his cap, thanking him for the coaching he'd given him at the batting cages.

“Hey, Jack Nicklaus strikes!” Jeff yelled as he high-fived Dave, along with all the others. “Yeah, Jack! Way to go!”

Derek grinned and shook his head. It seemed Dave had
a bunch of new friends, and even a new nickname. Derek hoped it would stay like that the next time Dave struck out or made an error in the field.

But it was hard to feel too bad about anything at the moment. With his team up 5–0, and his epic slump at an end, Derek now focused on making up for lost time at the plate.

All game long he feasted on the Angels' pitching, going 5 for 5 with four RBIs. Vijay had a single and a double, Dave didn't strike out even once, and the team wound up winning their second straight game—by a score of 12–3—against the previously undefeated Angels!

•  •  •

Derek and his dad chatted all the way home about the game, hitting, slumps, staying consistent, and not getting down on yourself.

By the time they got home, Derek was feeling really good. He was in the best mood he'd been in since the season had started.

But when they went inside, his mom wasn't smiling. “Something's definitely up with Sharlee,” she told them.

“Kickball game go okay?” asked Mr. Jeter.

“It went totally fine,” said Mrs. Jeter. “And she was great too. She kicked in the winning run, and her team won. But after . . .”

“What?” Derek asked.

“I don't know,” his mom said. “She was jumping up and
down with the other kids, and I turned away for a minute to talk to some of the parents, and when she came over to me, she was practically crying.”

“She wouldn't say why?” Mr. Jeter asked, frowning.

“No. Not to me, anyway. I couldn't get it out of her. You know how stubborn she can be when she sets her mind to something.”

“Is she in her room?” Derek's dad asked. “I'll go talk to her.”

“No, let me,” Derek said. “I'll get it out of her, I promise.”

His parents looked at each other, then nodded to him. Derek went up the stairs and into Sharlee's room. His sister was lying facedown on her bed, and Derek thought she might even be crying. “Hey,” he said. “What's up?”

She flailed one arm his way, indicating that he should leave the room. He didn't. “What, you don't want to talk about it?”

She made a sound that was muffled by the sheets but that clearly meant “no.”

“Tell you what,” he said. “I'm just going to sit here on your bed right next to you until you feel like talking about it.”

“I'm never going to talk about it!” she said, suddenly rolling over and sitting up. Her face was tear-stained, and Derek wanted to hug her, but he could see she wouldn't take it well at the moment.

“I heard you had a great kickball game,” he said. “Sorry I missed it.”

“I'm never playing kickball again!” she said, and threw herself back down onto the bed, facedown.

“Come on, Sharlee,” Derek pleaded. Then a thought crossed his mind—a memory, really. “Hey,” he said. “It doesn't have anything to do with that kid, does it?”

She sat up again. “What kid?”

“The big kid who was at the basketball court the other week, around when I had my first baseball practice. I remember you were close to crying then, too.”

“I'm not crying!” she said, tears welling in her eyes.

“Hey,” Derek said. “It
is
about him, isn't it?”

She was silent, looking down at her lap.

“You see? I guessed. So why don't you tell me what's going on?”

She sniffed. “You can't tell Mom and Dad—
ever
!”

“Okay,” he said. “Why not?”

“Because! Just promise you won't!”

“Why, because you're embarrassed?”

“Yessssss!”

“Okay, okay,” Derek said. “I promise. Now tell me.”

“It's Jimmy Vickers. He's so mean to me! When I scored the winning run today, he called me bad names and said the other kids were letting me score because I'm a girl!”

“Sharlee, what do you care?” Derek said. “He's just jealous. You scored the winning run, right?”

“So? I've scored a lot of goals.”

“Great. I know you're a good athlete. Jimmy just
doesn't like it that a girl plays better than he does. That's his problem.”

“But Jimmy told all the boys not to let me play anymore!” Sharlee wailed, tears erupting from her eyes. “And last week he tripped me. See where my knee is all scratched? Everyone was laughing at me!
And
this morning he spit on me!” Throwing herself into Derek's arms, she sobbed bitterly.

Derek was steaming now.
I'm going to teach that kid a lesson,
he told himself.
He's going to be sorry he ever messed with my little sister.

“Don't worry, Sharlee,” he told her. “I'm going to take care of this. First thing tomorrow.”

Sharlee picked up her head, staring at him with hope in her eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“I said I'll take care of it,” Derek said. And he meant it. Never in his life had he felt so angry. “I promise you, you're not going to have any more problems with Jimmy.”

“Oh, Derek,” Sharlee said, hugging him tightly as she beamed with love and happiness. “You're the best brother ever!”

All the next day Derek waited for his moment. There was no chance at recess. The kindergartners took their break earlier than the older kids. So he waited, knowing that after school all the kids lined up outside by the buses that would take them home.

His fury had not gone away. How dare that punk pick on his little sister, the sweetest little girl in the world! Derek was going to teach him a lesson that he wouldn't forget.

At the same time there was a little nagging voice in the back of his head telling him not to go through with it, that he was going to regret it. But Derek didn't listen to that voice, because if he did, it would mean not taking action.

He'd already let Sharlee down by not finding out the
cause of her problem when he'd first noticed she was unhappy—weeks ago, back on the basketball court. He knew he should have been more alert to her needs and not waited so long to talk to her when he'd known something had to be wrong. He was her big brother, after all—her hero!

How had he let things get this far?

At any rate he had no intention of letting them go any further, little nagging voice or no. After school he waited outside by the buses with his friends, until he spotted Jimmy Vickers coming out the school doors. Then he made his move, following Jimmy onto his bus.

His hands grabbed Jimmy's shirtfront before the kid even knew what was happening, and Derek shoved him down onto the seat.

Jimmy might have been in kindergarten, and Derek in fourth grade, but they couldn't have been ten pounds apart in weight. Jimmy was a really big kid, so big that it was easy for Derek to forget the difference in their ages.

Derek thrust his finger into Jimmy's face and said, in a low, growling voice, “Now who's scared? Huh? You think you can pick on anybody you want and get away with it? How dare you spit on Sharlee? That's my little sister, okay? If you ever do anything again to hurt her—or her feelings—you'll be sorry!”

Jimmy burst into tears and started wailing. Derek's parents had always told him that all bullies were really
cowards, and Jimmy was surely no different. And he was only a little kid. Derek must have seemed really scary in his fury.

Derek became vaguely aware of the astonished kids around him, staring at the spectacle. An instant later the strong hand of Mr. Lopez, the dean of the school, grabbed him, yanked him away from Jimmy, and pulled him back off the bus.

Standing at the curbside, Derek saw that half the school was staring at him, openmouthed.

“What in the world were you thinking!” Mr. Lopez asked Derek. But he wasn't really waiting for an answer. Not right then. “You're coming with me to the principal's office, young man,” he said.

Inside the office Mr. Lopez directed him to a chair. “Sit there, and not a word out of you until Mr. Merckling gets here,” he said before leaving.

Tears sprang to Derek's eyes, and he wiped them away furiously. Why should he feel ashamed? he asked himself. He'd only been sticking up for his little sister, like any big brother should!

But even as he thought that, he knew that everyone else might not see it quite that way. A fourth grader yelling at and threatening a kindergartner? Suddenly Derek saw that he had gotten himself into a whole world of trouble.