Hit & Miss (14 page)

•  •  •

Derek could feel the goose bumps on his arms and all up and down his back. He knew that it was possible his team might lose today, but he didn't let himself think about that. He knew it was no use letting negative thoughts into your mind. No, you needed to stay positive at moments like these, when everything was on the line.

It was hard to stay positive, though, after the Indians' pitcher set the Red Sox down one, two, three for five innings in a row—only one inning short of a perfect game.

Luckily, he had reached his pitch limit by league rules and would have to be replaced in the sixth. That was the only thing keeping the Red Sox in the game—that, and some great pitching by Jeff, matching the Indians' pitcher zero for zero.

Buster took the mound for the top of the sixth, replacing Jeff, as he, too, had hit his limit. Buster looked scared up there, and that made Derek nervous.

“You got him, Murph!” he shouted encouragingly.

On the first pitch the hitter proved him wrong, lacing a
triple to deep left-center. Derek swallowed hard. It looked as if the Indians would surely score now, with a man on third and nobody out.

Derek made a trip to the mound and put an arm on Buster's shoulder. “Don't be scared, man,” he said. “These guys should be scared of you.”

“But that guy just—”

“He's their cleanup hitter,” Derek told him. “Best they've got. Don't worry about these other guys. They've got nothing. Just throw it right over and trust the rest of us to make the plays behind you.” He clapped Buster on the back and returned to shortstop.

Buster let out a big breath, and threw the next pitch right by the hitter. That seemed to give him more confidence, and he wound up striking the batter out. “There you go!” Derek said. “Just like that!”

On the next pitch the hitter smacked a line drive to Derek's right. Lunging and diving, Derek made the stab for the out, saving a run!

Then, seeing the runner at third trying to scramble back, Derek threw to Dave—who was alertly covering third base, just like Derek had taught him.

Double play! Inning over!

The Red Sox whooped and hollered, but Derek and Coach Kaufman both had to remind them that the game was not over. It was still 0–0, and Buster had already reached his weekly pitch limit.

With Derek and Jeff also over their weekly limit, someone else would have to pitch for the Red Sox if the game continued into extra innings—someone who'd never pitched for them, even in practice!

It was now or never, they all realized. This had to be their inning.

It didn't start well, with Buster striking out. And then Vijay got overexcited and hit an infield pop-up for the second out. Just as Derek was starting to feel they were headed to extra innings after all, Miles got a clean single—his first hit in the last four games!

“Attaboy!” Derek yelled as Miles thrust both fists high over his head. Derek could relate. He'd had a horrific slump himself, and now he knew how it felt to break out of one.

Cubby followed with a slap single to left that he turned into a double, while Miles wound up on third.

Jason was next. He swung through two pitches, but then the Indians' pitcher threw one wild and inside. It hit Jason on the backside, sending him to first base, loading the bases—and bringing Derek to the plate, with everything on the line!

All his life he'd lain in bed at night dreaming of moments like this. Now he imagined himself hitting the ball hard. Solid contact. That was all he wanted . . . .

The first pitch was on the inside corner, and Derek let it go by for a strike. That was okay with him. He hadn't
seen this pitcher before, and he wasn't going to swing at a pitch unless he knew he could hit it. Not with fewer than two strikes.

“Strike two!” yelled the ump, to Derek's shock and dismay. The second pitch had been down below his knees. Only Dave could have hit it.

Part of him wanted to argue with the umpire, but Derek knew that would only ruin his concentration. He needed to stay cool . . . stay positive . . . and now that he had two strikes on him, he needed to protect the plate.

He fouled the next pitch off. It was outside, but not by much, and he couldn't have risked the ump calling it a strike. He fouled another one off, and then another—and then another!

He was just barely making contact each time, but he was fouling off good pitches—ones that might have been called strikes if he'd let them go by.

Sooner or later, he knew, the pitcher would make a mistake and throw one over the heart of the plate, where he could—

“OW!” The pitcher had made a mistake, all right, but instead of throwing a hittable pitch, he'd hit Derek square on the shinbone!

“Take your base!” the ump shouted, pointing to first. Derek hopped there on one leg, grabbing his sore shin, while the Red Sox and their fans erupted in cheers as Miles scored the winning run!

Derek crossed the first-base bag still yelling, “Ow, Ow, OW!” He had to laugh, even though his leg still hurt enough to make him cry.

Getting hit on the shin hurt, for sure, but it had gotten his team into the championship.

What a way to be a hero!

•  •  •

That night before dinner, Sharlee was all smiles. “You think
you
had a good day,” she told Derek. “Wait till you hear what happened to me in school.”

“What? What happened, Sharlee?” he asked. “It must be pretty good to top me getting hit on the shinbone with a fastball.”

“It is!” she chirped. “Guess who invited me to his birthday party?”

“Umm . . . I don't know,” Derek said, furrowing his brow and stroking his chin. “The prince of Persia?”

“No, silly,” she said, giggling. “Jimmy Vickers!”

“What?” Derek couldn't believe his ears.

“Yes!” she confirmed. “And guess what kind of party it is.”

“I don't know,” he said, laughing. “Tell me.”

“A kickball party—and he wants me to be on his team!”

“Wow, Sharlee! How about that?” He gave her a big hug, and she squeezed him tight.

“It's all thanks to you,” she said.

“Sharlee, don't go there. I should never have—”

“No, I don't mean that part. I mean when you said he should give me another chance.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I did say something like that,” he said. “Well, good. That's great.”

“Um . . .”

“Something else?” he asked.

“I was thinking of inviting him over here to watch that Yankees-Tigers game on TV. You know, the one you can't go to?”

Derek winced. “Don't remind me,” he said. “What makes you want to invite him to watch that?”

She grinned, showing her dimples, and swayed from side to side. “Jimmy says he's a Yankees fan too!”

The end of the season had arrived. It had happened so suddenly that Derek hadn't seen it coming. His attention had been riveted on the Red Sox run for the playoffs, and now it was all coming down to one final game. Tomorrow it would end either in a blaze of glory or in the flames of defeat.

The end of school had taken him by surprise too. For two weeks they'd been taking tests, and then one day there weren't any more tests to take. His grades were all As and B-pluses, though he wound up lagging behind Gary yet again.

It bothered Derek, but not too much. He'd long ago decided that sports were anything but a waste of time. Gary wasn't going to change his mind, either.

The main reason Derek wanted to beat him so badly was to prove that playing sports didn't mean you were stupid. But Derek also knew that the competition helped them both get better grades. And now, for next year, Dave was in the mix too!

On that Friday, when everyone got out at one o'clock and hung around to say their good-byes till September, Derek suddenly realized that next week he'd be heading for New Jersey, to spend the summer with his grandparents at their home on Greenwood Lake, as he did every year.

He was happy about it, of course. He loved his grandparents, and his grandma always took him to see the Yankees at the big ballpark in the Bronx. Those outings to see the Bronx Bombers were Derek's favorite time of the whole year. Every time he watched them play in person, it made his dream seem more real—that someday he too might be out there, starring at shortstop.

Tomorrow, though, it would be his job to help the Red Sox beat a team called the Yankees.

“Hey, Derek!” Dave called, coming down the school's front steps. “Slap me five, man. School's out for summer!”

They high-fived, then gave each other the secret handshake that only kids on Jeter's Hill used.

“You ready for the big game tomorrow?” Derek asked him.

“As ready as I'll ever be,” Dave said. “And oh, by the
way, I got us a tee time for Sunday afternoon at the municipal course—just us and Chase, but if your dad wants to come . . .”

“Oh, wow,” Derek said. He'd forgotten completely that he'd promised Dave he would switch to golf the minute the baseball season was over. “I guess we're really playing then, huh?”

“Did you think I wasn't serious?”

“What about clubs, though? I don't have any. They're expensive too, right?”

“No worries,” Dave said with a grin. “You're shorter than me. You can use my old set.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” said Derek. “I'm not exactly short, you know. Just next to you.”

“I can't wait to get out there,” said Dave. “I'm gonna play every day this summer. It's so fun! You'll see. Once you try it, you'll forget all about baseball.”

“
That
,” said Derek, smiling, “is
not
going to happen.”

He suddenly realized he'd never told Dave about being in New Jersey for the summer. “By the way,” he said, and laid it on him, as gently as he could.

“Oh,” said Dave, the reality dawning on him.

“But I bet you could get some of the other guys to play golf,” Derek said. “Vijay for sure. Maybe even Jeff, Jason . . .”

“I don't know,” Dave said, still dealing with the news of Derek's coming departure for New Jersey.

“Hey, and I'll be back late August,” Derek said. “We can play all fall, you know? At least till it gets too cold.”

That prospect seemed to brighten Dave's mood. “Anyway, first things first. Right, Derek? Let's win us a baseball trophy!”

“Now you're talking!”

•  •  •

This was, without a doubt, the biggest game Derek had ever played in. Nothing else even came close. If the Red Sox won, they would be champions!

Derek had never been a champion before. Not once. In fact, this was his first chance at being one, and he was determined not to let it go to waste!

Coach Kaufman gathered the team together before the game. “I'm looking around,” he said, “at a fantastic bunch of guys. You kids have done yourselves proud, whatever happens today. So hold your heads up, give it all you've got, and above all, have fun!”

The team let out a ferocious cheer. And they
were
a team now. At the beginning they'd been just a bunch of kids. Some had been friends before the season; some, like Dave, had been new and had struggled to fit in.

But somewhere along the way they'd started to play like a team—and about the same time, they'd started winning. Now here they were, playing for all the marbles.

The Yankees were the home team, thanks to their
first-place finish. So Derek's Red Sox batted first. “Let's jump on 'em!” Coach Kaufman told them.

Derek nodded. Coach Kaufman might not have been the best coach in terms of teaching the fine points of baseball, but he was good at getting the team motivated. He was a really nice guy, too. Derek decided that all in all, he'd been a good coach, if not a great one.

That great coach—the one he hadn't had yet—was his very own dad, Derek knew. There he was, standing up and clapping, urging Derek and the Sox on to victory.

Next to his dad stood Derek's mom, with Sharlee jumping up and down next to her. “Go, Derek!” He heard her high, piercing yell above the rest of the crowd.

Everyone was here to see this game. Derek saw players from other teams in the league, some of them wearing their jerseys one last time. Of course, there were plenty of Yankees fans too.

The Yankees, for their part, looked quiet and confident—and why not? They hadn't been beaten yet—not even once. Why should they have expected today to be any different?

Derek set his jaw and gripped the handle of his bat. He was hitting third in the lineup, but he was already set to go.

Cubby started things off right with a walk. He'd had so many this season that it seemed like he was always on base—and stealing. Sure enough, before Jason even swung at a pitch, Cubby was standing on second base.

Jason drove him in with a single, and the Sox had the lead, 1–0. Now it was Derek's turn. He stepped into the box, nodded once in the direction of his family, and settled in.

Somehow he didn't need to calm himself down this time. Something about this moment was like being in a dream . . . .

CRRACK!
The ball sizzled down the right-field line, and Derek was off and running. He was halfway to third before he realized that Jason hadn't kept going and tried to score! Derek had to scramble back to second base, disappointed that he hadn't driven in that second run.

It wound up being a big deal too, because the next three hitters—Jeff, Isaiah, and Dave—all popped out to the infield, stranding both Jason and Derek, and forcing the Sox to settle for a one-run lead.

It quickly disappeared in the bottom of the inning, as Jeff walked two men and then gave up a double. Now it was the Yankees who were in the lead, 2–1.