Hit & Miss (4 page)

“Huh?”

“Mercedes. Haven't you heard of them? They're, like, super expensive. That kid must be
soooo rich
.”

“Looks that way.”

The two boys headed back toward the main entrance, where the bus was waiting to take them back to Mount Royal Townhouses. On the bus everybody was talking about the new kid.

“It was a Mercedes, man,” Jeff was saying to Isaiah. “The biggest model Mercedes.”

“Naw, I think it was a Rolls-Royce or something. And did you see the
driver
?”

“Hey, how do you know that wasn't his dad?” Derek butted in.

“Dads don't wear caps with visors when they drive,” said Jeff.

One kid put on a pair of sunglasses, stuck out his hand, and mimicked being Dave, saying, “You can all kiss my Oscar now.” This brought on gales of laughter from the kids sitting nearby.

Derek took a seat next to the mimic, while Vijay found a
seat two rows back. Derek sat there, hearing the mockery and jokes about Dave but tuning them out.

He felt bad for Dave, that was the truth. He'd been made fun of himself back in the day, and as young as he had been at the time, the memory was still fresh in his mind.

Maybe the kids were right. Maybe Dave was an impossible, stuck-up snob. But one way or the other, Derek was determined to try reaching out to him again. There had to be a way to break through Dave's hostile armor and let him know someone understood.

He just hoped Dave's feelings weren't already crushed beyond repair.

“Hey, are you trying to take my head off?”

Derek grinned as he rounded first base and Jason barked at him playfully. Derek's liner had come awfully close to beaning Jason, who had ducked out of the way just in time, letting the ball go past him into right field.

Derek stopped at second, seeing the throw come in from right. “You're supposed to catch it in your mitt, not in your teeth,” Derek explained, putting his two hands together as if to catch a ball.

“I'm not catching anything going that fast,” Jason shot back, laughing. “Why don't you hit it like that during the season, instead of trying to kill your teammates in practice?”

“Ha!” Derek shook his head and laughed.

Jason was funny, and Derek knew how to shoot the jokes as well as anyone else. He and his dad had been ribbing each other that way ever since Derek was old enough to hold a ball in his hands. It was part of competing, the part where you could let loose a little of the tension between games or between innings.

The Red Sox were having a scrimmage today, with the team divided into two squads, and a few players from each side switching back and forth so there were always enough players on the field.

Derek liked the way Coach Kaufman ran things. Unlike last year's coach, he didn't seem to be holding auditions for the various positions. He was just letting the kids catch, throw, run, and hit—and he was paying close attention.

Not just that. By holding this scrimmage, the coach was already assigning kids to positions, and places in the batting order, to see how they fit there.

What Derek liked best about it was that he himself had been assigned to play shortstop, and to hit third in the lineup. That suited him fine. In fact, it was just about perfect!

The next hitter up was Dave. He had already made a mental mistake at third base, forgetting to tag a runner when there was no force play on.

It was obvious to one and all that Dave hadn't played organized baseball before—
ever
. Derek guessed he would
figure out the rules of baseball sooner or later. But Derek knew it could be sooner if Dave would only let him help!

Dave whiffed on the first pitch to him, then whiffed again. Both pitches had been right over the plate. “He can't hit a lick,” Jason said.

“He looks good swinging, though,” Jeff said. He was playing second. “He just doesn't make any contact.”

“Not even close,” Jason agreed.

Derek felt bad. If he could hear them from his lead off second, Dave could probably hear them from home plate.

“He hit it great that one time,” Derek reminded them as Dave whiffed on a third straight pitch to end the inning.

“I know, it's true,” Jason agreed as he headed back to the dugout. “But will he ever hit another one?”

The scrimmage went on for another half hour. Derek got to bat twice more and wound up with two doubles and a triple, all on screaming line drives the other way. His work in the batting cages had really paid off, and Derek was psyched about the team's upcoming first game.

He was even more psyched when Coach Kaufman agreed to let him wear number 13—Derek's dad's number when he was in college! He had wanted to wear 13 last year but had been stuck with number 2, much to his disappointment. Everything this season seemed to be going his way, at least so far.

Derek couldn't help noticing, though, that Dave wasn't having such an easy time of it. He made no contact that
whole day—either with the baseball or with the other kids on the team.

On the bench he sat alone and silent while everyone else joked around, cheered, or talked baseball. After practice he stood alone, just like the first time. Derek figured he was waiting for the Mercedes, or whatever it was, to pick him up. Sure enough, Derek saw it parked just around the corner on a side street, obviously in an attempt to avoid attention.

Too bad for Dave that they'd already seen it. Now everybody knew he was rich, and they assumed he didn't want to talk to any of them.

Derek wasn't one of those kids, though. And he wanted to make sure Dave knew it. Derek raced over to where his dad was waiting, having just arrived in the family station wagon.

“How'd it go?” asked Mr. Jeter.

“Excellent.” Derek held up the number 13 jersey and grinned. “And I got to play short, and I went three for three, but I've got to go talk to somebody. Can you wait five more minutes, Dad? It's important.” Dave was already quite a distance away, walking slowly down the street toward the corner where the car sat idling.

“All right,” his dad said, sounding unsure. “But make it quick. I've got a school assignment to finish.”

Derek really appreciated that his parents both took the time to make sure he and Sharlee got to all their activities. He knew they were busy and could easily have made
excuses for not being available. But they never did. In fact, they stayed throughout the game, practice, or other event whenever they could—which was most of the time. Derek always felt like whatever happened, he and his family were always all in it together.

“Hey, Dave—wait up!”

Dave turned and saw Derek running toward him at full speed. He heaved a big sigh and put his hands on his hips.

“What do you want now?” he asked as Derek caught up to him just before he turned the corner.

“Gee,” Derek said. “I was just trying to see if you wanted to be friends or something. You act like you've got a problem with that.”

Dave snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I believe that.”

“How about you tell me why you don't believe it,” Derek said.

“You're just trying to find out stuff about me so you can tell everyone. Then you can all make fun of me some more.”

“You think you're the only one who ever got messed with?” Derek said angrily. “My mom's white, and my dad's black. We came here when I was four, and we got some dirty looks. A few people called us names . . . . It really hurt.”

Dave swallowed hard. “Wow. That totally bites. I'm so sorry, man.”

Derek grinned. “I asked my mom and dad about it, and
they told me to hold my head up and be proud of who I was. I didn't let anyone's comments get to me. And pretty soon I got to find out how awesome most people around here really are.”

“Wow,” Dave said, shaking his head. “I'm really sorry I got you wrong, Dirk.”

“Derek.”

“Sorry, Derek. I just— It's been so . . .”

“I didn't keep my dad waiting in the car just to come up here and make fun of you, if that's what you're thinking.”

“No, no.” Dave looked at Derek as if he'd never seen him before. “Thanks for being straight up about stuff,” he said. “You're the first one who didn't treat me like I'm some kind of weirdo. Everyone's been laughing at me behind my back.”

“Aw, they're just goofing around. They'll be fine once they get to know you.”

“If that ever happens.” Dave heaved another sigh. “I know what they all think of me.”

“Oh yeah? What's that?” Derek asked.

“That I'm this rich snob from Hollywood who thinks he's somebody special,” Dave said.

“Well, you are from Hollywood, right?”

“Beverly Hills, actually.”

“Same difference,” Derek said. “And as far as being rich . . .”

“You mean the Mercedes? It's my mom's. She works for
this big corporation and gets driven everywhere.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, except that's why we had to move here. Relocation to the Midwest district or something.”

“Kalamazoo's a great place,” Derek said encouragingly. “You'll see. Pretty soon it'll feel like home to you.”

“Not like California. It's warm there all year round—” The horn sounded, interrupting them. “I've gotta go,” Dave said.

“Right.”

“Well, thanks for reaching out, Derek. At least now I know there's someone who doesn't hate me.”

“Just the first of many soon to come,” Derek said, turning to go. “You'll see.”

“Hey, listen—you . . . you mentioned you might be able to help me get better at this game . . . . You really think you could?”

“I . . . I could try,” Derek said. He was pretty sure he could, but he didn't want Dave to blame him if it didn't work out well.

“I mean, you seem like you know what you're doing. Me, I haven't got a clue, in case you haven't noticed.”

“I figured you hadn't played much before,” Derek said, shrugging.

“Like, never,” Dave said with a laugh. “So, you want to?”

“Sure,” Derek said, feeling triumphant. He'd done it! He'd broken through Dave's armor and made a friend.

“You can come over to the Hill after school tomorrow. Me and my friends are there pretty much every day.”

Dave's smile faded. “Oh,” he said. “Um, I was sort of hoping you could come over to my house.”

“Well, my folks will want to talk to your folks first. Why don't you come over to the Hill tomorrow, and next time I'll come to your house.”

“Okay. Where is it?”

“Mount Royal Townhouses. It's the only hill in sight, even though it's not much of one. You'll see us there. Just bring your mitt.”

“Okay, deal,” said Dave.

“See you tomorrow,” Derek said. Knowing his dad was waiting for him, he turned and ran back to the station wagon.

As he settled into his seat, his dad asked, “So? How'd it go?”

“Really, really good,” Derek said.

Between having a great practice and making a brandnew friend, today had been a
very
good day.

“Dude, why'd you invite
him
?” Jeff rolled his eyes and waited for Derek's reply.

“Come on,” Derek said. “What do you guys have against Dave?”

“Do we need a reason? Okay, how about, he thinks he's all that?” Jeff said. Behind him, Jason and Isaiah nodded their agreement as they ate their sandwiches in the schoolyard.

Derek looked over at Vijay to see if he agreed with the others, but Vijay just looked at the ground. He seemed to be wrestling with something inside himself.

“You guys don't even know him,” Derek said. “You're just assuming stuff about him because he's new—”

“And because he's from Hollywood—” Jeff said.

“Beverly Hills,” Derek corrected him.

“Same difference,” Jason insisted. “Plus, he rides around in a Mercedes, with a driver,
and
—”

“Like I say, you don't know anything about him,” Derek repeated. “That's why I figured I'd invite him over to the Hill.”

Derek was the one originally responsible for turning the Hill into their baseball field. It wasn't exactly suitable—a slope of grass with two big trees in left and right field, and bumps everywhere. But it was the best spot available, so it had to do.

You could always count on finding Derek there, looking for a pickup game of baseball—or at least a simulated game, complete with Derek announcing the play-by-play.

“The kid doesn't have cooties, you know. He's just new and doesn't have any friends yet.”

“So you have to be the first?” Jeff asked.

“Hey, you know what? You shouldn't judge people before you know them,” Derek shot back. “He might be really cool.”

“Yeah, right. Too cool for anybody here,” Isaiah said.

“He probably won't even come,” Jason said.

“He seemed like he was going to,” Derek replied. “Anyhow, if he comes, we can help him improve his game.”

“We'd
better
help him, if we expect the team to be any good,” said Isaiah. He meant the Red Sox.

“Where is he, anyway?” Vijay asked.

“Over there, in the far corner,” Derek said, gesturing with his head to where Dave sat eating alone.

“Did you see what he eats for lunch?” Isaiah asked. “It's like a gourmet meal and stuff.”

“He probably has a food taster,” Jason joked, and all the boys laughed—except for Derek, who just shook his head.

He could still remember being on the other end of those kinds of jokes—even though it had been a couple years since he'd been the new kid at Saint Augustine's.