Hit & Miss (6 page)

“No, man. It's for driving,” Dave said.

“Driving?”

“Not cars—golf balls.”

“Ooohh.” Derek thought for a moment. “I wonder why it's called ‘driving' instead of just ‘hitting.' ”

“Well, when you tee up, it's a drive,” Dave explained. “When you hit a short shot, it's a chip. Golf has its own language, like baseball. Come on. Let's hit a few.”

There was a bucket full of golf balls next to the cage, and a piece of carpet with a tiny little rubber thing sticking up out of it on the right side. Derek realized this must be what a golf tee looked like.

Leaning against a board on the side of the net were about seven golf clubs, each with a different face. Some were big and fat, others slimmer, shaped more like blades.

Dave took the longest, fattest-headed club and showed it to Derek. “This is a driver,” he said. “You use a different club for every different kind of golf shot. That's why golfers carry around such big bags of clubs.”

He took a ball, placed it on a rubber tee, and lined himself up alongside it, placing the club behind the ball. “Stand back,” he told Derek. “Safety first.”

Derek backed up a few steps. He'd never really watched golf on TV. It looked totally boring, just watching balls fly and guys tapping balls into cups.

But now he watched silently and intently as Dave slowly took the club back and up, then quickly swung through the ball. There was a sharp clicking sound, and the ball smacked into the center of a padded bull's-eye that hung on the front of the cage.

“Whoa!” Derek said. “That would have gone a mile!”

Dave's golf swing looked perfect, Derek noted with amazement. It was just like the pros he'd seen swinging on TV—and was
exactly the same as Dave's baseball swing
. Now Derek understood why that swing was so long and loopy! It didn't work too well in baseball, but it was well suited for golf.

“To tell you the truth,” Dave said, “I've only ever played golf. Never baseball. Not even once. I only signed up for baseball because Chase thought it would help me make friends here.” He smiled. “And here you are, so I guess he was right. Anyway, I was thinking maybe you could help me with my game.”

“That's why I wanted you to come over to the Hill and hang out with us.”

“Yeah . . . well . . . I don't know if I'm ready for that yet.
I mean, those kids think I'm . . . I don't know what they think, actually, but it's not anything good.”

“Ah, they just don't know you yet,” Derek said. “You come up there with me, and I'll make sure they don't go off on you.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, my baseball swing's not as good as your golf swing.”

“I don't know about that,” Dave said modestly. “Hey. Want to try?”

“Sure!” Derek took the club from Dave. He lined himself up the way he'd seen Dave do it. Then he wound up and swung as hard as he could.

There was a whoosh as Derek spun himself around—but no clicking sound. Derek had missed the ball completely. It still sat there on the tee, waiting to be struck. “Whoa. How'd I miss that?” he said, amazed.

“Try keeping your eyes open next time. And don't swing so hard.”

Had he shut his eyes? Maybe. He couldn't remember. But he had swung too hard.

“Let me try again,” he said, lining up and taking another swing, a little less hard this time. He hit the ball, but off the end of the club, and it went into the side of the net. “Hmm. This is harder than it looks.”

“You got that right,” Dave said. “These clubs might be
a little long for you. My folks got them for me when I outgrew my old set.”

Derek flushed. Dave was a lot taller than him. “I'm not exactly short,” he said.

“Course not,” Dave said quickly. “Here, let me show you a few things that might help.” He told Derek to keep his head still all through the swing, and how to stay balanced and under control.

He showed him the proper grip, which was sort of like a baseball grip but different in several key ways. The left thumb, for instance, was tucked into the right palm alongside the club shaft, instead of being used to grasp the club, the way the thumb would be used with a baseball bat. And the right pinky interlocked with the left index finger.

Dave showed Derek how to take the club straight back, and pivot with his hips on the backswing . . . .

It was like a baseball swing, but different. Derek, who enjoyed any new challenge—especially if it involved sports—actually managed to hit some solid drives, in between a bunch of clunkers.

His competitive juices were flowing now. He felt sure that if he swung a club a few more times . . . just a few more . . . he could get it just right.

“How about those other clubs?” Derek asked. “Is it the same swing all the time?”

“No,” Dave said. “First of all, you hit these off the carpet,
not the tee. The smaller the club, the closer to the ball you stand, so the swing is even more up and down.”

“Wow, you know a lot about this game!” Derek said, impressed.

Dave smiled and looked down for a long moment. “It's my dream,” he said.

“What is?”

“One day I want to be on the PGA Tour,” Dave said. “I want to win golf tournaments, like the Masters and the U.S. Open. I want to be as good as Jack Nicklaus, the greatest golfer ever.”

“Wow,” Derek said. “That's awesome, man. I hear you. You know . . .” He paused, then let out a chuckle. “Man, you're going to laugh when you hear what my dream is.”

“I won't laugh,” Dave said, shaking his head. “I promise you that. I owe you that much, after all.”

“Huh?”

“You've been the entire welcoming committee, know what I mean?”

“I guess,” said Derek. “Not for long, though. I've got lots of friends. And they're gonna like you fine, once they get to know you.”

The two boys stayed there for another hour, sharing their dreams and hitting bucket after bucket of golf balls. Neither of them had ever met another kid with a big-time dream of sports stardom.

By the time Chase emerged from the house to tell Dave
it was time to start studying, Derek and Dave were real friends.

Real friends
with sore arms
. At least Derek's were.

•  •  •

On the way home Chase asked Derek lots of questions about his family, his grades, and his friends. They were exactly the same questions Derek's own parents would have asked Dave's mom and dad—if Derek had gone about setting this visit up the right way in the first place.

Then again, he hadn't known he was going to be ambushed and taken to Dave's house as a surprise. And he hadn't known Dave's parents wouldn't be home either—or even in the country! So Derek figured his mom and dad could scarcely blame him for anything, right?

Derek tried not to think about it. He would just have to deal with the flak when he got home. Meanwhile, he couldn't stop thinking how funny life was. Here he'd been thinking how different Dave was from everybody else he knew.

And what he'd come to find out instead was how much alike they both were—especially where it counted the most. They had shared their most cherished dreams with each other—and, before putting the golf clubs away, they'd sworn to support each other's dreams.

Wasn't that what good friends did?

Derek smiled, feeling glad he'd allowed Dave to “kidnap” him. He couldn't wait to introduce his new good friend to the rest of the guys at the Hill.

As the car pulled up in front of the Jeter family's townhouse, Derek saw Sharlee playing outside, bouncing a rubber ball off the stoop and catching it. When she saw Derek getting out of the Mercedes, her eyes widened in shock.

“Mom! Dad!” she screamed, so loud that his parents came to the window within seconds. “There's a movie star's car out here—and Derek was riding in it!”

Mr. and Mrs. Jeter were outside in seconds, but by the time they got there, the Mercedes was already disappearing down the street.

Derek could see the disappointment in their faces as soon as they turned to look at him, though Sharlee was still excited and happy. “Wow,” she said. “My big brother knows a movie star!”

“Inside,” said his dad, glaring at Derek.

“Now,”
added his mom. “We need to have a discussion.”

They marched him inside and sat him down on the living room couch. “Sharlee, please go play outside for a little longer while we speak with Derek,” Mr. Jeter said.

Looking disappointed, she left the house.

“I can explain,” Derek said.

“Okay,” Mrs. Jeter said. “Let's start at the beginning.”

They listened as Derek told them what had happened and pleaded for them to understand.

“Oh, we understand,” said his father. “We understand that you've broken your contract—big-time.”

“What?”
He'd never stopped to think whether he'd
been breaking a rule in the contract, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of which one he'd broken.

“Dot?”

“I'll go get it, Jeter.” His mom went upstairs.

Derek and his dad sat there silently until Mrs. Jeter returned. “Okay,” she said. “I see here that it says ‘Respect Others.' Do you think it was respectful to your family not to tell us you were going off someplace, goodness knows where, and we have no way of reaching you, or knowing where you are? No phone call even?”

“But—” Derek thought he'd already explained that one to them, but he guessed they weren't buying his excuse. “Even though Dave's parents weren't there,” he said, “it wasn't like I went somewhere without a responsible adult.”

“That doesn't change anything,”
said his mom. “You should know we need to speak with any parents before you're able to go over to someone's house.”

“Plus, you should never get into a car without us knowing the person driving,” his dad added. “
And
you need to always check with us before changing your plans.”

“What would have happened if we'd needed to reach you in an emergency? We would have had absolutely no idea how to find you.”

“We need to know where you are,” his dad chimed in, “and you need to be where you say you're going to be. That was a rule long before you even had a contract.”

“Here's another one you've broken, old man,” said Derek's mom, looking over the contract. “ ‘Be a Role Model for Sharlee.' ”

“That's right,” Mr. Jeter said. “We don't want her taking after you and running off without telling us where she's going.”

Suddenly Derek could see just how wrong he'd been. He should have told Dave right away that his family rules didn't permit surprise visits to new people's houses—not without his parents scoping out the lay of the land first. He should have thought about his contract before he went and broke it.

“I guess I didn't think about it that way,” he admitted. “I thought I was making a really good new friend. I guess I just didn't see that I was also breaking my contract. I'm so sorry.”

“There you go,” his dad said, putting a hand on Derek's shoulder. “That's my boy.”

“And we're glad you made a new friend,” said his mom, “just not happy with the way you did it.”

“So . . . what do I do now?” Derek asked them. “I know it was wrong, but I can't exactly take it back.”

“Derek,” said his mom, “I know you've kept faithfully to your contract up to now, and it's been almost a year—”

“
More
than a year,” Derek corrected her.

“But there are consequences for bad behavior,” his dad finished. “I know you were planning on spending the night
at Vijay's this weekend, but you've just lost that privilege.”

Derek looked down and nodded.

“And if you break your contract again,” his mom cautioned, “we'll have to cancel those Yankees-Tigers tickets.”

“No! Not that!” Derek begged.

“Maybe you'd better study this some more,” his dad said, handing him the contract to look at. “You can give it back to me after you've memorized it.”

“
And
after you've finished your homework,” his mom said.

Derek nodded. He did have a lot of homework and studying to do. And he was going to go over his contract, too. No way he wanted to lose those Yankees-Tigers tickets!

Even more important, he never wanted to disappoint his mom and dad again.

Derek had never felt this excited to start a new season. His Red Sox were on the field, tossing the ball around before their first game. Across the diamond Derek could see the Tigers, the team he'd been on last year—and also today's opponent.

Derek had been waiting forever since last season had ended. Since then he'd had a total of two team practices, a couple of visits to the batting cages, and a few days of pickup games at the Hill.

Today was a perfect day to start the new season. The sun was shining, the weather was warm, and the field wasn't too wet. Derek put his hands together with the rest of the Red Sox for a team cheer, then went to grab a
bat. His team was up first, and he was batting third.

“Go, Derek!” he heard his mom shout, echoed a second later by Sharlee and his dad. He waved to them in the bleachers, and they waved back, clapping and whooping it up.

Cubby Katz came to the plate as all the Red Sox cheered. He stared calmly as the first pitch sailed high over his head. He stood there like a statue as the next pitch bounced at his feet. Then he stared at two more over his head.

“Take your base!” the umpire said.

Derek smiled and shook his head. Cubby was so short, it was hard to throw strikes to him. That was a huge advantage for the Sox—because Cubby was also
fast
.