The Winning Stroke (13 page)

“
The next event will be the fifty-yard boys freestyle. Swimming in lane one for the Beavers will be Jay Funchion, in lane two
for the blues — Jerry Grayson …
”

Okay, thought Jerry as he walked across the cold tile floor to the starting block. All the rest was preparation. This is now
for real.

15

How long had it been since he'd been swimming? One week? One month? Two? Right now, it seemed like the most natural thing
in the world to him.

As Jerry stood on the block waiting for the starting gun, he felt completely relaxed. There wasn't a flip-flop in his stomach.
He knew exactly what he had to do to perform well in the fifty-yard sprint. There would be two laps, with a single turn in
between. There wasn't a second to waste.

And then the announcement came:

“
On your mark!
”

Silence fell over the pool area.

“
Get set!
”

His body had been hanging loose, letting all the
tension drain. Now it turned into an arc of coiled steel, ready to spring forward in an instant.

BANG!

And the race was on.

Jerry slashed his way through the water, arm over arm, legs churning up a fierce cascade of foam in his wake.

He touched the far wall of the pool and instantly flipped over in a perfect turn. The recovery set him off rocketing toward
the finish line at the opposite end of the pool.

“
Lane one … Funchion… Lane two … Grayson … coming down to the final strokes, and it looks like the winner by a fingertip could
be — We'd better wait for the judges' decision, folks
.”

It didn't matter. As he stood there in the pool, unwinding from the fierce effort, Jerry could feel his heart pounding in
his throat. His arms felt like rubber bands and he could hardly stand up. But nothing mattered. He knew he had done his best
— and it felt great!

“
It's official, the winner of the boys fifty-yard freestyle is Jerry Grayson in lane two!
”

For a single second, it seemed as though the world had stopped. Inside his head, Jerry heard nothing. His eyes, too, seemed
to go out of focus, and everything was blurred.

And then there was an explosion of applause. He leaped out of the pool and was immediately surrounded by the team. They wrapped
a towel around him and slapped him with high fives.

Coach Fulton broke through and said, “Congratulations, Jerry. Now just take a seat and rest up for the five hundred. It'll
be coming up before you know it.”

He was right. The elation Jerry felt over winning the sprint had started his juices flowing. They didn't have time to settle
down before the announcer was calling for the swimmers in the five hundred to take their places.

This time Jerry was joined by Ace Willoughby and Paul Prescott for the Blues. As the three of them stood there on the block,
with Weaver Beavers in between, they exchanged thumbs-up signs. They knew that it didn't matter so much who won as long as
the Blues carried the race.

Again, Jerry was able to let go of any tension while waiting for the signal gun to sound. At the words
“
Get set!
” he was as ready as he'd ever been before a 3–2 pitch. And at the sounding
BANG!
from the starter's gun, he took off like a guided missile straight ahead and into the chill green water.

This time Jerry knew much better how to pace himself. He remembered to focus on each turn as though it were the first time
he was doing it. He heard noise all around him, but he completely blocked from his mind the announcer's actual words.

As he made his way back and forth, lap after lap, one thought propelled him forward — to do his best and score some points
for the Blues.

The first ten laps went by so fast, he barely realized it was half over when he saw the sign at the edge of the pool. Without
breaking his stroke, he glanced up and saw that it was Tanya behind the sign, giving him her biggest and brightest smile.

Stroke after stroke, he drove his body forward through the water. He felt in complete control as he turned on the throttle
a little bit more after each lap now.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

Only three to go.

The roar of the crowd had increased and drowned out any possibility of hearing the announcer. Jerry had no idea who was ahead
or behind and by how much. He only knew he had to keep on swimming exactly the way he knew how.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

And then, it was the final lap. It was a race to the finish.

He pushed off from his final turn with all the spring that was left in his legs. Catching his breath and exhaling in perfect
harmony with his arm movements, he began the final sprint.

Far off in the distance, he almost heard people shouting his name along with another. But it didn't matter. All he wanted
to do now was reach that wall of white tile and make contact for the last time.

As he did, he could see that there was no one next to him in either lane. He had clearly beaten at least two of the Beavers.
But what about the rest?

“…
one of the most exciting events of the day, the winner for the Bolton Blues in lane two is Paul Prescott, followed by about
a fingertip in lane four,
also for the Blues, Jerry Grayson, and in lane one, for the Weaver Beavers
…”

He had taken second place! He'd scored again for the team! He'd done his best, and it had paid off. Now he could really collapse
on the bench and relax for the rest of the meet.

After a round of hugs and high fives and slaps from the team, he settled down to watch the next event. It was the two-hundred-yard
backstroke, and Lars was favored to win by a wide margin. All season long he had piled up victories in the backstroke, and
this was expected to be his crowning moment.

As the announcer called out the names, Lars walked over to the side of the pool to climb in and take his position in lane
two. Just at the edge, he heard someone call out to him, “Go, Lars, go!”

Instinctively, the tall swimmer turned in the direction of the shout and, without seeing that he was so close, he tripped
or slipped, and started to fall. He caught himself just before he hit the tile at the edge of the pool — or worse, toppled
over into the water. But when he straightened up, Jerry could see that he was in pain.

Lars managed to get into the water and take his
position at the start of the race. But when the starting gun was fired, he couldn't push off.

The judges called for a false start. Coach Fulton rushed over and talked to Lars, who was white-faced as he floated in the
shallow water.

Then the coach called for two boys to come over and help Lars out of the pool and into the locker room. The team trainer went
in right after them.

Coach Fulton signaled to Tony, who had been sitting next to Jerry. Even though Tony wasn't a seasoned long-distance backstroker,
he'd have to do what he could for the team.

The race got off again to a good start. But without Lars, it wasn't as exciting as everyone expected. Something was missing
for the Blues, and they failed to do better than a third by Wayne. Tony came in fifth, but the coach congratulated him just
the same. Jerry could hear Coach Fulton saying, “I'm proud of the effort you made, Tony.”

As they waited for the announcer to call the next event, the coach told the players on the bench that Lars had sprained an
ankle and that he'd be okay in a few days. But he was out of the meet for the rest of the events.

“What else is he scheduled to swim?” Jerry asked. “Isn't that it for him, anyhow?”

Tony shook his head.

“Lars is supposed to be swimming the backstroke in the two-hundred-yard medley relay. Now the coach is going to have to find
a replacement.”

“Why not you? Or Wayne?” Jerry asked.

“Because he doesn't want to burn us out,” said Tony. “We've each been in at least four events.”

And done everything they possibly could for the team, thought Jerry. They placed that goal above individual achievement. That's
all they had in mind.

“Jerry,” called the coach. “I want you to go in for Lars in the relay. You've never been in a relay before, but it's only
two laps. And I think that sprinting is your best shot in the backstroke. Do you know how the relay works?”

Jerry was about to say, “Sure!” but he caught himself. The coach didn't go for anyone acting cocky. And besides, he only thought
he knew. So, instead, he told the coach, “I think so. But could someone run through it with me?”

“Wayne! Go through the moves with Jerry over
there on the side,” said the coach. “Talk him through the backstroke part of the relay.”

Wayne moved over and started to tell Jerry what he had to do.

“Is your leg okay now?” Wayne asked.

“It feels great,” Jerry said.

“Okay, you start off in the pool. Remember to push off with every bit of muscle you can find,” said Wayne. “And don't let
up after that. There's only one turn, so make it a clean one. Randy will follow you with the breaststroke and Silvio goes
after him doing the butterfly. They're not all that strong on sprints, so you have to set them up real good, okay?”

“Gotcha,” said Jerry. “Who's the anchor?” he asked.

“Ace,” said Wayne. “He's real good doing the freestyle in a medley, but he's not a great come-from-behind swimmer.”

“Oh, boy,” said Jerry. More pressure, he thought.

Wayne finished describing the backstroke part of the relay. Then he added, “The score's real close. This could be the deciding
event of the meet. So don't screw up, slugger.”

Jerry could tell that the whole team was depending on him to start things off in the right direction. It was his chance, once
and for all, to do something for the team much more than for himself.

“
Will the swimmers for the two-hundred-yard medley relay please take their positions!
”

Jerry huddled with the other three Blues swimmers. They exchanged quick high fives before he left to get into the pool.

As he got himself into the starting position, he summoned every bit of concentration he owned. He started off with Tanya's
“secret weapon,” that moment of complete relaxation, just before the sounding gun went off.

BANG!

He sprang back into the water with terrific force, lashing backward with one arm after another in perfect harmony with his
steady kicks.

Within seconds, he touched the opposite edge of the pool solidly and spun instantly into his turn, emerging less than a stroke
behind the backstroker for the Beavers.

By sheer energy and determination, Jerry pushed himself harder than he ever had in any athletic
event. When he reached the edge of the pool at the end of his second lap, he was a full stroke ahead of the competition.

That little edge inspired Randy, who ploughed his way through the breaststroke laps to maintain the lead. Silvio's butterfly
lost a little on his turn, but he was neck and neck as it came time for Ace to take over.

As Jerry watched, the veteran freestyler for the Blues rocketed down the pool for the final two laps, outpacing the Beavers
anchor just enough to pull ahead by a few inches.

But that was all it took. The Bolton Blues had won the medley relay — and the meet!

The team and all their fans crowded around the relay swimmers. It seemed as if everyone at the pool wanted to congratulate
them on their hair-raising victory.

Coach Fulton shook Jerry's hand and gave him the thumbs-up sign. Then Lars, followed by Wayne, worked his way over to him.
They hugged him and slapped high fives on him before they were swept away by their own well-wishers.

As the crowd bore down on him, Jerry found
himself getting closer and closer to the edge of the pool. In fact, he realized he was in danger of falling in.

Suddenly, Tony and Tanya broke through the crowd and pulled him clear.

“Whoa!” shouted Tanya. “We don't want to lose this guy just when we found out his big secret!”

“Oh, yeah?” said Tony, acting very serious. “What's that?”

“He's the one with the winning stroke!” said Tanya.