The Winning Stroke (5 page)

The two swimmers kept it up, back and forth, lap
after lap, until Jerry wasn't sure who was keeping up with whom. He knew that he wasn't trying to out-swim his neighbor. It
was just nice to have someone working away at the same pace.

Finally, Jerry's energy began to give out. He slowed down during the final lap and almost floated the few feet to the edge
of the pool where he'd begun.

His neighbor stopped, too, and Jerry saw right away who it was: Tony Kendrix.

“You know, you've got a real nice crawl there,” said Tony, floating over toward Jerry.

“I wish my backstroke was as easy to do,” said Jerry.

“Yeah, I saw you had some trouble there,” said Tony. “Don't worry about it. Just keep practicing.”

Jerry smiled.

“I mean it. You'll see. It'll get easier and easier. Just like my crawl.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” said Jerry. “You probably could have beaten me by a mile if you turned on the steam.”

“That's not what I was practicing,” said Tony. “I'm trying to learn to pace myself so I don't use all my
energy right away and then fade. That's why I was glad to see you doing laps, nice and easy. Like I said, you've got a pretty
good handle on the crawl.”

“Thanks,” said Jerry.

“Feel like doing eight nice steady laps and then going for broke for two more?”

“Okay,” said Jerry. “I'll give it a try.”

The two boys pushed off and began to make their way down their lanes. Kicking their legs behind them, they churned up the
water while keeping a steady pace. Jerry felt relaxed and comfortable as one lap turned into another. Before he knew it, they
had done the first eight and it was time for the final sprint.

It was no contest. Tony finished an easy fifteen feet ahead of him.

Jerry just about made it to the edge of the pool. He was out of breath and, despite the water all around, his throat was bone
dry.

“Take it easy,” said Tony. “You'll be okay in a minute. Hey, you did real well. I didn't know if you'd be able to go the distance.”

“Thanks,” said Jerry, panting a little. He got his breath back and went on, “You know, it's funny. I
didn't even have to think about it, but I stayed in my lane. How come that doesn't happen when I do the backstroke?”

“Probably' cause you're keeping your eyes straight ahead when you do the crawl. Next time you do the backstroke, try this
— find an object directly in front of you as you swim. Keep your eye on it as you're swimming. It's called 'spotting' and
should help you stay centered. I usually spot on my diving podium for the first lap, then the lane number on the way back,”
said Tony. “But another problem could be that one leg's stronger than the other. It's pulling you to one side.”

“I never thought of that,” said Jerry.

“Maybe you should try a different kind of kick,” Tony suggested.

“Different?” asked Jerry.

Tony flipped onto his back and held on to the side of the pool. With his feet extended and toes pointed, he kicked one leg
after the other up and down. Then he got up and stood in the shallow water.

“That's the flutter. You sort of kick your legs from your hips. Most people tend to bend their knees, but that uses too much
energy and doesn't really work,”
said Tony. “Tell you what, why don't you give it a try? I'll watch and see how you're doing. Try it holding on. Then do a
couple of laps.”

The pool had become a little crowded as other early swimmers filled the lanes. But Jerry didn't pay much attention to them.
The lane he was using was open, so he did the exercise and then began the backstroke the way he'd just seen Tony do it.

It was amazing. After just a few strokes, he knew he was doing it better. Kicking from the hips seemed a little awkward, but
he was starting to get the hang of it. And he made sure he “spotted” on the podium. It made a lot of difference.

As he made his way down his lane, he heard a couple of loud splashes as some other kids jumped into the pool. In a few seconds,
he realized there were people swimming alongside him.

In the distance, he heard laughter and shouting.

“Hey, look, it's ‘Willy the Whale’ upside down!”

“Naw, you dummy, that's just Mark Spitz — on a bad, bad day!”

The swimmer on his side kicked up a storm and passed him, followed by another.

“Come on, Lars! Come on Wayne!”

All the commotion was too much for Jerry. He lost his concentration and started kicking from his knees. He tried to regain
his stroke, but a second later he crashed headfirst into the edge of the pool.

As he stood up, he could see a race in progress next to him. Lars and Wayne were racing each other, doing the backstroke with
the style of real champions.

I must have looked like a real chump alongside the two of them, Jerry thought, rubbing his head.

Lars came in first, followed by Wayne just a few seconds after him.

“You were great,” shouted a girl with long jet-black hair. She ran up to him and gave him a big hug.

Another girl, with deep brown eyes and wavy brown hair rushed over to Wayne.

“You'll beat him next time,” she said, putting her hand in his. “Come on, Gail, let's go. We don't want to be late for that
movie.”

“Okay, Jennifer,” said the other girl. “See you guys tomorrow.” As she left, she looked over at Jerry and started to giggle.

Jerry turned bright red. He started to stomp off
toward the locker room when Tony caught up with him.

“Relax, Jerry,” said Tony. “They're just a couple of show-offs when their girlfriends are around. They don't mean anything
by it.”

“Some fun!” snarled Jerry.

“Whoa! You look like you could bite the head off a crocodile!” said Tony. “Maybe you ought to be in a Tarzan movie! Take it
easy, Jerry. Lars and Wayne are really good guys when you get to know them.”

Yeah, thought Jerry, but who says I really want to get to know anyone else on the swimming team. The team I'm interested in
plays on a dirt-track diamond, surrounded by grass. I wish I was there right now.

6

The next afternoon, Jerry skipped practice at the pool. The minute classes were over, he marched down the school steps, still
limping a little, and went home.

He was up in his room oiling his baseball glove, when his mother called up to him.

“Jerry! Can you come down here, please?”

He carefully put the glove and the oil away in his closet, and went downstairs. A strong smell of something baking was in
the air. He followed the aroma into the kitchen and found a surprise.

Tanya and Tony were seated at the kitchen table.

“We could smell your mother's chocolate chip cookies a mile away,” Tony explained, with a silly grin.

Jerry said, “Yeah, sure.”

Tanya gave him a look that seemed to say, “You dumbbell.” At least, that's how it appeared to him.

“There's more milk in the fridge,” said Mrs. Grayson. “Help yourselves. I have to pick up your father at the dentist, Jerry.
I'll see you later.” She put on her coat and went out the back door to the garage.

“So what are you guys doing here?” Jerry asked. He eyed a chocolate chip cookie, but he didn't pick it up.

“I told you, we're here for the cookies,” said Tony. He stuffed his mouth with another one.

“Oh, cut it out,” said Tanya. “We're here to talk to you about swimming practice. You skipped it today.”

“So what? I don't have to go to practice, you know,” said Jerry. “I'm not trying out for the team.”

“What about your exercises? You know, for your leg?” asked Tanya.

“I can do them when I want,” said Jerry. “How do you know I didn't do them at the Y?”

“The Y pool is used for diving practice in the afternoon,” said Tony. “Can't swim there for another half hour.”

“Maybe I'll go then,” said Jerry.

“Aw, you're just sore 'cause Lars and Wayne
showed you up yesterday,” said Tony. “That's so dumb. I told you they were just fooling around.”

“Yeah, but everybody else was laughing, too,” said Jerry. “Their girlfriends thought it was great the way they made me look
like a chump. Boy, if it was out on the baseball diamond, I could show them a thing or two!”

“What if one of them had a real natural swing at bat? If one of them could really hit the ball once he learned a thing or
two?” asked Tanya. “Wouldn't you want him to play for the team?”

“Sure, but he'd have to show he could really hit all the time, that he wasn't just a flash in the pan,” said Jerry.

“And how, Mr. Sports-Expert, would you be able to tell that?” asked Tanya.

“You could tell in practice,” said Jerry “And after he played a few games.”

“That does it,” said Tony, getting up from the table. “If you substitute swimming for baseball, you could have been talking
about yourself.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jerry.

“Sit down, Tony, and let's explain a few things to him,” said Tanya.

“You start,” said Tony, sitting back down at the table and picking at the edge of another cookie.

“You have a terrific natural crawl, Jerry,” said Tanya. “I saw it when you were doing your laps that first day at the pool.
Remember how I told you that you were pretty good for a baseball player?”

“Yeah, but when we did laps together, you were better. You beat me by a mile,” he said.

“Right, because I've been practicing for a long time. And, besides, I knew what I was doing in a race,” she said.

“Yeah, it takes more than a natural crawl,” said Tony. “How do you think people like Lars and Wayne got so good? And they
didn't even have the advantage of a natural stroke to start out with. I've seen Lars practice nothing but the breaststroke
or the butterfly for hours. And Wayne still puts in time doing land drills for the backstroke. So do I. So does every good
swimmer.”

“So you think I might be a pretty good swimmer if I worked at it?” Jerry asked.

“I'm sure you could develop a great crawl without much trouble,” said Tanya. “But to be a really good swimmer, you have to
know all the strokes —
butterfly, backstroke, and breaststroke, too. You have to know how to dive and how to turn. And you have to know the rules.”

Jerry was surprised to hear the serious tone in Tanya's voice. Did she think he wasn't enough of an athlete to learn all that?
He would show her — and Tony — and Lars and Wayne, too. But there was still something holding him back.

“What about Coach Fulton? How come he never told me I should go out for the team?” Jerry asked.

“He probably wanted you to decide for yourself,” said Tony. “He doesn't like to put pressure on anyone.”

“I have to admit he was pretty nice when I was doing my therapy at the rehab center,” said Jerry

“He's the same at the pool,” said Tanya. “Except when he sees someone goofing off or not making an effort. Then he can be
a real shark!”

“So, you think if I asked him if I could try out for the team, I mean as a replacement or something, he'd help me learn all
that stuff?” asked Jerry.

“Only one way to find out,” said Tony. “Hey, was that the last cookie?”

Jerry wiped the crumbs off his face and smiled.

After Tanya and Tony left, Jerry went for a walk down the street. Sometimes, if he sat too long, his leg still stiffened up
a little. Walking it off made him feel better.

He found himself heading in the direction of the neighborhood playground. That was where his accident had happened on the
baseball diamond so many weeks back. As he approached, he could hear voices.

“Come on, Sonny, let 'er rip!”

“Easy out, Jimmy, easy out!”

A couple of the guys he used to play ball with were fooling around with an old tennis ball and a broom handle. It wasn't like
real baseball, but it still stirred up the old feelings in him.

“Hey, Sonny. Hi, Pete. How's it going, Jimmy?” he called over to them.

“Great,” shouted Jimmy from the mound. “Soon as I woof this guy!”

He did. In three swings and misses, Sonny went down.

Pete got up next. He hit the ball on the second try. According to the unofficial sandlot rules, that put him on first base.

“What do you say, Jerry? Want to send him all the way home?” called Jimmy.

Jerry looked at the field. There was no one around except the three guys. And it wasn't a real baseball game. It couldn't
hurt to take a few swings.

“Just a couple of swings,” he said to the others. “I…I gotta be home in time for supper.”

“Sure,” said Jimmy. He flashed a big grin.

Jerry could tell he was dying to strike out the sandlot batting champ. Well, I'll give him a good workout, he thought.

He gripped the sawed-off broom handle in his old familiar way. It was so much lighter than a bat, he was a little awkward
at first.

Two pitches went by. All four guys argued whether they were strikes or balls. Jerry found he could still out-shout the others,
and they were declared balls.

The third pitch was straight down the middle.

“
Thwunk!
”

The broom handle connected, and the ball went sailing deep over the pitcher's head.

With a smile, Jerry dropped the broom handle, turned up his jacket collar, and called over, “See you later, guys. I gotta
go.”