The Winning Stroke (8 page)

Jerry was so excited that he hadn't even asked Tanya which two events the coach had him down for. But he soon found out. He
was scheduled to swim the one-hundred-yard freestyle and the two-hundred-yard freestyle.

“So what's wrong with my butterfly? With my breaststroke?” he asked.

“Don't be a ninny,” she said. “Those are two terrific events. You should be happy as… as a…”

“Happy as a shark at a clambake?” he suggested.

“No, more like a jellyfish at a jamboree,” she said.

“A what?”

“Jelly? Jam — bo-ree? Get it?”

“Oh, that's awful!” he groaned. “I'd better get on my way before you come out with any more.”

“Okay,” she said. “See you at practice.”

“Hey, Tanya,” he called after her. “Thanks for the good news.”

From that moment on, Jerry poured himself into his swimming practice. He was pleased his extra effort learning how to do flip
turns and racing dives had paid off. Still, he knew he wouldn't be content to swim short-distance freestyle events for the
rest of the season. Lars, Wayne, and Sammy Wu had the breaststroke spots filled, and he still didn't feel comfortable with
the butterfly. That left the backstroke.

So, in addition to perfecting his flip turns and dives, Jerry started concentrating on his backstroke drills a little more
each day. The very first thing he did when he got in the pool was swim lap after lap.

As he pushed off from the edge of the pool, he checked what he had been taught by Coach Fulton and the other coaches during
previous practices.

Arm over arm. Check.

Six kicks to a two-arm cycle. Check.

Extra push when the arm was stretched full-length just past the head. Check.

Slice the water with the little finger first. Check.

Pull the arm through the water deep — and push through at the thigh. Check.

Stroke by stroke, he ploughed his way down the lane until his outstretched fingertips touched the opposite wall. And then
it was time for the backstroke turn that he had learned after a lot of hard work.

As soon as his hand touched the pool wall, he snapped his head backward and downward, arched his back, and brought up his
knees into a kind of underwater somersault. Tony had shown him how to give himself a little bit of a twist after that to help
settle into a proper backstroke position after the turn. Then, when his feet hit the wall, he stretched his right arm back
for a strong starting stroke as he pushed off with both feet.

Whew! It was hard work, but he knew it was the only way he could make any headway with the backstroke. All the practice was
starting to pay off.

“Nice going.”

“Looking good, there.”

“Good turn. Way to go.”

As he got to know them, other members of the team were generous with their praise — and their
help. He didn't always have to wait for Tony or Tanya to do laps. It seemed as though someone was always there to join him
when he was ready to practice his crawl.

“Your crawl isn't exactly the way the textbooks show it,” said Coach Fulton. “But since it works so well for you, I think
we'll leave it alone and build on strength. But, remember, like I told you before, there's a lot more than just a good stroke
to winning a race.”

“Gotcha,” said Jerry. Coach Fulton never seemed to run out of patience—except when he felt someone wasn't doing his or her
best—or, worse, didn't play by the rules.

“Just like every sport,” he'd explain to newcomers like Jerry, “swimming has its rules. The sooner you learn them and the
better you learn them, the more you'll get out of swimming.”

So Jerry toed the mark. He played by the rules at practice and kept them in mind when he was working out on his own.

And he did get better and better and stronger and stronger. By the end of the week, he felt ready for the meet.

When he got out of bed on the morning of the meet, Jerry automatically checked the weather. It was cloudy and looked like
it might rain later.

Then it dawned on him that the weather didn't matter. It wasn't like baseball. He was going to be swimming at an indoor pool.

Still, he felt the same rush of excitement that always struck him on the day of a big baseball game. There was something at
stake today, too. The swimming meet was another form of competition—and he was going to be an official part of it.

The meet was scheduled to take place at the school pool. When he got there, he could see the visiting team's bus parked outside.
On the outside there was a big black-and-gold banner that said “Ridgeway Rams.” He remembered playing against the Little League
team from Ridgeway a few years ago. The Bolton Little Leaguers had won that game.

And we're going to win this one, too, he said to himself.

The first person Jerry saw in the locker room was Tony.

“How're you doing, slugger?” asked Tony. Somehow or other, Jerry's fondness for baseball had
become known. A lot of the guys on the team had started using that nickname. It always made Jerry smile.

“I'm okay,” Jerry answered.

“Oh, yeah?” said Tony. “So how come you've spun the dial on your combination lock about fifty times? And I still don't see
you opening it.”

Jerry grinned at him sheepishly. “I guess I am just a little nervous,” he admitted.

“Good,” said Tony. “Shows you're human.”

“Yeah, some of the guys were beginning to wonder,” said Lars, who had been sitting nearby. “As a matter of fact—”

“Don't start in on him,” said Tony. “It's Jerry's first official meet, so we have to go easy. We'll take care of the slugger
here after we win the meet.”

“Let's go, Blues!”

The cheers rang out as the team left the locker room and entered the pool area.

Coach Fulton was talking to some of the other guys on the team. Then he came over to Jerry.

“Are you all set?” he asked.

“I think so,” Jerry replied.

“Okay, just relax then until your event is announced,”
said the coach. “Then get out there and do the best you can. That's all I ask.”

But that's not all I want to do, Jerry said to himself. I want to do well enough to score some points for the team. I want
to show everyone that I have learned a thing or two.

He stepped into the water and splashed around for a few seconds. Then he did some exercises to loosen up a little.

“
Testing—one—two—three
.”

The sound coming over the loudspeakers quieted everyone down.

Jerry climbed out of the pool and went over to the Blues bench. He toweled off as the announcer greeted everyone and introduced
the officials who would be judging the events at the meet. Then, along with everyone else, Jerry stood and sang the “Star
Spangled Banner.” Deep in the back of his mind, he could almost hear an umpire shout, “Play ball!”

Okay, he thought, he would play ball—but in the cool, green water of a swimming pool.

It didn't take long for the first few events to be run. The Bolton team held its own, and the scoreboard showed only a slight
lead for the Rams.

And then it was time for the boys hundred-yard freestyle.

“
Swimmers, please take your places
,” said the announcer.

Jerry was swimming in lane three, smack in the middle of the pool.

Maybe I'll get lost in all the splashing on either side, he thought for a second. Then, he caught himself. What kind of an
attitude is that? I'm going to be right in the thick of it and I'm going to give it all I can—for the team!

He climbed up on the starting block and shook loose some of the tension. Then he positioned himself for the dive.

Just four laps, he said to himself. Just four—but I have to pace them. And I have to remember everything I've learned.

“
On your mark … get set
… BANG!

At the sound of the gun, he sprang forth and dove into the water. He remembered to keep it shallow for a quick return to the
surface—and then to start his crawl immediately.

The lesson was well learned. Jerry could tell that he was right up there with the swimmers on either
side by the time he was midway down the pool for the first lap.

And then he reached the end of the pool and went into his turn. It was swift and smooth—and quickly put him back on track
for the next lap.

In the distance, he could hear the noise of the crowd and the sound of the loudspeaker, but he paid no attention to it. Just
do everything you've learned, he kept saying to himself over and over.

He tried to ignore the Rams swimmers on either side. Still, he could tell that he had gotten a little bit ahead of both of
them.

For one second, it flashed through his mind that he might be the leader, that he might just win the event. But he quickly
slammed the door shut on that thought and kept up his stroke, nice and steady.

Going into the last lap, he was clearly ahead of the Ram swimmer in lane two by several lengths, and a little bit ahead of
the competing Ram in lane four. It was time to put on the steam.

Jerry took deep, measured breaths as he extended his arms in front of him, powerfully slicing his way through the water. In
careful, timed sequence, he kicked his legs, churning up a wake that helped to
propel him forward faster and faster. With each stroke, he tried a little harder to go a little faster as the pressure within
his body expanded.

And then he felt the tips of the fingers on his right hand touch the tile at the end of the pool. The race was over.

For a second, Jerry expected to see the water filled with steam all around him. He gasped as he caught his breath, holding
on to the side of the pool. In the distance, he could just hear the announcer's voice.

“
The winner of the one-hundred-yard freestyle in lane five for the Bolton Blues was Ace Willoughby
—”

Ace! Good for him, thought Jerry, splashing some water on his face to cool off. That's one for the good guys!

“
In second place, also for the Blues, in lane three, was Jerry Grayson
.”

Another one for the Blues, hey, that's great, thought Jerry. Hey! Wait a minute! That's me! I came in second!

He leaped out of the pool and dashed over to the Blues bench. Ace was the first one to slap a high five on him.

“Nice going, slugger,” he said.

“Nice going, yourself,” said Jerry. He was almost as happy for Ace as he was for himself.

“Settle down, you two,” said the coach after he had congratulated all the guys who had just finished the hundred. “Rest up,
there isn't that much time until the two hundred.”

Jerry was really revved up now. For the first time, he felt the taste of success as a swimmer. Sure it was only a short race.
Sure it was his best stroke. But he still had placed in the top three—in the top two, for that matter. He knew he was headed
in the right direction.

But he settled himself down and tried to concentrate on the next event he'd be swimming. The two-hundred-yard freestyle wasn't
just double the distance; it called for a lot more discipline. The increases in his output had to be more gradual, but more
powerful if he were to make any headway. He knew that the coaches often saved their best swimmers for just one or two big
races like the two hundred.

Paul Prescott and Kevin Kincaid, who had gotten over the measles, would be swimming in the two
hundred for the Bolton team along with him. When the event was announced, they clapped their arms around him as they left
the bench.

This time Jerry discovered that he was swimming in lane six. He'd have just one competitor on one side. The tiled wall of
the pool and the fans above would be on his other side.

Hope it doesn't make me lopsided, he thought to himself, grinning.

As he stepped up on the diving stand at lane six, he felt really comfortable. After all, he'd been in a race just a few minutes
ago. There was nothing to it. All he had to do was swim eight laps. Eight! That was twice as many as he had just finished
swimming.

Suddenly, all the fears buried deep down in the pit of his stomach rose up. Would he measure up? Was the hundred just a fluke?
Or would he be able to swim well enough to help out the team?

Jerry knew what he had to do. He had to swim the race exactly the way the coach had taught him. There was no room for any
mistakes.

BANG!

Jerry unflexed his knees and dove into the water
straight ahead. He cut through its surface like a sleek surfboard and started to swim.

One strong arm forged its way through the cold green water as the other forced the backwater away like a powerful paddle wheel.

He kept his breathing steady as his head emerged from the water with each stroke. There were no extra flips, no unnecessary
motions. He cut his way through the water like a well-oiled machine.

Alongside, the swimmer in lane five had stayed with him lap after lap until midway through the race. As he headed into his
fifth lap, Jerry could see the distance opening up between the two of them as he took the lead.

But what was happening in the other lanes? There was no way to tell.

Jerry remembered what the coach had told him way back: never mind the announcer or anything else. Swim your own race.