The Winning Stroke (9 page)

That was exactly what he did. Lap by lap he stretched himself further and further. Stroke after stroke, his powerful arms
never let up. Both legs kept up a steady kick, helping to propel him faster
and faster through the water. His whole body responded in perfect sequence at the turns, and his lungs seemed to expand more
and more to contain the deeper and deeper breaths he had to take on the way to the finish.

And then it was over. He could hear the shouts from the stands as the Ridgeway and Bolton fans broke out into loud cheers.

Before the public address system could make the announcement, Jerry knew that something special had happened. Paul and Kevin
had come rushing over to him while he was still in the water, and Coach Fulton was approaching with a smile that went from
ear to ear. The whole Bolton team was jumping up and down at the bench.

Finally, the sound of the announcer's voice broke through the rest of the noise, and he could hear:

“
The winner of the boys two-hundred-yard freestyle is Jerry Grayson
—”

He had won! He had come in first!

Jerry managed to work his way over to the Bolton bench, where everyone couldn't wait to lay high fives or tens on him, hug
him, or just shout congratulations in his ear.

But the meet wasn't over. As Jerry sat down to watch the rest of the events, he glowed with an inner pride. He had proved
that he could compete in this new, exciting sport—and that he had what it took to win.

Still, he knew that he hadn't completely conquered swimming.

There was another thought hidden way, way in the back of his mind. It was definitely something he didn't want to discuss with
Tony or Tanya or anyone else on the team. And not even Coach Fulton, yet.

Secretly, he wanted to compete in the five-hundred-yard freestyle. The way Jerry looked at it, that was the big test. It was
the longest distance, and it took the strongest swimmers to even enter the event.

Sure, Coach Fulton had said he had a good crawl—but it probably wasn't ready for the big time yet. He would simply have to
keep at it.

“How many laps is that?” Tanya asked one morning as she stepped into the pool. He had just finished his longest distance so
far—fifteen laps back and forth. That was the same as 375 yards.

“Oh, who knows?” he replied. “I don't bother counting sometimes.” It was just a little fib, he thought. No real harm done.

“You should get into the habit,” she said. Without another word, she plunged forward and began to do the butterfly down the
lane at the opposite side of the pool.

By the end of the week, he was able to go the full distance for the five hundred. And a few sessions later, he started feeling
pretty good about it. Still, with so little experience, he could hardly broach the subject to Coach Fulton.

“Are you practicing your backstroke on your own?” asked the coach one day.

“Every day I do at least a few laps,” answered Jerry.

“Good,” said Coach Fulton. “What about the others? Breaststroke? Butterfly?”

“I, uh, I do them in regular team practice,” said Jerry.

“All right,” said the coach, nodding. “Just want to make sure you're getting an all-around education here.”

“What about my crawl, you know, for the freestyle?”
asked Jerry. “Aren't you going to ask me about that?”

“Don't worry,” said the coach. “I've been keeping my eye on your crawl. I can tell that you're getting enough practice there.”

“I … I, uh, I had a question,” said Jerry. “I was wondering if, maybe, I could try out for the five hundred.”

“The five hundred?” asked the coach. “That's a big step. I don't know if you're ready for that yet, Jerry.”

“I've been practicing on my own, Coach,” Jerry said. “I really think I can help out the team in that event.”

“Let me think about it,” said the coach. “And I'll put you into a practice race, just to see how you do. We'll take it from
there.”

“Uh, Mom,” said Jerry, tying up the stack of newspapers in front of him, “would you mind if I was a little late for dinner
tonight? I want to put in some extra time at the Y this afternoon, and the only time the pool's available is just before dinner.”

“Jerry, I'm starting to look for fins,” said Mrs.
Grayson. “You spend so much time in the water, you're beginning to turn into a fish, I think!”

“Is that a yes?” Jerry asked.

“Well, it isn't exactly a no,” she said. “But one half hour—and not a minute more.”

“By the way, what are we having for dinner?” he asked.

“Fishcakes,” she said, with a smile.

“Okay, have the following six boys line up for the five hundred freestyle,” said Coach Fulton one afternoon. He called out
the names, one by one, until he came to the final spot.

“Jerry Grayson.”

Several heads turned in his direction. Tanya glanced over at Tony as if to ask, “Did you know Jerry was up for the five hundred?”

Tony just shook his head.

Just as the six swimmers got into position for the start of the race, a loud wailing siren was heard over the speaker system.

“Oh, no,” groaned Tanya. “A fire drill!”

“What if it's a real fire?” asked a girl sitting next to her.

“We could all jump into the pool!” suggested another girl.

Coach Fulton blew his whistle and shouted, “Let's all leave the way we've practiced!”

They filed out in an orderly way through the locker room, grabbing their gym bags on the way. As soon as they got outside
the building, they threw on shoes, jackets, pants, or whatever minimum clothing they needed.

The drill took about twenty minutes—long enough to put an end to swimming practice for that day.

“There's no time to post the final roster,” Coach Fulton said. “So I'll just announce any changes to the usual lineup on Saturday.
See you then.”

With the next meet scheduled for the day after tomorrow, Jerry was left hanging.

Will I get another shot at the five hundred? he wondered. Or was that my only chance?

10

“You won't forget,” said Jerry. He swallowed the last mouthful of the milk in his glass. “You're all coming to the meet. I'll
see you afterward?”

“We won't,” said his father. “Don't worry, we'll all be there. Right, kids?”

“Right,” said David.

“Yup,” said Lucie.

“And you, too, Mom, right?”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Grayson. She handed him his gym bag. “Now just try to relax. This isn't your first race, you know.”

He nodded. But inside his stomach, there were flip-flops all over the place. It wasn't his first race, but it was the first
one his whole family would attend.

Gulp! What if he made a fool of himself?

On the other hand, he thought, it wasn't as if he hadn't ever been under pressure before. What about the Little League playoffs,
when he made the final out by leaping half a mile into the air for that incredible catch? That was pressure.

Face it, he said to himself, I'm an athlete. Athletes live with pressure. So what's another couple of races?

And then he thought about the five hundred. Would Coach Fulton put him in instead of one of his regulars?

The flip-flops started all over.

On the bus to the meet, the coach called for quiet.

“Let's hold it down,” he said. “I have a few announcements.”

He ran through the listing of all the swimmers in the various events. Jerry had been pulled from the one-hundred-yard freestyle
and the two-hundred-yard freestyle.

Did this mean he wasn't going to swim at all? Wasn't he a member of the team?

The coach continued to go over the rest of the events until he came to the five-hundred-yard boys freestyle.

Again, the sixth name on the list was Jerry's!

That was it—all or nothing. The coach was letting him swim the one big race that he had asked for.

Okay, thought Jerry. I'll show him. I'll show everyone I have what it takes.

Then he remembered that his whole family would be sitting in the stands. What would they think? Would they understand why
he wasn't in the other events? Would they realize that he was being saved for the one big race?

Yeah, that's it—he was the coach's secret weapon. Coach Fulton was counting on him. He wouldn't let him down.

But as the whole team stood for the playing of the “Star Spangled Banner,” Jerry felt those flip-flops return to his stomach.

Tony must have noticed that he was ghost white. The curly-haired swimmer moved over next to him on the bench and said, “Deep
breaths, real slow.”

“What?” asked Jerry.

“Lower your head a little, and take just a few deep breaths,” said Tony. “It helps me when I do that. You know, get rid of
that funny feeling in my stomach.”

Jerry didn't say a word. He just dropped his head and started breathing deeply.

“
Our next event will be the boys one-hundred-yard freestyle
,” said the announcer over the loudspeaker.

That's the one I could have been in, thought Jerry. But Tony's in it. I'll root for him.

“Come on, Tony!” he shouted during the final lap when the top two swimmers were coming down to the finish. It was so close,
he couldn't tell from where he sat. But the judges soon made the announcement. The winner was Tony Kendrix!

Jerry was really glad for him. At the same time, his competitive juices were stirred. He hoped he would do as well in the
big five-oh-oh.

Tanya was entered in the girls one-hundred-yard butterfly. She'd been working very hard on this stroke for the last few weeks
and it had paid off in a big way. There was no wait for a call from the judges. Everyone could tell she had won. A loud cheer
rose from the stands as she raised her fist in the victory sign.

There was only one more event before the five
hundred. This was the two-hundred-yard boys backstroke. Both Lars and Wayne would swim for the Blues in this one. They were
both such favorites, it might as well be a two-man race.

BANG!

They were off!

During the first two laps, they were just about even, stroke for stroke, with only one swimmer from the other team giving
them any competition. Swimming in lane three, right between Lars in lane two and Wayne in lane four, was Paddy O'Malley.

Paddy kept up a close second place all the way, even though he probably knew that he'd end up in third. Still, he never quit
trying.

As they came down to the wire in the eighth and final lap, it was still a duel between Lars and Wayne for first.

And then, Wayne seemed to stop cold in the middle of the pool. His body twisted and he splashed around, treading water as
all the others passed him by. Then he made his way to the edge of the pool, where Coach Fulton and a few of the guys helped
him crawl out.

“Cramp,” explained Tony. “Poor guy.”

“Is that what happened?” asked Jerry.

“Yeah, some guys get 'em all the time,” said Tony. “Some only once in a while. Some never. I've been lucky.” He made it clear
he didn't want to discuss it any more by turning away and staring at the scoreboard.

Lars had won easily, and Paddy O'Malley was the proud possessor of second place.

A flash of concern for Wayne ran through Jerry's mind until he saw him walking about normally. Wayne would be in a lot more
races and take a few first places from Lars, Jerry expected.

“
The next event will be the boys five-hundred-yard freestyle
,” said the announcer. “
Swimming in lane one for the Clapham Clippers will be Fred ‘Flash’ Gordon; in lane three, Danny Chang; and in lane five, Silvio
Reppuci. For the Blues, in lane two, Albie ‘Ace’ Willoughby; in lane four, Paul Prescott; and in lane six, Jerry Grayson.
Swimmers, please take your places
.”

Jerry felt as if he had lead weights attached to the bottom of his feet as he walked over to the starting block for lane six.
He hardly noticed that it was right next to the stands where his family had found seats.
But as he put his first foot onto the block, he heard his little sister, Lucie, shout out, “Come on, Jerry! Let's see you
win!”

The little pipsqueak of a voice cutting through all the noise of the crowd must have tickled a few ribs. A whole section of
the crowd started laughing.

I hope they're not laughing at me, thought Jerry. He patted his stomach to settle those flip-flops that had started up again.
I
really
hope they won't be laughing at me after the race!

He knew that Paul Prescott was the big favorite. He'd been swimming the five hundred all year. But Ace Willoughby had only
started swimming the five hundred after winning the last three of his two hundreds. This was his third five hundred.

Jerry hadn't been swimming long enough to be able to size up the competition on the other side. The Clapham Clippers were
a bunch of unknowns to him.

What difference did it make? he asked himself as he stood there waiting for the starting signal. Do your best, that's the
most important thing. By this time, practice should have been enough to make that second nature. All he had to do was hit
that water clean and start swimming his natural crawl as
soon as possible. That's what had gotten him here in the first place, after all.