by Derek Jeter
Derek wanted to scream. He wanted to take an eraser and wipe this day clean so that he could start it all over and make it turn out differently.
But he couldn’t do any of that. There was his dad, right over there. There was Chase. There were his friends. There were all these other kids who were going to be his teammates.
Derek knew he would have to accept this unacceptable, horrible mistake. But how in the world were he and the Indians supposed to even contend for a championship with Gary Parnell on the team?
Chapter Two
NIGHTMARE
“Okay, team, let’s get going!” Mr. Jeter said, clapping his hands three times. “Don’t worry about the uniforms. Just leave them here on the bench until after practice. You can save them for game action. But everyone wears a hat from here on out, practices included. We want to be able to tell the good guys from the bad guys.”
He was joking, Derek knew. Some of the kids laughed a little, but most just listened. They didn’t know Derek’s dad the way he did. Mr. Jeter could be as funny as they come, but underneath he was always serious, and so was Derek.
That was why it made Derek furious that while his dad was addressing the team, Gary kept clowning around.
Hidden by the backs of two players who were standing in front of him, Gary was amusing two other boys by trying—and failing—to balance the bill of his cap on his nose. The two other boys stifled their giggles so the coaches wouldn’t hear, but Derek wanted to go over there and make them pay better attention.
“First things first. Coach Bradway?”
Chase stepped forward. “Okay. Everybody up on your feet. Three times around the bases, double time. Let’s go, go, go!”
Vijay, Dave, Derek, and a couple of other boys led the way. Derek nearly came up on Vijay’s heels by the time they reached second base, so Derek had to slow down a little. The team members settled into a moderate pace—too slow for Derek’s taste, but hey, they were only getting warmed up.
He was barely winded after three times around the bases. Standing there, he could see how the rest of them were progressing. There were three or four other kids who seemed to have some speed. But there were four or five others who were distinctly as slow as molasses. And Gary, of course, was bringing up the rear, and by a wide margin. He shuffled around the bases as if he were towing a heavy load of lumber, moaning and groaning dramatically as he went.
When he finally crossed home plate for the third time, he sat down right there in the dirt. “Ow! I’ve got a pebble in my shoe!” he said, grimacing in terrible pain. “Can I go sit on the bench and get it out?”
Chase frowned but nodded, and Gary limped over there and sat down with a great sigh.
“You boys need to work yourselves into game shape,” Mr. Jeter told them. “Ten push-ups, everybody. Drop and go!”
Derek did his push-ups, eyeing Gary’s smirking face as he did so. Okay, Gary had gotten away with not doing push-ups. But how long could he keep fooling Derek’s dad and Chase? Not long, Derek thought. Sooner or later they’d surely catch on to Gary’s act and put a stop to it.
“Okay. I’m going to call some names out, and those I call will be in the field first. The rest will hit first, with Coach Bradway. Then we’ll switch it up.”
Derek’s name wasn’t called, although Vijay’s and Dave’s were. Vijay jogged out to the outfield, where he had always played in previous seasons, and Dave went to his preferred position, third base. Derek joined the other kids whose names hadn’t been called as they gathered around Chase.
“I’m going to pitch to you one at a time,” said Chase. “Ten swings each, and you don’t have to swing at it if it’s not close. It’s never too soon to get a good sense of the strike zone.”
There were only four batting helmets, and six kids, so Derek decided to wait and watch the others hit first. Glancing to his left, he saw that Gary Parnell was still sitting on the bench. His left shoe was off, and he seemed to be examining the bottom of his sock with great interest.
“Didn’t my dad call your name?” Derek asked him.
“I don’t know,” Gary said. “I wasn’t listening.”
“What is that, a boulder you’ve got in there?” Derek asked, sitting down next to him.
Gary laughed. “I didn’t have a rock in my shoe, you dummy. I just needed a break.”
“A break?” Derek repeated. “Are you kidding? We’ve barely gotten started!”
“Yeah, well, I’m done. These stupid shoes are killing me. What are these ridiculous things on the bottoms, anyway?”
“Those are cleats,” Derek explained. “But don’t play dumb with me. You know that already.”
“Who, me?” Gary said, grinning.
“Listen, even if you don’t care, you should have some respect for the rest of us who do.”
Gary snorted. “Why? Just because you’re all crazy doesn’t mean I have to feed your delusions.”
Derek couldn’t think of a comeback for that one, but he decided it wasn’t worth wasting any more time on Gary. Anyway, it was Derek’s turn to hit.
The kid ahead of him had hit some nice line drives, Derek noted. A big, strong kid who looked in decent shape. “Nice hitting,” Derek told him as he took the kid’s place at the plate. “I’m Derek.”
“Paul Edwards,” the boy replied, shaking hands. “You’re Coach’s son?”
“Yup. That’s my dad out there with the fielders.”
“Nice. Seems like a cool couple of coaches. Too bad about that jerk on the bench.” He nodded toward Gary.
“Oh him,” Derek said, managing a smile. “Well, what are you gonna do?”
He stepped up to the plate and proceeded to mash a succession of pitches to every area of the field.
When he was done, he heard applause from the bench. “Very good!” Gary said. “You’ve succeeded in life. That and a dollar will get you bus fare. Congratulations.”
Derek bit down hard on his lip and on his impulse to make Gary cut it out once and for all.
Instead Derek tried to concentrate on silver linings. For the rest of the practice, as he went full tilt the way he always did, he looked around at the rest of the Indians, searching for signs of hope and promise.
He found a few, although over all, the team looked like it needed a lot of work—the kind of work his dad and Chase would be good at making them do, luckily.
On the plus side there was Paul Edwards’s hitting, Jonathan Hogue’s arm, Mason Adams’s and Dean O’Leary’s speed, Tito Ortega’s power potential. And of course there were Dave and Vijay, who had already been to the batting cages with Derek and his dad more than once, and whose hitting showed the benefits.
All in all, not the worst team Derek had ever been on, at least in terms of potential. But the Indians certainly had a long, long way to go.
Worst of all, they had an instant and huge attitude problem with Gary. As practice went on, Gary continued to loaf, goof off, and make cracks, which two other players, Eddie and Jonah, seemed to find endlessly funny. Chase and Mr. Jeter were continually having to call the team to attention.
Now Gary was getting laughs by trying—and failing repeatedly—to tie the extra long laces on his cleats, which were brand-new and had obviously never been worn before today. Eddie and Jonah seemed to find all this hilarious, to the point of imitating Gary’s antics themselves.
Finally Derek lost it and whispered for them to cut it out.
“Derek!” his dad called out sternly. “I don’t need you competing with me for everyone’s attention. Snap to it and pay attention. This is important.”
Derek could feel his face turn red as Gary softly sniggered and a few other team members giggled at Derek’s discomfort.
Derek sat there, steaming. It was Gary’s fault that Derek had gotten distracted! Why couldn’t his dad see that? Why was he blaming Derek and not Gary?
It was all so unfair!
On the other side Paul, Miles, Tito, and a few others, sharing Derek’s frustration
, were busy cracking jokes and making negative comments about Gary.
The net result was that there was a lot of talking and fooling around while the coaches were trying to run practice. Chase and Mr. Jeter were constantly having to command the boys’ attention—repeating themselves and wasting valuable time that could have been spent improving the team’s baseball skills.
As Derek watched the Indians’ precious practice time tick away, his frustration mounted to an almost unbearable level. He began to fantasize ways his dad could get Gary off the team, but those fantasies only served to take his own attention away from baseball!
Derek desperately wanted to talk to his dad, to tell him about Gary and make his dad crack down before Gary wrecked everything. But there was no opportunity. Mr. Jeter was totally busy the whole time, working with each and every kid on the team—including Gary—trying to correct this or that aspect of their game.
In the car on the way home, Vijay, enthusiastic as usual, did a lot of talking about how they were going to win this year. “Paul is going to hit a hundred home runs! He’s so big and strong! And Tito, too! We’re going to score so many runs!”
Never mind that Tito swung with his eyes closed, or that Paul’s swing was wild and all arms. But that was okay. His dad could fix those kinds of things over time.
It was the other stuff that really bothered Derek, but this was obviously not the time to mention it. He would have to wait until later—maybe at dinner, after he and his dad had both had a chance to reflect on the day and the team’s first practice.
• • •
“My team is going to win the championship!” Derek’s little sister, Sharlee, was practically bouncing up and down in her chair, she was so excited. “Me and Ciara are the best players in the whole league!”
“Ciara and I,” Mrs. Jeter corrected her.
“Whatever.”
“No, not ‘whatever,’ Sharlee,” said Mr. Jeter. “It’s important to use good grammar.”
“What’s grammar?” Sharlee asked.
She was only in first grade, so her confusion was understandable, thought Derek. Anyway, she was so sweet and cute that he couldn’t help smiling at her antics. Sharlee was a good athlete, too—exceptional for her age—and so was her new best friend at school, Ciara.
“Ciara says I’m as good a hitter as Babe Ruth!” Sharlee said, in a way that showed she believed it.
“Well, you may have one or two things to learn yet,” Mrs. Jeter said, giving Derek a secret wink.
“Daddy,” Sharlee said, “how come you’re coaching Derek and not me?”
“Now, Sharlee, we talked about this, remember?” Mr. Jeter said. “You’ll get your turn. I promised I would coach you sometime, and I will. You’ll just have to be patient. I am not able to coach both teams at once.”
“Why not?”
“That’s enough now, honey,” Mrs. Jeter said. “We’ve already talked about this a number of times.”
They had too. All year both Derek and Sharlee had been begging their dad to coach them. But Mr. Jeter had a new job now, and it took up a lot of his time and energy. Their mom worked full-time too. Otherwise she could have coached Sharlee’s team.
“Mom, can I stay overnight at Ciara’s?” Sharlee asked, suddenly changing the subject.
“Jeter?” Mrs. Jeter asked her husband.
“I don’t know,” he said, cocking his head to one side. “You’re a little young for overnights, Sharlee.”
“I’m not young! I’m seven—well, almost.”
Derek had to stop himself from laughing, especially with a mouthful of mac and cheese. Sharlee said the darnedest things sometimes.
“I think it would be all right,” Mrs. Jeter assured her husband. “Ciara’s a terrific kid. And weren’t her parents such nice, friendly folks?”
“Yes, they were,” Mr. Jeter agreed. “Well, if you think so—”
“Yay!” Sharlee said, clapping. “Happyhappyhappy!”
They all laughed, but it got Derek thinking. He and Dave had been talking about an overnight themselves, and for quite a while. But since Dave’s parents were always traveling, Mr. and Mrs. Jeter hadn’t met them yet. And as much as the Jeters liked Chase, he was only Dave’s caretaker and driver, not a parent—and that meant no overnights, at least until Dave’s parents met Derek’s, and met with the Jeters’ approval.
Derek thought again about today’s practice, and how upset he still felt that Gary was on his team. He couldn’t picture an entire season of Gary tormenting him with his snide, negative comments and stupid attempts at humor.
“Derek?” his mom asked. “Everything okay? You’re so quiet all of a sudden.”
“I’m fine,” he said, not wanting to spoil everybody’s good mood.
“You sure?” she asked.
“Uh-huh,” he grunted, digging into another mouthful of mac and cheese.
“All right, then,” she said.
“Can we call Ciara’s mom now and tell her I’m sleeping over?” Sharlee asked eagerly.
Mrs. Jeter laughed. “You’re not sleeping over tonight, honey. But I’ll tell you what. If you help me with the dishes, I’ll call her when we’re done.”
“Why doesn’t Derek have to help?”
“He’s going to, when he’s done eating,” their mom answered. “Right, Derek? You do the drying?”
“Mmph,” Derek mumbled, nodding, his mouth still full.
“There. See?” Mrs. Jeter said. “Around this house everybody pitches in. Come on, big girl. You can tell me all about your home runs.”
They went into the kitchen, leaving Derek and his dad alone at the table. After a moment Mr. Jeter said, “All right. What’s going on in that mind of yours, Derek? I can smell the wood burning.”
Derek swallowed his food, sighed, and said, “Dad, why does Gary have to be on our team?”
Mr. Jeter opened his eyes wide. “Did I just hear you right? Are you asking me to kick somebody off the team?”
Derek sighed again. “Dad, he—”
“Derek, it’s no crime to be weak at sports. You know very well that rosters are drawn up by the league. I couldn’t change that even if I wanted to, and I don’t want to.”
“It’s not that he stinks at baseball,” Derek said. “It’s—”
“Yes? Come on, let’s hear it.”
“He’s . . . he’s always annoying people!”
“Annoying you, you mean.”
“And a lot of other kids! Didn’t you see how he—”
“I’m going to stop you right there, old man,” said Mr. Jeter. “You asked me to coach your team, and that’s what I’m going to do. Every kid on my team is just as important and valuable to me as any other, and that includes you. If there’s a problem on the team, you just let Chase and me handle it. Derek, you need to focus on what you can control, instead of worrying about things you can’t. If you don’t like the situation, figure out what you can do to improve it.”
“But, Dad—”
“No buts. You just work hard at your own game and be the best teammate you can be. Chase and I will take care of the rest. Now go help your mom and Sharlee with the dishes.” So saying, Mr. Jeter got up from the table and left the room.
Derek stifled the urge to complain some more—it was no use anyway, he knew—and got up from the table. As he did, his dad poked his head back into the room.
“By the way, Derek, have you read through your contract lately?”
“I guess it’s been a while. . . . Why?”
“Because it says in there, as I recall, that you promise to be a good teammate and show respect for your coaches. Check it out—and think about it.”
• • •
Derek helped with the dishes, only half-listening as his mom and sister happily chatted about T-ball and overnights, first grade and kiddie birthday parties. But inside he was feeling deeply troubled. His dad had just given him a first-class talking-to, and Derek still felt stung.
His mom noticed, he cou
ld tell. But she was sensitive enough not to bring it up with him while Sharlee was there.
Later that evening, though, when he was in bed with the lights out, his mom knocked on his bedroom door. “Come in,” he said.
She sat down on the edge of his bed and said, “Come on, old man. Let’s have it. What’s getting you down? I haven’t seen you this upset in a long time.”
Derek sat up and said, “Mom, Dad won’t listen! Our team is going to stink this year, and Dad won’t even try to fix it. Everything is ruined!”
She leaned forward and hugged him. “Oh, now, Derek, you don’t mean that. How can you be so sure, anyway? Today was only the first practice. You’ve got the whole season ahead of you.”
“I know!” he said. “That’s what’s so terrible. I had all these dreams of a perfect season with Dad as my coach, and now he won’t even listen to me. He says I should just look to my own game and let him take care of the team.”
“And he’s right,” Mrs. Jeter said. “That’s his job.”
“But he doesn’t realize! And by the time he does, it’ll be too late.”
“Hey, don’t bury the team before you’ve even played one game,” she told him.
“You don’t understand, Mom. There’s this kid on the team—”
“Derek, it’s a team sport. One member can’t sink the whole season all by himself.”
“You don’t know Gary,” he said miserably.
“Gary? Isn’t he your friend from school?”
“Friend? More like worst enemy.”
“Derek, stop it now. You’re too young to have enemies. And that’s no way to look at things.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Ah, I remember now. He’s the boy who’s always getting the best grades in class, right?”
“Uh-huh. And he’s always shoving it in my face too.”
“Well, nobody’s perfect. But if you’re going to be on the same team—”
“You don’t understand, Mom,” Derek insisted. “Gary’s going to wreck everything. He hates sports, and he hates me!”
“I’m sure you’re exaggerating, Derek.”