by Derek Jeter
“You must be really steamed at my mom, huh?” Gary said, trying anything that might waste more of their precious half hour, without him having to actually swing a bat.
“Not at all,” said Derek’s dad. “In fact I admire her. She’s a smart lady who’s being the best mom she knows how to be.”
That caught Gary off guard. “Oh,” he said. “Look, let’s be honest. There’s no point in this fruitless exercise. I’m just too uncoordinated to hit a baseball. And that’s a proven fact.”
“Not at all,” Derek’s dad said again. “You’ve got power potential, and if you’ll just step a little closer to the plate, I’ll prove it.”
Gary was out of excuses. Derek’s dad had outmaneuvered him at his own game, and Gary was forced to stand in the box and take some swings.
Mr. Jeter showed him how to be ready on time and hit the ball hard. He taught Gary to keep his bat level through the hitting zone and stay balanced through the swing.
It was more or less the same way he’d taught Derek how to hit over the years, except compressed into about twenty minutes’ time.
Step by step Mr. Jeter worked with Gary, as patient as a stone, ignoring sighs and protests, gently nudging him into the right stance, with the right grip, and helping him swing with his body parts working together instead of at odds.
By the end of their half hour, Gary was hitting line drives on pitches that weren’t much slower than the ones he’d be facing the next day.
Derek had to smile, shaking his head. It was absolutely amazing that in such a short time Gary looked like a completely different hitter—one who could actually, conceivably, possibly help the team win!
“Well, I have to admit, your dad’s pretty smart,” said Gary as they were putting the bats back into the racks before leaving. Mr. Jeter was up front again, talking with the owner about one of the machines that was malfunctioning.
Derek laughed. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”
His dad was an amazing coach, in addition to being an amazing dad. Look at how hard he’d worked with every kid on the team, making them better, never giving up on them.
“No wonder you’re not half-bad in science and math,” Gary said. “But you could still get better. Look at me and hitting.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“Now, if you were really, really smart, you’d come with me to math camp anyway. Just for fun!”
Derek couldn’t believe his ears. “Fun?”
“You’d be surprised. It’s a total blast.”
“Seriously?”
“Hey, if I can be surprised about hitting, you can be surprised about math.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think so,” Derek said, smiling.
“Double or nothing next test?”
“It’s tempting . . . but no. I like math fine, but math camp might be a step too far for me. Anyway, thanks for showing up today. I hope you’re glad you came.”
“I actually am, amazingly. Although, I have my doubts about whether it will translate into competition. Sports have a way of stressing me out, you know? Especially baseball. It’s so lame.”
Derek shook his head. Gary was a hard case, no doubt about it.
Still, Derek had to agree with Gary about his success in the batting cage. Anyone but a fool would have doubts about whether it would translate into better hitting in actual games.
Chapter Ten
WELCOME TO THE CELLAR
“That’s it—just like that. Now do it again, three more times.”
Derek flipped the ball back to Dave, who gripped it deep in his palm, using three fingers to hold it instead of two.
“Nasty!” Derek said as Dave’s newly honed changeup floated into his mitt. “And you’re getting it over more often too. Now back to the fastball.”
Dave gripped the ball with just two fingers and his thumb, holding the ball mostly with his fingertips, and let fly.
Pop! “Ow!” Derek said, shaking his glove hand. “That hurt!”
Dave flashed a smile, and Derek felt good that he’d raised his friend’s spirits, as well as his game. “Keep it up, and you’re going to be our staff ace before you know it.”
Derek felt pleased with himself. He was doing what he could to make his team and its players better—with Gary, and now with Dave.
“Thanks, Derek,” said Dave as they wrapped up their practice session on the Hill. “And thanks for working with me. It really made a difference, even if I don’t get to pitch again.”
“You will. Don’t worry,” said Derek. “I’m going to tell my dad how well you’re doing.”
“Cool!”
Derek wished he hadn’t said that. It made Dave feel better, but Derek wasn’t at all sure his dad would be receptive to suggestions about where to put his players.
Up till now Derek’s pleas had not been successful. But the team was 0–2 and about to face the Twins, who were 2–0. If the Indians didn’t turn their fortunes around soon, it would be too late to save their season, no matter who played where.
• • •
Derek stood at shortstop, pounding his glove as he waited for the bottom of the first to start. It was a relief to be out here, even though he’d struck out in the top of the first with a man on base.
He knew what he’d done wrong. He’d let his concentration wander, thinking too much about hitting a home run and getting the Indians on the board, instead of just seeing the pitch and putting good wood on it. He would not make that same mistake next time up, he promised himself.
For now, though, the main thing was to keep his focus on each and every pitch and to do his job at shortstop, so that his dad had no reason to reconsider Derek’s fielding position.
Dave was at third, looking longingly at the mound, where Jonathan was ready to pitch instead of him. Dave gave Derek a glance, and Derek nodded back, as if to say, Never mind. Let’s just win one. Then we’ll think about the rest.
Jonathan’s first pitch got clobbered, but Vijay played it well and threw it back in to keep it to a single. On the next pitch, though, the runner took off, trying to steal second. Paul, who was catching, fired a strike to Derek, who was covering the base, and Derek tagged the runner just in time!
Derek raised his glove to show the ump he still had the ball, but somehow the ump called the runner safe!
Derek moaned and threw his hands into the air—but quickly recovered his senses, knowing it was disrespectful to protest the umpires’ calls too much. Disrespect was not acceptable at all, and it even said so in his contract.
So now the Twins had a runner on second. Two ground balls followed, one to Derek and one to Tito at first. The runner advanced to third on the first out, and scored on the second, to give the Twins the lead.
The cleanup hitter was next. He hit a long fly ball to right, where Gary was playing. Gary had it lined up perfectly but still managed to miss the ball, after losing it in the sun—or just plain ducking, trying not to get hurt.
Whichever, it resulted in the ball’s dropping. The next hitter scored two on an inside-the-park home run to make it 3–0, Twins.
Things started looking up after that. The Indians got out of the inning without any further trouble, and got a run in the top of the second when Gary, of all people, hit a sharp single to right to score Vijay, who’d doubled in front of him.
Derek couldn’t help feeling hopeful. Gary’s hit had been no accident, he knew, but rather had been the result of his time in the cages with Derek’s dad. His swing looked miles better than before, and Derek only wished he’d suggested to Gary that they spend some time on fielding practice too. Not that Gary would have agreed to it, of course. But still . . .
Jonathan got through the second and third innings okay. Then the Indians came back to tie the game, with Derek turning a single into a triple when the outfielder bobbled the ball and then threw wide to second, and scoring on the next pitch when Dave hit a long, screaming line drive of a home run. Gary had another single that inning
but was stranded on base when Mason struck out to end the inning.
It was in the fourth inning that things fell apart for the Indians. Jonathan seemed to tire, or maybe he just lost his rhythm. Either way, he couldn’t find the strike zone. He walked four out of five hitters, letting in two runs, and Derek’s dad had to replace him.
Derek thought for a second he was going to motion for Dave to take over. But Mr. Jeter called on Paul instead, inserting Miles at catcher and sitting Jonathan down.
Paul had a good arm, but he had never pitched in a game, and had only thrown off a mound in practice a few times. Clearly Mr. Jeter, having tried everyone else he could think of, was just looking to catch lightning in a bottle. But Paul’s inexperience showed when he gave up a bases-clearing double to his first hitter, before getting it together and registering three straight outs.
At 8–3 the game was no longer close. Derek hit a two-run homer in the sixth, but 8–5 was as close as they came. The game ended with the bases loaded and Tito striking out on a pitch over his head.
Derek felt like he’d been crushed. The team had done better than in their first two games, but what good was better if it only added up to another loss?
The Indians were 0–3 now, and only a miracle could save them from ending up a losing team.
Derek knew how hard his dad and Chase had worked to make the team better. But he couldn’t help wondering when all of that work would start showing up in the form of victories.
• • •
Mr. Jeter and Chase tried their best to pick the team up afterward, but it was a downcast group of Indians who straggled away from the field, losers again in spite of everything.
Even Vijay seemed unusually down. “Well, we did score five runs,” he offered. “That makes three games in a row where we’ve scored at least that many.”
Derek gave him a doubtful look. “Doesn’t matter how many you score if the other team scores more,” he said.
His dad gave him a glance in the rearview mirror. “Vij is right, Derek,” he said. “The team’s been hitting pretty well—better each game, in fact. And everybody’s attitude is better too. At least it was until we lost today. So there’s a lot to build on. We just have to find us someone who can pitch.”
He gave Derek another look in the mirror. “I was thinking you might start practicing pitching for the next game—”
“Dad,” Derek protested. “You know I don’t want to pitch! I want to play short!”
“And you did very well today, I thought,” said his dad. “Don’t worry. I’m going to keep you out there, at least for part of the game. But I need to find pitchers.”
“Don’t look at me!” Vijay said. “I tried it already once, and it was a disaster.”
“You weren’t too bad,” Mr. Jeter assured him. “But there’s got to be somebody we can count on to hold the other team down while we build a lead. Someone who can start the games and stay in there until we’re ahead by a few.” Another glance at Derek. “Then I can bring you in to close the games.”
Derek had never thought of himself as a closer, or even as a pitcher. But he was willing to do anything at this point to help the team win. And he had the perfect solution to the problem too, if only his dad would listen!
“Dad?” he said after they’d dropped Vijay off. “I think you should give Dave another shot at pitching.”
“Dave?” Mr. Jeter repeated. “He’s already had two shots, and they didn’t work out very well, I’m afraid. You know how much I like Dave, Derek, but—”
“But he’s much better!” Derek broke in. “You should see. Just try him in the next game! I’ve been—”
Mr. Jeter cut him off. “Derek, I think we’ve had this conversation before. You let me be the coach, and just keep working on your own game. You were good out there today, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be better. Take care of your own business, and let me and Chase take care of ours. How about helping Gary with his fielding, if you want to make things better?”
Now he’d gone and annoyed his dad again, Derek realized. But he also knew that Dave, with his new changeup and better accuracy, could be the answer to the team’s pitching woes.
He knew his dad was right about letting the coaches coach, but he was desperate to show his father how much better Dave had gotten with his help.
The problem was, how was he ever going to get his dad to notice?
Chapter Eleven
STUCK TOGETHER
“Class, come to order,” said Ms. Fein, clapping her hands to get her students’ attention. When they’d calmed down, she said, “I’m going to assign a final work project in math for the year. You’ll have two weeks to turn it in, and it will count for twenty percent of your grade. I want five pages of explanation, along with charts, illustrations, whatever you can come up with to help us understand your thesis. It should have to do with any topic we’ve dealt with this year in school. That would include fractions, percentages, long division, etc. I leave the rest up to you. Be creative.”
Groans went up from several kids in class who obviously preferred multiple-choice tests to creative math projects. And no wonder, thought Derek. Projects were a whole lot more work. That was obviously why it was going to count for so much of their grade.
Derek liked math. It was pretty much his favorite subject, because he was naturally good at it. But he liked it a whole lot less after Ms. Fein added, “I’m going to assign you each a partner for this project. Let’s start with Vijay. You and Christine pair up. Dave, you and Teresa. Josh, you and Monica. Derek, you and . . . Gary.”
Yeesh. Stuck with him again! Derek thought, wincing. Looking over at Gary, he saw that his new partner was just as unhappy.
“I will expect a proposed topic from each team by tomorrow,” their teacher concluded. “You can start discussing it right now, since we have only five more minutes in the period. But softly!” she added when the class burst into an instant uproar. “This is math class, not the debate team!”
Gary turned to Derek, who occupied the desk right next to him, which was probably why the teacher had paired them up. “I have a great idea.”
“Oh, goodie,” said Derek without enthusiasm.
“Get this. We develop an algorithm to predict chess moves!”
“A what?”
“An algo— Oh, never mind. If you don’t even know what one is, you sure aren’t going to be any help coming up with one. Okay, Mr. Know-It-All, let’s hear your great ideas.”
“Um . . .” Derek thought for a moment. “I’ve got one! How about we do a project on baseball statistics!”
Gary rolled his eyes and pretended to choke himself. “That,” he finally said, “is the worst idea I have ever heard in my entire life. Talk about two weeks of torture!”
“How can you say that?” Derek asked. “Sports has so much math in it—especially baseball!”
“Yeah, right,” Gary said, and snorted.
“I’m telling you, it’s even more mathified than chess.”
“No way.”
“Yes way!” Derek insisted. “Check this out. There’s batting averages, slugging percentages, ERAs, OBPs, games behind—and that’s just for starters!”
Gary’s eyes widened as Derek laid out what his mom, the accountant, had shown him a couple of years earlier, when he and his parents had been putting together his contract. His mom and dad had been trying to show him why school was important, even if you wanted to become a professional ballplayer.
“You know,” said Gary when Derek had finished, “I hate to admit this, but for once in your life, you’ve actually got a point. Baseball’s got a lot more math in it than I gave it credit for—almost enough for me to have a teensy-weensy bit of respect for it. Too bad it’s such a dumb game otherwise. But at least now it won’t be a complete waste of my time.”
“You mean you’ll do it?” Derek asked.
“Mmmm. . . . Okay, why not?” said Gary with a shrug. “We’ll have to spend a lot of time working out eve
ryone’s average on our team, of course. And there’ll have to be charts, spreadsheets . . .”
“I can do that part,” said Derek excitedly. “You can look up the averages of the major-league Indians and see how the two match up!”
“Sounds like a plan,” Gary said. “And what’s our thesis?”
Derek grinned. “That’s easy—that we’re better than they are, at least for our age!”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Gary said, surprised. “We stink. We haven’t even won one stupid game yet.”
“Hey, have you checked out the real Indians this season?” Derek asked with a grin. “They’re in last place by a lot! We might wind up being better, especially if we start winning games.”
“Hah! Like that’ll ever happen,” said Gary as the bell rang. “I might be hitting the ball better now, but I’ll never figure out how to operate a baseball glove. It’s such a stupid piece of equipment, it’s ridiculous. Deformed, even. All you have to do is look at it to see that.” He shook his head. “Well, partner, see you in study period tomorrow.”
• • •
“I’ve got to admit,” Derek said as the two sat together at a long table in the cafeteria for their first work session, “I’m amazed you agreed to do this project on baseball stats.”
“Yeah, well,” Gary said with a shrug. “I figure it this way. You and I are the two best math brains in the class.”
“Not counting Vijay.”
“Eehhhhh . . . ,” Gary said, unimpressed, holding one hand palm-down and shaking it, to indicate that he thought Vijay’s math chops were just so-so.
“But to go along with a project on baseball . . . ,” Derek said. “That’s surprising to me.”
Gary clucked his tongue and shook his head dismissively. “It almost doesn’t matter what we do it on, so long as we beat the pants off all those other teams.”
Derek had to laugh. Gary was the only kid he’d ever met who was as competitive as he was! His mom had been right all along. They did have something in common, something huge.