by Derek Jeter
“ ‘Well,’ not ‘good,’ ” his mom corrected him.
“ ‘Well,’ I mean. So I think we should all sign a new contract, saying you agree to take me to the Yankees-Tigers game as a reward for keeping my old contract!”
His parents looked at each other and smiled. “Well, at least he’s not afraid to stick up for himself,” said Mrs. Jeter, and they all laughed—all except Sharlee.
“Okay, Derek, you’ve made your point,” said his dad. “Never mind any new contracts. If you keep to all the rules between now and June, we’ll take you to that game.”
“Woo-hoo!” Derek yelled, exultant. He could feel the thrill of the coming baseball season coursing through him. The major-league season had started weeks ago, but today was the start of his baseball season.
He couldn’t wait for practice to start!
Chapter Two
WELCOME TO THE RED SOX
Standing at shortstop on one of the four baseball diamonds that made up Westwood Fields, Derek looked around him and saw a team full of promise—even if the team did happen to be named the Red Sox.
Isaiah Martin was there with his full catcher’s regalia—mask, shin protectors, chest protector, and big padded mitt. He, like Derek and Vijay, was one of the kids who played ball at Jeter’s Hill—or, as Derek called it, simply “the Hill.”
The grassy slope at Mount Royal Townhouses was the only place to play ball near their houses. The other kids had named it after Derek, who was there nearly every day except in the dead of winter.
Isaiah had been on the Tigers last year with Derek and Vijay. He was a really good catcher. Not bad at hitting either, with some power and a good eye for balls and strikes.
Jeff, another regular from Jeter’s Hill, was on the Red Sox too. He’d been on the champion Yankees last season, wearing Derek’s favorite number—13—and playing Derek’s favorite position, shortstop. Jeff had never really believed in Derek’s dream of someday being shortstop for the New York Yankees. In fact, he’d regularly made fun of it.
But now they were going to be teammates, and that was a good thing, Derek thought—because no matter how much he shot his mouth off, Jeff could really pitch and hit, and he was a pretty good fielder, too.
Jason Rossini was another kid Derek knew from the Hill. He, too, had been a champion last year for the Yankees.
Man, thought Derek. This team is loaded!
He sort of knew Buster Murphy and Rocco Fanelli from Saint Augustine’s. He was surprised to see that Rocco had enrolled in Little League, considering he usually showed zero interest in sports. “Murph,” however, was pretty good at soccer and basketball, so maybe that meant he could play baseball, too.
Everyone else on the team was new to Derek, although he’d played against a few of them. He recognized a little speed demon who’d also been on the Yankees last year.
Sure, there were two or three kids who didn’t seem to be very good at fielding, but every team had some less talented players, even the best teams.
Last year Derek’s Tigers hadn’t been the strongest team. But they’d ended with a winning record. This year he was hoping for much more . . . maybe a championship, or at least a trip to the playoffs.
Beyond that, he wanted to make sure he got to play shortstop. Last year, because the coach’s son had wanted the position, Derek had had to play second base for most of the season.
He concentrated hard now, knowing that first impressions mattered to coaches. Derek handled all his chances in the infield. He did well on fly balls to the outfield, too, although he had no desire to play there. He showed off his arm by uncorking a couple of rocket-like throws back to the infield, and he saw the coaches give each other wide-eyed looks.
During running drills he showed off his speed. Only the little skinny kid from last year’s Yankees was faster. Again Derek saw that the coaches noticed.
This was going very well so far, he thought hopefully. Now if only he could impress them with his hitting . . . .
The head coach, Marty Kaufman, seemed like a nice man. He was tall and heavy, with a droopy mustache and long dark hair that stuck out from the back of his Red Sox cap.
His son, Miles, looked just like him except for the mustache. Derek had already noticed that Miles wasn’t a very good fielder. Maybe he can hit, thought Derek. In any case Derek was pretty sure Miles was not going to be competing with him for the shortstop job, and that was a big relief.
Derek waited patiently for his turn to hit. Coach Kaufman was doing the pitching for now, while his assistant coach, Mike Murphy, supervised the kids who were out in the field. Coach Murphy’s son, Buster, was a tall kid too, even bigger than Miles.
Vijay stood two players ahead of Derek in line, waiting to hit. He was telling the two kids behind him all about Derek. “Did you know that he was the most valuable player in the all-star game last season? All-star! Most valuable!”
“Vijay, cut it out,” Derek told him, embarrassed to be bragged about. He liked for his glove and his bat to do the talking for him.
“So modest,” Vijay joked. “But come on, Derek, you know you’re a great player.”
“I’m okay,” he answered, looking for a way to change the subject. “Hey, it’s your turn, Vij. Let’s see if you remember how to swing that bat.”
He knew Vijay remembered. Twice in the past two weeks, Vijay had gone with Derek and his dad to the batting cages. Derek’s parents were totally behind his baseball dreams, and they supported his friendships, too.
Vijay swung and missed at two easy pitches, before finally connecting on one and sending a line drive to right field. “Attaboy,” Derek said, clapping. “That’s the stuff. Keep your eye on it.”
Vijay hit a few more good balls, and then gave over to the next kid in line. As the next kid took his position in the batter’s box, everyone turned to look, including Derek.
It wasn’t that Derek knew every kid in the neighborhood, or that Kalamazoo was such a small town, but he’d seen every other kid in the league around town before, at least a few times. After all, he’d lived in Kalamazoo for the past five years.
This kid, he’d never seen in his entire life. He was built like an athlete, tall and thin, with a face full of freckles. He didn’t seem to know how to stand at the plate. In fact, the kid seemed like he didn’t know much about baseball at all.
During fielding practice, after making a nice catch of a sharp grounder at third, he’d hesitated, not knowing what to do next. Then he’d thrown the ball back to the catcher instead of to first base.
A few of the other kids had laughed and made comments, and the kid had looked painfully embarrassed.
As for hitting, his swing was powerful, but long and loopy. He swung through pitch after pitch, and Derek noticed some of the kids muttering to one another and shaking their heads.
Finally, on his last swing, the kid somehow connected with a pitch that was way down in the dirt—and wow! The ball took off, high and far, and sailed for what seemed like miles.
“Whoa!” everyone said at once.
If he ever figures out how to make contact consistently, he’s going to be really good, Derek thought. “Nice hit,” he said.
The kid looked at him like he was from Mars. He didn’t say anything. Not “thanks.” Not a word.
“I’m Derek. Derek Jeter. What’s your name?”
The kid looked away. “Dave.”
“Nice to meet you, Dave.”
The kid made no reply. He just walked over to the bench, sat down, and stared at the dirt between his feet.
Strange, thought Derek. Well, maybe he’s shy or something.
Derek turned his attention to the next hitter, Reggie Brown. Reggie had been in Derek’s class last year. He had asthma and carried an inhaler around with him that he used once in a while to help him breathe. Derek hoped Reggie didn’t have to use it during a game, while running the bases or something. It must be tough to have a hard time breathing, he thought.
Reggie hit
a few pop-ups, a grounder, and one good line drive. Then it was Derek’s turn.
He stepped to the plate and suddenly felt energized. It was as if the entire winter had shrunk down to the size of a pea, and the all-star game that had ended last season had taken place only yesterday.
He whacked the first pitch so hard that Coach Kaufman had to hit the dirt. “Wow! Easy there!” he joked as he got up and dusted himself off.
Derek then proceeded to hit the next three pitches over the outfielders’ heads. He finished off with two sharp grounders and another screamer past the mound.
He handed the bat to the next kid and dusted off his hands. He could feel his heart pounding with excitement, and something else—relief.
Those two sessions in the batting cages had really gotten him ready, and he’d made exactly the first impression he’d wanted to make.
“What did I tell you?” Vijay was crowing to the kids around him. “Derek’s the best. We can’t lose!”
“Hey,” Derek corrected him. “Don’t jinx us. The season hasn’t even started yet.” But he had to admit, the Red Sox looked pretty good, better than any team he’d been on up till now, that was for sure!
• • •
After practice all the kids scattered. Those who lived near Westwood Fields walked, and the rest got into their parents’ cars and drove away. Derek saw his mom waiting for him in the old station wagon.
“Come on, Vijay. Let’s go,” Derek said. Mrs. Jeter usually drove Vijay home, since his family lived in Mount Royal Townhouses, and the two families knew each other well.
As they walked toward the car, Derek saw the new kid, Dave, standing alone, far from the other stragglers who were hanging out together, talking and joking around. He was staring at the ground, looking lost and sad. It reminded Derek of how Sharlee had looked that morning.
“Strange, huh?” Vijay said.
“What?”
“That new kid.”
“You mean Dave?” Derek asked.
“That’s his name? Dave?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Dave what?”
“He didn’t say,” Derek said. “In fact, Dave was the only word he said.”
“Nobody on the team has ever seen him before,” Vijay said. “I asked everyone.”
“Maybe he’s new in town,” Derek suggested.
“Or maybe he lives somewhere else and his parents gave a false address so he could play in our league. It happens, you know.”
Derek gave Vijay a look. “Yeah, right. And maybe I’m a space alien. Come on, Vij. Get real.”
“Well, he doesn’t seem very happy to be here, that’s for sure,” said Vijay, opening the car door.
“Oh well,” said Derek, sitting down across from Vijay in the backseat. “I guess we’ll find out his story sooner or later.”
“Hi, guys. How was practice?” asked Mrs. Jeter.
“Fine,” said Derek.
“Great!” said Vijay. “This is going to be a great team.”
“Wow!” said Derek’s mom. “Sounds promising.”
“We’ll see,” Derek cautioned. “So far so good, but—”
“But what?” Vijay asked.
“You never know,” Derek answered, then gave his friend a little smile. “Hey, that’s why we play the games, right?”
Chapter Three
THE NEW KID
“Okay, class. Attention, please.”
At the sound of Mr. Beckham’s voice, Derek looked up from the composition he was writing. It was about the Revolutionary War, from the point of view of a colonist loyal to the king of England.
Mr. Beckham had left the room for a few minutes while they’d been working, and he now came back in with Dave, the new kid from Derek’s team.
Dave stood next to Mr. Beckham and a step behind him, looking uncomfortable. His eyes darted this way and that, and he kept his hands folded in front of him, rocking forward and backward on his feet.
“This is David Hennum, class.”
“Um, it’s . . . Dave,” murmured Dave, staring at the floor.
“Ah. Okay. Dave, then. He and his family have just moved here, from Beverly Hills, California, of all places.”
Mr. Beckham smiled, his eyebrows raised. But if this juicy nugget had been intended to impress the class, it had the opposite effect. Giggles and murmurs filled the room. Derek heard the words “Mr. Hollywood” and “snob,” among others.
“Calm down, class,” Mr. Beckham said, clapping his hands twice to restore order. When the noise quieted down, he went on to say, “I know you’ll show him a warm Saint Augustine’s welcome. Right?”
“Right!” Derek said. Then he realized that he was one of only two or three kids to answer, with the others keeping an embarrassed silence. Derek slunk down in his chair as more giggling and murmuring started.
Mr. Beckham frowned. “Let me ask again. Right?”
This time the class responded as requested. But Derek knew, and was sure Dave knew too, that they didn’t really mean it.
He could see that Dave had become even more uncomfortable. Mr. Beckham directed him to an empty seat in the back row, where Dave was not heard from at all the rest of that morning.
From time to time one or another of the kids would lean over and whisper something to his or her neighbor, like, “Where are his cool shades?” or “He doesn’t look famous,” or “I’ll bet he’s a snob.”
Derek didn’t respond. He focused on his work, but every now and then he would glance behind him at Dave. It seemed as if everyone else was doing the same thing. Dave, for his part, kept his eyes firmly planted on his desk. Finally, mercifully, the bell rang for recess.
• • •
It was warm and sunny outside. The last of the snow piles in the corner of the schoolyard had shrunken to almost nothing. Derek sat on a bench, eating the sandwich and apple that his mom had packed for him.
As the kids who ate in the cafeteria filtered out into the schoolyard for the second half of recess, several groups started playing games—everything from freeze tag, to marbles, to throwing around a football, to soccer. Other kids just hung out together around the edges of the schoolyard, talking in groups or pairs.
Vijay and Isaiah called Derek over to where they were discussing the team’s chances. “That kid Cubby can really play,” Isaiah was saying. “He stole home twice last year, I heard.”
“I know he made the all-star team,” Derek said.
“He break-dances, too,” Vijay said. “He’s in public school, but they have a talent show, just like here at Saint Augustine’s.”
“Break-dances, huh?” Derek said with a laugh. “That’s cool.”
“Have you ever tried it?” Vijay asked. “I bet you could bust some moves.”
“Cut it out,” Derek said, giving Vijay a playful elbow. “I’d like to see you try that stuff.”
“Him?” That made Isaiah crack up. Vijay didn’t seem like the type to break-dance, but Derek knew that people sometimes surprised you, so it was better not to assume anything.
“Hey, I can do whatever I set my mind to. Right, Derek?” Vijay said.
“Right.” Derek wasn’t going to say no. Vijay had always supported Derek’s dream. Derek owed him at least the same in return.
“It’s just not my thing,” Vijay concluded.
“There you go,” said Isaiah.
Derek glanced over Isaiah’s shoulder and saw that Dave was sitting alone again. He had his elbows resting on his knees, and his chin resting in his hands.
Derek’s memories of his own first days in Kalamazoo came flooding back to him. Most people had welcomed the Jeters, an interracial family, with smiles and open arms when they’d arrived from the East Coast. But a few people hadn’t.
It hadn’t been easy for Derek in the beginning—or for Vijay, either. The Patels had been the first Indian American family to move into Mount Royal Townhouses. Derek and Vijay had made friends right away, but it had taken a while for Vijay’s p
arents to fit in.
“Hey, guys, you want to go over and talk to the new kid?” Derek asked his friends.
“Sure, why not?” said Vijay, who was always game for anything Derek suggested.
“I don’t know,” Isaiah said.
“He’s on our team and in our class,” Derek reminded him.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t seem very friendly,” Isaiah said.
“Sometimes you’ve got to make the first move,” Derek said with a little grin. “Like in break dancing. Right, Vijay?”
They all laughed. Then the bell rang for the end of recess.
Taking the first step with Dave would have to wait until after school. Isaiah and Vijay both looked relieved, but Derek was determined to break the ice. It was what he would have wanted someone to do for him on his first day in a new school.
• • •
“I got a ninety-three.”
It was the end of the school day, and Derek was standing near the main entrance of the school, comparing test results with Gary Parnell, the smartest kid in fourth grade. Gary had been in his class last year too, and the two boys had been rivals for almost two years running.
Gary made a big show of pulling his test paper out of his book bag. “Read it and weep, Jeter,” he said with a satisfied grin.
“Ninety-eight. Nice work, Gary.” Derek handed the paper back to him. “Watch out next time, though. I’m getting closer.”
“In your dreams,” said Gary, tucking the precious paper back into his bag, which was full of such papers.
Gary never got tired of rubbing it in. Derek had beaten him on a test only once, but that had been such a sweet victory that Derek had been working twice as hard ever since to beat him again, just to see that shocked look on Gary’s face one more time.
Derek saw Dave duck out the main door. “I’ve got to go, Gary. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Science test! Can’t wait.” He rubbed his hands together, imagining another victory over Derek.
“Me neither.”
Derek smiled right back at him, mustering enough confidence that Gary was taken aback, at least for a moment. Then Gary laughed and nodded. “Okay, game on then, Jeter. See you tomorrow.” He gave Derek a little fist pound and headed down the street.