The Contract (8 page)

“
What?
What'd I do?” Derek asked.

Pete didn't answer, because really there was nothing he could say. He was the one who'd thrown to the wrong base when he'd had a sure out at first.

Derek thought he knew what had happened. Pete had forgotten how many outs there were and had been trying for a double play when there were already two outs!

He
thought
that was what had happened, but he couldn't be sure. Anyway, what was the use of talking about it? Right now they had a game that was about to get away from them. A game they had a chance to win, against the best team in the whole league!

The next hitter put all such thoughts to rest, though. He hit a long ball past Chris in center, and all three runs scored on the homer.

The Tigers came up in the bottom of the sixth, down now by four big runs. They got one runner on base when Ernesto doubled to left, but with the bottom of their order up, they didn't have much of a chance against a pitcher as good as Jeff. He mowed down Sims and Elliott. But Vijay, batting ninth, somehow got his bat on an 0–2 fastball for a dribbler down the first baseline. He beat the throw, giving himself some bragging rights back at Mount Royal, but more important, giving the Tigers some hope.

Slightly rattled, Jeff walked Chris to load the bases. Here was Derek's chance to be the hero. He knew Jeff wouldn't give him anything too good to hit, and thought he might try a fastball on the outside part of the plate. And that's what Derek got. He hit the ball on the button . . . right at the Yankees' first baseman.

It was a loss, but at least the Tigers put a scare into the Yankees. Coach was right. They did compete.

Derek stood in the line to shake hands with the Yankees. Jeff grinned as he got to Derek. “I thought you had me there.”

“Well, yeah, but you guys did win the game, so . . .”

“Yeah, we did, didn't we! Oh well. Good luck from here on in.”

It was the usual back-and-forth. But this time it stung a little more than Derek wanted to admit.

Derek stole a glance at Coach Kozlowski. He and a bunch of the kids were putting the equipment back into the duffel bags. Pete was not one of them. He was sitting alone on the end of the bench, pouting about the game.

Derek noticed the coach staring at his son. Coach seemed to be deep in thought, stroking his chin. Then he turned, and his gaze found Derek. Then it went back to Pete.

Hmmm . . .

Derek wondered if his own fielding feats at second, as well as Pete's poor play at shortstop (not to mention his attitude), had finally made an impression on the coach.

Nah, it was probably too much to hope for. “Do your own job,” his dad had told him, “and let the coach do his.”

Sighing, Derek let go of it and headed for the stands, where his family was always waiting for him with open arms, win or lose.

“. . . and how much do you think this swanky new eight-track stereo system goes for?”

Derek and his dad were watching TV.
The Price Is Right
, to be exact. The show had become a mini-obsession for the two of them.

“Derek?”

“How should I know? I never bought a stereo system.”

“Eight-track,” said his dad. “It's the wave of the future.”

“I don't know. . . . Two hundred dollars?”

“Okay. I say $170.”

“Marci has guessed $140. And the price is . . . $175!”

“Yesss!” said Mr. Jeter.

Derek frowned. “If I had a stereo, maybe I'd know how much it cost.”

“You would have one if you paid for it. Anyway, you keep playing against the best, and your game will keep improving.”

That made Derek think about his team's recent loss to the Yankees. He'd improved his own personal game, without a doubt, but his team had still lost. And he couldn't remember the last time he'd beaten his dad at . . . well, at
anything
. Still, it didn't make him want to give up. It made him want to try again, and try harder.

“Hal-looooo!” came Aunt Dimp's lilting voice from the front door as the tall, smiling woman let herself in.

“Aunt Dimp!” Sharlee shrieked from upstairs. There followed the patter of little feet as she raced to the stairs and then carefully climbed down. Sharlee was still too young to take stairs at a fast pace.

“Come over here, you little sweet thing!” Aunt Dimp swept Sharlee up in her arms and spun her around, high in the air. Sharlee squealed with delight.

Aunt Dimp was Mr. Jeter's sister, and she lived not far away. Her real name was Sharlee, but everyone called her Dimp because she had big dimples on her cheeks. Besides, it was less confusing with only one person in the family called Sharlee.

In fact, Aunt Dimp was here to babysit for the
other
Sharlee, because Derek and his parents were going to his school for parent-teacher night.

“How are you doing, Sis?”

“Just fine!” said Aunt Dimp, putting Sharlee down so she could take her coat off.

Just then the front door opened again, and Mrs. Jeter stepped inside. “Oh boy!” she chirped, as everyone hugged and kissed. “It's a family gathering.”

“Come on, Jeter,” said Derek's mom, not taking her jacket off. “You too, old man. We're going to be late if we don't get right on out of here.”

• • •

Derek had lots of other things on his mind, but now he started to worry about what Ms. Wagner might say about him to his parents. He didn't
think
she would say anything bad—but you never knew.

Sure enough, it turned out he had every right to be worried. “Mr. and Mrs. Jeter,” she said, greeting them. “Derek. Have a seat.”

She checked her notes as they all sat down. “Derek is a very intelligent child,” she began. “He works well with others and generally gets good grades.” Derek checked to see if his parents were paying attention. He sure hoped so.

“However,” his teacher went on, “he did have quite a falling-off in math on the last test. An eighty-four is not what I expect from Derek.”

“Neither do we,” his mom agreed.

“That won't happen again,” Derek said quickly. “I promise.”

“Good!” Ms. Wagner said, giving him a little smile that didn't seem that warm. “Now, there's this
other
little matter . . .”

“Oh?” His dad's face suddenly grew serious. So did his mom's as she leaned in, paying close attention.

“Derek tends to daydream in class a bit. I don't worry too much about it, because his grades are usually good. But with this last math mark . . . you see what I mean.”

“Yes, we do,” said his dad, looking right at Derek.

“We certainly do,” said his mom, nodding slowly.

“
And
he has been getting into the habit lately of talking in class with his friends in the back row,” Ms. Wagner continued. “So I decided to move the other boys up front to break them up. It seems to be working out well so far.”

“Derek!” said his mom. “I'm surprised at you!” His dad only gave him a sharp look, saying nothing.

“Overall, I don't see anything to worry about,” Ms. Wagner finished. “Just please be sure Derek understands that his attention is required in class at all times.”

“Well, thank you, Ms. Wagner,” Mr. Jeter said, getting up and shaking her hand.

“We'll make sure Derek gets the message,” his mom added, giving him the eye.

“I got it!” Derek assured her. “I already got it.”

“Mm-hm,” said his mom, not totally sold.

“Oh, there is one other thing,” Ms. Wagner suddenly said. “I nearly forgot to bring it up. But . . . well, I gave the class an assignment to write an essay about their life's dream . . . and I specifically told them to write about realistic goals.”

Uh-oh
. Derek could see where this was going, and his stomach felt tied up in knots.

“Well, it's sweet and all—
very
cute. But we're in third grade now, and I expect the students to have realistic responses to an essay question. Derek wrote that he wanted to be shortstop for the New York Yankees!” Ms. Wagner gave Derek's parents a meaningful look over the top of her glasses.

“Derek,” said his mom. “Would you please wait outside? We'd like a moment to speak with Ms. Wagner privately.”

Derek stiffened. What did they want to talk about that he wasn't allowed to hear?

“Derek,” said his father. “Outside. Now.”

Derek did as he was told, closing the door behind him. On the other side, he could hear a muffled voice—his mother's. But he couldn't make out what she was saying, and he knew he wasn't meant to, so he sat down on the hallway floor and leaned his back against the wall.

It took a good few minutes. Then, finally, the door opened and his mother emerged, her eyes ablaze, her mouth set. His dad followed behind her. With a nod to Ms. Wagner, he shut the door. “Let's go, Derek,” he said, not stopping to wait. Derek had to catch up to them as they marched quickly down the hall.

“What was that about?” he asked them.

“We just wanted Ms. Wagner to understand that we support your dream and we encouraged her to as well,” his mom said sharply. “You just stick to your dream, and keep working hard toward it. Never mind what anybody says about it being ‘realistic.' It's realistic as long as you're working to make it real.”

Derek followed his parents out into the cold, rainy night. He was shivering and wet, but he had never felt happier. He knew they would be all over him now, about talking in class, and daydreaming, and his disappointing math grade. He knew Ms. Wagner would be on high alert if he gave her even the smallest of excuses. (Which he was determined
never
to do again!)

He knew the odds of achieving his lifelong dream were against him. After all, what chance did he have of being the Yankees' shortstop if he couldn't even get to be shortstop on his Little League team?

But he didn't care if the odds were long. He didn't care if his teacher didn't think his dreams were realistic.

The only thing that mattered was that his parents were in his corner. They'd stuck up for him when it had mattered most! If
they
believed his dream was realistic, who was he to think otherwise?

When they got home, Derek's mother said to Aunt Dimp, “Can you stay an extra fifteen minutes with Sharlee, please? We need to talk to Derek alone.”

When Derek returned to school the next day, he noticed a change in Ms. Wagner. She seemed to have gained a new respect for him.

Something about that parent-teacher conference had opened her eyes. And rereading that contract had opened his. Suddenly it was easy to pay strict attention in class.

It didn't hurt that Jeff and Gary were sitting on opposite sides of the front row, while he was still back in the last row, near the coat closets. From that quiet spot, Derek had a perfect view of the back of Gary's head, and as he stared at it, he thought,
I'm going to beat you out on the next math test. You wait and see.

Now determined, Derek went home every day after school and, after his regular homework, went over that day's math lesson again from beginning to end.

That same focus served him well on the ball field when it was time for the Tigers to play. But even though he was hitting above .500, the Tigers still lost two of their next three games, bringing their season record to 4–4.

Derek kept making great plays at second base, even though it pained him to hear Coach Kozlowski praise him after games, saying, “Boy, have we got a great second baseman!”

He hadn't given up on being the shortstop, but it was getting late in the season for him to keep hoping for a shot at Pete's position.

“Hey, up there. Hel-looo!”

Derek heard Vijay calling him from outside. He heard the
thwack
of the baseball as Vijay bounced it off the brick wall of the Jeters' house.

Derek went to the window, opened it, and leaned out. “Hey, man. I'm trying to study math in here!”

“Never mind math! Come play baseball with me! Playing by yourself is boring! Where've you been all week?”

“Studying, I told you. I've got a math test, and I'm settling for nothing less than a hundred.”

“No worries. I'll study with you tonight! Just come over after dinner. You'll see. I know all that stuff, easy. Now come on down and bring your mitt. We've still got an hour before dinner!”

“Nah. I'm gonna study now, too. But I will take you up on the offer, all right?”

“Sheesh. So serious.” Vijay shook his head in wonder.

“You got that right,” Derek said with a grin, closing the window and shutting out Vijay. “Got to be like a samurai,” he told himself, trying to forget all thoughts of baseball for the moment. “Concentrate like a ninja . . .
kee-yah!
”

He did a few mimed “karate” moves and kicks that were more like break dancing than anything else. Then he sat back down at his desk and got to work.

• • •

After dinner Derek told his parents he was going over to study with Vijay. They gave him a disbelieving look, but he said, “No, really. He offered to help me with tomorrow's math test. See?”

He showed them the math textbook tucked under his arm, and the fact that he had no mitt, bat, or ball with him.

“Sounds good to me,” said his dad.

“Go for it!” said his mom. And Derek was out the door.

• • •

Vijay's mom worked as a nurse, and Mr. Patel was one of those guys who worked the radiation machines in hospitals. But even with their crazy schedules, they still somehow made time to cook Indian food, which meant they had to shop for all the fresh and exotic ingredients. Derek had no idea where they found the time. They were always bustling around the apartment doing stuff, that was for sure.

There were lots of cool things about the Patel home. There were statues of ladies with six arms, and a painting of a blue man surrounded by blue women dancing. When the Patels played music on their stereo, it was a different kind of music that Derek knew must be from India.

The apartment always smelled wonderful, too. Spices Derek had never smelled anywhere else filled the air and made him hungry. Mrs. Patel usually tried to make him sample the dishes she'd cooked. Derek liked most of it—and on the rare occasion when he didn't, he always pretended to. He could see how much his opinion mattered to her.

The Patels treated him like royalty—maybe because he'd been Vijay's first friend after they'd moved here. Anyway, when Derek stepped through the door, there was already a plate of food at the table, and Mrs. Patel tried to get him to eat.

“Aw, no thanks,” he said. “I just ate. I'm so full, I could explode!”

“At least some dessert?” she said, looking disappointed.

“Maybe later. After we study.”

“Mommy, please. Derek needs to work,” said Vijay. “Don't worry. I'm going to coach him, and he's going to get a one hundred.”

“That's great, Vijay!” said his father, who was on the living room couch reading a newspaper that was written in a different alphabet. “Chin up, Derek. You can do it!”

“Thanks, Mr. Patel,” Derek said, and followed Vijay upstairs.

• • •

“So,” Vijay said. They were sitting side by side in front of Vijay's desk now, with Derek's book open to the section he had to review. “Now tell me. Why so crazy about math all of a sudden?”

Derek grinned. “The real reason? I want to beat Gary Parnell for once.”

“Aaahh! Now we're talking!” Vijay rubbed his hands together eagerly as he pictured the inevitable defeat of the math king. “Where do we start?”

“It's a lot of stuff,” Derek cautioned. “All the way to page 434.”

“Twenty pages? Wow. Well, let's get started, eh?”

“Thanks, Vijay. I really appreciate this,” Derek said. “I'm sure there are lots of other things you'd have more fun doing, so why did you offer to help out?”

“Huh? Because you're my friend!”

“Sure, but you've got tests coming up yourself. Don't you need to be working on your own stuff? I mean, I know you're a genius and everything, but—”

“Ha!” It was a joke, of course, and Vijay took it that way, although he really was very smart. Vijay would have no problem achieving his life's dream of being a great doctor, Derek thought.

“No, but really. Why are you doing this for me?” Derek asked.

“Derek, remember those times when Pete was screaming at me, telling me how bad I was?”

“Oh yeah, I remember.”

“The coach didn't stick up for me. None of the other kids said anything. You were the only one who came over and stood by me.”

“What did I do, though?” Derek said. “I didn't get into a fight with Pete over it, I know that.”

“No, but you told
me
he was being a jerk, and not to listen to him or take it personally. If not for you, I would have just had to sit there feeling bad. So . . . you helped me out. Now I help you out, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek said. “Sounds good to me.”

What Derek didn't tell Vijay was that he too knew what it was like to be picked on. One time on the school bus, an older kid had called him “Oreo” because of the color of his skin. When he told his mom about it later that night, he could sense her anger, but she didn't say anything right away. He could see her searching for the right words to turn something negative into something positive. Finally, she asked him, “Do you like Oreo cookies?” When he nodded yes, she said, “Those are your favorite cookies. People love Oreos.”

• • •

Derek strode into class the next day with sublime confidence. He practically glided into the room, his math book under his arm.

Gary was already there, in his new seat in the front row right by the window. He stared right at Derek.

Derek returned his stare, not taking his eyes off Gary the whole way to the back row. Neither did Gary take his eyes off Derek.

This was going to be fun.

Ms. Wagner came in carrying a sheaf of test booklets. “Okay, class. Take your seats and let's get going.”

“Yeah,” Derek said under his breath, watching Gary as he took his booklet from the teacher. “Let's get going.”