Hit & Miss by Derek Jeter Page A

constant whispered taunts. “Nice doodles,” he commented now, as Derek tried to cover up the drawings he’d been idly making while only half-listening to the math review.
    Derek had been thinking of all kinds of things—his hitting slump, for one. But most of all, his mind had been on Sharlee, whom he still had not asked about what was bothering her.
    He could have asked her the night before, he knew, butshe hadn’t seemed too bummed out at that moment.
    Still, she hadn’t been her old bubbly self for at least two weeks, and he knew he would have to make her tell him what was on her mind the very next time he saw her.
    But none of these thoughts were supposed to be on his mind in class .
    â€œMaybe you should take up art instead of sports,” Gary suggested with a snigger.
    Derek gritted his teeth but didn’t answer back. He knew it would only get him in trouble with Mr. Beckham, and more trouble was the last thing he needed—especially considering the warning his parents had given him about violating his contract again.
    He was glad he had that contract, come to think of it, or he might have gotten himself into trouble with a rash reaction just now. Still, he was glad—and relieved—when the bell rang. Grabbing his book bag, he rushed out of there, determined to get home and over to Westwood Fields as soon as possible.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    As usual, Derek got to the field before any of his teammates. Westwood Fields weren’t that far away from Mount Royal Townhouses—just a five-minute drive—and one or both of his parents always made themselves available to drive him to practices and games, and to stay to cheer him on.
    Today it was his dad. Sharlee had a kickball tournamentat her kindergarten, and their mom had gone with her.
    Derek knew Sharlee would be disappointed that he and his dad weren’t there to see her play in her first sports tournament. But in the Jeter family everyone’s events were equally important. Even Sharlee would understand that Derek’s game meant as much to him as her kickball match did to her.
    â€œNow remember,” his dad counseled as Derek got out of the car, “just try to make solid contact; stay level and in control. Positive thoughts only, right?”
    â€œRight!” Derek chirped, and headed toward the diamond where his game would soon begin.
    As his teammates arrived, Derek noticed that they were in a more hopeful mood than usual. Clearly the Red Sox’s recent victory, their first, had changed the atmosphere. Today’s opponent, the Angels, were 3–0, though. It would not be easy to beat them and keep the victory train rolling.
    Derek’s mind was especially focused on his own hitting slump. Would today be the day he broke out of it? On the way to the game, his dad had reminded him about how hard he’d hit the ball in the last game, even though Derek was still without a hit for the season.
    Still, as he came to the plate in the first with two men on, his heart was racing and pounding hard inside his chest. “Steady . . . ,” he muttered to himself. “Stea . . . dy . . . .”
    WHACK!
    The ball rose over the second baseman’s head andwas still rising, a long line drive, as it went over the right fielder’s head. Derek’s heart leapt with excitement, and he took off as fast as he could run. He was already around second base by the time the throw came back in, and he slid into third with a ringing triple—and two runs batted in!
    â€œYesss! Finally!” he shouted, thrusting both fists into the air.
    â€œYeah, Derek!” He heard his father shouting himself hoarse to be heard above everyone else’s cheers. “That’s the stuff!”
    Clapping his hands together, Derek got his head right back into the game. Jeff, batting behind him, hit a ground ball to short, and Derek was off to the races. He slid into