Wind Up, Derek Jeter [little red riding hood read aloud .txt] 📗

the ump’s bad call get to her. But she did.

The next pitch was outside, but Avery swung anyway, not willing to risk having the ump get it wrong again. The ball ticked off the end of her bat, and the soft liner landed right in the third baseman’s glove. Avery groaned.

It’s not over yet, Derek told himself. They still had two outs left. Miles came to the plate, hitting for Vijay, who he’d replaced the inning before. He came through, hitting a long fly—but it was run down by the left fielder for the second out.

And now, with only one out left to save their season, it was Norman coming up. Norman, of all people! He rarely played more than two innings in a game, and most of the time he was more interested in goofing around than playing serious ball.

Derek had his heart in his throat, along with the rest of the Yankees. But Norman fooled them all. Baseball, that weirdest of games, took another strange turn—just as the Yankees were about to face the final curtain. Norman took a wild swing at a pitch up in his eyes and hit one straight into the hard ground in front of the plate.

The ball bounced high into the air between home plate and the mound. Norman took a second to look for the ball, which he’d lost sight of. Then, realizing he had a chance, he took off for all he was worth. “RUN! RUUUNNN!” all the Yankees screamed.

“YESSSS!” Derek cried as Norman made it safely to first, just ahead of the throw from the catcher.

Now there was real hope! Mason was a fast, smart player who made contact most of the time.

“Just a ground ball… a stupid little grounder,” Derek pleaded under his breath. Half the time, Mason could turn a slow dribbler into a hit.

He did much better than that, though. He hit one down the line that got past the first baseman for a clean double, sending Norman to third!

Derek came to the plate for his biggest at bat of the season. He was the Yankees’ last hope. All they needed was a single….

Derek let the count go to 2–1, on three straight fastballs. Something told him the next pitch was going to be off-speed. Wait on it, he told himself. Don’t try to do too much.

Sure enough, it was a curveball. He waited an extra split second, then slapped one over the first baseman’s head and into right field. As the ball bounced down the line, Derek raced around first and slid safely into second. Ahead of him, the tying and go-ahead runs scored! 3–2, Yanks!

Derek popped up, ripped off his helmet, and shouted in triumph, “LET’S GO!”

But Pete tried to kill the ball again and wound up popping to second to end the Yankees half of the inning. He kicked the dirt, mad at himself for blowing his big chance to put the game away.

Derek was glad he hadn’t taken a walk and left it to Pete to drive in those runs! He ran to the bench to grab his mitt, then headed out to short.

Avery was already back on the mound, raring to close things out and seal the victory. Derek could feel waves of energy radiating from her.

Her first pitch sailed two feet over the hitter’s head! A gasp went up from the crowd. Her next pitch, a riding fastball, hit him on the elbow.

“OWW!” the kid yelled.

“Take your base!” cried the ump.

The hitter glared at Avery as he walked slowly to first, rubbing the sore spot. She held both arms out and said, “What? You think I hit you on purpose?”

He stopped, looking as if he wanted to charge the mound but was thinking twice about it because she was a girl.

“KYLE!” the first-base coach shouted to him. “Knock it off! We’ve got a game to win—let’s go!”

Kyle gave Avery one last poisonous look, then continued on his way, still rubbing his elbow.

Derek saw that Avery was shaken by what had happened. She walked the next batter on four pitches. Then she doubled over, grabbing her stomach.

Coach K jogged quickly out to the mound. “You okay, kid?” he asked, crouching down next to her. Derek, ten feet away, could see that she wasn’t.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, waving Coach K away. “I’ll be fine. I just need a minute to get myself together, that’s all.”

Coach K looked at her for a long moment, as if he didn’t know whether to believe her. Then he got up and clapped her on the shoulder. “Okay, then. Go get ’em, kid.”

Avery blew out a few long breaths, trying to calm herself down. The Reds’ cleanup hitter was up, waggling his bat, practically salivating, daring her to throw one over the plate.

Her first pitch was a fastball, and he clobbered it all the way to kingdom come—luckily, it landed just foul.

Derek realized he’d been holding his breath—and he knew he wasn’t the only one.

That was the last fastball Avery threw him. Two wicked changeups later, he’d struck out, and was slinking his way back to the bench.

Now it was the Reds who were getting antsy and playing tense, Derek noticed.

Avery struck the next batter out too—on three straight changeups, each one slower than the last.

Miles, who’d come in as catcher for JJ in the fifth, threw the ball back to the mound. Avery caught it, then turned toward the outfield as if to rub up the ball. Only Derek could see that she was wincing again.

He jogged in toward her. “Hey,” he said. “Just one more out, Ave. You got this?”

“Got it,” she said, looking away, still rubbing up the ball.

“Listen,” he told her. “This guy at the plate? Stick your tongue out at him before the pitch.”

“What?” That got her attention. She was looking at him now—like he was crazy.

“He’s thinking changeup now, but you want to throw it anyway. So you’ve got to get him mad—make him jump too early and swing too hard.”

She grinned—sort