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

of. Just a little upward curl at one corner of her mouth. But Derek knew he’d hit the mark. She wouldn’t be worried, now that she had a trick up her sleeve.

Derek couldn’t see her stick her tongue out, but he saw the hitter react. He stood up straight, frowning, then had to rush back into hitting position to swing.

“Strike one!” called the ump.

The hitter was mad now. Derek could almost see the steam rising from his head! Now go with the changeup, he silently begged Avery.

The changeup fooled the hitter so badly that he almost corkscrewed himself into the ground. He was trying to beat the ball into powder, but he caught nothing but air.

“Strike two!”

One more time now…. One more…

Avery wound up and fired with all her might—or at least that’s how it looked. The hitter bought the fake-out totally, and once again swung hard enough to start a tornado. But it was another changeup, and it did the trick!

“Stee-rike three!” the ump yelled.

Ball game!

Avery fell to her knees and screamed in triumph. Everyone rushed to the mound to celebrate. They’d done it! The Yankees had lived to play another day!

Everyone started hugging. When Derek got to Avery, she was all smiles, just like the rest of them.

“That tongue idea was awesome!” she told him as they hugged. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek said. “Got to pull out all the stops, right?”

“For sure,” she agreed. “Well… see you.”

“Yup. See you.”

Derek went on to hug Vijay, Pete, and all the others. As he did, he noticed Avery and her mom standing side by side near the dugout. Her mom had a hand on Avery’s shoulder and was leaning in, asking her something.

Avery just looked down at the ground and shook her head. And then the two of them hugged.

Her mom looked worried. And that made Derek worry.

Was something wrong with Avery? Really wrong?

Chapter Seven CONFIDENCE AND DOUBT

“We won! We won!” Sharlee leapt into Derek’s arms as soon as he walked through the front door. “I told you we would! Didn’t I? Didn’t I say?”

“You did! That’s great, Sharlee. What was the score?”

“10–3! And I hit a home run and a suicide fly!”

“Sacrifice fly,” said Mr. Jeter, coming in from the kitchen with a spatula in one hand and an oven mitt on the other. “Suicide is a kind of squeeze bunt.”

“Huh?” Sharlee let go of Derek, looking confused.

“Bunting. They don’t let you do it till you’re older,” Derek explained.

“Anyway, I drove in three runs!” she crowed. “Didn’t I, Daddy?”

“Yes indeed,” said Mr. Jeter. “Made a nice play at second base too.” He turned to Derek. “I can see by your face that the Yankees won too. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Derek said, flashing a broad grin. “Am I that obvious?”

His dad laughed. “I’ve know you a long time,” he said. “You can’t fool your father.”

“3–2,” Derek said. “We were behind the whole way too!”

“Awesome,” said his dad.

“Yeah, awesome!” Sharlee agreed.

“High-five?” Derek offered. When she jumped up to slap his palm, he yelped. “Ow! Hey, don’t kill me!” He shook off the pretend pain in his hand, making a tortured face. Sharlee dissolved in giggles.

“Our next game is Saturday!” she told Derek. “Can you come this time at least?”

“What time?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Daddy?”

“Nine o’clock,” said Mr. Jeter.

“Dang,” said Derek. “My game’s at nine too.”

“So you’re not even coming to my game? Again?”

“You’ll have to win again, so I can come to the next one,” Derek said.

“Oh, don’t worry—we will,” Sharlee assured him. “Right, Daddy?”

A timer dinged in the kitchen. “Excuse me,” said Mr. Jeter. “Dinner in five. Derek, table needs setting. Sharlee, make sure you wash up first.”

As Derek set the table, he thought about Sharlee’s blissful sense of certainty. He himself was usually just as confident—but not lately, somehow.

And why not? His current coaches might not have been as good as his dad, but they’d done well enough to get the team this far, hadn’t they? And as for school, Derek always got good grades—it wasn’t like he was in danger of failing or anything.

But something about this past week had shaken his faith in himself. He wasn’t used to walking around tense all the time.

“Hey, how’d you guys do yesterday?” Dave asked Derek when they saw each other the next morning outside school. “I can tell you won just by looking at you.”

Derek laughed. “Yeah, we came from behind in our last at bat to win, 3–2.”

“And I’ll bet you were right in the middle of it all too.”

“I knocked two runs in with a double,” Derek admitted. “It was a great game. You guys ready for Saturday?”

“You bet,” Dave said. “We play the Marlins. We’re both 6–2 on the season, but they beat us last time, so they’re the home team.”

“Well, good luck.”

“You guys too—you’re going to need it. Man, those Giants kicked our butts when we played them.”

“Ours too. But hey, you never know. Every game is different—that’s why they play ’em, right?”

“Hey, if you guys win, and we do too…”

“That’s right,” Derek said with a grin. “Us versus you guys, winner take all! Let’s hope it happens, right?”

“It would be a dream matchup! Tigers–Yankees?”

Suddenly a familiar voice sounded from behind Derek’s shoulder. “Ooooo! Are we talking sports here?”

Derek pivoted to see Gary standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and a big, fat smirk on his face. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about baseball, Jeter—not when finals start on Monday!”

“I’d better get going,” Dave told Derek.

“Can you come out to the Hill tomorrow after school?”

“Uh, not today,” Dave said. “My team’s got practice. See you, Gary.” He waved and went off to his class.

Derek stared after him, feeling jealous. His coaches should have called a practice too. He knew if his dad had been the coach, he would have had one for sure.

Gary and Derek headed for Ms. Terrapin’s room. “Do you have to butt into every conversation?” Derek asked him.

“Only the unbearably stupid ones. But honestly, Jeter—how