The Contract Read Online Free PDF Page B

moment.
    Pete grabbed a ball, and the two of them went into foul territory along the third baseline and started pitching it back and forth.
    It soon became a contest to see who could throw harder and still throw a strike. Burnout, the kids called it. Both of them threw really hard, for sure. But neither of them threw too many strikes.
    Still, after a few pitches their mitts were popping so loudly that everyone else stopped what they were doing and watched Derek and Pete go at it instead. His dad would be watching too, Derek knew.
    Back and forth they went, blazing wild fastballs at each other, leaping and diving for the stray throws. Derek’s glove hand stung, but he wasn’t going to cry uncle. He gave back as good as he got, and he knew Pete’s hand had to be hurting just as much.
    In the end, neither one could claim a clear victory. Considering how wild they both were, Derek didn’t think either of them would get to pitch anytime soon.
    Luckily, three o’clock rolled around before Derek’s arm totally fell off or his hand caught fire. Coach Kozlowski called the Tigers off the field just as the Yankees started to arrive for their practice.
    Derek saw Jeff, Jason, and Harry—along with two other good players he knew, Skip Larsen and Jayquan Graves—all high-fiving one another. Derek couldn’t help wishing he were on the Yankees too.
    He tried to look on the bright side. There were five or six kids on the Tigers who might be pretty good. Himself, Pete for sure, Isaiah . . . That kid Ryan, the big lefty, was awesome at first base. Ernesto didn’t throw hard like Derek or Pete, but at least he seemed like he could get the ball over the plate. And little Chris had good speed. He’ll steal a ton of bases, Derek thought. If he ever gets on base.
    Still, Derek couldn’t help feeling disappointed as he watched the Yankees gather, looking like a team full of world-beaters.
    â€œOkay, we’re out of time, unfortunately,” Coach Kozlowski said. “Next practice is tomorrow at four o’clock, right here. We’ll do some hitting and some baserunning. For now, here are your uniforms.”
    He opened the top of a big garbage bag and started pulling uniform shirts out. They were green, with “Tigers” written in yellow script on the front.
    Derek held his breath, hoping he would get number 13. He’d worn it the past two seasons, and although it hadn’t exactly proved to be a lucky number, 13 had been his dad’s number in college. And his dad was Derek’s original, all-time, and forever baseball role model (even though Dave Winfield was his current favorite).
    Coach Kozlowski pulled out several jerseys and tossed them to kids one by one, based on who he thought would fit that size shirt. When Derek saw number 13 come out of the bag, he raised his hand and said, “Me! Me!”
    â€œSorry, Darren. This one’s taken.”
    â€œIt’s Derek ,” said Vijay.
    â€œRight. Sorry. I had a special request for this number.” He gave Derek a wink, then tossed the shirt over to Pete, who quickly pulled it over his head.
    â€œYeah!” Pete said. “Lucky thirteen again, same as last year!”
    â€œHere y’go, kid. This one should fit you pretty well.” He tossed a different jersey over to Derek, who looked at it and made a face.
    Number 2.
    Pete was standing right next to him. He gave Derek a nudge and said softly, so that no one else could hear him, “Hey. Number two! As in second best !”
    Derek tightened his jaw and pursed his lips so he wouldn’t say what he wanted to say. Instead he shuffled off toward the bleachers, where his dad was waiting for him.
    â€œHow’d it go?” Mr. Jeter asked, putting his papers back into his briefcase. “You looked pretty good out there.”
    â€œTerrible,” Derek said.
    â€œWell, you were throwing a little wild. Try coming over the top more on your