Date: Sat, 17 Jan 2015 20:24:06 -0500
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: The Father Contract 15

INSTALLMENT
FIFTEEN

from

THE FATHER
CONTRACT

By Arthur Arrington

Edited Paul Scott


Please support Nifty with a donation.  They can use all the help they can get, 	and so do we and this wonderful kid.  Remember, PJ rules!

Chapter Thirty: PJ Spreads His Wings

The huge Gordonsville School Field House echoed to the sounds of baseballs
hitting aluminum bats, coaches and players yelling, and the whirring sounds
of pitching machines. It was the day before Spring Break, the last day of
baseball tryouts, and PJ stood in a line of boys who were all wearing
shorts and carrying fielders' gloves, waiting to go into a netted enclosure
for infield drills.

PJ was keyed up just the way he was before a big swim race. He looked
around. The vast arena was divided into different areas by enormous nets
dropped down from the ceiling. Boys were hitting off both pitching machines
and live pitchers in four narrow aisles. In larger areas, the coaches were
working with infielders and outfielders, hitting fungos or running
situation drills.

With their assistants hovering close by, Varsity and Middle School coaches
walked around making notes on their clipboards. PJ watched them
nervously. The coaches had been evaluating all the boys for several weeks
now, and today was the last day. They would post the cut lists
tomorrow. When the boys returned after a ten-day break, only those on the
top list would make the Varsity, JV, and Middle School squads. All the rest
would play intramural baseball on House teams.

PJ wanted more than anything to make the cut. He was sure Erik would make
it, and he desperately wanted to play on the same team as his
roommate. He'd been trying to catch the coaches' attention with good play,
trying to avoid dumb mistakes. He thought his hitting had been good enough,
but his fielding. . . ? He knew all that wall ball he and Erik played every
day had helped--but he still wasn't sure. . .

"Next group," yelled the coach from inside the netted enclosure.

Erik was one of the boys who'd been working the drill while PJ waited. He
was grinning as he pushed his way out between the heavy nets. He gave his
roommate a high-five. "You're up, PJ. Show your stuff!"

PJ shoved through the nets, his throat dry as he got took a ready stance
and waited for his turn. No dumb mistakes, he reminded himself. Keep your
glove down.

The coach was hitting fungos to the five boys in the group:grounders, slow
rollers, choppers, bloopers. In some ways, PJ thought, it was easier than
wall ball because he could anticipate the contact of the bat on the ball
and react to what was coming. He kept reminding himself of what Jack had
taught him. Anticipate, react, make the stop, control the ball, make the
play--and always try to get position on the ball.

React, react, react, PJ kept repeating to himself. He moved to his right,
moved to his left, and charged nicely on a slow roller. Then he badly
misplayed a chopper which came up and hit him in the face. But he shook it
off and still made the play. At least I stopped it, he thought.

"You okay, PJ?" the coach asked.

PJ nodded. "I'm all right." Actually he felt a little dizzy and his cheek
hurt, but he didn't say so. The coach gave him another grounder and PJ
managed to field that one smoothly. He knew that sometimes he was a little
clumsy getting the ball out of his glove, and sometimes his balance was
off, but he could stop most of what was hit at him.

When the balls began to come faster and harder, PJ tried to react as best
he could. He didn't get quite as many of these, but after making one nice
stop on a ball to his left with a sliding save, he congratulated himself on
a snag that was "wall-ball quality."

His group worked its way through the other practice stations: fly balls,
situation drills, and pitching. PJ knew he was not a very good pitcher, but
he did his best. I'm strong enough to throw harder than most kids my age!
And that's something, he kept reminding himself.

Erik saw him as he was going in for his situation drills and anxiously
asked, "PJ, what happened to your face?"

"I'm okay. A ball bounced up and hit me." PJ placed his hand over his right
eye and felt a painful swelling.

"Keep that glove up!" Erik reminded him.

By the end of practice, PJ was ready to take a break. He felt pretty tired
and was glad there was no swim practice to attend. PJ, along with other top
competitors, had kept on working every day after the Championships and had
competed in several US swimming age-group meets. It'd been plenty tough
doing weight training, morning swim practice, and afternoon baseball every
day for almost a month, not to mention going to races on weekends, but PJ
was happy he'd done it. At one of the meets he'd won a medal in a butterfly
event for eleven and twelve-year-olds. Because it was a medal he was
tremendously proud of, he'd e-mailed Travis and Jack about it the moment he
got home. The medal was now carefully packed in his duffel bag up in his
room so he wouldn't forget to take it with him on his vacation when he went
to see Jack. He couldn't wait to show it to him. An' I wanna tell Jack I
made the baseball team! PJ told himself with determination as he went to
take a shower. I just gotta make it!

When he and Erik had finished dinner and gotten back to the House, PJ found
a note telling him that Mr. Williamson wanted to see him, so he went and
knocked on his housemaster's door. "PJ, what's happened to your face?" was
the first thing the elderly man said when he spotted the bruise. He brought
PJ inside, called for his wife, and without waiting for an answer, took PJ
into the kitchen, sat him down under the overhead light, and held the boy's
chin up so his wife could examine the damage. As PJ explained about being
hit by the ball, Mrs. Williamson carefully prodded the swelling under his
eye. "It's a pretty good lick," she declared. "Nothing worse, thank
goodness. We'll put some ice on it." She got an ice pack from the House
first-aid kit and had PJ hold it to his cheek.

Mr. Williamson settled on a chair opposite PJ and looked at him with
concern. "You look a little tired, PJ," he said kindly. "I think this break
is coming at a good time. You've been pushing yourself awfully hard
lately. You need a rest." When PJ assured him that he was "OK," his
housemaster added, "PJ, you're lawyers called today. That's what I wanted
to see you about." He got up and brought PJ a glass of milk and a big piece
of Mrs. Williamson's chocolate cake, which PJ gratefully accepted. "It was
some woman," Mr. Williamson went on, looking around for his notes. "I've
got her name somewhere. . ."

"Pam Snyder?" PJ suggested.

"Yes, that was it." Mr. Williamson nodded, remembering. "She wanted to be
sure that we had you ready to go to the airport tomorrow after lunch so
they can fly you to New York. It seems that Mr. Canon is going to pick you
up there."

"Okay," PJ said. "I'm all packed, Mr. Williamson. I'll be ready." He
concentrated on eating his chocolate cake while still keeping the ice pack
on his cheek. And despite the pain, his mouth was fixed in a big smile.

"PJ, what is it exactly that you're doing on this vacation?" Mr. Williamson
asked.

"I'm spending a week with my Da . . . with Jack," PJ said. "We're gonna be
in his apartment in Boston."

Mr. Williamson frowned. "But isn't Mr. Canon busy playing baseball right
now, PJ? What will you be doing all day?"

"I'll be going to Fenway Park every day with him," PJ proudly said.

"Who's going to be taking care of you, PJ?" Mrs. Williamson wanted to
know. She poured him another glass of milk.

"Jack will take care of me."

Mr. Williamson sighed. "PJ, you have our numbers here at the school, don't
you?"

PJ nodded and drained his milk. "Yes, Sir. I always keep them with me in my
wallet."

"You can call us any time, day or night, PJ," Mr. Williamson reminded
him. "You can reverse the charges."

PJ nodded. He knew there was a way to do that with phone calls, but he'd
never tried it. He was sure he could figure it out if he had to.

"If you have any trouble, or if you need anything, I want you to ring us
up," Mr. Williamson said.

"I will." PJ looked at his housemaster and smiled. "If the Red Sox games
are on TV, you gotta try and watch so you can see me. I'll be in the dugout
with Jack."

Mrs. Williamson fondly stroked PJ's hair. "We'll look for you, PJ. We've
both become Red Sox fans so we can root for them with you."

Mr. Williamson got up. "PJ, be careful, please. Try not to get hit in the
face with any more baseballs! And get some rest. No staying up until all
hours. All right?"

"Yes, Sir," PJ told him. "I'll be careful. And don't worry. Jack will take
care of me."

The following day (a half-day because it was the start of a holiday), PJ
was sure he was gonna die of nervousness before his classes ended. It
seemed lunchtime would never come. He fidgeted, looked out the
window. . . . He couldn't concentrate on anything his teachers were
saying. The clock hands never seemed to move!

"PJ, take it easy," Erik whispered in Math class after he saw his roommate
look at the clock for the hundredth time. "You're gonna make the team. I
know it. We both are. I saw Coach Lewis in the hall and he gave me the
sign." PJ just nodded. It was OK for Erik. He knew Erik would be picked. He
whispered back, "He probably just meant you." Secretly, though, PJ didn't
know how he'd face Jack if he had to tell him he didn't make the team too.

As soon as their last class ended, Erik and PJ ran to the Field House to
look at the bulletin board. A crowd of boys, big and small and all with the
same idea, blocked their way, but the two roommates gradually elbowed their
way to the front. PJ scanned the papers thumb-tacked to the board. He
didn't see his name anywhere!

"Yee-ee-0000-wwww!" Erik whooped, and began pounding PJ on the back. "We
made it! Take a look! Oh boy, I knew it! I told you! I told you we'd both
make it!"

PJ looked. On a paper titled "Gordonsville Middle School Baseball Team,"
there was a list of fifteen names. At the bottom were his and Erik's. How
could he have missed his?

A wave of relief washed over him. All his nervousness vanished. Erik hugged
him and they high-fived. "Together, PJ," Erik told him, eyes shining. "You
and me. Partners. We're gonna show 'em!" They went out to the big foyer and
stared into the lighted trophy cases. "Someday," Erik whispered. PJ put a
hand on his friend's shoulder. "Not someday, Erik." His voice was trembling
with excitement." It's now. It all starts now!"

As they left the building, Erik said, "Let's do our regular wall-ball
practice. We have time. Why miss a day? My dad won't be here to pick me up
yet."

They ran to the Dining Hall, gobbled a fast lunch, and went to their room
to get their gloves. The House was filled with excited boys all getting
ready to leave with their parents for Easter Break. Dodging through them,
PJ and Erik ran back to the Field House where they had the big deserted
arena to themselves. For an hour, they played their wall-ball game, diving
and scrambling for the old baseball they were using, each trying to outdo
the other. I wish Charlie was here right now, PJ thought. I could try an'
beat him. Jason, too. I know Erik could!

For the last few points, both boys went all out. PJ had kept the score
close--or at least he thought he had. Sometimes he suspected Erik of
deliberately missing to give him a chance to win.  Finally, he threw a
zinger that ricocheted off the wall heading to Erik's left. With a
spectacular effort, his roomie launched himself off to the side, glove
desperately extended, and made a beautiful diving stop, sliding through the
dirt! "Two points!" he crowed triumphantly, holding the ball up from where
he lay sprawled. "Three maybe!"

"Heck, four maybe!" PJ laughed as he went to help Erik up. "You win. That
was great, ole buddy. I'll get you next time."

Then they heard someone clapping and turned to look. Coach Lewis stepped
out of the shadows by the empty stands, walked over to them, and stood
there, grinning, looking down at the boys. "So this is who's been leaving
scuff marks all over the wall and kicking dirt across the track. I should
have guessed it was you two. By the way, how'd you get that black eye, PJ?"

PJ told him about being hit in the face by the ball the previous day. "But,
I'm okay now," he assured the coach.

"Uh-huh, come over here." Coach Lewis knelt down and examined PJ's face
closely, pushing the skin around gently with his fingers. "I guess you'll
live," he said at last. He looked over at Erik. "Why haven't you taught him
to keep his glove up, hotshot?"

Erik grinned. "The ball took a bad hop on him, Coach. It wasn't PJ's
fault."

The young coach stood up. "I suppose by now you both know you made the
Middle School team."

PJ and Erik nodded.

"And I suppose you also know you were the only eleven-year-olds to make it?
Just like in football."

The two boys looked at each other and smiled delightedly. They hadn't known
that.

Coach Lewis looked at PJ. You're swim coach has already warned me he's only
loaning you temporarily, and that if you get hurt, he's either never going
to speak to me again or else bomb my car, he's not sure which." PJ and Erik
both cracked up at that. "I'm going to be working with you again,"
Mr. Lewis continued. "I'm the assistant coach for the baseball team and
I'll be working with the scrubs just like in football. And I've never seen
more scrubbier scrubs then you two. But I'll tell you what. . . ." He
beckoned for them to come closer and whispered, "Even though I think
baseball is only good for keeping you in shape for football, and even
though all the other kids on this team are bigger than you, and even though
Gordonsville wasn't too good last year . . ."--the young man paused
dramatically, grinned, and then said-- ". . . I think we're gonna have one
heck of a season! And I think you two are gonna surprise everybody!"

PJ and Erik both nodded and high-fived Coach Lewis, laughing happily.

"How long have you guys been practicing like this?" he asked.

"Since before Christmas," PJ told him. "Almost every day," Erik added.

Coach Lewis whistled. "No wonder you both made the team. That's real
dedication. What are you guys doing over the Break?"

"I'm not doin' anything special," Erik told him, "but PJ's gonna spend a
week with the Red Sox."

"He's what?" Their coach stared in amazement.

PJ smiled shyly. "I'm going up to Boston to spend a week with the Red Sox."

Oh, that's right," Coach Lewis said, nodding. "You're the kid that's pals
with Jack Canon. I heard about that. What did he do, adopt you or
something?"

"Something like that," PJ said, a little uncomfortably.

"Well, it sounds great. Try and learn something while you're there. And
have fun. Both of you. I'll be waiting for you guys when you get back. If
you thought I was tough on you in football, just wait until you see what
I'm going to make you do in baseball! We have practice the first day back
from Break. Make sure you're on time!" He gave them a pat on their
shoulders and strode off, leaving PJ and Erik grinning at each other. "I'm
glad we've got Coach Lewis again," PJ said. "He's super."

"Yeah. he likes us, too," Erik happily agreed. "He'll make sure we get lots
of chances to play." They walked back to the House, talking excitedly about
their upcoming season. As they shuffled through a crowd of parents and kids
out in front, they were so engrossed that they walked right past Erik's
stepdad without even seeing him.

"There you two are!" Bill exclaimed. "We've been looking all over for
you. PJ, Mr. Williamson needs to see you." He put a hand on PJ's shoulders
and with his free arm gave Erik a big hug. "Are you all packed, Son? Your
mom's waiting for us. Where have you guys been, anyway?"

"We've been practicing our baseball, Dad," Erik explained. "We both made
the Middle School team!"

"Both of you!" Bill exclaimed. "That's terrific! PJ, that's wonderful
news. But hey, what happened to your eye?" The big man leaned down to
inspect PJ more closely as Erik explained, "It was a ground ball, Dad. It
took a bad hop on him"

"I'm OK," PJ said, a bit embarrassed. "My coach already checked it out."

Bill straightened up and patted his shoulder. "Jack will be so proud of
you. You two are gonna be great. I bet you'll tear 'em up. Erik, during the
Break, you and I can throw the ball around every day and I'll take you to
the batting cages to practice hitting!"

"All right, Dad!"

"You better get your bags, Son. We've got to get started."

PJ hurried with Erik up to the room to help him grab his things. For the
very first time before a vacation, PJ wasn't envious of his friend. Erik
would have fun practicing baseball with his dad during Break, but so would
he! He looked over at his poster of Jack and smiled.

When the boys brought Erik's things downstairs, Bill took the bag PJ was
carrying and shook his hand. "Erik's told me all about this visit you're
making to Jack. It sounds pretty exciting!"

PJ grinned up at him. "I think it's gonna be awesome."

"You and Jack will have a great time," Bill assured him. "Just remember, if
you need anything, call me. And one of these times we'd like to have you
visit with us, too."

"Thanks, Bill." PJ watched Bill and Erik head for the parking area
thinking, Me and Erik are so lucky to have such wonderful guys as
stepdads. Moments later he was dodging through the crowd of departing
students and parents, anxious to get back to his room before Mr. Williamson
spotted him. He knew what his housemaster wanted. It was time for him to
leave for New York. But he wanted to get off an e-mail first! He made it
upstairs without being sighted, brought up the mailbox on his computer, and
quickly typed a few sentences about making the baseball team, including the
good news that his favorite coach would be working with him again. He sent
this off to Jack, Charlie, and Travis. He knew he'd be seeing Jack soon
anyway, but he just couldn't wait. The news was too good to keep!

With the e-mails attended to, PJ got undressed, dashed to the bathroom for
a fast shower, and put on his good khaki pants with a white shirt. After
slipping into loafers that he'd polished the night before and knotting his
Boston Red Sox tie, he topped it all off with the navy blue blazer. When he
checked his reflection in the mirror, he noticed that the pants looked a
little short, that his blazer appeared to be tight, and that the sleeves
didn't seem long enough. Maybe I do need some new clothes, he thought, but
still not bad! And even though the bruise under his right eye was turning
blue, green and purple, PJ decided he liked it! It made him look sort of
tough--like a ballplayer!

Days ago he had packed his little duffel bag in anticipation of his
trip. Now, he stuffed in his Nikes, checked to be sure he had his Red Sox
shirt, and, as an afterthought, tucked in his copy of Safe at Home. He'd
already packed some other books, but he wanted his current favorite with
him--like a sort of good-luck charm.

He took a last look around, making sure he hadn't missed anything, put on
his Red Sox ball cap, and took his bag downstairs. Mr. Williamson was in
the common room talking to some parents, but he excused himself the moment
he saw PJ. "There you are! They've been calling from the airport. They sent
a car for you." He took PJ outside and around to the parking area where a
local taxi was waiting by the curb. Crouching in front of the boy,
Mr. Williamson put a hand on his arm. "PJ, please take care of
yourself. Promise me you'll call if you need anything."

"I will," PJ promised, "and this time I'll call you for sure to tell you
when I'm coming back."

The elderly housemaster reached up gently to touch the bruise under PJ's
eye. "No more baseballs in the face, PJ. I want you back all in one piece!"

PJ giggled. "I'll be careful."

"All right. Now, have fun, Son. Tell Jack that Mrs. Williamson and I are
looking forward to having him visit again. And tell him we're rooting for
him." He put his hands on PJ's waist, gave the boy a little squeeze, and
then got up, watching as PJ climbed into the back seat of the taxi. When it
drove off, Mr. Williamson stood on the curb, waving.

The taxi driver was not the talkative type and was silent all the way to
the airport, the reason PJ wished he'd instead thought to call Billy's dad
for a ride. As they pulled up to the little office building, PJ looked past
to see if the Cessna Citation was there. Instead, it was a Beech jet, which
was almost as good. A flight crew member met the taxi and took care of
paying the driver. The crew had only been waiting for PJ. They escorted him
into the aircraft, made sure he was strapped in, and immediately started up
the engines. "We want to beat the big weekend rush coming into Newark," the
copilot explained with a smile. But his smile turned into a frown. "It's
none of my business, but how'd you get that black eye?"

For the fifth time in two days, yet this time almost boasting, PJ smiled
back and answered, "Grounder took a bad hop on me." The man nodded
sympathetically and cracked a grin. "They do that sometimes."  As soon as
he could after take-off, PJ got up front and conned his way into sitting in
the copilot's seat. He managed to get about fifteen minutes of good flight
time, with the pilot letting him change altitude and make the initial call
to Newark Approach. The co-pilot crouched behind him, peering over his
shoulder, and both he and the pilot watched approvingly as PJ put the jet
into a race-track holding pattern upon instructions from the controller on
the ground.

"Think you could land this thing?" the pilot asked in a friendly challenge.

PJ shook his head. "Only in 'Flight Simulator' on my computer. But if it
was an emergency, I could probably get it down without messing up too
much. I'd just need some help finding all the right controls for the flaps
and the gear."

The pilot nodded appreciatively. "You've got good instincts for this. Ever
thought about being a pilot?"

PJ grinned with delight. "Thanks. I intend to solo on the day of my
sixteenth birthday. That's in four-and-a-half years."

Giving PJ's shoulder a pat, the co-pilot chuckled and said, "I believe
you'll do it! Now better let me get back in there. I'm still learning to
fly this thing myself and I need to practice." PJ returned to his seat,
strapped in, and watched the final approach and landing through his window.

He could tell the airport was busy on this eve of a big holiday weekend.
After thanking the crew, exiting the plane, and entering the charter
terminal, PJ half expected to find Jack waiting for him. It was the reason
he had dressed carefully, so he would look good. But Jack wasn't
there. Instead it was Ms. Snyder.

"Hi, Della!" PJ sang out when he spotted the nice-looking young lady in the
lounge. As he hurried over to her, she screwed up her face and asked the
same question which by then he'd learned to expect: "What's happened to
your eye, Master Thorndyke?" There was a note of sarcasm in her voice.

"I got hit by a ground ball at baseball practice," he patiently explained,
looking around. "Where's Jack?"

Ignoring what he'd said, she posed another question. "Is that bag all
you've got?"

"Uh,huh. That's it. But what about. . .

"Mr. Canon will meet you at the game tomorrow, after we finish your
outfitting." She herded him toward the front of the building and they
stepped outside onto the sidewalk. At the curb, the same big white limo
with gold trim was waiting, just like the last time. As they drove into the
city, PJ recalled with a smile how suspicious he had been on that
visit. Things had changed a lot since then!

The rush-hour traffic in the city was already starting to build as the limo
crawled up Broadway to midtown where they turned onto a cross-street and
pulled up at one of the big hotels not far from Times Square. "We've put
you up here this time instead of the Ritz," Ms. Snyder told PJ. "It's just
for one night, and this is close to our office.

After she got him checked in, they went up to the room, which wasn't as
nice as the one PJ had the last time, but it seemed comfortable
enough. There was a big bathroom and a nice TV.

"I'll be here at about nine tomorrow to take you over for your clothes,"
Ms. Snyder said. "Make sure you've had breakfast and are all packed
up. You'll check out then. Tonight you can have dinner here and they'll put
it on your room bill."

PJ nodded to show he understood and watched her tip the bellhop who'd
brought up his bag.  When she was ready to leave, he smiled cheerfully,
assuring her he would be ready when she arrived to pick him up in the
morning. He waited for the door to close behind her, listened a moment to
be certain her footsteps were going down the hall, and unzipped his duffel
bag to change hurriedly into a pair of old pants, a T-shirt, and a
sweater. Here I am, in the heart of New York, just a few blocks from Times
Square! He didn't intend to waste a second! From hoarding his allowance
money for months, he had over two-hundred dollars with him, saved for this
vacation! He took out half, hid the rest under his clothes in his bag,
pocketed his key, and went downstairs to the street.

It was a nice spring evening in New York City. The air was cool, but PJ's
sweater was just warm enough if he kept moving. There was still plenty of
daylight left. PJ strode along the sidewalks, enjoying the sights of
rush-hour and crowded streets.

The very first objective was the ESPN sports store to buy a fitted Red Sox
cap. There was no way PJ was going to Fenway Park with Jack in a cheap,
adjustable hat. On the way, he made note of an intriguing place he passed
on a side street off Broadway called Laser Park, advertising the biggest
laser-tag labyrinth in New York. Though he was tempted to go right in, he
decided the cap had to come first.

Down on Broadway, around the fancy pizza palace where he'd eaten on
Thanksgiving, Times Square was crowded with people for the holiday, all its
lights and sounds exciting in the evening twilight. To PJ's relief, the big
sports store still had the fitted cap he wanted. He had to pay almost $30
for it, but it was worth it. He wore it proudly out of the store, heading
back uptown to check out the laser-tag place.

Laser Park was below street level, occupying the basement levels of some
big buildings. PJ walked down two flights of broad steps and found himself
in an underground arcade with all sorts of cool games. He bought tokens and
began to work his way through a mysterious labyrinth of connected rooms,
anxious to sample all the video treats. After playing a number of new
games, smells emanating from a pizza oven in the snack bar at the far back
end of the complex reminded PJ that he was ravenous. He bought two generous
slices of sausage and pepperoni pizza plus a big Coke to wash them down,
and took a seat at a small table near a crowd of kids who were part of some
party.

"Are you guys all together?" he asked a boy about his own age sitting at a
table next to his. He had to practically yell to be heard over the noise.

"Yeah!" the other boy replied loudly. "It's two combined birthday
parties. Me and that kid over there."

"Cool!" PJ saw that the boy wore a laser-tag button. You guys gonna play
any more tag?"  "Yeah! As soon as the other group comes back out. You wanna
be on a team?"

"Sure!" PJ loved laser tag, even though he'd only gotten a chance to play
it a few times before. When it was their turn, the birthday groups went in,
taking PJ along with them.

The Laser Park maze was the biggest PJ had ever seen. He decided it
couldn't all be in one building. They must have knocked walls out and
combined two or three basements.  Because most of the other kids were not
too good, PJ was in the last group of players to be eliminated, managing to
"die" very realistically when his pac-alarm went off.

Since the maze had an observation booth above it with one-way glass, PJ
went with some of the others to watch another group play for awhile. When
his group went back in, PJ had the advantage of having seen the labyrinth
from above. Using that mental picture, he stalked the aisles killing player
after player, ending up as one of the very last to be eliminated.

"Man, this is the best laser-tag place I've ever been to," he told the
birthday boy after they'd finished. "Thanks for letting me play. I'm PJ
Thorndyke."

"Hi! My name's Jamie Wilson. Yeah, this place is radical," he agreed. The
two boys touched fists, and Jamie asked curiously, "What's with the black
eye? You been in a fight?"

PJ's response had become automatic. But by now he could explain away his
mishap with pride and not embarrassment. "Ground ball hit me in baseball
practice."

"Baseball? He eyed PJ's fitted cap. "Are you a Red Sox fan? Tomorrow night
we're goin' to Yankee Stadium to see the game with the Red Sox. My dad got
us tickets. We'll be right by the visiting team dugout so we can hang out
by the railing and try to get Jack Canon's autograph! He's like the most
awesome player!"

"I'm going to that game too," PJ told him. But he decided on the spot not
to say anything about knowing Jack because Jamie would never believe
him. "Maybe I'll see you."

The birthday party left after a time, but PJ found another group to hitch
up with and played two more rounds of laser tag, before going back to roam
the arcade. He discovered the jet-boat race game he liked so much and
played doubles against some older kids who were very good. He only beat
them once.

When he began to feel tired, he climbed the two flights of stairs up to the
street and made his way back to the hotel along crowded, brightly-lighted
sidewalks. He had to admit to himself that he was a little nervous about
being out so late, so he walked quickly, trying to make it look like he was
with someone.

 Finding when he got to his room that he was a lot more exhausted than he'd
realized, he got undressed for bed right away. It'd been a long day. He
crawled under the covers with just his pajama pants on, head buzzing with a
combination of excitement and fatigue. He took his book Safe at Home off
the nightstand to read the last few pages again, the ones he liked so much,
and fell asleep with the light on and the book open on his bare chest. That
night he dreamed that during their vacation together, Jack stood next to
him, a big arm around his shoulders, and that he said,

Son, from now on, I want you to call me "Dad."

Chapter Thirty-One: The House That Ruth Built

PJ woke the next morning with a start. For a moment he was disoriented,
fumbling anxiously to be sure he and his bedclothes were dry. Then he
relaxed as he remembered where he was. He looked around.

Sometime during the night, he'd put Safe at Home back on the night
table. It was neatly laying there. But he couldn't remember doing it. And
he was shocked when he saw what time it was. Nearly eight! Pam Snyder was
coming at nine!

He jumped up and headed for the bathroom, where the mirror confirmed that
his injured eye was still an ugly green and purple. After a quick shower,
he brushed his teeth, and dressed carefully again in the blazer, khaki
pants, and Red Sox tie. Afterwards, he hastily packed all his stuff and
went down to the hotel dining room to have breakfast, taking his bag along
with him.

After eating and while waiting for Pam in the lobby, PJ found a morning
paper with a picture of Jack next to an article about the Red Sox-Yankee
series in the sports section. The Sox had been leading the American League
Eastern Division by just two games over the Yankees, and the article
pointed out that the results of the two meetings in New York and the four
games to be played in Boston the following week would go a long way toward
deciding which team would lead the Division at the end of the season. PJ
checked the other headlines quickly and saw that the Yankees had won the
previous night. Tonight's game will be important, he thought. If the
Yankees win, they'll be tied with Boston for the lead.

Ms. Snyder had told PJ she'd come for him at nine, but it was past
nine-thirty before she arrived in the lobby. PJ was still finishing up Safe
at Home. "Good morning!" she told him curtly. "Are you all ready?"

PJ held up his bag and smiled. After checking her watch, she said, "Let's
go. We're close enough to walk so it shouldn't be so hard for you to carry
that."

Outside it was a cool spring morning. They strode across town and up
Madison Avenue to Brooks Brothers at the corner of 45th Street. Upon
entering the famous store, PJ breathed in the scents of polished wood,
leather, and fine wool fabrics, and was reminded of other times he'd been
taken there. Ms. Snyder guided him to the elevators, rode him up to the
Boys' Department, and ushered him out onto a floor filled with clothing of
all kinds and sizes. Racks of small suits, sport jackets, and pants covered
the walls. The rest of the vast space was a maze of tables piled with
assorted pants, shorts, shirts, underwear, socks, ties, belts, and dozens
of other items. When a young salesman hurried over to meet them, she
informed him that "I'm Pamela Snyder and this is Master Thorndyke. We have
an appointment."

The man bobbed his head. "Oh, yes. Of course." He led them to a stand-up
desk where a slender, gray-haired man was writing on something. PJ
remembered him from other visits. The salesman whispered to the older
gentleman, who turned to regard PJ as if measuring him with his
eyes. "Mr. Thorndyke. It's good to see you again." He was looking
quizzically at PJ's eye, but was too polite to say anything.

Pam Snyder brought out a long typewritten list, and soon PJ found himself
surrounded by assistant salesmen bringing things for him to look at and try
on, all addressing him as "Sir" or "Mr. Thorndyke." The putting on and off
of all those clothes seemed a process that would never end, and PJ shuffled
in and out of the little changing room for what seemed like a million
times. As usual, nothing fit him off the rack. There were always
alterations. Another man who was presumably the boss came out, eyed PJ's
slender, athletic build, and told Mr. Gray Hair, "You must fit him in the
shoulders and around here. . . ." Delicately, he indicated PJ's muscular
little rear end. "We will alter the rest."

So hour after hour, PJ put on suit coats, sport jackets, blazers, pants,
and shorts while the tailor fussed, shook his head, measured, pinned, and
marked with chalk. There had been a time when PJ hated shopping for clothes
so much he had to be forced to do it. He still disliked the whole business,
hated being fussed over, but liked to look good, and he knew this was the
price that had to be paid. He tried hard to remain cheerful and cooperative
so the tailor could do his job.

Mr. Gray Hair noted PJ's measurements from the previous year while he
recorded the new ones. He smiled at the boy. "I must say, Mr. Thorndyke, it
appears you are growing satisfactorily. I'm going to put a little extra
into the hem of your trousers. That way, if you are already growing out of
them by next fall, they can be let out a bit at your school."

PJ grinned at him. "Thanks. I'm trying to get as big as I can for football
season."

The man chuckled. "My grandson plays football and he's the same way. Always
trying to get bigger. He's chunkier than you. It's hard to find clothes
that fit him very well." After a slight pause, he added, "That how you hurt
your eye? Already practicing football?"

"No," PJ told him. "Actually, I was playing baseball."

At last the fitting was done. PJ shook hands with the tailor. Pam crossed
items off her list and then announced to Mr. Gray Hair, "Shirts, socks,
underwear."

He replied, "No need to get a salesman. I'll take care of you."

From the tables that filled the center of the room, they picked out stacks
of socks: brown, black, and great bundles of white athletic tubes. Then the
salesman measured PJ's neck and arm length and together they picked out
shirts: dress shirts, summer shirts, winter shirts, white shirts, colored
shirts, polo shirts--PJ's head began to swim. He lost track of what they
had gotten, but the efficient Ms. Snyder was always right behind them with
the list, checking things off. PJ got belts, shoes, loafers, and finally
underwear. Unlike many boys his age, PJ preferred briefs, and he picked out
two white three-packs.

"Finished," Pam said, checking off the last item.

"Ties?" the man suggested hopefully.

"PJ already has ties," the young lady informed him. "You don't grow out of
those."

To be truthful, PJ would have liked some new ones, but he was tired and
almost let the ties go--until he thought, If I don't get any now I may not
have another chance. So he spoke up. "Some of my old ties are pretty
ratty-looking. Maybe I should get just one or two new ones." He smiled at
Pam. "Please?"

She frowned and then finally nodded. "I guess that will be all right." So
they picked out some new ones. PJ liked getting ties at Brooks Brothers
because it was the only place he knew where the boys' ties were real and
not clip-on. They were cut to the right size and shape for a boy and could
be properly knotted. He talked Pam into letting him buy five.

Mr. Gray Hair stared at the Red Sox tie PJ was wearing, noting with
disapproval the way its long ends were tucked into the waist of his
pants. "That's not one of ours, is it. We could take that and have it cut
down for you so it would fit." PJ put a protective hand over his chest and
backed away. The idea of anyone taking his Sox tie and cutting it up
frightened him. This was the special one he had picked to match Jack's. It
was his special link to Jack; the thing that people could see! It was the
tie he was going to wear proudly when he walked with Jack into the
Father-Son Dinner at the end of football season. If he gave it to these
people, they might mess it up! He might never get it back! "That's okay,"
he said, making an effort to sound casual. "I like it the way it is!"

The elderly man exchanged an amused glance with Ms. Snyder, and
shrugged. "As you wish, Mr. Thorndyke." His condescending attitude angered
PJ, but he concealed it. He couldn't help thinking, though, Screw you! It's
none of your business!

"I think that's everything, now," Ms. Snyder declared. The two adults
walked to the stand-up desk to review the sales slips, while PJ kept his
distance, warily eyeing his new nemesis. He didn't want to give Mr. Gray
Hair any more chances at taking his tie! Suddenly tired, and feeling rather
lonely, he thought of Erik and wished his roommate could've been trying on
clothes with him. That would have been fun. For sure, Erik would have
cracked all sorts of jokes. And Jack. He wished Jack could've come with him
too. Where was Jack now? Probably somewhere up in Yankee Stadium or in a
hotel room getting ready for that night's game. PJ wished he could be there
with him.

At last, the two adults finished their business. There was a final shaking
of hands, after which PJ and the young woman took the elevator down and
went out onto the street. Madison Avenue was crowded with traffic and
holiday strollers. Ms. Snyder looked at her watch and announced, "We should
have lunch. Is there any place special you'd like to go?"

PJ remembered his last visit to New York, when he and Jack had eaten at the
Natural History Museum, and it reminded him of another place he
liked. "Let's go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They have a neat
restaurant with a pool. We could eat there."

"That's a nice thought," Pam said agreeably. She hailed a cab with a
practiced wave and gave directions to the driver. They headed to Fifth
Avenue.

Because the Museum was only moderately crowded, and there were empty tables
in the atrium restaurant, PJ found a good one right by the pool. Feeling
very grown up, he held his escort's chair for her while she sat down, took
a seat himself, and looked at the menu. He was shocked by the prices. "This
is worse than the Natural History Museum!"

She chuckled. "Don't worry, PJ. You can afford it. Just order whatever you
want." PJ felt hungry enough to order everything on the menu, but he
contented himself with a club sandwich and a container of milk to keep the
cost down. He was still a bit hungry after finishing, but made himself
ignore it.

After lunch, Ms. Snyder declared it too early to go to the stadium, so PJ
led the way upstairs. He knew all the parts of the Museum, and there were
certain things he liked to see. First on his list was the Egyptian section
with its complete re-construction of an ancient tomb, an exhibit that had
always fascinated him. In fact, PJ thought everything about Egypt was
interesting, from the pyramids to the pharaohs. He liked to pretend he was
young Indiana Jones, discovering the tomb for the first time, exploring its
rocky passageways while holding a flaming torch. In the ancient burial
chamber, he stood staring at the carvings on the walls, the rows of
foodstuffs pictured in stone, the big fake door carved on the wall for the
spirit to go through. He couldn't help wondering what it must have been
like to be a boy in ancient Egypt, to live in its strange, alien culture,
and maybe to die and be buried in a tomb like this, sleeping away the
centuries. After his clothes-shopping ordeal, he thought it might be very
peaceful.

In the rooms beyond, PJ peered at the Egyptian antiquities, all the
fabulous treasures the Museum had collected. Gold and precious stones were
everywhere. Colorful pictures and hieroglyphics covered ancient scrolls. He
wondered what stories those things could tell if only they could talk. How
long had they lain buried in the desert sands? What adventurers had found
them?

PJ led the way next to the Medieval wing, dragging Ms. Snyder along. This
was another fascinating section for PJ because of all the armor and weapons
on display. Swords, maces, shields, and pikes--everything totally awesome!
Staring at a huge broadsword, he tried to guess how much it weighed. You'd
have to be real strong to swing something like that in battle! Jack could
do it easy, he thought. PJ particularly liked the full armor outfits that
had been made for kids, beautiful things constructed of handcrafted
articulated plates, each metal part perfectly fitted and filigreed in
delicate tracery. It seemed to PJ that the parents who gave armor like that
to their young sons must have loved them very much. What could it have been
like to be a twelve or thirteen-year-old boy wearing armor like that,
fighting at your father's side! To maybe die for him! PJ thrilled at the
thought.

In the center of the main room, a group of knights, all in full armor, all
with lowered lances, rode mounted on stuffed horses. PJ liked to stand in
front of them, pretending he was wearing the boy's suit of armor with the
group charging at him, visors closed menacingly, lance tips glittering! He
could picture himself ducking under the lances, stabbing up at the horsemen
as they passed. . .

After he'd drunk his fill of medieval romance, PJ took Pam through gallery
after gallery of European paintings. There were certain things PJ liked and
others that he did not. He lingered in front of the enormous portrait of
Napoleon, imagining himself dressed in robes, the Emperor of Europe. Then
there were pictures of foreign landscapes and strange city streets that, if
he sat and stared at them long enough, would allow him inside so he could
visit the unknown places they depicted.

Portraits of children always caught PJ's attention because when he looked
at them, he would ask questions in his head. What were you like? Would you
like video games, and models, and baseball or soccer? If he listened hard
enough, sometimes he thought he could hear the kids playing games and
laughing. Then PJ glanced at the young woman beside him, fidgeting
impatiently, obviously not interested. He decided it was about time to go.

He finished up, as he liked to do, in the enormous atrium of the American
Wing. There, in the sculpture garden, was his favorite statue, "The Sun
Vow." It included two carved figures: one a sturdy Indian boy of about PJ's
age, and the other an older man, perhaps a chief, or his grandfather. The
boy was naked, with long hair falling around his shoulders, standing and
holding a bow as if he were ready to let fly an arrow. Crouched behind him,
the man was supporting him, perhaps instructing him in the traditions of
the ritual they were performing. Since he'd first seen them, PJ had never
been able to get these two figures out of his mind. Sometimes, looking at
them, his emotions welled up so strongly that he almost wanted to cry. How
he'd ached and longed for someone, anyone, who would care for him the way
the old man obviously cared for this boy! It had given him such pain, often
he'd turned away to go slink out of sight. But he always came back to look
and dream again. . .

Today, walking past the statue with Ms. Snyder, he found himself able to
look at the sculpture for the first time without feeling he was going to
embarrass himself by crying. He had Jack now, and he knew at last how safe
and secure the boy with the bow and arrow must have felt because he
recalled how wonderful he'd felt when Jack had coached him in the Field
House that day they'd played wall ball together. He could feel Jack's
strong hands holding him and could hear his patient voice.

He turned to his companion. "Is it time to go find Jack yet? It must be
getting close."

Pam looked at her watch. "Almost. Another half-hour or so."

PJ was starting to feel very tired, and his legs were aching as they walked
through an exhibit of pre-Columbian art that Ms. Snyder wanted to see. But
at last it was time to go. After retrieving PJ's bag from where he had
checked it, they went outside to Fifth Avenue where she flagged down
another cab. "Yankee Stadium," she told the driver.

The words sent a thrilling shiver down PJ's spine. Yankee Stadium! One of
the greatest parks in all of baseball history. "The House that Ruth Built."
The park that was home field to a legendary team that'd won more World
Series championships than any other club in the game. And he was going
there to meet Jack Canon, and see the mighty Yankees play another legendary
club, the Boston Red Sox!

As they drove into the Bronx, PJ leaned forward, eager for his first sight
of the stadium. There it was! Rising up out of the parking lots around
it. Magnificent!  It looked even better than the pictures he'd seen in
books and movies. The gracefully arcaded walls gleamed in the late
afternoon sun. Across the top, in huge blue-lit letters, were the hallowed
words "YANKEE STADIUM."

There were crowds of people going in, and the parking-lot access roads were
jammed. The taxi driver inched forward through the traffic and dropped them
off at one of the enormous entrances. Tickets! Pam produced them. They
proceeded through the gate and up some wide ramps. At a narrow set of
stairs blocked by a security guard, she had to produce the tickets again,
whereupon they were allowed to pass up the stairs, which led to a club
luxury box section. PJ followed his escort down a carpeted hallway that had
doorways only on the left side. At one of them, Pam checked the number on
the door with the tickets, opened it, and gestured for PJ to go in.

The space beyond was much bigger than the hotel room where PJ had spent the
night. Behind a table near the door, a man in a white uniform was serving
food and drinks to several adults dressed in suits and ties. Nearby,
another group, both men and woman in what PJ considered "dress-up" clothes,
were standing around talking. Except for the man in the white uniform,
every head turned as PJ entered.
 	"PJ!" Walter Harris appeared out of the group and came over to him
with a smile. "It's good to see you, PJ. How are you? Here, let's park your
bag and I'll introduce you around." Without a change in expression, still
smiling, he whispered to Ms. Snyder, "What's wrong with his eye?" She
apparently explained what had happened, which happily left PJ off the hook
as far as having to recite his boring story for the nth time. Walter just
stared hard at him, shook his head, turned, and announced, "Everyone, this
is PJ, black eye and all. Seems he made friends with a baseball!"

After hearing ripples of laughter, PJ found himself being introduced to men
and women he'd never heard of or met before. There was one middle-aged man
with a cold glare that Walter introduced as the "General Manager of the Red
Sox." When PJ shook his hand, the man smiled, but PJ noticed that his eyes
never lost their steely look. "Nice to meet you," the man said. "I
understand you're going to be our guest for the coming week."

"Uh, well I'm spending a week with my friend Jack Canon," PJ explained,
getting the familiar gut-twisting tension he always experienced talking to
a strange adult, particularly one who didn't seem too friendly.

"Have fun," the man said. It didn't sound like he meant it.

After they were introduced all around, the men and women went back to
conversing among themselves, including Pam Snyder, whom they all seemed to
know. Now ignored, PJ squirmed his way to the glassed-in front of the box
and was momentarily stunned by what he saw! The inside of Yankee Stadium
was awesome! He'd never in his life seen grass so green as the turf on the
field. It seemed to glow like a great emerald in the blaze of the stadium
lights. The box where he was standing hung just to the first-base side of
home plate, and the diamond was spread in front of him looking absolutely
immaculate. It seemed as if every individual piece of dirt and blade of
grass had been carefully set into position by hand, one by one. Great tiers
of seats surrounded the field, all of it topped by the arched arcades that
were its trademark.

PJ noticed that players were already on the field, warming up, so he sidled
over to the food table where Walter was talking and tapped him on the
arm. "Walter, I'm gonna go down to the field and see if I can find Jack."

"Okay, PJ," Walter replied distractedly. "Just don't get lost. Have you got
your ticket? You'll need it to go past the security guard."

Ms. Snyder was busily involved in conversation, so PJ had to wait patiently
until he got her attention and could ask for a ticket stub. With that in
hand, he slipped out of the box and went downstairs past the guard to join
a jostling stream of people on an entrance ramp that led to the box seats
behind home plate. Emerging from the tunnel-like ramp, he faced the vast
space which had opened up in front of him, stunned all over again by the
sights, sounds, and smells of the great stadium. This was even more
spectacular than the view from the box. The green of the field was
dazzling. He could smell the freshly-cut grass. There were the sounds of
baseballs smacking into leather gloves, the murmur of an enormous crowd,
and the savory odor of peanuts and hot dogs. Momentarily overwhelmed, PJ
just stood and stared.

Finally, he began working his way down the aisles toward the field where
players were warming up. But he could only get part way. What seemed like
hundreds of kids were jamming the stairs and packing in along the railing
by the field. Unable to push through, he stood up on a seat so he could see
over their heads. And then he saw Jack! There he was, in his Red Sox
uniform just like in the poster on PJ's closet door, tossing a ball by the
dugout with another Red Sox player. PJ realized that all those young fans
were down by the field because they were trying to get close to Jack to get
his autograph.

"Jack! Jack!" PJ yelled, waving, but his voice was lost in a hundred
others. There was no way he could get Jack's attention from where he stood
because the kids on the railing were all screaming and waving too. Jack
finished his warm-up tosses, came over to the foul line, and took out the
black felt-tip pen he always carried. After writing something on the ball
he'd been throwing, he gave it to some kid PJ couldn't see. Then PJ
completely lost sight of him.

For awhile, he kept trying to push through, but there were just too many
others in the way. Then, as a wave of yelling broke out, PJ climbed up onto
the railing of a box seat to see what it was all about. Jack had gone over
to the Yankees' side of the field and brought back Derick Jeter, the famous
Yankee shortstop. Both players started autographing balls and programs and
even caps for the kids on the railings. There was pandemonium all over!
Kids were shrieking for attention! PJ yelled and waved to Jack, but it was
no use. His voice was lost in the noise. Heart aching with jealousy, he
watched Jack pat his little fans on their shoulders, ruffle their hair, and
give them his famous grin. PJ hated to see other kids get the same
attention Jack gave to him. "Jack!" he yelled desperately. But still, Jack
couldn't hear him.

Out on the field, all the other players were trotting to their dugouts
while members of the ground crew fussed about, giving final touchups to the
baselines and pitcher's mound. Jack and Mr. Jeter waved to the crowd and
yelled something PJ couldn't hear. After that, they walked over to a box by
the Red Sox fence where a boy sat in a wheelchair wearing a Red Sox
cap. Jack introduced him to the Yankee shortstop, they posed for pictures,
and PJ was jealous all over again, though he had to admit that it was okay
that they were being so nice to the crippled kid. Then the two stars
disappeared into their respective dugouts.

Frustrated, PJ walked back upstairs to the luxury box while the National
Anthem was being sung. He snuck in unobserved while Pam, Walter, and all
the other adults were talking and eating. Removing his blazer and precious
Red Sox tie, he put them both in his bag for safe-keeping, put on his
fitted cap, and returned to one corner of the big window to watch the
Yankee starter pitch to the first Red Sox batter. But annoyed that none of
the adults in the box were paying attention to the game, irritated by their
indifference and realizing that they're not even watching, he decided the
box was the wrong place to be. Up there, it was like he wasn't seeing any
baseball action at all!

No one noticed when he left the box again. Back downstairs, he hustled up
the ramp into the area where he' been before and sat down on an aisle step
to watch what was now the third Red Sox batter. This was way better! He was
even close enough to hear the "Thwack!" of the ball coming into the
catcher's mitt!

Suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder. PJ turned his head to see a boy
slightly older than himself, with straight black hair and Hispanic features
crouching behind him. "Hey, don't sit there, man," the kid whispered. His
eyes flicked back and forth, checking the area around them. "The stadium
cops'll get you. Move around. Stick with me. I'll show ya'."

PJ got up and followed the boy across aisles into another section where the
boy repeated, "You gotta keep movin'. The cops'll get you if you just stand
around. Make it look like you're goin' to the snack bar or somethin'. "

The mention of the words "snack bar" made PJ realize he was hungry. There
was food in the luxury box, but he was reluctant to go back there and
perhaps get trapped. When the Red Sox went down one-two-three in the top of
the first inning, there was a break in the action and PJ got the attention
of a vendor to buy hot dogs for both himself and his new companion. "Wow!
Thanks," the boy said. He held out a fist. "Name's Xavier." "Mine's PJ,
replied his new acquaintance." They tapped fists, then made short work of
the hot dogs and two sodas PJ had bought to go with them.

Outside, night had fallen, but the stadium lights made the field as bright
as day. Xavier's black hair looked shiny and his dark eyes glittered with
amusement. He indicated the bruise on PJ's face and asked, "Didya' win the
fight?"

Here we go again, thought PJ. "Nah. Got hit by a baseball."

"Baseball?" Xavier's expression lit up. "You play on a team? I'm on a team
in Police Athletic League. Our coach is a cop, but he ain't such a bad
guy. I pitch. Kids call me 'Zip' 'cause I throw hard. You can call me that
too."

PJ regarded the other boy with respect. "Yeah, Zip, I play on my school
team. In summer camp, too. I can throw hard, but I'm not good enough to
pitch. I'm not that accurate." Since Jack batted fourth in the Red Sox
lineup, and PJ knew he would be up in the next inning, he suggested, "Let's
go over by the Red Sox dugout. We can watch Jack Canon in the on-deck
circle."

"You kiddin'?" Xavier stared at him incredulously. "Every kid in the
stadium'd hang there if he could. The cops chase 'em all out. What? You
tryin' for an autograph? Stick around after the game. He'll sign one. He's
'bout the only player who does, too."

"I think he's great," PJ said.

"You and everyone else. I'm a Yankee fan, but I still think Jack Canon's
the best ballplayer ever!"

For a time, PJ and his new friend stayed together, moving around whenever
they saw a stadium cop. They watched Jack lead off the second inning with a
double to the left centerfield wall and a steal of third base, only to get
stranded by the next three batters. Later, during the third inning, Zip saw
some of his friends and drifted off, but not without leaving PJ some
advice. "Look for empty seats to sit in, and nobody'll be the wiser." PJ
was genuinely sorry to see him leave.

The Sox got something going in the fourth inning and put other men on
base. When Jack was due up, PJ decided to see if Xavier had been right
about not being able to get down close to batters who were on deck. Sure
enough, there were stadium cops posted in the aisles of that section
keeping kids out. PJ moved on. But he still yelled "Hit one, Jack!" when
his hero came to bat. Jack responded by belting a towering three-run homer
over the right-field wall. The Sox went out in front three-to-nothing. PJ
thought, Did I have something to do with that?

He found an empty seat on the third-base line about ten rows back from the
field, only to realize after settling into it just how tired he was. His
legs were trembling, his eyes kept drooping, and he felt so sleepy he
couldn't help dozing. He woke when Jack came to bat in the seventh inning
with the score three-to-one and Red Sox runners on base. Jack fouled off
several pitches before hitting a long, high fly ball out into center
field. The crowd came to its feet with a roar! But the center fielder was
able to make a catch on the warning track, and everyone sat down again.

With the game nearing its end, PJ remembered that he needed to retrieve his
bag so he'd be ready to leave with Jack after the game was over. He left
his seat and, continuing to watch the action on the field, drifted back to
the sections behind home plate. From there, during a break between innings,
he hurried up to the luxury box, snuck in quietly behind the adults who
were still paying little attention to the action, grabbed his duffel bag,
and slipped back out. Downstairs, he found a spectator section where there
were no cops and easily located another empty seat.

Although the Yankees rallied in the eighth and scored another run, and the
Red Sox failed to score in the top of the ninth, the Boston closer ended
the game with two strikeouts and a groundout. The Sox were the winners,
three-to-two.

As the sold-out crowd began to jam the exits, PJ moved toward the railing
near the Red Sox dugout. Jack was already out signing autographs; stadium
cops lined the edge of the field to prevent anyone from climbing down onto
the grass; and a crowd of kids in front blocked PJ's progress. His heart
sank. I should have come over here sooner! How am I gonna make it through
and get Jack's attention? He tried shouting and waving again, but there was
just too much noise. After waiting patiently for a time and not getting any
closer, PJ began to worry. Walter and Ms. Snyder didn't know where he
was. They might leave, assuming he was with Jack. And Jack might leave too,
before PJ could get up to the railing. Everyone might leave without him!

"Jack!" he called desperately. He kept trying to push forward, but all the
other kids were pushing, too, so that was no good. Instead of moving
forward, he began to angle sideways toward the railing. It was becoming a
little like the nightmares PJ sometimes had where he found himself lost in
an immense crowd.

He knew his parents had just been with him moments before, but now suddenly
they were gone and he couldn't find them. He searched and searched, pushing
desperately past and around people. Sometimes he was sure he'd caught a
glimpse of them, but before he could get near enough, the crowd would close
in and they were gone again. No matter how hard he screamed, no one ever
heard him. He always woke from that dream yelling and crying. . .

. . . and the same feeling of abandonment and panic began to overwhelm him
now as he tried to get to a place where he could see Jack and get his
attention. At last, he was able to squeeze between two other boys and lean
out over the railing. Now he could see! Jack was still signing autographs
for kids who had made their way down closer to the dugout. "Jack!" PJ
screamed frantically. He waved his arm. But Jack wasn't looking his way. He
signed a card some boy had handed him and smiled at the kid just as he had
smiled at PJ so often. "Jack! Jack! It's me!" PJ again screamed. Jack
didn't hear. He took a cap off another little boy's head, ruffled his hair,
wrote something on the brim of the cap, and put it back with a grin.

PJ was now sure that he was having a dream. He'd fallen asleep in the
seventh inning and he was dreaming. He struggled to wake up but couldn't. A
wave of fear broke over him, bringing tears to his eyes. I won't cry, I
won't cry, I won't! he thought to himself.

But now Jack was working his way slowly down the railing toward him! Now
he'll see me! "Jack," PJ yelled, Over here!" Someone wearing a Red-Sox cap
and jacket came out of the dugout, said something to Jack, and he
nodded. "Just a few more, now!" he yelled at the shrieking fans. There was
so much noise PJ could barely make out the words. His stomach tightened in
panic. Jack was leaving! He had to get to him! In desperation he threw his
duffel bag over onto the field and started to climb the railing. A stadium
cop saw PJ and ran over to stop him. As the man tried to pull him back, PJ
struggled frantically, screaming, "Jack! Jack! Over here! It's me!" The
movement caught Jack's eye. He came closer, caught sight of PJ's white,
stricken little face, and stepped quickly to where the boy was clutching
onto the rail. "Say, Tiger, everybody's been looking for you!"

Jack picked PJ up in his powerful arms and in an effortless movement,
lifted the hysterical boy over the railing, depositing him on the field
next to him. PJ nearly fainted with relief. His knees felt so weak he
almost couldn't stand and he was trembling all over. He wanted to hug Jack,
but didn't dare to in front of all these other children. Instead, he
grabbed Jack's arm with both hands and clung to him, blinking back tears.

"Jack!"

"Hey, Little Champ." Jack looked down at him. "What's wrong? Why all the
fuss? What's with the black eye?"

PJ managed a weak smile. "A baseball, Jack. I forgot to get out of the
way." But his words were lost in the tumult of crowd noise around them and
Jack was already bending down to retrieve PJ's bag.

"Here you go," he told the boy. "Better hang onto it. We don't want to lose
it. Why don't you go sit in the dugout while I finish up out here."

But shaking his head, PJ grabbed his bag with one hand and hung onto Jack's
with the other. "Okay," Jack said, grinning at him. "Let me have my hand
back." Reluctantly, PJ relaxed his grip, grabbing a fold of Jack's uniform
and clinging to that instead. He was terrified that if he let go, he might
get separated and be left behind. Jack kept moving along the railing,
giving out autographs, smiling and talking as he patiently tried to greet
as many kids as he could. PJ moved with him, standing very close, never
letting go of his clothing. Gradually, when he saw that all the other boys
were watching him with a mixture of envy and curiosity, his fear passed and
he began to feel better. His trembling stopped. He stood up proudly, hoping
everyone in the stadium could see him standing on the field right next to
Jack Canon. But he didn't release that tight hold on Jack's uniform.

One of the kids waiting for Jack to sign an autograph kept waving at PJ and
yelling, "Hey! Hey!" Suddenly, PJ recognized Jamie, the birthday boy that
he'd met in Laser Park. "Do you know him?" the boy asked in
astonishment. PJ grinned, nodded, and leaned close so Jamie could hear
him. "He's like my stepdad." He tugged on Jack's sleeve to get his
attention.

"Friend of yours?" Jack asked with a smile. When PJ nodded, Jack reached
into a back pocket for a batting glove, which he gave the delighted
youngster, then signed his cap and a Jack Canon baseball card the boy held
out. Jamie blurted a "Gee, thanks!," signaled PJ an "OK" with his thumb and
forefinger, and flashed him a gigantic grin.

Farther down, PJ spotted Xavier staring at him with eyes wide in
amazement. PJ pointed him out as well, warning, "His nickname's Zip and
he's a Yankee fan."

"Of course he's a Yankee fan," Jack said, smiling and handing the boy a
batting glove from his other pocket. "He lives in New York and the Yankees
are a great team." There was a sudden flash from cameras. PJ turned to see
a group of news photographers taking pictures of Jack giving away the
glove. Xavier was searching frantically for something that he could give
Jack to sign. Jack, however, held up his forefinger in a "wait-a-minute"
gesture and beckoned over one of the cameramen. Getting two sheets of paper
from him, he signed one for Xavier, and on the other took down his name,
address, and phone number. He gave it to the photographer, said something
to him, and told the boy, "You'll get a copy of that picture." Zip looked
back at him in a happy daze and replied, "That's so cool, man!" He glanced
at PJ with an expression of heartfelt gratitude.

The same man PJ had seen before came out of the dugout again and said to
Jack, "It's way past time to leave. You said to remind you."

"Guess we better get going" Jack told PJ. He turned away from the railing
in the wake of howls of disappointment from his young fans. "Next time!"
Jack yelled. He grinned, waved, and started for the dugout with PJ holding
on to him, trotting along by his side. More reporters joined them, crowding
around, and PJ recognized some from the time he had been with Jack in New
York for his swim meet. The reporters recognized him, too. "Hi-Ya, PJ!" It
was the man from the Daily News. The Long Island Sun asked, "Did the big
guy hit that home run for you?" USA Today yelled, "Hey Jack, guess you guys
had to win tonight with the boss watching!"

Grinning, Jack stopped inside the dugout to let the media people gather
around him. "Okay, guys," he said in a friendly way. "Lay off now. You all
know the kid. He's with me for a week during his spring vacation from
school. That's all. It's personal. There's no big story."

There were groans from the reporters. One said, "How 'bout the pictures,
Jack? Can we use 'em?"

"Sure," Jack told him. "And get a copy of one of 'em to me so I can sign it
for that other kid. PJ knows him." The reporters started asking questions
about the game, but Jack held up a hand. "Talk to me while I shower an'
change. There's a charter flight we gotta catch." With the reporters at
their heels, Jack took PJ through the dark tunnel that led from the dugout
back under the stands. Their footsteps echoed, particularly when Jack's
cleats scraped on the cement. After the darkness of the tunnel, the hot,
noisy locker room was so bright that PJ had to screw up his eyes in order
to see. Jack told him to wait in front of his locker while he went off for
a shower, and PJ sat down on a bench, amazed to see the reporters following
Jack right into the shower area. He was even more astonished to see two
young women in the room talking to Red Sox players while they were getting
dressed! Were they reporters, wives, girlfriends? Weren't the players
embarrassed? He also noticed that the lockers were open and didn't have
doors you could lock. It was all very different from the locker rooms at
Gordonsville or the ones he saw at other schools.

The noise, the lights, his recent fright, and his own exhaustion gave the
unfamiliar scene a grotesque quality, as if he were back in that familiar
dream, catching glimpses of his parents with no hope of ever finding
them--except that this time it was Jack whom he was trying to catch up
with. He knew the feeling was not real, but he couldn't relax until he saw
Jack come back from his foggy shower area with a towel around him. The
reporters were still dogging his footsteps, asking questions about the
upcoming homestand and Jack's batting exploits. PJ's head began to swim
with fatigue. He wished the reporters would leave so he could tell Jack how
glad he was to see him, and how he and Erik had made the Middle School
baseball team. Plus he wanted to share all the other little adventures and
excitements in his life during the past weeks, adventures that he'd waited
so long to tell him. It would have been such fun to talk to Jack because
Jack always seemed so interested in him. But the reporters just went on and
on . . .

"Nice eye, PJ." It was the Daily News reporter. "You look kind of
rundown. You feeling okay?" The question snapped PJ awake. He had no
intention of getting into any talk about his eye with a reporter. He put
the man of with a shy smile, and merely said, "I'm okay."

Jack was dressed now, knotting a tie in front of a mirror, though PJ was
disappointed to see it was not the Red Sox one he'd given him. After
throwing things from his locker into a big duffel bag, Jack handed the bag
to a waiting team equipment man and turned to PJ with smile. "Let's get
going, Champ. Bus is waiting." They said goodbye to the reporters and went
through another long tunnel out to where a big bus was idling in a fenced
enclosure. Fans pushed up against the fences, waving, applauding, and
holding signs. There was a big cheer when Jack waved back and grinned. PJ
still had his own bag in one hand and was holding Jack's hand tightly with
the other. Jack pushed him up into the bus first and followed him, saying,
"Take a spot in the front, PJ." Sliding into a window seat, bag on his lap,
PJ looked around. The bus was the most luxurious he'd ever seen. His seat
was a big, soft, recliner. There was subdued, recessed lighting, plush
carpet, music playing in the background. . . . He expected Jack to sit next
to him, but his hero walked on down the aisle, talking and laughing with
the other players.

A tall man with dark curly hair and light brown Hispanic features got on
the bus and slid into the seat next to him. "Hi, PJ," he said. "Glad you
came to our game." PJ recognized the pitcher who'd started for the Red Sox
that night. The man dug into his jacket, came out with a small notebook,
and started writing in it. "Have to make these notes on the Yankee batters
while they're fresh in my mind," he explained with a smile.

PJ dozed on the way to the airport, waking with a start to find everyone
getting off the bus. He looked around anxiously. "Jack!"

"Right here, PJ." Jack was coming up the aisle toward him. PJ grabbed onto
his jacket, keeping a tight hold as they followed the others down the
steps, and put his hand in Jack's as they went through the airport. It all
looked unfamiliar to PJ.

"Where are we?"

" LaGuardia Airport ," Jack told him.  He pointed out a window. "There's
our plane." Turning his head, PJ saw a huge jetliner parked on the ramp
outside, its streamlined fuselage decorated with the Boston Red Sox logo in
dazzling red and white. "Oh, wow!"

During the short delay while baggage was loaded, Jack got a sandwich and
container of milk, which he split with PJ. Shortly afterwards they all
climbed on board. Jack led PJ up towards the front of the plane, where he
put him in a window seat and said, "Save that other seat for me,
Tiger. I'll be right back." Then he was off down the aisle, as usual, to
talk to someone. PJ stowed his little duffel bag, put his hand on Jack's
seat to show it was being saved, and waited patiently. Jack didn't get back
until the seatbelt sign went on and they were already taxiing.

"Well, PJ, Boston next stop," Jack told him as he sat down and fastened his
seatbelt. While the plane rumbled down the runway, PJ tried looking out the
window to see where they were. He couldn't make out much at first, but when
the cabin lights were turned down, it was easier to see outside. As they
took off and climbed, he gasped at the view: the Manhattan skyline,
hundreds of skyscrapers, all lit up like a fairyland!

"Somethin' else, eh PJ," Jack said, looking over his shoulder. "I never get
tired of seeing it." Nodding happily, PJ settled into his seat. Now with
Jack right next to him in the cabin's quiet darkness, his earlier fright
seemed silly to him. Jack would never have left him behind. He leaned
against the man and felt Jack's big arm go around his shoulders. Suddenly
he was very, very tired.  "Jack," PJ said sleepily. "Jack, I made the
baseball team. Erik and I both did."

"Hey, that's great, PJ." Jack gave him a little hug. "I knew you'd do
it. I'm proud of you."

PJ smiled and closed his eyes. Jack was proud of him! It was the best
feeling in the world. He felt warm and cared for and safe. Safe with
Jack. As he drifted off, he heard Jack talking with someone who said, "That
kid looks like he's exhausted."

PJ fell into a deep sleep. . . .

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT FIFTEEN

           Editor Paul K. Scott's e-mail: paulkdoctor@gmail.com