Date: Sun, 7 Jun 2015 12:19:10 -0400
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: INSTALLMENT TWENTY-FIVE of "THE FATHER CONTRACT"

INSTALLMENT TWENTY-FIVE
from

THE FATHER CONTRACT
by

Arthur J. Arrington

Edited Paul K. Scott

Please consider making a donation to Nifty to keep our PJ's hopes alive and
well!  Remember, he needs all the help he can get to make his wish for a
father come true!

* * *

Chapter Forty-Six: A Taste of Freedom

Three weeks later, on the morning of the Fourth of July, PJ sat in the
air-conditioned comfort of the private aviation lounge at the Gainesville,
Florida, airport, looking out over runways already shimmering in hot, early
morning sunshine. Anyone seeing him might have thought he was catching
sight of a young model from the pages of GQ. Blonde hair, expensive Nikes,
tanned bare arms and legs set off by color-coordinated shorts and shirt,
fitted Red Sox cap, fashionable wrap-around sunglasses--and him leaning
back in a leather seat by floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows which gave a
panoramic view of the airport--PJ was the picture of relaxed, cool
elegance.

But that picture was slightly deceptive. PJ was waiting for the charter
plane that would take him on the short trip to meet Jack. Despite his
outwardly relaxed appearance, he was somewhat nervous and pretty excited
all at the same time! He hadn't seen Jack for nearly a month, so he could
hardly wait to see him again. Plus, it was a matter of the surprise he was
bringing.

Camp had turned out to be a lot more fun than he'd anticipated. Of course,
the setting and the facilities were unchanged. The camp was located on the
campus of the University of Florida and used all the beautiful athletic
facilities available there. PJ's swimming workouts were held in a
spectacular outdoor, twelve-lane, fifty-meter pool. His baseball group
practiced on the college field and performed drills in cages at the field
house. Football instruction took place on the enormous athletic fields
nearby. At night he slept in his own bedroom in one of the new student
dormitories and he ate at the University cafeteria.

But all that was just the same as the year before, with the same daily
activities. The swimmers did two workouts a day: a long one at the pool
early in the morning and a shorter one after a session of weight training
in the late afternoon. In between, there were alternating baseball and
football practices with daily special activities and classes. It was a full
schedule, but he thoroughly enjoyed himself. He particularly liked being
anonymous. There were a few kids he had met the previous year, but
basically, no one knew who he was and no one was interested. He had no
ties, no obligations, and never had to answer any questions. He was free to
concentrate on his sports.

  The real difference was how much better he'd been at everything. He'd
enjoyed baseball the most. He was still not the world's best fielder,
although he was getting better, but he was the top hitter in his age
group. Even more fun, the coach had organized several teams from the ten to
twelve-year-olds at the camp so they could play each other as well as some
of the local Little League teams around Gainesville. PJ loved playing. It
didn't really matter too much whether they won or lost, as long as he could
concentrate on his self-improvement. Baseball was always the high point of
his day.

Football was more skills-oriented. There were enough boys to make up a few
teams, so they occasionally scrimmaged. But most of the emphasis was on
basic drills, fundamentals, and skill development. The practices were tough
and repetitive, but PJ was used to that from swimming, and he found working
with the coaches, most of them coaches or players at the University, to be
helpful and motivating. He soon moved to the advanced group.

Best of all, however, was his swimming--not the most fun for him, but the
sport he truly excelled at. Though PJ was in the eleven-to-twelve age
bracket, he was in the top of the group even though he was only eleven. And
he was doing it all against solid competition. The other kids in the camp
were good athletes, and some of the swimmers, especially the ones from
Florida, were as good as anybody in the country. The swimming was the most
intense program of all with its long grueling practices run by top
coaches. All the swimmers were organized into a single team that
represented the camp in various US Swimming age-group meets around the
state. PJ had been to his first one just a few days earlier, and there he'd
achieved something he couldn't wait to share with Jack.

PJ reached into his duffel bag. He had brought all his most valued
treasures with him, even stuff he wouldn't need, because he was afraid to
leave anything at the camp. He had all the clothes Jack had bought him, his
autographed glove, his favorite books, his Red Sox batting gloves, the
baseball he'd hit his grand slam with (date and game were on it in magic
marker), and one other very special thing. From out of the duffel, he
carefully eased a flat plastic box that was a bit smaller than a
postcard. One wide, flat surface of the box was clear and inside, pressed
against a bed of foam, was a silver medal attached to a colorful red
ribbon. Next to his grand-slam baseball, this was PJ's most treasured
possession. He'd won the medal at that last swim meet by placing second
overall in the boys eleven and twelve-year-old one-hundred-meter
butterfly. Despite the fact that he was only eleven, PJ had beaten out all
other competitors except the twelve-year-old who'd gotten first. It was the
first big award PJ'd ever received in sports in his life, and he was
prouder of it than the Congressional Medal of Honor. After wearing it on
his shirt going back to camp in the van that evening, he'd slept with it
under his pillow every single night!

PJ had kept Jack appraised of all his activity at the camp in daily
e-mails, using the computer in the recreation room of his dormitory. But
he'd not told him about the medal. That was special. He was saving that. He
would give it to Jack personally when they were alone, just the two of
them. It was something he had been dreaming about ever since missing out on
a medal at the Middle School Eastern Championships in March. He put the box
back into his duffel bag, wrapping it carefully in a shirt so the plastic
case wouldn't be damaged. After zipping the bag up, he looked around
again. The camp had dropped him off early at the airport, but it should be
getting close to the time when he was scheduled to leave. Idly, he stared
out the windows at the airport runway, wondering where his charter was and
what kind of plane it would be.

"Mr. Thorndyke?" A pretty, dark-haired young woman in a neatly-tailored
dark-blue skirt, white blouse, and red silk scarf at her neck was at his
elbow. "Would you come with me, please? We have your aircraft ready."

PJ nodded, realizing the plane must have been parked out of sight. Grabbing
his bag, he followed the young lady through the lounge and out a door that
opened into the dazzling sunshine. Sitting on the tarmac, engines already
running, was a sleek Learjet, decked out in blue and gold. Taking PJ's bag,
the pretty stewardess motioned for him to go up the short flight of steps
into the cabin. The plane's interior was luxurious, and PJ was the only
passenger. Taking a place by a window, he buckled his seatbelt while the
stewardess placed his bag in an overhead compartment and snapped it shut,
went back to pull up the steps, closed and locked the cabin door, strapped
herself into a small seat near the back, and spoke into an intercom. The
engines spooled up and the plane began to taxi.

The flight to Fort Myers Beach was so short, PJ had no chance to try to get
on the flight deck. The pretty cabin attendant barely had time to serve him
orange juice before it was time to re-buckle into her own seat for the
approach to the airport. After landing, they taxied to the same terminal PJ
remembered from the time he'd come before with Walter. A man with a dark
suit and cap was waiting in the passenger lounge. Out front, he held open
the door of a silver-gray Mercedes Benz limousine while PJ got into the
back with his bag. As the boy settled comfortably on the soft leather seat,
the chauffeur got in front, started the car, and they pulled smoothly away.

The drive to Jack's house was just as PJ remembered it from Thanksgiving
when he'd used Walter's written directions to navigate them in the rental
car. The limo entered the same neighborhood of sprawling expensive homes on
quiet palm-lined streets. Down at the end of the cul-de-sac, the big car
turned into Jack's driveway. After parking, the driver held the door for PJ
so he could get out. It was all the same as before: the big rambling house
looking deserted in the hot sunshine, no sign of life behind the blank,
dark glass windows. Everything was so alike, PJ half expected to see Lauren
come bursting suddenly around the corner of the house with Jason chasing
her.

The last time, everyone had been out in the back yard, so PJ decided to
look there first. He dismissed the driver, carried his bag across the front
lawn to the side of the house, and continued around to the patio. There, a
woman in a swimsuit was stretched out on a recliner, wearing dark glasses,
reading a newspaper. At the sound of PJ's approaching footsteps, the
sunglasses came off, the paper dropped . . . and PJ recognized Jason's
mother.

"PJ, how are you? Remember me? Mrs. Thompson. Jack said you were coming
today. Did you have a nice flight, dear? My, you look much browner than the
last time you were here. And you've grown a little, haven't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am." When PJ offered his hand, the woman gave his fingers a little
squeeze. "Have you had breakfast, honey? If not, there's probably some
cereal in the kitchen. Jack and my husband just left for another of Jack's
interviews. You just missed them, but they'll be back later. Jason and the
other kids are around here somewhere. Why don't you put your bag away and
get your swimsuit on or something. It's the same room as last time. You
remember where it is, don't you?"

PJ said he did and went into the house. Jack's place was still messy. He
noted towels and newspapers strewn around the living room; and in the
kitchen, boxes of cereal open on the table, along with dirty dishes and a
jug of milk no one had put away. PJ placed the milk back in the
refrigerator before going down the hall to the bedroom. The four bunk beds
were still there, the two bottom ones rumpled and unmade. Kid clothes were
scattered over the floor. PJ put his bag on one of the top bunks and got
out the colorful practice Speedo that Jack had given him for Christmas. The
bright colors were faded now from the hundreds of hours the suit had spent
in chlorinated water. Before putting it on, PJ locked the door, undressed
completely, and in imitation of his first visit stood in front of the
full-length mirror on the back of the door, looking at himself.

The naked boy staring back at him was different from the last time he'd
been here. This one was tanned all over, except for the white skin of his
hips and groin that'd been shielded by the Speedo. He was slightly taller
as well, the smooth muscles of his slender body even more defined. His
shoulders and chest were broader than most boys his age, his waist taut and
lean, and his rounded butt jutting out in hard, tight mounds. I'm growing,
PJ thought to himself. I'm gonna be even bigger and stronger by the end of
the summer. As he examined himself, he felt his small penis begin to lift
and stiffen. Once it stood up all the way, he stroked it gently with thumb
and forefinger. He couldn't help smiling at himself. Guess I'm getting
bigger all over! When he got into his Speedo, the tight cloth bulged over
his boner, so he pulled his satin soccer shorts on over the brief to hide
it. Putting on the fitted Red Sox cap and retrieving his glove from the
bag, he made a last check in the mirror to be sure no bulge was showing
before padding barefoot down the hall, back out onto the patio.

Jason's mother was still there reading the paper. She looked up when PJ
came out. "I thought I heard the kids over in Charlie's yard. I'm sure
you'll find them somewhere."

PJ walked through the soft grass down toward the bottom of the backyard,
wondering who kept the huge yard so neat and well groomed. Jack must pay
someone to come do it. Down by the baseball wall, he heard voices coming
from Charlie's yard next door. He pushed through the bushes. Across the
lawn on the far side, Charlie and Jason's sister Lauren were standing next
to a big trampoline, watching Jason bounce on its surface. All three were
well-tanned and looked damp, as if they'd recently been in the water. The
two boys wore colorful board shorts, Lauren a tight-fitting green-and-gold
two-piece, her wet hair pushed back carelessly over her shoulders. "Come
on, Jason," PJ heard Charlie say. "You've been on there forever. Give your
sister a turn."

"In a minute." Bouncing up into a front somersault, Jason tried to land on
his feet. But he hadn't gotten all the way around. His feet skidded on the
mat and he fell back, nearly hitting the trampoline's metal rim.

"You're gonna kill yourself," Charlie told him. He turned, saw PJ coming
across the lawn, stared for a second, then called, "Hey, PJ!"

"Hi, Charlie!" Trotting the rest of the way to him, PJ slapped Charlie's
palm, and greeted Jason and Lauren. She held out a fist, and smiled
slyly. "Hey, remember me?"

"Yeah!" PJ touched his fist to hers, remembering the thrill of Lauren's
hugging him closely while they were on that jet ski. He felt himself
blushing, and was embarrassed. He knew something else was happening, too,
and was glad that he'd put on those soccer shorts over his Speedo.

Nearby, Charlie was grinning. From above, on the trampoline, came a
snicker. "Told you she still liked him."

Lauren turned to glare up at her brother. "You're such a jerk, Jason!"

Blushing even more, PJ changed the subject and gestured at the
trampoline. "When ya' get this, Charlie?"

"My folks got it for me this spring," Charlie proudly answered. "It's
pretty cool as long as you don't try to kill yourself on it, like Jason's
tryin' to do."

"Hey, I know what I'm doing," Jason protested. "We have one of these at my
school." He bounced again, did another somersault, landing on his seat this
time, and after bouncing a few more times, finally got off to let his
sister take a turn.

"Jack says you're goin' to the All-Star game with us," Jason told PJ as
they watched Lauren bounce away.

PJ nodded. He looked at Charlie. "Are you goin', too?"

The boy grinned. "Yeah. He takes me every year."

PJ was both gladdened and saddened to hear this. He liked Charlie a
lot. But he'd hoped for time alone with Jack, and could see that that might
be hard to come by.

The boys talked for awhile, PJ describing his camp, Charlie and Jason
telling about their Little League teams. "I think we'll make the State
Tournament again this year," Charlie said. "That's two years in a row if we
do."

PJ took a turn on the trampoline. He'd never tried one before, so it took
him awhile to learn how to bounce without going all over the mat. With
Lauren teaching him, which PJ liked, having long since gotten over his
embarrassment, he learned beginner's tricks like seat and back drops. Soon
he was confidently jumping as high as Charlie--but he decided not to try a
somersault just yet.

Given Lauren's presence, PJ might have stayed longer on the trampoline, but
she got called up to the house to go shopping with her mother. Charlie,
seeing that PJ had brought his glove, suggested they play wall ball, so PJ
ran with Charlie and Jason over to the big concrete wall with its peeling
sun-faded Red Sox logo that sat on the property line between the Thomas and
Canon back yards. Once he game started, PJ found that he could hold his own
far better than he had when he'd visited at Thanksgiving. Studying the
other two, PJ decided that Charlie was as good as Erik. Both had the same
effortless way of fielding and throwing--making it look easy, even when it
wasn't. PJ knew he'd never be that good, but he was now better than
Jason. After proving this to his own satisfaction, he deliberately started
playing sloppily. He'd noticed that Jason got mad if he lost, and there was
no sense in creating any friction. He'd just deliberately let one grounder
go under his glove when he heard a voice.

"Come on, PJ! I thought I taught you better than that!"

PJ looked up. Jack was behind him, standing next to Jason's father. "Jack!"
Running over to him, PJ gave his idol a quick hug.

"Hi, Tiger!" Jack winked and grinned down at him. "Say, don't you look
great. All tanned up and everything. Florida's the place for you, PJ. We
should get you out of that snowbound prison camp you go to and put you
somewhere down here."

"Yeah, PJ." Mr. Thompson was holding out a hand. "How do you stand the
winters up there? It's nice to see you again."

PJ shook hands politely, then turned in excitement back to Jack. "Jack,
camp's so neat this year! I got all kinda stuff to tell you."

With a fond smile, the big ball player gave PJ's bare shoulder a
pat. "Sounds like you're havin' fun. I got all your messages. How was the
trip over this morning? They take good care of you?"

PJ nodded. "It was super. And thanks for sending the car."

"Thank Walter for all that," Jack said with a chuckle. "He arranged it. But
I made the suggestion and gave him the name of the agency. Walter would've
fixed you up with a taxi. I thought you'd like the limo better." PJ grinned
up at him. After ruffling the boy's hair, Jack turned to his agent. "I'm
gonna hit the pool for a bit. Then I guess we better get the grills going."

The two men started back toward the house, and the moment their backs were
turned, Charlie whispered to Jordan and PJ, "Hey, let's go to the pool and
wait for 'em! It's always a blast when Jack goes in the water with us!"
There was instant agreement. The boys ran across the lawn to the shrubs
screening the pool, pushed through, and PJ, after putting his Red Sox cap
in a safe spot, started pulling off his soccer shorts. Charlie and Jason,
already in their swim shorts, both dove right into the sparkling water. PJ
followed in his Speedo, splashed them, and the boys started a game of tag
that gradually turned into cannonball wars.

They were still dashing around bombing each other when Jack arrived,
wearing the same worn trunks PJ remembered from their workout at
Thanksgiving. The moment Jack was in the water, Charlie and Jason were all
over him, begging to be thrown. PJ swam over too, waiting eagerly for his
turn, and got a thrilling reward. After tossing the other two boys high out
over the water, Jack turned, lifted PJ right up, and announced, "You're
good enough to jump off my shoulders!" Holding PJ's hands to steady him,
Jack crouched so PJ could clamber up there. As soon as he felt that PJ was
balanced, he came up out of the crouch with a powerful surge! PJ used the
momentum to propel himself high over the pool's surface, turning a complete
one-and-one-half somersault before knifing back cleanly headfirst into the
water. He dove to the bottom and swam back to Jack underwater, coming up
next to him, spluttering, looking at Jack with a delighted grin. "Again!"
he begged.

Jack threw them all several more times, PJ loving every second of
it. Jack's strong hands and arms holding him made him feel so safe and
protected! And he enjoyed sharing the fun with Jack. It was like they were
close, the same way Bill was with Erik, or Billy and his Dad.

Eventually, Jack called a halt. "I got that Home Run Derby tomorrow,
guys. I keep throwing you heavyweights around, I won't even get the ball
past the infield."

PJ immediately swim behind him. Wrapping arms around Jack's neck, he leaned
against his back and begged, "Give me a ride, Jack." With a sigh, Jack
settled into the water. Using an easy breaststroke, he swam slowly around
the pool, PJ floating on his back. Charlie and Jason resumed their
splashing and chasing of each other, so for awhile PJ had Jack all to
himself. He wiggled happily. "This is nice, Jack."

"Ha!" the big ballplayer chortled. "That's because you don't have to do any
of the work."

"Go underwater, Jack," PJ pleaded. "Be like a submarine."

"Geez, PJ. . ." Taking a deep breath, Jack dove beneath the water with PJ
hanging onto him. Near the bottom, Jack swam to a wall, turned around, and
pushed off while PJ clung tightly. When they resurfaced, after snorting and
taking a breath, Jack laughed. "There you go, Little Champ." PJ hugged him,
laying his cheek against Jack's neck and keeping a tight hold as the man
stroked over to the side of the pool for a rest. "You been gettin' my
e-mails?" Jack asked.

PJ nodded his head.

"How 'bout the sleeping business? You still sleeping okay?"

PJ nodded again.

"I should think you would," Jack said, laughing. "That schedule you're on
in that camp would kill a horse! I'm surprised you have energy left at the
end of the day to write me. Let alone stay awake. I bet you sleep like a
rock!"

PJ responded with a smirk, and snuggled next to Jack's back.

"How 'bout Travis and Erik?" Jack asked. "What do you hear from them?"

PJ just nodded.

"Come on, PJ!" Jack reached back to tickle him. "I'm tryin' to make
conversation here. Talk to me!"

Squirming at the tickling, PJ practically giggled. He hugged Jack, and
said, "We e-mail each other about twice a week. They're okay. They went to
the beach on the Jersey Shore last week. They're gonna watch the All-Star
game on TV so they can see us."

Jack patted one of PJ's arms where it was around his neck. "Well, they'll
see me all right--that is, unless I break my leg or something and can't
play. I'll have to think of some way to get you on so they can see you. Let
me go now, Tiger. I have to get the charcoal started. I hope you're
hungry. We're having hamburgers for lunch, and steak tonight for dinner
before the fireworks."

"I'm always hungry," PJ told him.

"I bet you are! Geez, PJ, with all that exercise you're getting, you must
eat like you have a tapeworm. I'm telling you, it scared me when I read
that schedule you sent me. But you look fine, so I guess it must be
okay. In fact, you look just great. Better than when I saw you at
school. Come on now, Tiger. Let go. I have to start the grills up."

Reluctantly, PJ let his arms drop from around Jack's neck and slid off his
back. Jack ruffled his hair, grinned fondly at him, then got out of the
pool, heading toward the house. PJ stayed in the pool. The boys started a
game of tag in the water, soon being joined by Lauren when she came back
from shopping. They kept playing until a delicious odor of cooking
hamburger meat came drifting down from the patio. Then, when the adults
called, Jason, Lauren, and Charlie went running up to get something to
eat. PJ stopped to put on his cap and soccer shorts before following.

After weeks of "It's-Good-For-You" cafeteria food at his camp, PJ thought
lunch was really great. Lauren and her mother had come back from the
supermarket deli loaded down with coleslaw, potato salad, spinach salad,
baked beans . . . all the good stuff! Jack and Mr. Thompson cooked a mound
of burgers, and PJ ate so much he almost lacked enough room for the
watermelon Mrs. Thompson brought out for dessert. Nor was he the only one
stuffing his face! Charlie's parents arrived halfway through the meal and
almost missed getting anything to eat. "Having these kids here is like
feeding piranha," Jason's mother told Charlie's mom. "You put it on the
table one minute, and in the next it's gone!" Jason grinned at her while
helping himself to another hamburger.

After eating, the other children drifted off, but PJ stayed with the
adults, helping with the cleanup. When it became obvious that all the dirty
dishes and utensils were going to be left piled in the kitchen sink, he
remained behind, got the hot water going, and washed everything, including
the stuff left since breakfast. Mrs. Thompson came in as he was
finishing. "PJ, you don't have to do all this. Jack has a dishwasher."

"It's okay," PJ said, continuing with his drying and putting away. "I'm
almost done."

The woman stared around at the cleaned-up kitchen. "I wish you could teach
Jason how to do this."

Except for a polite smile, PJ ignored her, concentrating on getting done
with his task. He despised doing dishes, hated being caught at it; but
somehow he could not stand the idea of Jack not being tidy. Whenever he saw
things out of place in Jack's house, it grated on his nerves. Now, at
least, the kitchen was neat again.

Returning to the patio, he settled quietly on the ground with his feet
tucked back out of the way, leaning against a leg of the lawn chair Jack
was in. He didn't sat anything, but he knew Jack was aware he was sitting
there because every once in awhile his hero would reach down and give his
shoulder a little pat. Just being this close to Jack, even if he couldn't
talk to the man, was enough for PJ. Feeling comfortably drowsy after the
big meal, he let the flow of adult conversation wash over him as he waited
patiently for a chance to speak to him alone.

After what seemed a very long time to him, that chance finally
came. Charlie's mom and Jason's mom were off engaged in their own
conversation; while Charlie's dad and Jason's dad had begun arguing about
some sports trivia. So when Jack put his hand on PJ's head and said, "How's
it going down there, Little Champ?" PJ seized the moment. "I've got
something to show you," he whispered excitedly, scrambling to his
feet. "Wait right here!"

Running to his room, he grabbed both the home run baseball and his swimming
medal. Then he raced back to the patio. Jack was talking to Charlie's dad
again, so PJ had to wait patiently for them to finish. But eventually Jack
turned to him, his eyes lighting up when he saw the baseball. "What's that
you got, Tiger?"

Wordlessly, PJ handed him his baseball, pointing to the writing on it so
Jack would be sure to see. "Grand slam!" Jack exclaimed softly. "PJ, when
was that?" He turned the ball over, looking at the date.

"Our last tournament game," PJ explained. "The one we lost."

"You never said anything about this in your e-mail," Jack accused, smiling
at him.

PJ grinned back. "I wanted to surprise you."

"PJ, this is just great." Jack gave the ball back to him. "I can still
remember my first grand slam. I don't think I've ever had a bigger thrill
since."

"Jack, it was just such. . . ." PJ still had no words for it. "It was just
the greatest feeling. I won't ever forget it."

"Isn't that the game where the pitcher tried to bean you? It seems to me
you mentioned something about that."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, now I see why he tried that," Jack said, smiling. "Pitchers don't
like grand-slam hitters."

"Jack, I got right back into the box after that, just like you told me to
do. I was scared, but I did it. And I got a double."

"Did you, Little Champ?" Jack put a hand on PJ's shoulder. "I'm proud of
you. I wish I could have seen that. What's the other thing you've got
there?"

With a beaming smile, PJ slowly drew the flat plastic medal box from behind
his back where he'd been hiding it and put it into Jack's hand. "See,
Jack?" He turned the box over so the transparent side was up. Inside, the
silver medal embossed with a beautiful statue of winged victory holding a
wreath glittered in the sunshine, with its colorful red ribbon.

Jack stared at it. "PJ, what is this?"

PJ explained how he'd won the medal in the age-group swim meet. "I got
second place out of everybody, Jack! The kid who got first was twelve. I
beat everyone else, including a lot of other twelve-year-olds. It was a big
meet, Jack. My name will be in Swimming World Magazine with the results!"
He put a finger out, caressing the smooth plastic case in Jack's
hand. "It's the biggest thing I've ever won, Jack!" he said with emotion in
his voice.

Jack handed the box back to PJ so he could give him a quick hug around the
shoulders. "I'm happy for you, PJ," he told the boy. "And you know I'm
proud of you, don't you?"

PJ nodded.

"Thanks for showing those things to me." Jack squeezed PJ's
shoulders. "You're my Little Champ."

"Thanks Jack." PJ smiled at him. Yet he felt mixed emotions at Jack's
reaction. It'd seemed lukewarm. He certainly didn't seem excited, certainly
not excited like PJ felt. Probably that was asking too much of him. PJ
didn't quite know what to think.

After one more hug, Jack turned to answer a question from Charlie's
father. When PJ saw that the conversation might drag on, he took his two
treasures back to his room. With a little sigh, he wrapped them carefully
in a spare shirt before returning them to his bag. He remembered how
Billy's father had reacted to his son's first home run ball; how he and
Billy had made a little ceremony of putting the ball in a special place
next to the baseball trophy Billy had gotten from T-ball. PJ had hoped that
he and Jack might do something similar together, but it never seemed as if
Jack did things like that with him the way Bill or Mr. Thatcher did with
their sons.

PJ sighed again. At least Jack was his friend. That was enough. He should
be grateful. Last year who could he have shown his medal and home run ball
to? No one, that's who!

PJ passed the rest of the afternoon with Charlie, Lauren, and
Jason. Charlie's father had brought a big grocery bag full of fireworks
from a roadside stand for Charlie to use. After scrounging empty soda
bottles from the kitchen of Charlie's house, the three Florida kids taught
PJ how to have bottle-rocket wars, and once again, he and Lauren teamed up
against Charlie and Jason. They also set off firecrackers and M-80's. The
combined backyards of Jack's house and Charlie's house began to sound like
a war zone.

Jason wanted to get into some of the bigger rockets, pinwheels, and other
assorted goodies, but Charlie stopped him. "Wait 'til it's dark to do
those," he said. "When it's dark you can see all the colors." So they
bounced on the trampoline for about an hour, then went swimming in the pool
once more, Lauren sticking close to PJ, often hiding behind him, hugging
him around the waist while he engaged the other boys in a splash war. Later
on, Lauren begged him to teach her the dolphin kick and he held her around
the waist while she tried to learn. PJ couldn't help liking being close to
her. He just hoped that she didn't notice anything that would embarrass the
heck out of him, 'cause that tingly feeling in his groin had popped up out
of nowhere.

Charlie got a plastic air mat from his house that they had fun with, diving
in on top of it or turning each other over. PJ kept looking up toward the
patio, hoping that Jack would join them once more. But he never
did. Eventually, twilight fell. As it grew darker, flashes of colors,
accompanied by loud bangs, came from fireworks set off in yards across the
water from Jack's. Charlie got out the rockets, Roman candles, pinwheels,
and sparklers he'd been saving so they could start making colorful
explosions of their own.

Eventually the aroma of cooking steaks brought them all back to the
patio. In addition to steak, there was fruit salad, spinach salad, corn on
the cob, ice cream, you name it. Loading up a paper plate, PJ sat on the
ground by Jack's chair to eat. The loud boom of fireworks increased all
around them. Skyrockets shot up into the darkness from someplace across the
boat channel. "The big show should be starting soon," someone said.

PJ reached up, nudging Jack's arm to get his attention. "What show, Jack?"

"The beach puts on a fireworks show every year," Jack explained. "They set
it off over the water."

Wow!  PJ was definitely in favor of that idea! "Like they do in New York?"
he asked, excitedly. "Like around the Statue of Liberty?"

Jack chuckled. "Something like that. Just not quite as big."

All right! PJ liked fireworks. He had seen some live shows the year before
in Gainesville while he was at camp, plus he had watched more on TV. And he
could recall being taken to see a big fireworks display once in
Chicago. But all those times had been with some group, never with a
family. Last year at the camp, a lot of parents had visited for the Fourth,
so PJ had felt rather lonely watching that show. This year, for the first
time, he would be watching with "family" of his own choosing! Charlie,
Jason and Lauren all would be with their parents; somewhere Erik and Billy
were probably watching fireworks with theirs; Travis would be with his
coach. And PJ would be with Jack. It was a super feeling!

He reached up, touching Jack's arm again. "Thanks for inviting me here,
Jack."

"Sure thing, PJ." Jack looked down absently and gave him another little
pat.

From a point across the water, a big skyrocket shot up into the night sky,
trailing a long line of sparks. There was a breathless pause . . . "BOOM!"
A blaze of exploding color burst high overhead!

"Here we go," someone said.

More rockets followed: individually at first, then in groups of two and
three. The entire shoreline rocked to explosions; houses and boats were
bathed in garish-colored light. PJ loved it. The show was less spectacular
than the one he remembered from Chicago, but it seemed just fine. Leaning
on Jack's chair, he watched in a state of dreamy satisfaction, content to
know that Jack was close where he could touch or talk to him whenever he
wanted. Jack might not always be like Bill, or Billy's father, or even like
the ideal father PJ had always dreamed of. But he was PJ's adult
friend. Imagination could supply the rest.

The beach fireworks show ended on a big grand finale, dozens of skyrockets
and aerial bombs all going up at once in a fountain of explosions and
bursting colors. Everyone, PJ included, cheered and clapped.

"There you go, Little Champ!" Jack ruffled PJ's hair. "What did ya' think
of that?"

PJ smiled up delightedly. "That was great, Jack!"

As echoes of the final explosions died away, the adults all began moving
around, talking and laughing. Charlie, Lauren, and Jason ran onto the lawn
with sparklers, but PJ got up quietly to sneak off into the house. Padding
silently down the dark hallway to his room, he retrieved the baseball and
medal from his bag.

How many times had he visualized it in the past few days? The way it would
be when he showed Jack his treasures?

Jack would give him a big hug. "These are wonderful, Son. I'm so very proud
of you. We have to put these in a very special place." PJ tiptoed back
through the darkened living room, then down the hallway to Jack's big study
because that's where Jack would have taken him. With an arm around PJ's
shoulders Jack would say, "PJ, these need to go right into the trophy
case."

Very carefully, PJ slid open one of the glass doors of the case on the end
closest to Jack's big desk. He knew right where Jack would want the
baseball and medal to go. He laid them carefully on the bottom shelf next
to Jack's first Little League trophy. Then he closed the case up again.

He felt Jack's arm around him. "That's right, son," Jack would say. "That's
where they belong. Right in there with my own trophy. I'm so proud of you,
Son."

PJ remained kneeling in the darkness of Jack's study for a long time,
staring at his baseball, his medal, and Jack's trophy. Then, padding softly
from the room, he went back outside to rejoin the others. In the darkness
beyond the patio, Lauren, Jason, and Charlie held flashing sparklers which
danced like shooting stars, leaving trailing ribbons of brilliant color as
the three chased each other across the lawn. The acrid smell of exploding
fireworks hung in the air, a smell PJ always associated with the Fourth of
July. He breathed it in.

Fourth of July. Freedom. He was free. Free of so many things that had
burdened him the year before, . . . wasn't he? Watching Jason, Charlie, and
Lauren . . . dim forms amid showering sparks . . . laughing,
running. Suddenly, for reasons he couldn't for the life of him comprehend,
he envied them. . . .  Chapter Forty-Seven: Magic in the Air

The next morning, Jack herded Charlie and PJ into one limo; Jason, Lauren,
and their parents got into another; and they caravanned over to Fort Myers
Beach airport for a flight to Arlington, Texas, and the All-Star game. The
plane was the same Learjet that'd brought PJ from Gainesville the day
before, so its small cabin was crowded with all seven of them plus the
flight attendant. PJ didn't dare go up to the flight deck. Instead, he sat
with Charlie, taking turns looking out the window at the clouds below or
passing the time playing on a Game Boy Charlie had brought with him.

Once they arrived at the airport in Arlington, Jack disappeared almost
immediately, off to check in at his hotel before heading over to the
ballpark for media appearances followed by some loosening-up exercises
leading up to the Home Run Derby scheduled that evening. PJ and Charlie
were put in the custody of Jason's parents. The four kids and two adults
collected their bags and took a taxi to a La Quinta motel not far from the
stadium, where two rooms had been reserved: one for Lauren and her parents,
and another for the three boys. When PJ asked where Jack was staying,
Mrs. Thompson explained that most of the players were in a Holiday Inn
across town. "It makes it easier for the media if they all stay in the same
place," she explained.

PJ, Charlie, and Jason promptly ran all around the motel, exploring. They
quickly found the ice machine, soda machine, and the free coffee, milk, and
muffins in the lobby. They also discovered the outdoor pool and in no time
were splashing around in the water under the hot Texas sunshine.

Mrs. Thompson came out to collect them at noon so they could go to
lunch. "We'll spend this afternoon at the stadium," she told them. "You can
watch them set up for the contest. Tonight we have box seats for the Home
Run Derby."

The lunch surprised PJ. They had it right in the stadium at a restaurant
that was part of the huge complex calling itself "The Ballpark in
Arlington." Afterwards, he, Charlie, and Jason roamed the stands, watching
the ground crew work on the field. Charlie tried to persuade one of the
stadium guards to let them go out to run the bases, but the guard wouldn't
allow it. After awhile, PJ got a little bored. He found a comfortable seat
in the shade where he took a nap, waking in the late afternoon as
spectators began filtering into the stands. There was scattered applause as
well as some cheering when several All-Star players appeared on the field
to warm up. For something to do, PJ accompanied Charlie and Jason while
they chased about looking for autographs, but he didn't try to collect any
signatures himself. PJ already had Jack's autograph, and that was all he
cared about.

Eventually, Jason's mother corralled them and dragged them off to dinner at
the same restaurant, where, despite the long line, they got right in
because Jason's parents had reservations. The table they were led to was at
a window overlooking the field so they could watch the players take batting
practice. PJ eyed Jason's father with new respect. It was pretty cool to
have arranged that. After dinner, when Mr. Thompson led them down to their
box seats, PJ was impressed all over again. The box was right on the field
not far from home plate. If he jumped over the railing, a few steps would
put him right in the on-deck circle. "We'll be in these tomorrow night for
the game, too," Mr. T. proudly boasted. "This is the American League side."

"Much better seats than Jack had for us last year," Mrs. Thompson said.

"Well, it's like that table in the restaurant . . ." Her husband whispered
something into her ear and they both looked at PJ. Blushing, PJ turned away
to look around at the field, where there was now a lot of activity. He was
astonished at the number of people standing on the grass in foul territory
behind and to either side of home plate. Not only players, all in their
uniforms, wandering around, laughing and talking, but plenty of what he
guessed were their families, sitting in lawn chairs or on the grass--enough
people to fill the entire area. Something bothered him, though. The big
batting cage that normally screened off home plate had been removed, so
there was no protection for spectators from foul balls or a thrown bat. How
come those people are allowed to sit there?

PJ noticed there were a lot of very young kids, as well as a few that
appeared to be his own age. When he expressed surprise at this, Charlie
explained, "Yeah, those are players' kids. When I was six, me an' Jack
Jr. sat down there. That was the first time Jack took me to the All- Star
game. He kinda like sneaked me in, 'cause it's just like supposed to be
just family. It was pretty cool."

PJ stared resentfully at the boys and girls sitting with their mothers or
other family members on the grass. That's where I should be. Down there
with them. I'm his. . . His thoughts were interrupted by Charlie grabbing
his arm and pointing. "That's where I wanna be. Out there!" Through a gate
in the outfield fence, a swarm of kids, some dressed in shorts and tees,
others in baseball uniforms, and all with gloves, were being ushered onto
the field.

Who're they," PJ asked, watching enviously.

"Kids from local Little Leagues," Charlie told him. Jason leaned across
Charlie to add, "They let 'em be out there to shag the balls that ain't
home runs. Me an' Charlie have bugged Jack a million times to let us do it,
but he never does." Charlie shook his head and went on, "It's just s'posed
to be kids from around here. Anyway, that's what he says." But Jason
complained, "Yeah. Still, you know Jack could fix it if he wanted to. He
just doesn't."

PJ frowned, jealous of anyone other than himself catching balls hit to the
outfield by Jack Canon. Why couldn't Jack put me in with them? I'm more
"family" than Charlie or Jason, aren't I? Thoughts like that, thoughts he
didn't want, were creeping into his mind when it occurred to him that Jack
was probably just looking out for him, doing what was best. Down there on
the field, he'd be conspicuous. By having him sit with the Thompsons, Jack
was keeping their secret, protecting him from reporters--and there sure
were plenty of those around! Camera flashbulbs were popping everywhere; TV
lights were all over the place; knots of reporters were jostling with TV
crews, competing for background shots and interviews. PJ wanted no part of
that! At one point, PJ was sure he saw one of the reporters he'd met in New
York! To avoid being recognized, he kept the brim of his fitted Red Sox cap
pulled low over his face.

At last, the official warm-up rounds began. All-Star sluggers gathered on
the field, cheers greeting them from various parts of the stadium. A huge
roar went up from everywhere when Jack appeared, grinning his trademark
grin and waving. Another cheer went up for the pitchers who had volunteered
to throw to the batters. The stadium announcer gave the rules over the
public address system. The Derby was set up in two rounds: a qualifying
round of ten swings for each All Star contestant, followed by a
sudden-death round for the top five, who would keep hitting until they
failed to hit a home run. Any ties would be broken with extra rounds. The
winner would get $100,000 for himself and an additional $100,000 for his
favorite charity.

Though PJ thought the contest was exciting, he was even more interested in
studying the contrasting hitting styles of the different sluggers. No two
were alike. They all had different individual stances, different power
strokes, different follow-throughs, and varying ways of preparing
themselves for each pitch. He watched, fascinated, as the great names in
baseball came up one-by-one to belt shot-after-shot into the outfield
seats. Every single one of Jack's hits ended up over the outfield fences,
but some of the other players did just as well, including the National
League's famous slugger Nelson "Junior" Infante of the San Francisco
Giants. In the final group of five, three had hit homers on all their
swings.

Now the final round began, and it was a tough challenge. If a batter missed
a pitch, hit a foul, or just didn't get the ball into the stands, he was
immediately out. PJ had seen Jack hit as many as a dozen straight homers in
batting practice, but he wondered how he would hit here. This was not
batting practice. Here the stakes were a lot higher.

Three of the players competing before Jack chalked up less than a dozen
home runs apiece. One had only three; the most was eleven. Cheers and
applause from the National League fans greeted Infante on his turn. The big
dark-haired superstar shook hands with Jack and the others, then stepped
into the batter's box, smashing the first pitch into the left field
stands. "One!" shouted all his supporters. Then "Two!" when the next pitch
was driven to the same spot. PJ leaned forward, watching
spell-bound. Infante was every bit as big and strong as Jack, but his swing
was not as effortless, seeming to come more from his shoulders rather than
his whole body as Jack's did.

"Seven! . . . Eight! . . . Nine!" Infante's total kept going up. When it
reached "Fifteen!," PJ found himself chanting along with the rest. The big
hitter backed away from the plate to brush a sleeve of his uniform jersey
over a face running with sweat. He turned to grin at Jack, who nodded back,
giving him a thumbs-up. Then the San Francisco superstar stood back
in. After letting one pitch go by, he smacked the next one over the right
field wall as everyone counted "Sixteen!" But PJ thought he looked
tired. Junior stepped out again, took a deep breath, then resumed his
stance. When the next pitch came in, he unleashed a swing, sending the ball
high in the air to center field. The crowd groaned as it dropped in short
of the fence.

"Sixteen!" shouted Charlie, who was sitting right next to PJ.  "That's
it. Jack can beat that!"

"Sure he can!" PJ was convinced of it. In the outfield, a knot of Little
Leaguers tussled over Infante's last hit, one older kid finally emerging
and holding the ball up high.

A swell of applause came as Jack stepped in at the plate, then a hush as
the crowd waited for the first pitch. After giving a friendly nod to the
Red Sox pitching coach who had volunteered to throw to him, Jack took his
stance. PJ watched as he let the first two offerings go by--but the moment
the third pitch left the coach's hand, something about the way it looked
made PJ certain Jack would like it. Sure enough, the Red Sox star stepped
up in the box, unleashing the swing that so impressed PJ: the swing that
seemed so deceptively effortless when seen from a distance.  THWAAKA! The
unmistakable sound of wooden bat hitting baseball echoed through the
stadium, followed instantly by a mighty roar from the stands. The ball
sailed out over the centerfield wall with the crowd chanting, "One!"  Then
Jack hit another. "Two!" Then another. "Three!" Another, "Four!" Another,
"Five!"

After each home run, Jack would step out of the box to adjust his batting
gloves, just as PJ had seen him do so often on TV. Then he would get set
again.

THWACK! "Six!" THWACK! "Seven!"

The crowd kept counting. "Eight! . . . Nine!"

Jack didn't even seem to be trying hard. He was smiling at the other
players, grinning for the photographers. When he stepped in again, PJ
crossed his fingers. "Come on, Jack!" he yelled, just as he so often
cheered for his friend Erik.

"Ten!" A home run sailed over the left centerfield wall!

THWAACKA! Wooden bat met baseball! Another towering shot arched into the
stands, even farther than the others! It bounced off the huge scoreboard
while the crowd clapped and cheered deliriously. "Eleven!" There was
screaming, whistling, stamping of feet!

CRACK! "Twelve!" WHAM! "Thirteen!" THWACK! "Fourteen!"

Jack was swinging harder now. PJ could tell. And he'd stopped
grinning. He's really concentrating now.

THWACK! "Fifteen!"

PJ held his breath. One more to tie!

Jack stepped out again, adjusted his batting gloves and stepped to the
plate.  Charlie grabbed PJ's arm excitedly. "Watch!"

The pitch came in . . .

CRACK-CRACKA! As Jack swung, splinters showered around him, his bat
shattering in his hands. The sound of the splitting wood was audible over
the crowd's roar. Arcing upwards, the ball soared out toward center
field. There was a collective gasp when it fell just short of the fence, to
be scooped up by a Little Leaguer scrambling over another kid to grab it.

At the plate, Jack stared up at the sky for a moment, glanced at the stump
of bat handle in his hand, then turned to grin at Nelson Infante, who was
walking toward him with an outstretched palm. Smiling at each other, the
two men shook hands. Applause thundered through the stadium and flashbulbs
popped. Jack patted the winning San Francisco slugger on the back, said
something to him, and walked over to shake hands with all the other All
Star hitters.

"Hey, that's not fair," said Jason. "Jack should'a got another chance to
hit! It wasn't his fault the bat broke!"

"Naw," answered Charlie. "Jack knows the rules. Look, Jason, he did hit the
ball, so they can't give him another chance. Then it wouldn't be fair to
Infante."

"Charlie's right," declared PJ, reluctantly. "Anyway, Jack has nothin' to
be ashamed of. Junior Infante didn't beat him! A stick of wood did!"

With sober, disappointed looks, the other two boys nodded in agreement.

After TV camera crews set up on the field, there was an awards
presentation, most of which PJ missed because the Thompsons insisted on
leaving right away to beat the crowd going out. PJ would have liked to have
seen it. He was sure Jack would have given the charity money to the Red Sox
Jimmy Fund if he'd won, and he wondered what Junior Infante had done.

Back at La Quinta, the three boys settled into their room, with Charlie and
Jason arguing over the TV, finally ending up watching a movie called True
Grit. PJ, who'd already seen it, was not only bored, but also worried about
the sleeping arrangements. Since Jason was the oldest, he'd probably want
to take one bed for himself, so PJ was nervous about having to share the
other bed with Charlie. He'd done it the year before when he'd visited Jack
at Thanksgiving, but he still felt hesitant. Wetting the bed with Charlie
in it would be bad enough. Having big-mouth Jason as a witness threatened
consequences too embarrassing to think about! Rather than risk that, he
would sleep on the floor. As it turned out, though, he need not have
worried. Once Charlie and Jason decided to stay up way late with the TV
still going, PJ fell asleep on the other bed, intending to move when the
movie was over.

* * *

When he didn't wake up until the next morning and opened his eyes, he
discovered that Charlie was sleeping right next to him anyway! He patted
himself to be sure he was dry, which he was, and slid out of bed, careful
not to make much noise. Over in the other bed, Jason was asleep, head
buried under the pillow. Quietly, PJ put on clean clothes from his bag,
slipped out of the room, and went down to the lobby for the free
breakfast. When he came back, Charlie and Jason were still both sleeping,
so PJ used the bathroom to change into his Speedo, thinking that a morning
swim might help pass the time.

The pool was deserted, its clear water sparkling beneath the morning
sunshine when PJ dove in. Without anyone in the way to hinder him, he was
free to use the entire short length, so for a time he swam back and forth
in a mini-workout, kicking, pulling, even doing a few sets of sprint
butterfly. The motel pool's irregular shape was too short to be of much use
to him, four or five strokes brought him across its entire length, a racing
turn and hard push-off brought him halfway back over; but it was better
than nothing. After finishing one final set of sprints, alternating all
four strokes, he leaned back against the side of the pool, staring up at
the cloudless sky, feeling nice and loose.

He was thinking of the Little Leaguers who had been shagging fly balls
during the Home Run Derby. I should'a asked Jack if I could do that. It
would've been fun, running around out there with a glove, jockeying for
position with all those other kids. At least I know I can catch a fly ball
hit by Jack Canon!

PJ closed his eyes. If only there could be more time for him to spend with
Jack! Just the two of them! Sure, the All Star Game was important, and he
knew Jack was busy, . . . But if only Jack would play catch with him, or
maybe even hit fly balls to him again! That would be so awesome! Pushing
off from the side, PJ tried to see how many laps he could swim
underwater. After six, he came up panting, leaned against the side of the
pool once more, and stared again up into the sky. Jack hitting fly balls to
me here at the Ranger's ballpark! But when he closed his eyes, that wasn't
what he saw. Instead, as if it were magic, he was in right field at Fenway
Park:

CRACK! "There we go, Little Champ!

PJ raced back. The fly ball was over his head, but Jack had showed him what
to do! Keeping the ball in sight over his shoulder, mindful of the wall he
was approaching, he kept his balance . . . put his glove up . . . Whop! The
ball landed right in the pocket with a stinging smack! Skidding to a stop,
he proudly held up his catch.

"That a' boy, Son." Jack's arm was around his wet, bare, slippery shoulder,
making him feel warm, safe, and protected. He knew Jack was far off at home
plate, hitting the fly balls to him, but somehow Jack was right there next
to him as well, looking down with a big grin. "That's just how you made
that catch at the Franklyn game," Jack was telling him. "I'd have given
anything to have seen it. But watching you do it now was even better! Just
like I showed you!"

Glowing with pride, he slid an arm around Jack to hug back. There could be
nothing better than this! Nothing better than praise from Jack! This was
just how it was between Bill and Erik.

CRACK! "Another one, Tiger! To your right this time." He raced over, dove
to snatch the ball out of the air, and tumbled on the ground, holding up
his glove to show he had it.

THWACK! "Right to you now! There ya' go!" He made another good catch, and
once more Jack's arm was around his shoulders. "My Little Champ! Look how
much better you're doing!"

He grinned back. He loved being with Jack, just the two of them, having fun
together! "Jack," he said. "Thanks for letting me put my grand-slam ball
and the medal in your trophy case."

"That's right where they belong, Son." Jack gave his shoulders a quick
squeeze. "You know that."

"Jack?" He looked up.

Yup?"

"You were great last night!"

With a smile, Jack hugged him again. "You an' me are so alike, Tiger. You
know I wanted to win that thing! He turned him around, wiped a streak of
sweat off his bare chest with a forefinger, and grinned at him. "I guess
Louisville doesn't make bats like they used to."

He met Jack's eyes with a knowing nod. "Guess not."

"And something else," Little Champ." Jack squeezed his shoulder. "Something
so important. Sportsmanship! Sportsmanship,Tiger! Never be a bad loser!
Remember that!"

	"I remember everything you tell me, Jack," PJ assured him.

"I know. And I knew you were watching, Son. I wanted you to be proud of
me."

		"I was, I was, Jack," PJ whispered. He closed his eyes
tight.

	When he opened them, he was alone. He looked down and saw a rivulet
of water dripping toward his belly button. I thought Jack just wiped that
off . . . and then he remembered where he was.

	PJ did one more long set of butterfly sprints. Then, relaxed and
pleasantly tired, he went back to the room, only to find that his roommates
still had not gotten up. After drying off in the bathroom, he got dressed,
pulled a book out of his bag, and spent the rest of the morning reading.

Charlie and Jason woke up about noon, just in time to pull on clothes and
go to the stadium restaurant for lunch. Afterwards, the boys were again
turned loose to amuse themselves until dinner. PJ had no idea what to
do. He and the other boys had already explored the whole place the day
before. After playing on the Game Boy for a bit and listening to Jason
whine about being bored, he went off on his own to wander aimlessly
around. Down below the stands, he noticed some men going into a
screened-off area carrying gym bags. They looked like ballplayers, but he
didn't recognize any All-Stars. Following them, he found himself in the
clubhouse area of the Texas Rangers.

PJ was turning to leave before he could be discovered and kicked out when
he heard the unmistakable sound of a wooden bat hitting a
baseball. Glancing around without seeing anyone, he decided it wouldn't
hurt to investigate as long as he did it quickly. Following the sound, he
came into a big dim area with netted batting cages like the ones he'd seen
at Fenway. He took several cautious steps toward the one lighted lane in
use. Behind the netting, a young man with black hair and brown skin,
wearing a workout suit emblazoned across the front with "RANGERS," was
hitting off a pitching machine. He was so focused on his drill that he
didn't notice PJ, who stood very quietly back in the shadows and watched.

The young man hit ball after ball. PJ lost count. Each swing brought a
little grunt of effort from the batter. Sweat rolled off his face. PJ noted
that he made solid contact on nearly all of the machine's pitches. At last,
he stepped on a switch, turning off the pitching machine. He was pushing
through the netting, coming out of the lane, muttering to himself in
Spanish, when PJ moved out of the shadowy area where he'd been
standing. Startled by the boy's sudden appearance, the man froze for a
moment, staring. "Where'd you come from?" he asked in strongly-accented
English.

PJ was sure he was going to get in trouble. He didn't say anything.

"I seen you somewhere." The young man came close, peering at PJ's fitted
Red Sox cap. "Who you here with?"

PJ decided to use Jack's name. Jack knew everybody. If he said he was with
Jack it would probably keep him out of trouble. "Jack Canon," he answered,
and stepped all the way into the light.

The young man's eyes widened. Reaching out, he took PJ's cap off. "I know
you. I see you on TV. Your name is Pee-Gee. You the kid everybody say. . ."
He stopped, and giving PJ a peculiar look, handed the cap back to him. "My
name is Ricky. Glad to meet you, Pee-Gee. You see me hitting?"

Nodding, PJ put his cap back on.

"What you think?"

PJ had no idea what to say. "I thought you looked pretty good," he told the
man politely.

Ricky shook his head in a nervous gesture. "I doan' know . . . I doan'
know. . . .  Good maybe against the machine. But tonight--live pitching!
The best! I get maybe one chance if I'm lucky. One only!" He stared at PJ,
and then, as if struck by sudden inspiration, he held out the bat. "You try
a few?"

Not knowing what else to do, PJ accepted the bat, hefting it. "This is a
little too big for me."

"Just a couple swings," Ricky begged. For some reason, he seemed eager for
PJ to try.

With a shrug, PJ got into the cage. He took a few practice swings until the
heavy bat felt a little less awkward. Then he looked at the man, uncertain
of what to do next.

"The switch," Ricky told him. Looking around, PJ saw a pushbutton in a
metal box at the side of the lane. He stepped on it and the pitching
machine lit back up and came to life.

PJ had had a good rest the night before and his mini-workout in the pool
that morning had left him relaxed and loose. The practice swings he'd just
taken, the sights and smells of the batting cage, the noise of the pitching
machine, all helped focus him. Suddenly he was back under the stands at
Fenway with the Red Sox batting coach whispering in his ear. Focus on the
ball, kid. Only the ball. Watch it leave the arm of the machine. It was
almost enough to explain what happened next--and the rest was probably just
luck.

PJ swung through the machine's first pitch, hitting the ball so perfectly
on the sweet spot of the bat he never even felt an impact. There was a
tremendously loud "THWOP!" and the ball rocketed down the lane, slamming
into the netting at the far end with terrific force. The heavy twine
netting ripped. Then PJ hit a second pitch exactly the same way. The ball
hit the end netting again, this time flying through the mesh, disappearing
into the darkness beyond. On the third pitch, PJ's swing produced another
loud "THWACK!" followed instantaneously by an even louder "BANG!"  The ball
crashed into the pitching machine, caroming high into the air, leaving a
big dent on the upper metal cover. PJ hastily hit the foot switch and
turned it off. "Geez, I'm sorry!"

The Ranger was staring at PJ through the net. He said something in Spanish,
then held the heavy mesh open so PJ could come out of the cage.

"I'm really sorry," PJ told him again, anxiously. "I wasn't trying to hit
the machine."

"It is nothing." Ricky's eyes had a wild look. He muttered something once
more in Spanish and told PJ, "Stay here! Do not go away. Please! I will be
right back." He ran out. PJ remained in place, looking after him, wondering
how much trouble he was in. He was still holding the bat. Ducking back
under the netting into the cage, he pressed the button to turn on the
pitching machine and was relieved when the mechanism reawakened with a
fanfare of humming and bright light! He watched as it threw a few
pitches. It seemed to be even better than before.

Standing at the plate, he hit a few more times, getting one more smack,
fouling off a couple that stung his hands, then missing one completely. By
now, the bat was too heavy for him and his shoulders felt as if they were
getting pulled the wrong way. He turned off the machine before getting out
of the cage.

Ricky came hurrying back, carrying two more bats. PJ was about to tell him
that he didn't want to swing anymore when Ricky held the bats out to
him. "These are the bats I will use in the game tonight. Please touch
them," he begged. "Just hold them in your hand."

PJ was completely taken aback. He'd no clue what the Ranger ballplayer was
after, but he politely exchanged bats with him, holding each of the two new
ones in his hands, taking a little practice swing with each one.

"These are nice bats," he told the young man. He didn't know what else to
say.

"Maybe they will be better now," Ricky said. "Muchos gracias, mi pequeno
hermano magico."  He looked at PJ intently. "Tell me. How did you know I
would be here practicing this morning?"

PJ shrugged. "I don't know. But I have to go now, Mr. Ricky." He thought he
had better leave before there were any more problems.

The young man stepped back, but as PJ walked away, Ricky called after him
in an awed tone of voice, almost as if they were in a church, "They say you
will break the Curse, muchacho magico. Is this true?"

PJ knew what he meant by that. The Curse of the Bambino! He turned. "I
believe in Jack Canon." Then he left the young ballplayer standing there,
staring after him.

After finding his way out of the Rangers clubhouse area, PJ climbed back
into the stands, where he found Jason and Charlie watching the TV people
arranging their equipment. "Where were you?" Charlie asked. PJ explained
that he'd been talking to some Ranger players. "Let's see if we can get up
into the club level," Jason told them. "I bet they have all kinds of food
up there." So they explored and discovered stairs leading up to the luxury
boxes where teams of men from different food-catering services were
delivering various goodies. Poking around the corridors, checking different
boxes, the boys snuck around looking for things to eat--until they got
chased out by a security guard.

Back down on the field, things were beginning to happen. Some of the
All-Star players were already out warming up, and TV crews were doing
interviews. Jason and Charlie decided to go autograph hunting, so PJ
followed them around, keeping an eye out for reporters.

Eventually, Jason's mom and dad came looking for them to take them off to
dinner up in the stadium restaurant where they had the same table
overlooking the field. PJ watched the increasing activity with
interest. The restaurant was equipped with big TV screens on various walls,
and PJ was startled to suddenly see Jack's face. He was being
interviewed. And there was PJ's tie clip! The boy's heart swelled with
pride when he saw that Jack was using the tie clip on the Red Sox tie PJ
had given him for Christmas. "That's the interview they did a few days ago
in Florida," Mr. Thompson remarked.

PJ tried to hear what was being said over the sounds of people talking. The
interviewer was asking Jack something about the Red Sox chances for making
the playoffs.

"You're leading the Yankees by four games in your division," the sports
reporter was saying. Then he asked Jack something about the second half of
the season. PJ strained to hear Jack's reply, but everyone else was
talking. The interview continued, with PJ just getting snatches of
it. Finally, the interviewer leaned forward intently. PJ caught parts of
the question, ". . . beginning of the season . . . made a commitment to
your young fans . . . "

 As Jack started to reply, there was a lull in the conversation around PJ
and he heard part of Jack's answer: ". . . want our young fans to know that
the team they love and support is a great team with a proud tradition. A
team that was great in the past and is great today. I and the other Red Sox
players intend to show them that greatness this year."

"Is this the year, Jack?" the interviewer asked.

The TV camera zoomed in on Jack. His eyes stared directly into the camera
lens. "Anything's possible," he said. Then added with a grim nod, "It's
time!" The shot of Jack's face faded to a replay of him watching his
fifteenth home run soaring out of the park in the Home Run Derby. In the
background, the crowd was chanting, Jack . . . Jack . . . Jack . . . ."
Then the picture changed to a live shot of a panel of TV baseball
commentators in the studio doing the All-Star pre-game show.

PJ turned away to look back at the field, but there was no sign of Jack out
there. He would've known if Jack had arrived because for sure there'd have
been a lot of cheering. PJ believed with all his heart that if anyone could
take the Red Sox to the Series, Jack could. He gazed down at the players
warming up on the field, wondering what would happen when Jack showed up.

As soon as they finished dinner, the Thompsons escorted Charlie, Lauren,
PJ, and Jason to their box on the field. "Tonight you stay right here,"
Mr. Thompson sternly told them all. "No wandering around! Not even to the
snack bar. This place will be jammed tonight and I don't want any of you
getting lost!"

PJ missed not being able to move wherever he wanted to during the game, but
when he saw how mobbed the stadium got, he decided Jason's father was right
about forbidding them to do it. He stuck to his seat on the railing,
enjoying the game preliminaries while listening to Charlie and Jason
grumble about not being allowed to chase after more autographs. Suddenly,
he straightened up. Over by first base, wearing a Rangers uniform and
tossing a ball around with a few others, was Ricky, the young man he'd been
with, practicing in that batting lane! Mr. Thompson had provided them all
with souvenir programs and PJ quickly consulted his. Of course! Ricky
Vargas, had been called "The Streak" in his Minor League days! Seeing him
in that workout suit, PJ had missed recognizing him. The program gave his
statistics, but PJ already knew the story. Ricky was the Rangers' young
"phenom," a rising star who could not only play shortstop like the Hall of
Famer his parents had named him for, Ricky Henderson--but he could hit and
then steal bases almost at will! Rickey had not been voted onto the All
Star team by the fans, but was an alternate, picked by the AL manager
himself. PJ started to raise his hand, thinking of waving to get Ricky's
attention, maybe even getting him to come over so Charlie and Jason could
get his autograph. But then he remembered how many reporters were
around. Better not. Instead, he crossed his fingers and whispered, "Get in
the game an' hit tonight, Ricky!"

Jack was one of the last players to come out for warm-ups, getting a big
cheer when he finally appeared on the field. Knowing where PJ was sitting,
he nodded to him, gave him a little wave, and threw for awhile with some of
the other players to get loose. The crowd roared when he got in the batting
cage to take his swings. Everyone started counting, "One! . . . Two!
. . . Three! . . ." as Jack hit balls into the seats. PJ saw swarms of
people fighting over them. Then a groan went up because Jack stopped after
ten homers. He grinned, waving as he trotted to the dugout.

PJ liked the introductions before the game. All the starting players were
announced individually, coming out to the first and third baselines so the
crowd could cheer for them. Jack got the biggest ovation of all when he was
introduced as the starting right fielder for the American League.

The actual All-Star game itself confused PJ because the players changed so
much. Not only did the pitchers change every inning, most of the position
players did too. PJ knew that this was so everyone's favorite star to get a
chance to play, but he still found it confusing. The only player that
stayed in the game inning after inning was Jack. The game went slowly
because of all the pitching changes, and PJ thought some parts were
actually boring. But he always got excited whenever Jack came up to bat or
made a play in right field.

With all the super pitching it was a low-scoring game. Jack got on base
each time he was up, but no one could bring him around. Then in the late
innings, the National League got something going, scored two runs, and they
were still leading by those same two runs when the American League came up
for their last at-bat in the bottom of the ninth. "We need Jack to hit a
homer," Charlie said to PJ. Charlie had been futilely cheering for more
American League hits throughout the game.

"We need some men on base first," PJ observed. He, Charlie, and Jason, all
three of them, hollered together as an encouragement to the first AL batter
at the plate, "Let's go! Get a hit!" They were rewarded by his smacking a
single up the middle!

"All right!" yelled Charlie. "Rally time!" The big scoreboard showed a
picture from the centerfield TV camera of all the players in the American
League dugout wearing their caps backward. PJ turned his backward, too.

But when the next AL batter grounded into a double play, Charlie groaned
and PJ saw people begin heading for the exits.

Then he stared. In all the excitement, he'd missed seeing who the next
hitter was. Coming to the plate was Ricky Vargas! He was getting his
chance! "Yeah! Let's go, Ricky! Sock one!" he yelled, his high voice
cutting through the crowd's murmuring. Had Ricky heard him? It seemed he
might have, because he turned for a moment, looking toward where PJ was
sitting before stepping into the batter's box.

The National League now brought in a "phenom" of their own: a star closer,
throwing fastballs at over 100 miles-per-hour. He bore down on the young
Ranger player, placing blistering pitches on the corners. Ricky hung in
gamely, fouling off several with the count 1 and 2. PJ crossed his
fingers. "Come on, Ricky!" He yelled again. The big stud closer wound up
once more, and delivered . . .

WHAM! Ricky came around on the fastball, shooting a scorching liner through
the right side, inches above the grass! In a regular game it might have
gone for a double, but this was the All Star game. The best of the best!
With a terrific diving effort, the National League right fielder fielded
the ball, rolled to his knees, and fired a rocket to first! But Ricky was
too quick and beat the throw by a step! First base was now occupied by the
fastest man in the Majors!

Ricky called time to remove his batting gloves and hand them to his
first-base coach. Yet that's not really why he called time. He looked over
at PJ, smiled broadly, and tipped his cap, is what he did.

"Never say die!" PJ shrieked gleefully over the roar going up around the
stadium. He pounded Charlie's shoulder. "We're still alive!" The crowd came
roaring back to life! People who'd been heading for the exits stopped and
were filing back in to see what was happening!

"When does Jack come up?" Charlie yelled back.

"Two more guys."

The batter after Ricky stood in at the plate, already down by two strikes,
and looked for something (anything!) to hit. Over at first, Ricky was a
constant treat to steal. The big closer threw over twice to keep him close
because he wanted his teammates to have a play at either first or second if
the ball was hit. What he really wanted was the strikeout which would win
the game!

"Oh, Man," groaned Charlie, looking up at the sky as if in prayer.

The big right-hander toed the rubber and glared over his shoulder at Ricky,
almost daring him to take a bigger lead. Ricky moved even further away from
the base and glared back. For a moment, it seemed as if the pitcher might
throw over again, but instead he delivered a wicked fast ball to the
plate. And this time, the batter got a piece of it.

Whack! The ball, humming with top spin, bounced to the left side of the
infield. The shortstop back-pedaled, played it on the hop, and fired it to
second--but too late to catch Ricky, who had streaked to the base, sliding
in so hard that it sent the second baseman stumbling to the side, making
his off-balance throw to first too late to get the batter. A huge roar went
up from the crowd! Both runners were safe!

"Yeah! Yeah!" shrieked Charlie, arms upraised. PJ was pounding him on the
back, yelling, "Still alive! Still alive!" And next to them, Jason took up
a chant of "Two-out rally! . . . Two-out rally!"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" PJ could barely contain himself because as the next AL All
Star was stepping up to the plate, behind him, trotting over to the on-deck
circle, bat in hand, came Jack Canon.

Applause, cheers, wild yells, foot-stomping, all this rocked the
stadium. Jack nodded and pointed to Ricky Vargas at second base. Some fans
out in the bleachers started chanting "Jack! . . . Jack! . . . Jack!"
Charlie shouted "Yeah, here we go!," and PJ cheered with him. Then, beside
himself with anxiety and anticipation, he left his seat and stepped to the
dugout railing.

The batter before Jack was a tough hitter too. Amid all the noise he fouled
off pitch after pitch, working the count. Three balls--two strikes--a full
count! The NL closer stared down at him while trying, out of the corner of
his eye, to keep track of Ricky's lead off second. The tension was
unbelievable because one more strike would end the game!

Then it happened. The pitcher started his delivery. . . . "The Streak" took
off for third! It was all so fast, for an instant the crowd didn't even
react. No matter, because Ricky's sudden movement caused the pitcher to
throw wide to the outside. The catcher's throw to third was too late. Ricky
slid in safely under the tag. The crowd was beside itself because Ricky had
both stolen a base and forced a base-on-balls in one fell swoop! Bases were
loaded! PJ could tell by the expression on their faces that the pitcher and
third baseman were pissed. And to make things worse for them, Jack Canon
was coming up to bat!

Except that he wasn't. Instead of going immediately to the plate, he
trotted quickly over to where PJ was reaching out to him. As the thundering
chant of "Jack's" shook the stadium, Jack yelled over the noise, "Promised
I'd get you on TV, Tiger! Bet Erik sees ya' now! How 'bout wishin' me luck?
I gotta admit, I'm a little nervous here. Tell me again how you hit that
grand slam?"

PJ grinned and shouted back, "By remembering what you and the batting coach
taught me. And I told myself, 'Anything's possible!' I was scared, too!"

Jack held his bat out so PJ's small hand could go over his own on the
handle. They held the pose for a few heartbeats, Jack nodded, took the bat,
and walked to the plate amid a sea of noise.

Up in the press box, Abe Gerstein, the old AP columnist, sat next to a
young editor from Sports Illustrated. From a transistor radio in his suit
jacket pocket, he listened on ear buds to the ESPN broadcast of the game
emanating from a booth just below them.

"Jack's coming to the plate now." The radio play-by-play man was shouting
into his microphone over the chanting that rocked the stadium. "He stopped
to say something to fans in the American League boxes. We don't know what
he said, but he let a young fan touch his bat. The noise in this stadium is
just terrific. I don't know if you can even hear me over it. They're
chanting 'Jack, Jack!' There's no doubt about what this crowd wants to
see. They want a grand slam home run from the leading hitter in baseball!

	"Jack's settles into his stance. There's no let up on the
noise. Over on third, 'The Streak' is off the bag, clapping his hands. We
folks up here in the booth still can't believe the kid stole that base!
That's pretty risky when a game's on the line!

	"The runners are taking their leads . . . and here's the
pitch. It's wide, a ball . . . no! It's being called a strike! On a late
call the umpire behind the plate rules it a strike on the outside corner. I
don't know about that one, folks. And neither does Jack. He just gave the
umpire that famous grin of his and a long look.

"He's out of the box now, adjusting those batting gloves. He's looking up
to third. I'm sure he's getting the sign to hit away. It can't be anything
else in this situation! Jack is back in the box. This stadium is literally
shaking with noise. Everyone is on his feet.  Ladies and gentlemen, boys
and girls, they were heading for the exits, but Ricky Vargas and Jack Canon
brought them all back! This is incredible! You couldn't script it any
better! The greatest ending to an All-Star game ever!"

	Rearing back, determined to put the game away then and there, the
furious pitcher came with his best fastball, a blazing rocket that clocked
101 mph on the scoreboard speed-gun display. Up above, Abe was leaning
forward, eyes glued to the action, the radio announcer's rapid play-by-play
blaring in his ear:

"Here's the pitch . . . Jack swings!

"OH!! IT'S A TREMENDOUS SHOT! A TOWERING FLY BALL . . . DEEP, DEEP TO
CENTERFIELD! There's no doubt! The centerfielder is just looking up. That
ball is high! That ball is far! That ball is long, long gone! . . . Outta
this stadium! . . . Outta this world! Grand slam! Jack Canon has done it!
Jack Canon wins it for the American League! I don't believe it! I don't
believe it! Listen to this crowd!"

The huge ballpark rocked with noise. The chairs and desks of the press box
were vibrating. The old AP man could feel the noise in his body. Shaking
his head in wonder, he watched Jack trot around the bases. Quickly, he
picked up a pair of binoculars lying beside his notepad. Putting them to
his eyes, he searched the crowd by the American League on-deck circle until
he found a young boy wearing a Red Sox cap. He stared through the glasses
at him.

"What a story! Oh my God, what a story!" The Sports Illustrated editor was
pounding him on the shoulder, screaming over the noise. "Canon tips his cap
to a young fan and blasts the winning grand slam! It's like something in a
movie. Magic! There's magic in the air tonight!"

The AP columnist put the binoculars down. "Yeah," he said, smiling, "what a
story!"

Then he added quietly to himself, "And you don't even know the half of it!"

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT TWENTY- FIVE

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



CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT TWENTY-FOUR

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

I appreciate any comments you want to make!