Date: Thu, 27 Aug 2015 10:49:21 -0400
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: The Father Contract INSTALLMENT THIRTY-ONE

INSTALLMENT THIRTY-ONE
from

THE FATHER CONTRACT
by

Arthur J. Arrington

Edited Paul K. Scott

Please consider making a monetary contribution to Nifty!  We need to keep
PJ's story on their site!

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Weighty Matters

In the morning, PJ woke up when the alarm clock went off, feeling warm and
comfortable and more rested than he had been in several days. Phil was
snuggled up against his back as if they were two spoons, one of his arms
under PJ's neck, the other thrown over his side, and his head tucked up
tight next to PJ's on the pillow.

When PJ turned over, Phil's eyes opened. "Hi, Phil," PJ softly murmured.

"Hi, PJ."

"Sleep okay?"

With a smile, the younger boy rubbed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, thanks to
you."

"I didn't wake you or anything last night, did I?"

Phil shook his head. "I think once you moved around. Or maybe I dreamed
it. But . . ."--he hesitated shyly before going on in a soft voice--"but I
fixed it."

"Whadya' do?"

"This. . . ." Phil put an arm around PJ and stroked his bare chest. It was
only then that PJ realized his pajama shirt was still unbuttoned. His
memory of the wonderful sensations he'd experienced only hours before came
flooding back. "It made you go back to sleep," the boy told him.

"Thanks Phil," PJ whispered. "It musta worked. I feel real good this
morning. "

"Me, too," Phil whispered back. "PJ?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're my friend. And my big brother too."

"Me, too." PJ gave Phil's arm a soft little punch. "A lot."

They got out of bed, PJ draped his bathrobe over Phil's bare shoulders to
keep him warm, and the two of them tiptoed over to wake Erik and Brian,
who'd both slept right through the alarm. PJ almost tripped over Erik's own
pajama shirt, which lay in a heap on the bedroom floor. Erik was sleeping
half on his side with Brian's head tucked against his shoulder, one arm
protectively around the younger boy. PJ and Phil exchanged winks, both
smirking as if they suspected their roommates and best friends had dared to
do the same things that they had. Phil cupped a hand over his mouth and
whispered again, this time in PJ's ear, "Looks like they were as busy last
night as we were." PJ grinned and desperately wanted to reply, but he kept
his mouth shut.

He hated to wake either of them, but he knew his roommate would want him
to. Gently, he nudged his side. "Erik," he called softly.

The boy stirred, opened his eyes, and looked around. He focused on PJ and
looked embarrassed. "Hey. Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah," PJ assured him. "Everything was fine. Better than fine."

"Good." Erik looked down at the tousled head on his shoulder. "This one
did, too. I had to settle him down a little but he did great after
that. Hey, Brian," he whispered.

Phil touched his own roommate's cheek and called, "Wake up, Brian."

The boy's eyes opened. He yawned and stretched. "Is it time already?"

"Yeah," Erik told him. "We gotta get goin'." He tickled Brian's bare ribs
and the boy giggled, squirming. Phil and PJ joined in, and soon all four
boys were tangled together, wrestling and laughing on the bed. But pretty
soon Erik and Brian had to use the bathroom. PJ was tickled to see Brian
hastily pull up his pajama pants as he made a beeline out of the room.

They were up, showered, and dressed in time to go with the rest of the
House to breakfast, and then to Chapel. As Mr. and Mrs. Williamson herded
them up the Chapel steps, PJ looked at where he'd sat the night before and
felt an ache of loneliness in his chest. He moved closer to his friends.

After Chapel, they returned to their rooms to change into old clothes
before going to get Billy. PJ and Erik were half-dressed when Brian,
wearing only his underwear, burst in grinning from ear to ear. "Come quick!
Phil got an e-mail from his dad!"

"Hooray!" Erik shouted. He and PJ pelted across the hall in their bare
feet.

Phil was sitting at his computer in his shorts. He turned to look as the
boys came in, his face radiant. "An e-mail! PJ, he sent an e-mail just like
you said he would. He's coming to visit! He's gonna come to a game!"

They all gathered around the screen. "Are you sure you want us to read
this, Phil?" Erik asked. "It's not too personal, is it?"

"I don't mind, Phil said happily. "You're my friends."

Brian was excitedly peering at the screen over his shoulder. "He says he's
really proud you're on the football team, and that he's for sure coming to
the Homecoming game."

"And maybe some others," Erik added, reading over Phil's other shoulder.

"Here's the most important thing, Phil." PJ leaned over to point at lines
which read:

"I love you so much, son. I miss you every day.  I promise I will visit you
as soon as I can.  Until then, please write to me as often as you can."

Phil nodded. He looked up at PJ, his eyes shining. "It means that he isn't
mad at me. He hasn't forgotten about me. I was so scared that he had."

PJ hugged his friend's shoulders. "Your dad could never do that, Phil. No
dad could . . ." His voice almost cracked with emotion, and he had to
suddenly turn away.

"PJ?" Phil reached up and held PJ's arm. "PJ, what's wrong?"

"We've got to celebrate this somehow," Erik told them. He and Brian were
still reading parts of the message. "You two finish getting dressed and
we'll get Billy. This is gonna be a good day!"

"Yeah, Phil." Brian gave his roommate a little punch on the arm. "Let's go
practice some more. We gotta have you lookin' good for when your dad comes
to watch you play!"

PJ brushed tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. He turned to look
at Phil, who was staring up at him with concern. "It's okay, Phil," PJ
assured his friend. "I'm happy for you, that's all. I think this is just
great. Now you have his e-mail address. You should send something to your
dad as often as you can. That's important."

"I'm gonna send somethin' every day," Phil solemnly promised. "Thanks,
PJ. You were right about everything."

"That's okay." Gently, PJ tousled the boy's hair. "Come on. We'll grab our
skateboards and go get Billy. You can bet he's waiting for us."

All four boys hastily finished dressing and went downstairs carrying PJ's
football and the two skateboards. The Gordonsville campus was quiet in the
morning sunshine. As they followed the sidewalk and proceeded cautiously
down the road toward the Main Gate, Erik warned, "Gotta be careful going
out!" So they took their time sneaking away, going one-by-one, taking care
that they weren't seen. Once they were out of sight behind the stores on
the other side of the road, they took turns on the boards and hurried over
the back streets to Billy's house. PJ noticed that Phil was laughing and
talking a lot more. He even cheerfully made fun of himself when he took a
tumble off PJ's skateboard while attempting a turn.

Brian whispered to PJ, "I think he's gonna be okay now."

PJ nodded back. "How 'bout you, Brian?"

"I'll be okay. I got you and Erik to help me."

As they watched Erik demonstrate again for Phil how to properly turn, PJ
quietly asked, "What's wrong, Brian?"

"Aw, it's my parents." He looked down and kicked at a stone. "They're not
living together. They waited until after I got to school to tell me. And my
Dad got a new job. He won't be able to visit as often."

"That's tough," PJ said sympathetically. "But you know he loves you."

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Did you tell Phil or Erik?"

Brian shook his head. "I thought about telling Erik last night. But I
didn't."

"I think you should," PJ said. "Erik wants to help you. Do you want me to
tell him?"

Looking up gratefully, the young boy nodded.

"And you need to tell Phil," PJ went on. "You helped Phil when he was
having a bad time. Now you gotta let him help you. You know he'll want
to. But you should tell him yourself. He's your roommate."

"Okay," Brian promised. "Thanks, PJ."

With a smile, PJ put out a fist for the younger boy to tap with his own.

"Hey Brian, watch this!" Phil got the skateboard moving with a few pumps of
his right leg, balanced himself, turned the board to the left, shifted his
weight, swayed a little, but stayed on. After he planted his right foot to
stop, he grinned back at his roommate.

"Now you're getting' it!" Brian called out. They let Phil practice all the
rest of the way to Billy's house, while Erik rode along beside him on the
other board.

They found Billy eagerly awaiting them on the steps of his front porch, his
own board under his arm. He ran into the house to tell his mother he was
leaving, came back out, mounted his board, and skated over to them,
announcing excitedly, "I'm ready!"

As they headed back toward the School, Brian and Phil took turns on Erik's
board, PJ sharing his with Erik. They were having fun, everything going
smoothly, until they neared the main street, where some instinct caused PJ
to hold up a hand and halt by the side of the snack shop so he could peek
around it to check out the Main Gate. He pulled his head back
quickly. "Uh-oh!"

"What is it, PJ?" Erik asked in alarm.

"The headmaster, and a bunch of proctors," PJ whispered.

Erik took a quick peek to check it out for himself. "Yikes!" He looked at
PJ in dismay. "Now what?"

"What are 'proctors'?" Billy asked.

"Guys from the Upper School who sort of keep an eye on us and make sure we
don't do stuff we're not supposed to," PJ told him.

"Yeah, like sneaking off campus," Brian added, giggling.

"Oh-h-h-h." Billy's eyes widened.

PJ motioned for everyone to follow him. "Come on, we'll use the back way."

He took them along an alley running behind the stores, out of sight of the
Gate. Once they were clear, he led them past the high stone wall fronting
the Gordonsville campus, a wall which PJ knew ended at an intersection with
the two-lane highway leading to the malls and eventually the county
airport. With a right-angle turn, the fence followed the highway and ran
along its side, the stone giving way to a six-foot high chain-link
barrier. Behind it, dense brush and tall trees grew right up against the
wire as if wanting to flood across the narrow black-top road.

The boys walked or skateboarded along the fenceline, following PJ until he
came to a familiar spot where he held up a hand to halt them. Beyond the
wire they could make out the faint trace of a footpath leading into the
underbrush. PJ and Erik boosted the younger boys up over the fence, passed
the skateboards and football to them, and climbed over themselves. After
jumping down on the other side, PJ pointed to the path.

"That's our secret way back."

"How do you know this place?" Brian asked, taking the lead.

Erik, who'd been giving his roommate wry, amused looks while they'd
traversed the fence, now smirked and answered for him, "PJ gets around a
lot."

The path was the same one PJ had used to go Christmas shopping the previous
year, and the one that had gotten him on campus the night he'd hitch-hiked
back from Allentown. The trail brought them out of the woods onto the top
of the Hill, where Billy exclaimed, "Hey, this is where we went sledding
last year!"

"Yep," PJ told him. "Let's see if we can skateboard down from here." He sat
on his board and tried rolling down the Hill, but got only about halfway
when one of the wheels caught on a clump of grass and he went tumbling. "I
guess that won't work!" he called to the others as he scrambled to his
feet, laughing.

Brian tried it next using Erik's board. He made it just about as far as PJ
before he also went sprawling. "The wheels are too small to get over all
the bumps!" he yelled.

"Watch me!" Billy shouted. The small boy sat on his board, raced down the
Hill, and went flying past PJ and Brian. "Whee-ee-eee!" he yelled. He made
it all the way to the bottom, hopped off his board, and yelled excitedly,
"I did it! PJ, Erik, did you see me? I did it!"

All the other boys ran down the Hill and gathered around him. PJ slapped
Billy on the back and Erik shouted, "That's the way!"

"You're the champ, Billy!" PJ declared. "That's my little brother! Wait
'til this winter. I bet you'll be doing all kinds of tricks on the
snowboard.

"PJ, remember last year when I beat all the big kids on my sled?" Billy
reminded him.

"I sure do! An' you'll do it again this year too, I bet."

"In case you didn't know it," Erik explained to Brian and Phil, "we think
we have a super little brother here."

"Yeah, we kind of like him a little bit," PJ said, stroking Billy's
hair. Billy looked up at PJ, his eyes bright.

"Geez, Billy, you have to cheer for me and Phil at the games, too," Brian
protested. "Don't forget us. We're your brothers too."

Billy grinned at him. "I won't."

Erik gave Brian's shoulder a nudge. "Don't worry. No one's gonna forget
about you. Or about Phil."

"And you're dad isn't gonna forget about you, either," PJ assured him. "You
can count on that. You'll see."

With a sharp glance at Brian, Erik asked, "Is that what's been worrying you
the last few days?"

"Tell him, Brian," PJ coaxed.

"I was gonna tell you last night, but . . . well . . ."

"What is it?" Phil was looking at his roommate with concern.

Brian sighed, and then revealed to Phil and Erik what he'd already admitted
to PJ about his parents splitting up. "So it looks like they won't ever get
back together," he concluded glumly, shaking his head.

"That's tough." Erik nodded in sympathy. "Boy, do I know just what that's
like! My parents split up, too, except worse. Listen, Brian,"--he put an
arm around the boy's shoulders--"it's their problem, not yours, okay? None
of it's your fault and your dad isn't gonna forget about you. No way! And
we won't either!"

"No way," Phil and PJ both chimed in.

"And Billy will be there, too," Erik said assuredly. "He'll be cheering for
you just like he does for me and PJ. Won't you, Billy."

Billy took Brian's hand. "I promise, Brian. You and Phil are both my
brothers too."

"So see, Brian," Erik went on. "It's all gonna be fine. Your dad'll come
visit. He will. I know it."

"You should write to him, Phil said, "just like I'm doin' with my dad."

Brian nodded. "I'm gonna. I'm gonna write tonight!"

"That's the way, Brian!" Erik slapped the boy's shoulder. "Hey Phil. Let's
us quarterbacks give these guys a practice. This is as good a spot as a
any. It's flat and we're far enough away from campus so other kids won't
notice. Come on, we'll get warmed up."

Erik and Phil alternated throwing easy passes to the other boys until their
arms got loose, after which Erik began the drills. Working through the play
book went much faster than the day before because Billy had already learned
most of it. Brian and PJ began teaching him the different pass patterns and
showed him tricks he could use to get open. Then PJ suggested, "Hey, Erik,
let Billy learn the quarterback position for awhile an' trade us
Phil. We'll drill him on pass routes."

The switch was made. While Billy gleefully practiced being a quarterback
under the tutelage of big brother Erik, PJ and Brian put Phil through every
pass pattern they could think of, accompanying him on the routes as
pretend-defensive corners so none of the catches would be easy. The whole
thing was a blast for Billy. Erik let him call all the plays, snapped him
the ball, coached him on the fine points of dropping back, pivoting,
handing off, faking, rolling out, and allowing him to throw short
passes. Billy lacked the sort of natural arm Phil had, but he was a quick
learner and did well enough on short throws. For all the rest, he would
hand off to Erik, who made the long passes downfield.

Meanwhile, Phil got run ragged. PJ and Brian kept him practicing until he
was stumbling with fatigue, only then signaling for a time out. All five
boys took seats on the grass while Phil caught his breath.

"When your chance comes to sub in a regular game," PJ reminded him, "you
can bet it'll likely be at wide receiver. So you gotta know that position
cold."

"Yeah," Erik said. "An' then we gotta hope I'm in at quarterback. If we can
get any of you guys in while I'm running things, we can use our secret
plays. Phil, the one for you is that 'Young Guns' option pass. To do it,
you gotta be at the running back position. So, if Coach puts you in as a
receiver, an' PJ is in as a running back . . .

"I gotta be ready to switch with PJ if you call that play," Phil finished
for him. "I get it."

"Phil's got the toughest job," Brian told them. "He's gotta know every
position."

Erik nodded in agreement. "I know. It's why these extra practices are so
important. Just do your best, Phil. That's all you can do. I know it's not
easy."

"It's just that I've never played on a team like this before," Phil said,
looking around at the other boys. "I'll try my hardest."

"That's all that counts, Phil." PJ tried to reassure him. "That's all
anyone can do. An', win or lose, we're still gonna like you and be your
friends. That can never change."

"Yeah, Phil," Erik grinned at him. "You shoulda' seen all the screw ups
PJ's made an' I still like him-- most of the time, anyway. Did I ever tell
you about when he was playing outfield an' got hit in the head by a fly
ball?"

Phil looked from Erik, to PJ, . . . and back to Erik again, not sure if
Erik was serious or if he was supposed to laugh. Brian was desperately
trying to keep a straight face.

"Gee, PJ," Billy said innocently. "I didn't know you got knocked out by a
fly ball!"

"Oh crap, Erik!" PJ glared in exasperation at his roommate. "Now look what
you've started!"

At that, Brian and Erik completely cracked up. Then, Phil and finally Billy
started to laugh too.

"Billy," PJ patiently explained, "I did NOT get knocked out or even hit by
a fly ball. Erik is making that up. An' anyway," he added in an injured
tone, frowning at his roommate, "I was talking to Coach at the time, which
is why I didn't see it!"

"Seven!" Erik shouted gleefully, and fell on the ground in stitches.

"Geez!" PJ squeezed his eyes shut for a second and clenched his
fists. Then, unable to help himself, he started to smile until finally he,
too, was laughing almost as hard as Erik was. The other three boys looked
at them like they were crazy. PJ and Erik finally had to explain the joke
to them.

"You see, we made this list of excuses," PJ started to say.

"You know how outfielders are always making excuses," Erik interjected.

"Yeah, about as often as the infielders," PJ fired back. "Anyway, we had
this list, see. . . ." They told the whole story, an' by the end, all the
boys were giggling merrily. "So from then on, every time PJ would try to
explain about talking to the coach an' not watching the ball, I would yell
'Seven!' and everyone on the team would crack up," Erik finished.

"Man, you guys must have had fun last year in baseball," Brian said
enviously. "I can't wait for this year."

Erik nodded. "Yeah, it was fun. But I think we should've done better. This
year I wanna get to the championship game in the playoffs!"

"Like we're gonna do in football," PJ reminded them, looking very
determined.

"Yeah," Erik repeated grimly. "I don't want a season like last year. We
lost almost every game! Not this time. Right, guys?"

"Right!" Brian and Phil chorused.

"You guys are gonna win!" Billy declared.

"Darn right we are, Billy!" Erik ruffled the small boy's hair. "Let's
practice some more!" They went through their plays again, with Erik and
Phil throwing long passes for the other boys. Just for fun, they kept score
on completions. When PJ winked at Brian, they deliberately bobbled a few so
Billy could have the same score they did.

Noon was approaching, they were all getting hungry, so with skateboards and
football tucked under their arms, they walked over to the Dining Hall, took
advantage of the casual Sunday routine, slipped Billy past the meal-card
check, and got him into line. They all ate a big lunch, everyone including
Billy, going back for seconds. Said Billy as he stuffed another bite of
turkey sandwich in his mouth, "I think all that practice must have made me
extra hungry."

"I was starving," Phil agreed. Glancing at each other, Erik, PJ, and Brian
all grinned. Phil's appetite was much better now that he'd heard from his
dad.

Once the boys were refueled and had turned in their trays, Erik looked at
PJ and said, "Weight room?"

"Yup," PJ answered.

With the others following, they slipped out of Dining Hall and trotted over
to the Field House, where before going downstairs, they stopped in the dim
foyer to look in the trophy cases. PJ stared at the last Championship
Trophy that a Gordonsville Middle School football team had ever won. It had
been more than eight years before. "I wonder who they were?" he mused as he
peered at the silver cup.

Erik was standing right next to him, looking too. "They should have taken a
picture or something."

"Do you think they had special practices and secret plays like we do?"
Brian asked.

"I bet they did," Erik answered softly.

Thinking of all that Jack had told him, PJ said, "They had something. Every
team that goes all the way to a championship has something."

Downstairs, in the corridor below the stands, they walked single file to
the weight room. PJ pushed the door open and turned on the lights. "Here it
is, Billy," he told the little boy, who came in on his heels, trailed by
the rest.

Billy gazed around at the machines and equipment, open-mouthed. "Wow," he
breathed.

PJ pulled off his shirt. "Okay. I'll show you guys Jack's workout."

Erik groaned. "PJ, we just ate lunch!"

"Jack does this every day right after breakfast."

"What's 'Jack's workout?'" Phil asked.

"Oh Boy, will you ever find out!" Erik sighed and rolled his eyes as he
stripped off his own shirt.

Billy was shrugging off his shirt too. "What do I do, PJ?"

"Do exactly what I do. You'll learn as you go. This workout uses every
weight station, so just follow me."

As Brian and Phil shed their own shirts, PJ got down on a bench to start
the first exercise. Erik placed Billy in front of him and instructed the
youngster, "Like PJ said, do exactly what he does, Buddy." To PJ, he said,
"I'll make sure he's doing it right."

"Just don't let him do too much." PJ was already concentrating on his first
repetitions.

The boys moved smoothly into the workout, following PJ's lead. In order to
keep the pace moving, PJ pushed himself as hard as possible, retreating
into that state of focused concentration that he always used to test his
limits. Behind him, Erik, the only other one to have gone through this
routine before, acted as coach. He kept an eye on Billy, allowing the boy
to do just enough of each exercise to learn the proper form. The other boys
he pushed and encouraged as they struggled to keep up. When Phil tired,
Erik decreased both the weight and his reps to help him continue. Brian,
though, grimly tried to stay even with PJ. "How long does this keep going?"
he gasped.

At Erik's reply, "Two hours," Brian gave him a stunned look of disbelief!
"Told you so," Erik said.

Billy never said a word. At each station he watched PJ and did exactly what
Erik told him to do with complete trust. Erik was certain that if PJ had
asked the boy to run full speed into a wall, Billy would've done it without
question.

Around and around the circuit, PJ pressed on without a break. As time
passed, Phil and Brian's breathing turned ragged, their exercises
sloppy. "Form," Erik insisted. "Form. Stop thinking about how tired you
are. Concentrate on your form. You've got to focus."

"Erik . . ." Phil gasped, sinking onto a bench. "I don't think I . . ."

Erik grabbed the slender boy by the shoulder. He pointed to PJ, who was
already starting the next set, and whispered, "You don't think he's tired?
You don't think I am! Are you gonna let him down?"

Phil stared, nodded in determination, and doggedly began the next exercise.

As the workout neared its end, PJ seemed to get stronger instead of
tiring. He was working like a machine, pushing harder and harder, forcing
the pace while the other boys, using lighter weights, strained to stay up
with him. At last, after blasting through the final set, he gave a cry and
slumped to the floor, his chest heaving, his hard upper body shiny with
sweat, his shorts so completely soaked they were plastered to his skin.

Billy finished next and dropped down next to PJ. The older boy put an arm
around him and hugged him, feeling his little brother's own sweat, proud of
him that he'd tried so hard. Then came Brian, Phil, and Erik. Phil
staggered as he sank to the floor.

"Don't worry, Phil," PJ told him, in between breaths. "By the time swim
season's over, you'll be able to do this as well as anybody. You'll see."

Phil had his head down between his knees as he fought to suck more air into
his lungs. "Thanks, PJ," he gasped. Then he looked at Erik. "Thanks."

Erik smiled and punched his shoulder lightly. "Us quarterbacks gotta stick
together."

Brian was fighting to get air, too. Chest heaving, he looked up at PJ. "How
the heck do you do that?"

It was Erik who answered him. "My roommate is awesome," he quietly
said. "You should see him in swim practice when they do the long sprint
workouts. The real question is: how does Jack do it? He does this every
morning."

"He's good too," PJ added. "I had to kill myself to stay up to him."

Brian shook his head in wonder.

"Jack's the greatest," Billy declared. "How did I do, PJ?"

"Very, very, good, Billy." PJ hugged the boy again and patted him on one
shoulder.

"Yeah, you did." Erik gave the small boy a hug of his own. "You learned a
lot today, Billy. You think you can remember all that?"

When the youngster nodded solemnly, Erik grinned at him. "That's my Little
Brother." He reached over and pulled Billy to him. "How does it feel to be
the best little brother in the whole world?" He tickled the boy's ribs and
Billy shrieked with laughter, curling into a ball. Erik rubbed his sweaty
back, got up, and said, "C'mon, guys, let's do some skateboarding while we
recover from my roommie's chamber of horrors!"  Amid more laughter, he gave
Brian a hand in getting to his feet, while PJ did the same for Phil.

"I'm sorry I was such a wuss, PJ . . .," Phil started to say, but PJ held
on to his hand, looked him straight in the eyes, and said with great
emotion, "No you're not! Don't ever say that! You didn't give up. That's
all that matters!" There was silence for a moment, and then Phil whispered,
"Thanks, PJ."

They spent the rest of that afternoon skateboarding in the parking lot
behind the Field House, where Phil and Brian both mastered turning, Brian
tried a little jump, and Billy, who probably spent more time skateboarding
than all of them, did jump after jump off the curbs, calling again and
again, "Watch this, PJ! Watch, Erik!" to be sure they would see how good he
was getting.

As always when they were having so much fun, the hours flew by. Before they
were ready to stop, it was time to take Billy home. His mother had cookies
waiting for them in the kitchen, so they sat around the table for awhile,
reviewing the events of the day and making plans for future weekends.

"Maybe we could build a little ramp next to the Hill," Brian suggested.

"Hey, that's an idea!" Erik rubbed his hands together just thinking about
it. "The Hobby Shop might have some wood we could use. We could check." PJ
tried to remember if there was anything he'd seen in the Shop the other
night that they could use, and for a few moments wished that it was open on
Sunday so he could work on his model. But then he thought of his walk back
to the House in the dark afterwards and shivered. Maybe it was better the
way it was. He felt a stir of apprehension as he thought of going to sleep
that night.

After saying goodbye to Billy and his family, the Top Floor Gang shared the
skateboards going back to the School.  A stealthy sneak got then through
the gate and into the Dining Hall for Sunday supper. Later, when they
returned to the House, Erik, Brian, and Phil stayed downstairs to watch
some sports on TV, but PJ climbed the stairs to his room, using the
opportunity to check his e-mail in private for a message from Jack.

But there weren't any.

Jack's son is dead, PJ mused sadly. He looked over at his bed, his stomach
twisting in fear. Dreams. Please, no more dreams! He turned back to his
keyboard. I will write to Jack. That always makes me feel better. He
composed a short message about the things he'd been doing, the Saturday
team practice, his work on the model plane, their secret football
plays. . . . He finished with an account of how they'd all done the
two-hour workout.

"That is the toughest workout that we do. Erik still does not see how you
do it every day. He wants to know when you're going to come and take us
throgh it personally. I told him you can't until your season ends. Until
then you've got to work to get the Sox into the playofs. We are all rooting
for you, Jack; every one of us and especially your best friend.  Love, PJ."

Writing to Jack did make him feel better. Once he'd finished and had
clicked the mouse to send the e-mail on its way, the shadowy corners of the
room appeared less menacing. It occurred to him that there could be simple
explanations for why Jack had failed to send a birthday greeting or
anything else. Maybe he tries not to remember his son's birthday. Maybe it
makes him too sad. The more he considered this, the more PJ convinced
himself that it was true. Jack's probably not even looking at his computer
right now because he's so busy, he rationalized. Once the Sox win their
Division, everything will be all right. Jack will come out of his
slump. The Red Sox will go on to win the Series, and then Jack will write
me.

But there were other thoughts in his head--dark, terrible ones PJ kept
trying to shut away. Jack will never be my friend again. That idea was so
awful that PJ refused to even think about it. The implications were more
than he could face.

"Anything's possible," he whispered over and over, repeating the words on
Jack's poster. Jack Canon was the most understanding person in the whole
world. Deep down, PJ could not stop believing that Jack cared about
him. "He must!" PJ whispered aloud. "He just has to!"

But when he stared around his room again, it felt as if the darkness
crouching in the shadowy corners had advanced a step. "No!" he whimpered
softly.

In that moment, he knew he must find a way to hold on until Jack
came. Right now, he was lost. Lost and frightened. And the darkness was
coming on. But Jack would find him. PJ believed it with all his
heart. Someday, Jack would come, and until then, he must be brave and
survive. He must not give up. He must make Jack so proud of him that when
he did come, he would give him a hug and say, "You're the best son in all
the world, and now you're safe with me forever."

But in the meantime, he had to help Jack out. Jack was busy now, so he
couldn't write. But that wasn't his fault. All dads got busy
sometimes. Phil's dad did. So did Brian's. But no dad could ever desert his
son. Jack would write when he got time, and for now, PJ would write for
him! He brought his notepad up on his computer and began typing again:

"Hi PJ. I'm glad to hear you got all the presence and cards I sent and that
your birthday was so much fun. The whole Red Sox team thinks your suprise
party sounded great. Everyone says Happy Birthday. Please say Hi to Erik,
Travis, Billy, Phil and Brian, too! I'm still not doing as well as I'd
like, but we are in the lead right now in our division and trying to keep
it that way. Your friend Jack."

PJ made the message about the same length as Jack's short notes usually
were and tried to imitate Jack's breezy, impersonal style. But he just had
to add one extra line:

"I miss you a lot, son, and I hope we can get together sometime soon."

	He read the note over once, made a few minor corrections, and then
saved it to a floppy disk, erasing all trace of it from his machine. Taking
the disc with him, he went to the door and looked out cautiously.

The hallway was empty. Across the way, he heard the faint sounds of Phil
and Brian talking and laughing. He went downstairs and walked quickly to
the front door because he didn't want Erik to see him from the Common
Room. It was already dark, the air cool outside, and he wished he'd thought
to bring his jacket.

Running as fast as he could to keep warm, PJ sped across the Quad to the
Chapel, clutching the floppy disc in his hand as a talisman against the
darkness around him. He entered the vestry and walked silently down the
side steps to the basement. The building was open for various Sunday
evening activities so all the lights were on. There was a narrow
secretary's alcove off the stairs. PJ glanced around to be sure no one was
coming and noticed the computer on the desk was still running. He turned on
the monitor and heard the familiar crackling of static electricity as the
screen lit up. After inserting his disc, he went to the mail window,
up-loaded his fake note from Jack, typed his own e-mail address into the
header, and sent it to himself over the Gordonsville network. Then he
ejected his disc, carefully erased his message from the machine, and turned
off the monitor. After another cautious look around confirmed that he
hadn't been observed, he snuck back outside and ran back to his
House. Pocketing the disc so Erik wouldn't see it, he slipped through the
front door, walked into the Common Room, and joined Erik and some other
boys who were watching a pro football game on TV.

"The Red Sox won," Erik said as PJ settled down next to him on the
sofa. "But so did the Yankees, so the Division lead didn't change."

They watched the football game together for awhile, but since it wasn't too
exciting, they left at the end of the half and climbed the stairs up to
their room. "Pro football is sorta dull," PJ said as they opened their
door. "Yeah," Erik agreed. "There's not enough action. They're always
having a penalty or a timeout, or a beer commercial, or somethin'. I like
watching the college games a lot more."

When they came into the room, PJ went hurriedly to his desk. Once he was
certain that Erik wasn't watching, he took the disc out of his pocket and
hid it. Clicking his mouse, he brought up his home screen where the mail
icon showed a flag.

"Hey, I've got mail!" he sang out, pointing. Of course, this was no
surprise to PJ, but he pretended excitement. "It's from Jack!"

"What's he say?" Instantly Erik was at his side peering over his
shoulder. PJ double-clicked to open the message and they read it together.

"That's nice, PJ." Erik said. "Gee, I hope he can get up to see some of our
games."

"Yeah, wouldn't that be great?" PJ tried to sound enthusiastic, and he
meant what he said, but knowing that the message was a product of his own
wishful thinking and that he was tricking his best friend made him feel
crummy inside. He also noticed a few glaring errors and realized that he'd
forgotten to run his Spell-check!

"For sure he'll be here for the last one, right?" Erik asked. "The Series
will be over by then and he's gotta come for the Father-Son Dinner."

"Yup," PJ replied, and to himself he was thinking, He will, he will come! I
know he will. He promised. . . . But even as he thought that, another voice
in his head whispered, Jack's son is dead. . . .

". . . It'll be good to see him again," Erik was saying. I think he's just
the greatest. And I know Bill will be glad to see him. They get along real
well. Hey! Maybe he'll stay for a couple of days this time! Bill's
gonna. Why don't you ask him? We can plan something."

"Yeah, I'll ask him. It's just that I think it's hard for him to make any
plans right now because he's so busy thinking about the playoffs and
everything."

"Sure," Erik agreed. "Gee, I hope the Sox go all the way!"

"They can do it," PJ said confidently. "Anything's possible!" Anything,
anything, anything . . . . But the fear was stuck there in his mind. What
will I do if he doesn't come? Please, Jack. Please . . . Please
. . .please. . . .

Absentmindedly, PJ talked with Erik about the Red Sox and then about their
classes the next day. At length they got ready for bed, though they stayed
up for awhile reading under the covers. PJ had been enjoying The Hobbit,
glad that Erik had gotten him interested in Tolkien, but on this occasion
he found it hard to concentrate. Finally, he turned off his reading light
and turned over on his side. He wanted to feel sleepy. He wanted to close
his eyes. But he was scared of his dreams. And he felt bad about deceiving
Erik.

I wouldn't ever want to make up those messages if only Jack would send me
something, he told himself. I know he hasn't forgotten. Like I told Erik,
he must be awful busy. Guess I just got to keep writin' for him 'til he has
time to write me back an' I'll never haf to deceive Eric anymore an' then
everthing'll be alrigh-h-h. . .

In the end, fatigue finally ambushed him. All the physical activity had
tired PJ out. Gradually he fell deeper and deeper into sleep, sometimes
muttering or tossing restlessly. Whatever dreams he might have had, he
didn't remember.

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Peaceful, Easy Feelings

PJ resumed his habit of writing Jack a short note every night, ignoring the
fact that he never received any replies. He preferred to think that Jack
read every one of his notes and was simply too busy to write back. When the
playoffs are over, he thought, he'll write.

In the meantime, PJ provided the replies, writing what he was sure Jack
himself would send if only he had the time. At least once a week, and
sometimes twice, he composed a short note, counterfeiting Jack's style, and
then mailed it to his own computer, using a terminal in the library, taking
care that Erik never caught him at it.

For a while, some of his fears receded. The distractions of school
assignments and football helped him manage his distress on a day-to-day
basis. There were a few bad nights, but most of the time the dreams only
made him restless. He would toss in his sleep, muttering incoherently so
often that Erik grew accustomed to it and slept on without even waking. If
Erik was ever puzzled by the occasional odd things PJ said or did, he never
mentioned anything.

Pads and equipment were issued to the football team, and practices rose to
a new level of intensity. PJ and Erik were assigned to work on both offense
and defense, so PJ was grateful for all the things he'd learned that
summer. He pushed himself hard and found that the physical challenges were
a great help in getting his mind off his problems. Pleased by his own
improvement from the previous year, he was even prouder of how well his
roommate was doing. But he noticed that there were times when Eric seemed
frustrated.

"What's wrong?" he asked one time when Erik came into the locker room after
practice, threw his helmet on the floor, and sat down on the bench looking
dejected.

His roommate glanced hastily around. There was no one close by except Phil
and Brian, who were staring at Eric in dismay.

"It's the starting quarterback," Erik told them, keeping his voice
down. "Lester and his buddies. I don't know what's wrong with them. It's
like they don't care or something. They think they're so great. They're
always fooling around." He smacked a fist into a palm. "Our team's good! We
can win games if only we try! But these guys aren't going to. It's
. . . oh, I don't know what. All I know is they're gonna blow it. PJ, I
don't want another season like last year. I just don't."

PJ wasn't sure what to say. Erik worked more closely than he did with the
older boys on the team. If Erik was this worried, perhaps something really
was amiss. "Maybe you're not reading them right, Erik," he
suggested. "Maybe they're just trying to stay loose and have some
fun. Coach Lewis keeps telling us we're supposed to have fun."

But Erik was shaking his head. "It's not fun to lose, PJ," he said grimly,
"and that's what these guys are gonna do to us."

The next day at their regular lunchtime weight workout, Erik seemed
unusually intense. Normally he let PJ lead the sets, but now he took over,
pushing them all very hard, especially Brian and Phil. "Get all the
strength you can," he told them. "We're gonna need you before this season's
over. I just know it."

On Saturday morning when they had a full scrimmage, PJ began to see what
Erik was worried about. Some of the thirteen-year-old boys, the key players
who should have been taking a leadership role, were clearly not trying very
hard. They seemed more interested in playing tricks on each other and
making fun of other players than in improving their own skills. When they
were on the sidelines, they wasted time talking about what they'd done the
previous night instead of reviewing with the coaches how they'd been
performing.

PJ played half the game on defense, half on offense, and since the rosters
of the two opposing sides were shuffled each quarter, it meant adjusting to
different teammates each time. While in as a defensive back, he decided
that if Lester and his buddies were going to fool around, he would do his
best to take advantage. After making his second interception, one of the
thirteen-year-olds protested, "Come on, PJ, quit trying so hard! It's only
a scrimmage. You're making us look bad." PJ couldn't understand. Did the
kid think he was going to do less than his best? But he wanted to get along
with everyone, so he smiled and replied, "Next Thursday there'll be a whole
team of guys tryin' to make you look bad! I'm on your side, remember?"

The other boy rolled his eyes. "Geez, PJ. Don't be such a dweeb! Didn't ya'
see the bulletin board? We're gonna kill Perry School. Lighten up!" PJ
didn't know what the boy was referring to about the bulletin board, but the
jibe made him self-conscious. For the rest of the quarter, though there
were other defensive plays he could've made, he deliberately failed to
execute them.

On offense in the third quarter, he played wide receiver. When pass plays
were called, he tried hard to get open and time-after-time succeeded. But
Lester, the quarterback, never threw to him, instead favoring one of his
friends. Though PJ still tried to do his best, it wasn't long before he
became discouraged.

In the last quarter, Erik came in as quarterback and PJ was moved to a
running back slot. He felt much more comfortable with his roommate taking
the snap. He was actually starting to have some fun--until he noticed that
Lester and his buddies, now playing on defense, weren't trying very hard
doing that either. He broke through the line for several long gains, but
any thrill he might have gotten at making a good run was killed by his not
being certain if it was his own effort or the indifference of the defensive
players that let him get through.

If he was dissatisfied after the scrimmage was over, what Coach Lewis said
to the team on the sideline only made him feel worse. "Okay guys, that went
fairly well," he told the circle of boys standing around him. "You'll get
your assignments on Monday and we'll start practicing for our opener. Perry
lost last Thursday to a team you beat easily last year. You're even better
this season, so you should have some confidence for this game. Just keep
practicing hard. I was hoping to see a little more intensity in this
scrimmage than I got. I think some of you still aren't giving us all you
have. You need to step up. You fellows have a good team, and you could do
well this year if you all play the way I know you can. I'll see you Monday
for practice. Check the board for your assignments when you get here."

To PJ, the coach's criticism of the older boys sounded pretty lame. But he
kept his opinion to himself.

The scrubs had held their own separate scrimmage on the other end of the
field, so while waiting for Brian and Phil to finish up and join them, PJ
told Erik, "I think I'm startin' to see what you were worried about. Our
quarterback and his buddies were just playing around out there today."

Erik shook his head in disgust. "I wish Coach could see it."

Brian and Phil came trotting over carrying their helmets, Brian with a big
grin on his face. "We had a great scrimmage! You shoulda seen how good Phil
was throwin' the ball!"

Behind him, Phil was blushing. "Brian was the real star," he insisted. "He
made a bunch of great tackles when he was at linebacker."

PJ gave Phil a gentle shove. "Listen to Mr. Modest. I bet you both did
great!"

"How was your scrimmage?" Brian asked.

With a glance at his roommate, PJ answered, "Well, parts of it were good."

Erik was looking grim. "Let's have lunch," he said. "Then let's get Billy
and do our own practice."

In the locker room, PJ hurried through a shower, got dressed quickly, and
went to look at the information on the bulletin board. Coach Lewis had
posted the scores and statistics from the game the Perry School had played
two days before. He noticed that the team they had lost to was Travis'
school, Franklyn Prep.

"Erik, did ya' see this?" When his roommate joined him, PJ pointed at the
team names.

Erik studied the score sheet. "PJ," he said thoughtfully, "didn't Travis
warn us that their Middle School team was pretty good this year? That they
weren't the pushovers they were last season?"

PJ nodded. "Yeah. An' if that's true, then Perry might not be a bad team at
all. They may be a good team that just happened to get beaten by a better
one."

"Hey, we better let Coach Lewis know about this," Erik told him. "We have
an awful lot of guys in this locker room right now who think we're playing
an easy one this Thursday."

"I bet they're not easy at all," PJ said. "They beat us last year."

"They may do it again if a few guys around here don't get goin'," Erik was
not looking happy one bit.

The Top Floor Gang spent most of that afternoon in Billy's backyard,
working on plays. During the week, PJ had snuck into one of the admin
offices and made a copy of the Gordonsville playbook so Billy could have
one of his own. They passed it around and discussed various plays while
taking a break, sitting on the kitchen steps enjoying cookies and milk that
Billy's mom had provided.

"PJ," Brian asked, "do you think Phil and I will get in the game on
Thursday?"

"If we get way ahead, you will," PJ answered. "Coach Lewis is good about
that. He'll let you get experience and give the other team a chance so they
don't feel humiliated."

"What's 'humiliated'?" Billy asked.

"That's what you're gonna be if you mess up any more plays we're tryin' to
teach you, Little Brother." Erik gave the boy's shoulder a pat. He looked
at PJ. "They might also go in if we get hopelessly behind. Remember? That's
how you and I got in a lot last year."

"But we won't get way behind in this game," Phil declared. "Perry is
supposed to be easy."

"Don't count on it." PJ repeated the warning Travis had given about his
school's team, and how Perry could actually be good.

"Uh-oh," Brian said thoughtfully.

"Yeah," PJ nodded.

They were all silent for awhile. Erik finished chewing his last cookie. He
washed it down with milk, wiped his mouth, and said, "I don't know how to
explain this, but somehow I just know that what we're doing's important. He
pointed at Brian and Phil. "The time is gonna come when you two guys are
gonna be called on. And you, too, Billy. You've gotta be up there in the
stands then, cheering for us. You're important. An' everything you're doing
to help us now is gonna help us make it work when it happens. Like
. . . like . . . I don't know. Some kind of magic or something . . . ." He
looked around sheepishly at the others. "I guess that sounds kinda stupid,
huh?"

But no one was smiling. None of them even spoke until finally PJ whispered,
"No. No it doesn't."

Abruptly, Erik stood up. "Let's practice some more."

They took their glasses into the kitchen and then lined up in the backyard
again. "Okay, Billy," Erik said, "what's 'Gold'?"

"It's what I'd love to have," Billy promptly replied. Then he smirked.

"All right, smarty-pants. Now be serious! If I call 'Texas-Gold,' what is
it?"

"Texas is the rollout pass," Billy told him. "Texas-Gold is a rollout pass
to the right."

With an approving nod, Erik grinned at him. "Red-River-Two," he called out,
"Texas-Gold-26, Texas-Gold-26, on Three, Break."

Smak! The boys all clapped their hands and took their positions, with Billy
as the receiver on the right. Erik shouted, "Hut . . . Hut, Hut!"

On the third "Hut," Phil snapped the ball and Erik faded back, rolling to
his right. PJ and Brian pretended to block for him. Billy scurried down a
pretend sideline and Erik sent a perfect spiral floating into the young
boy's hands. When Billy came trotting back with the ball, he was grinning
from ear to ear. Erik patted him on the back. "Best little brother in the
whole world," Erik told him.

"Darn right he is," PJ said, as Phil and Brian clapped Billy on the back.

That night PJ went to the Hobby Shop. The Red Sox were playing on TV, but
PJ had found that seeing Jack disturbed him so much it was better to avoid
it. Instead of watching the game, he surprised Erik by telling him that he
intended to work on his model. "I wanna finish it before too much longer so
I can show it to Billy," he explained, "and tonight is one of the best
times to make some progress."

He stayed as late as he could and was the last boy out when the Shop closed
for the evening. "Nice job," Mr. Jenkins noted with approval, looking at
all the parts PJ had so carefully painted. After they'd put his project
away in the cupboard, PJ went across the street and around the dark Quad to
his House, deliberately taking the long way back to avoid the Chapel steps.

In the Common Room, the Red Sox game was still on the TV. PJ had intended
on going straight up to his room, but Erik had seen him come in and waved,
so he felt obliged to join him. He went over and sat on the floor next to
his roommate's chair. "It doesn't look good," Erik told him. "They're down
by two in the eighth. But Jack got a double tonight."

"Oh, that's good," PJ said. "Maybe he's doing better."

The Sox were playing Detroit at home. When PJ saw the familiar surroundings
of Fenway Park on the screen, he got a lump in his throat. What I wouldn't
give to be there with Jack right now, he thought. How casually he had taken
that all for granted the previous spring. It seemed a lifetime ago.

The Red Sox were batting in the bottom of the eighth. "Let's go Sox!" Erik
shouted, just as if he were sitting in the park. "Jack might get up this
inning," he told PJ.

The TV camera zoomed in on the Red Sox dugout, the players all seated on
the bench that PJ remembered so well. Standing in front of them, his back
to the camera, was a slight figure in a Red Sox uniform that had "BATBOY"
labeled across the shoulders. PJ recognized the same uniform he'd worn when
he'd spent the week of spring vacation with Jack. The person now wearing it
was a boy who appeared to be about PJ's age or just a bit older. As PJ
watched, the boy went over to sit next to Jack on the dugout bench. When
Jack said something, the boy smiled up at him. PJ experienced a wave of
longing and despair so strong it made him dizzy. Luckily, he was sitting on
the floor. As it was, he had to lean on Erik's chair to keep from
swaying. The picture switched back to the batter, and gradually, PJ
recovered his composure. After the Red Sox hitter had grounded out, there
was another shot of the dugout that showed the boy still sitting with Jack,
talking to him. "I wonder who that kid next to Jack is?" PJ asked. He had
to force the words out, his throat was so tight.

"Some kid that won a contest," Erik explained. "They had something about
him at the start of the game."

PJ bit his lip, swallowed hard, and forced himself to watch the TV screen,
but for awhile he had no idea what was happening in the game. There was a
humming in his ears and another wave of dizziness passed over him.

A commercial came on. "Another one, two, three inning," Erik said
ruefully. "It's been one of those nights. Jack leads off in the
ninth. Maybe he can do something." PJ nodded dumbly.

In the top of the ninth, the Red Sox closer came in and shut the Tigers
down. Detroit went back out into the field, and with the Sox still down by
two, Jack emerged from their dugout to lead off. The TV cameras caught the
moment when the young honorary batboy came out to give him his bat. Jack
smiled, nodded to him, and strode confidently to the plate.

"Come on, Jack!" Erik yelled. He turned to PJ. "Hey, how come they never
let you hand out the bats when you were there, PJ? I never saw you do it."

"They had two regular batboys who always did it," PJ struggled to keep his
voice calm.

Jack took the first two pitches, which both missed close outside for
balls. The TV commentators were talking about his batting average, which
was still slowly falling. They flashed a screen up that showed the six
leading hitters in the American League. "Wow!" Erik said. "Jack's just
barely ahead for the batting title. If his average drops anymore he won't
win it!"

On the screen, Jack swung at a pitch that was low and outside, missing it
completely. Erik groaned. Jack stepped out of the box and adjusted his
batting gloves. PJ was sure he was angry with himself.

With what appeared to be an impatient little shake of his head, and after a
deep breath, Jack resumed his stance at the plate. The pitcher shook off a
sign, leaned forward . . . stared in at his catcher . . . then wound up and
fired again--this time a wicked fastball. Jack stepped into the pitch and
brought his bat through with that deceptively easy swing, the swing PJ had
learned contained such incredible power. As soon as he hit the ball, PJ
knew it was gone. The camera followed the tiny white sphere as it arced up
into the lights over the Green Monster in left field and soared out to the
street beyond. The sold-out Fenway Park crowd came to their feet, roaring,
screaming, chanting, "Jack . . . Jack . . . Jack . . . Jack . . ." As Jack
trotted around the bases, Erik bounced up from his chair and pounded PJ on
the back.

"He's the greatest, isn't he, PJ?" Erik yelled.

"Yes . . . Yes, he is," PJ softly answered.

He could feel the magic of Jack's home run. He could feel it just as if he
were sitting right there in that historic old stadium. There was something
about the way Jack did it, something in the way he ran the bases afterward
that made you believe that he'd hit it just for you, personally, whether
you were sitting in the dugout with him, or in a seat in the bleachers, or
on the floor at home watching on TV. No matter where you were, you just
knew that Jack Canon had hit that home run for you. And as you watched the
ball sail out of the stadium, in that instant you knew that anything was
possible, that life was full of wonderful challenges, and that there was
nothing you couldn't do.

PJ was certain Fenway Park must be rocking with sound. He could feel it in
his imagination as Jack crossed the plate, slapped the palm of the next
batter, and headed toward the dugout. But on the way, he stopped by the
railing and leaned over a frail-looking boy in a Red Sox jacket and cap who
was sitting in a wheelchair. Jack patted his shoulder and said something as
the TV cameras zoomed in.

"It's some kid that Jack has at the game for the Jimmy Fund," Erik told
PJ. "They had something about that before the game, too. Jack promised he'd
try to hit a home run for him."

PJ squeezed his eyes tightly closed and swallowed hard. When he opened his
eyes he said, "Jack does that a couple of times a year. For the Jimmy Fund,
and for Make-a-Wish kids sometimes too."

"He's just the greatest guy," Erik declared again.

PJ kept as tight a control on himself as he could for the few remaining
minutes of the game. Jack's homer got the Red Sox within one run of the
Tigers, but the batters that came up next couldn't get anything going and
the Sox lost. "That drops their Division lead back to one game," Erik said
in disappointment. "The Yankees won today."

PJ wasn't listening. The TV was showing Jack bringing the honorary batboy
out of the dugout to meet the boy in the wheelchair. PJ watched Jack
autograph their caps and give them some batting gloves.

Erik got up and yawned. "Ready to hit the sack, PJ?"

"I'll be there in a minute. I just need to check on something." After Erik
had left, PJ walked outside, stood for a moment on the sidewalk, and stared
up at the sky. The moon, almost full, was visible above the trees. Walking
as quickly as he could, he crossed the campus. The lights in all the houses
glowed cheerfully. No one paid any attention to him. By the time he was
past the Field House, he was crying, hot tears rolling down his face. He
started to run, desperately afraid that someone would see him. He fled to
the baseball field and hid in the dugout by first base where he and Erik
had sat so often the spring before. Huddled on the bare earth back in the
corner, he curled into a ball, his sturdy little body shaking as he cried
as though his heart would break. "Oh, my daddy. Please find me. Please come
find me," he sobbed over and over.

Gradually his crying stopped. But he continued to shake. He remained curled
up tightly for a long time, occasionally making little whimpering noises
like an injured animal. Finally he sat up and got to his feet. Swaying
unsteadily, he left the dugout, took off his tee shirt, and stood in the
cool night air. Moonlight painted his lean upper body and solid shoulders
with silver. Slowly, and then gradually faster and faster, he began to run
around the field, following the fence line. Around and around he went,
breaths whistling in his throat. Sweat poured from him, oiling his body in
the ghostly light, darkening his shorts. He pushed himself harder and
harder until his chest was heaving, his breathing coming in ragged
gasps. He didn't stop until he was stumbling from fatigue, only then
halting to sag against the bleachers in a state of near collapse. Once his
heart stopped pounding, he found his shirt and started walking back to the
House, pausing only long enough to slip it on before going inside. It
seemed a long weary climb up the three flights of stairs to his room.

Erik was already in bed, head propped up by a pillow, reading. He looked
around when PJ came in through the door and noticed the sweat-soaked
condition of his roommate's shorts.

"What the heck have you been doin'?" he asked in astonishment.

"I did some runnin'."

With a puzzled shake of his head, Erik returned to his book while PJ
removed his shirt yet again, gathered up a towel, and grabbed his pajama
pants. Down the hallway in the bathroom, he kicked away his Nikes, peeled
off the sodden shorts and briefs, and stared at himself in a mirror over
one of the sinks.

Harsh light from the overhead fluorescents gleamed on his sweaty skin,
giving his smoothly defined chest and shoulders a hard, polished
appearance. From under the fine, blonde hair that fell across his forehead,
his blue eyes looked back at him with a dull, lifeless stare. It was very
quiet. The only sound was the humming of the fluorescent fixtures.

I'm dead, PJ thought. I'm a dead boy. I don't see anything, I don't hear
anything. I don't feel anything.

He turned the water on in one of the stalls and waited for it to get
hot. Then he stepped in and pulled the curtain across. After holding his
shorts and briefs under the gushing water to rinse the sweat out of them,
he spread them carefully on the floor of the stall, got down on them, and
rolled over onto his back. The stall was not big enough for him to stretch
out, so he had to draw his legs up. He let his slender arms sprawl back
behind his head, closed his eyes, and lay without moving, the spray dancing
like needles on his bare skin. His body went completely limp. His knees
sagged apart.

For a long time he stayed like that, pretending to be dead.

This is what it's like, he thought as the hot water washed over him:
peaceful, easy, feeling nothing. Only the shower spray, and then not even
that. Erik would find him in the morning. He'd be sad for awhile, but he
would be all right. He would take care of Billy and Brian and Phil. PJ
tried to empty his mind completely . . . to become nothing. . . .

There was the sound of the door opening. Someone came in and used the
john. A toilet flushed. The door banged again.

Reluctantly PJ stirred and got up. He soaped himself and took his time,
slowly turning under the cascade of hot water as he rinsed off. He slid a
palm over his smooth chest, tiny softened nipples, sleek tummy, shriveled
penis, tucked balls. Finally he turned off the water. After wringing out
his shorts and briefs, leaving them on a hook to dry overnight, he toweled
himself dry, put on the pajama pants, picked up his Nikes, and padded back
down the hall in his bare feet. He paused next to Phil's and Brian's
room. No light shone under the door; he couldn't hear a sound. He turned
and stepped across the hall into his own room.

Erik had fallen asleep, the reading light on, his book open on his
chest. He woke up when PJ came in. "Hey," he said drowsily. He put the book
away and turned off his light. Only PJ's nightlight continued to glow
softly. PJ spread the towel out to dry and went and sat on the edge of his
roommate's bed. "Erik?" he solemnly asked. "Has there ever been something
you wanted really, really bad and couldn't have."

Erik considered for a little bit. "Yeah," he said at last, "there was
something." He heaved a sigh and turned over on his side to face PJ. "I've
always wanted to go camping. I don't mean like in a tent at a summer camp
or overnight in a car someplace, but real backpacking, like where you hike
into the wilderness for a couple of weeks. I always thought it would be
exciting, but kinda peaceful too at the same time. Know what I mean?"

He was silent for a few seconds, staring at a spot beyond PJ. "When I was a
little kid, younger than Billy," he finally went on, "I had this book with
pictures of mountains in it. I dreamed about going camping in them all the
time. I thought that doing that must be the most wonderful thing anybody
could ever do." He paused again. "I haven't thought about that book for the
longest time. I don't even know where it is now."

PJ had been listening closely, watching his roommate's face. "Didn't Bill
ever take you?"

Erik shook his head and smiled. "No, he never did. He's not really an
outdoorsy kind of person. But we've done lots and lots of other things
together. I know he'd do it if I asked him. Maybe I will. It would be an
awful lot of fun. I wouldn't want to do it without him, though. I don't
like doing anything without Bill."

They were silent awhile, and then PJ asked slowly, "Erik, what would you do
if you couldn't see Bill ever again?"

Erik gave PJ a startled, anxious glance. "You mean like . . . like if he
. . . if somethin' happened to him or somethin'?"

PJ nodded. "Or if he just stopped liking you for some reason. If you made
him mad or somethin'."

Erik shook his head. "Nothin' that could ever happen would make Bill stop
liking me. Nothin'. Even when he gets mad at me he likes me. He loves
me. He's my dad. The only way I couldn't see him again is if . . . you
know, if somethin' happened to him. And then, if that ever happened . . . I
don't know what I'd do. I mean, I like my mom, but . . ."

"I'd help you," PJ told him.

Erik looked at his roommate gratefully. "I know that. And I think that
would be about the only thing that would keep me goin'."  He thought for a
moment and then added, "I bet Jack would help, too. He's a great guy. And
Mr. Williamson. And Billy's dad."

"And Travis' coach," PJ said.

"Yeah, him, too," Erik agreed. "They're all the best. But none of them
could really take Bill's place. Bill's just . . . he's just . . ."

"I know." PJ's head drooped and he brushed at his eyes. "Erik," he said
quickly, "did you know that you've been with me lotsa places and didn't
know about it?"

"Huh?" Erik stared at him, confused.

"Yeah," PJ said, still rubbing his eyes. "Lotsa times when I'm by myself,
like last year when I was in New York, I pretended that you were with me
and we did stuff together."

"Did we have fun?" Erik asked with a smile.

PJ nodded. "Better believe it! I really thought you were there!" He looked
at his friend. Erik was suddenly concerned by how sad he appeared.

"Can we pretend something now?" PJ asked.

"Sure." Erik took his hand. "What shall we do?"

"Pretend . . . "PJ said wistfully, "pretend that you an' Bill an' me an'
Jack are all going camping together out in the mountains like in that
book. Tell me what it'd be like."

"Okay, PJ," Erik softly told him. He pulled back the covers of his bed and
PJ slid in on his back. Erik reached over and threw an arm protectively
around PJ's bare upper body. Then he started to whisper to him.

"We'd go in the summertime, 'cause the really high mountains have snow on
their peaks all the rest of the year. An' we'd all drive together up into a
big pine forest in a J saeep 'til you couldn't go any farther, an' Jack
would be talking with ya' an' showing ya' things an' making ya' laugh
sometimes with a funny story, an' he'd hand ya' a piece of pizza left over
from the night before at the motel an' he'd say, 'Better enjoy this while
you can, PJ, 'cause there won't be any more for a few weeks!' An' then we'd
park the Jeep in the trees an' we'd all get out an' Jack would help you put
on your wilderness pack an' Bill would help me with mine an' we'd all start
up the trail that leads to the far back country--the places so far away
nobody else ever goes there--where there's only the high mountain peaks an'
sun an' moon an' stars . . . an' we'd be walking along so quietly, an' we'd
come around a corner an' Jack would put his hand on your shoulder an'
whisper, 'Look, PJ, it's a mother deer with her fawn. Wonder where its
daddy is. . . ."

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT THIRTY-ONE

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

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