Chapter Nine: Meeting a Star

            By the time Walter arrived to pick him up, PJ had been waiting in the lobby for half an hour, rehearsing what he planned to say when he met Jack Canon. He was beginning to feel a little nervous when the young lawyer came in through the revolving glass doors.

 

            "You all ready, PJ?" Walter was looking at his watch.

 

            Nodding, PJ grabbed his bag. After his lawyer had taken care of the hotel bill, PJ followed him outside, expecting to see the limo. But the vehicle parked at the curb was a flashy, metallic silver sedan. "I figured we'd use my car," Walter explained. "I can leave it overnight at the airport and have it handy for some errands when I get back."

 

            The car smelled new. PJ thought it was pretty nice even if it wasn't a limo, and there was plenty of power because when Walter shifted into gear and hit the gas, PJ felt as if an invisible hand had shoved him back against his seat. "I had an interesting talk with Mr. Canon when we set this up yesterday," Walter said. "Quite a guy. He's shoehorning us into a busy weekend. He and his agent are off on some business trip tomorrow, but he said to come down and spend the night. I've arranged for a charter to take us down and back."

 

            "Cool," PJ answered, not sure what else to say. He would've liked to hear more about Walter's talk with Jack Canon, but the young lawyer appeared too busy driving and not interested in conversation. Mostly, he wished that they were going to stay longer at Jack's, that his idol didn't have to leave so soon on any stupid business trip, and he sure didn't want to return to school any earlier than he had to, but what could he do? PJ tried to relax in his seat, peering out the window at the huge midtown buildings.

 

            Only a few other cars were in the city streets. "Wish it was like this all the time," Walter muttered as they headed downtown on Broadway. When they drove through Times Square, PJ was struck by how different it looked with just a scattering of people on the sidewalk instead of the thousands the day before. He was about to say something when he remembered that he was supposed to have been at a friend's house for Thanksgiving--so he kept his mouth shut.

 

            Soon they were through the Holland Tunnel and into New Jersey. PJ turned to look back across the Hudson at the Manhattan skyscrapers gleaming in the morning sun and wondered when he would be able to visit New York again.

 

            They got to Newark Airport by eight o'clock. After parking the car in the private lot, Walter checked his watch, remarking, "If we hurry, we've got time for breakfast." He strode off so fast that PJ had to trot to keep up. Entering the terminal, they stopped in at a "24-hour" snack bar, where the young lawyer had a couple of bagels with some coffee, while PJ wolfed down a bacon-egg-cheese muffin and a glass of milk. Then it was a "Let's get moving." When they hustled to the far end of the building, PJ saw two familiar faces waiting for him.

 

            "Hi, PJ!" It was the same aircrew who had flown him from Pennsylvania. "You guys all set?" Captain Richards grinned when Walter and PJ both told him yes, and the pilot gestured for them to follow. "Let's do it!" He led them down a flight of stairs out onto the ramp, where PJ recognized the red and white Citation. Mr. Don, his co-pilot friend, escorted the two passengers up into the plane, while Captain Richards talked on a telephone mounted by the ramp door. Then he came on board as well. Fifteen minutes later they were airborne, heading south for Florida.

 

            PJ had even more fun on this flight than the one from Gordonsville. Once again he was allowed to sit in the copilot's seat, and this time Captain Richards let him program waypoints into the navigation computer. When it was time to change altitudes going from one airway to another, he watched while PJ did it all by himself. On top of that, throughout the flight Mr. Don kept a map by PJ in the cockpit so they could both follow their progress, picking out landmarks on the ground. The flight took three hours, but PJ would've been happy if it'd taken twice as long!

 

When they arrived at Fort Myers Beach just before noon, the sunny weather felt pleasantly warm after the cold, gloomy weather in New York. Walter had arranged a rental car, and after they'd gotten in, handed PJ a piece of paper. "Those are directions to Jack Canon's house," he explained, maneuvering the car out of the parking lot. "Read 'em over and then you navigate for me, okay?"

 

            PJ studied the paper. In the excitement of the plane ride, he'd forgotten how nervous he'd been about this meeting, but now the butterflies in his gut started up again. It was just the way he felt right before a football game or a swimming race, all tense and keyed up--and maybe just a tiny bit scared, too. He couldn't help asking himself, What if Jack doesn't like me?

 

            PJ gritted his teeth, concentrating on the written directions. Stay on the ball, he told himself. Try not to be a jerk. Get Walter to Jack's house without messing up.

 

            Eventually they found themselves driving through a quiet neighborhood with big, low, rambling houses and wide lawns. Palm trees lined the street and grew in all the yards. Walter checked the numbers on the mailboxes, slowing as they came to a house that was even bigger than the others. "I guess this is it." He pulled into the driveway and parked behind some other cars.

 

            PJ felt like every butterfly in the world was flapping in his stomach. He'd never been so nervous in his life!

Getting out of the car, he and Walter stood together in the sunny driveway, uncertain of what to do. The big yard was empty. From the front, the house looked deserted. "I guess we just ring the doorbell," the lawyer said, looking around. He sounded as nervous as PJ felt. 

 

            >From somewhere in the back, PJ heard childish voices followed by laughter. Suddenly, a girl about PJ's age burst around the far corner of the house, closely followed by an older boy  chasing her. Both had on swimsuits and wore sunglasses. At the sight of the two strangers, they stopped, staring, then ran back around the corner. PJ heard the boy shout, "Hey Jack, that kid's here!"

 

            Dropping his bag, PJ started to walk across the lawn and then stopped. A tall, rangy man wearing a ragged cut-off sweatshirt and bright-red shorts came around from the back of the house. Dark sunglasses concealed his eyes. He wasn't wearing a Boston Red Sox uniform, but PJ knew him immediately! He broke into a trot, remembered his manners, took a deep breath, and slowed to a walk, feeling the same sense of unreality he'd experienced the day before in Central Park. The man took off his sunglasses, smiled, and held out a hand. "Hi." The voice was warm and friendly.  "I'm Jack Canon."

 

            PJ placed his small hand in the man's large one. Real! This was real! It wasn't a poster, it wasn't an image on TV; Jack Canon was real and he was shaking hands with him! PJ tried to launch into his prepared speech, but he was so nervous that all that came out was a stammered "M-M-Mister C-Canon. . ."

 

            With a wink that somehow conveyed total understanding, Jack got down on one knee and gave him an encouraging nod. It was just like the picture taped over PJ's desk at Gordonsville, the one with Jack kneeling down to sign an autograph for the young boy PJ had so often imagined himself to be. And now it was all real. It was all happening for real! In that instance, PJ knew—he just knew—that everything he had believed about Jack Canon was true. He tried again with his speech, and this time got the words out. "Mr. Canon, My name's PJ. Thank you very much for inviting me. You're my favorite baseball player and I've always wanted to meet you."

 

            Jack Canon's smile widened into a grin. "Thanks, PJ. Hope I don't disappoint you." He gave PJ's hand an extra squeeze, got up, and looked over at the lawyer. "Who's this you got with you?"

 

            In a happy daze, PJ introduced Jack to Walter Harris, and while they were conversing, a group of other adults and children came around the house and joined them. "You guy's got bags or something?" Jack asked. PJ pointed to his overnight bag. "Well, let's get you settled. Then we can all eat lunch." Jack beckoned to the older boy whom PJ had seen chasing the girl. "Jason, you and the others show PJ where to park his stuff. Give him a bunk in your room. PJ, you got a swimsuit?" PJ shook his head. When he had left Gordonsville two days ago, the last thing he'd anticipated needing was a swimsuit. "No problem," Jack said. "Charlie," he pointed to another boy who looked to be PJ's age, "go get one of yours for PJ to use." Charlie scampered off across the lawn towards the house next door. "Come on, Walter," Jack said. "Let me introduce you to all these folks."

 

            Jack, Mr. Harris, and the other adults walked back around the house while Jason took charge of PJ and led him inside. They were accompanied by the other kids, and PJ was a little confused at first, but eventually he got all the names and relationships straight. Jason was the son of Jack Canon's agent. His sister Lauren was the girl he'd been running after when PJ first saw him. Both their father and mother were spending Thanksgiving weekend there. The parents of the other children were friends of Jack's who lived in Vero Beach. Tyler and his sister Michelle were ten-year-old twins, and their younger brother Andy was eight. Charlie, the boy who had run off to get PJ a swimsuit, was Jack's next-door neighbor. He came back while Jason was showing PJ the upper bunk he'd be using in the guest room.

 

            "Here, PJ." Charlie handed over a baggy pair of swim shorts. "We're about the same size. These should fit." Then he turned, herding the girls and younger boys out of the room. "Go on, you queers!" he yelled. "Give the guy a little privacy. He wants to change." Michele turned around, tossed her head, and gave a sniff as if she smelled something good outside. "Come on, Lauren," she told the other girl, "let's see if the hamburgers are ready yet." The four children disappeared into the hallway.

 

            "Girls!" Charlie exclaimed in disgust. He and Jason stood, looking at PJ curiously, and Charlie asked, "So is it true? You came all the way from New York just to see Jack?"

 

            PJ's heart thumped at that question. He didn't want to seem like a hero-worshipping jerk to these other kids. Thinking fast he said, "Oh, no. Nothing like that. We were here on vacation and well, you know . . . ah-h . . . Walter Harris, he like . . . knows someone who knows Jack, you know? So he set it up so I could meet him."

 

            "That's not what Jack said," Charlie declared, shaking his head.

 

            Jason was staring at PJ like he was some strange specimen in a jar. "My dad says you own the Red Sox," he finally blurted. "Is that true?"

 

            PJ gave a nervous laugh. "No, nothing like that."

 

            Jason kept staring at him. "Well, my dad says you do."

 

            "Jack says you're an orphan," Charlie declared suddenly. "He says your parents got killed in a car wreck or something."

 

            Jason whirled on him. "He also said we weren't supposed to talk to him about that, big mouth!"

 

            Charlie's face went beet red. "Oh . . . yeah."  He gave PJ a quick glance, and dropped his eyes. "Sorry, PJ."

 

            "That's okay," PJ told him. "But I'd rather not talk about it."

 

            "Sure." Jason gave Charlie another withering glance. "Do you play baseball, PJ?"

 

            "Sure."

 

            "We're havin' a game out back. Come out as soon as you've changed. Let's go, Charlie." As the two boys went down the hallway, PJ heard Jason say, "God, Charlie, how could you be such an ass?"  "Hey, I forgot, okay? Charlie whined.

 

            After shutting the door, PJ got undressed. As fast as he could! He was in such a hurry to get back outside to see Jack, he almost fell flat on his face trying to get his right foot into the wrong leg hole of the shorts. Finally, he got the darn things straightened out, pulled them on, and rushed down the hallway looking for an exit.

 

           He passed a couple of bedrooms, noticing unmade beds and clothes strewn all around. When he came into a big living area, he saw books and more clothes thrown on the furniture. Sections of a newspaper littered the floor. Jack's house isn't very neat, he thought. For some reason, he felt disappointed in him.

 

            Big sliding glass doors on the far wall of the living room opened onto a concrete patio. An enormous backyard sloped down into a canal. PJ stepped out, looking around. On one side, Jack and the other adults were all sitting and talking by two big barbecue grills. Farther down the lawn, Charlie and Jason and the other kids were playing tag. On the other side, screened by bushes, a huge outdoor pool glittered in the sunlight. PJ thought it must be at least five lanes wide and either twenty or twenty-five yards long.

 

            "Hey, PJ," Jack called. PJ turned to look and saw that two more men had joined the group around the grills. Jack was beckoning for him to come on over. "PJ, these guys are from the team public relations office. They want to get some pictures of us together. Ya don't mind, do ya?"

 

            PJ looked at his lawyer. After getting a nod from Walter, he said, "It's okay."

 

            One of the men produced a Boston Red Sox tee shirt and cap from a bag. "Put these on for us, buddy." PJ slipped the shirt over his head and because the cap was adjustable, realigned the plastic tabs so that it would fit him. The man stepped back for a moment, studying the effect, then reset it on his head so the visor was farther up, explaining, "We want to be able to see your face." While he was doing all that, the other man was setting up both a camera and a small tin reflector that sat on the ground. He moved Jack and PJ to different spots on the lawn while he adjusted the reflector. At last he was satisfied.

 

            By this time, Jason, Charlie, Michelle, and all the other kids had come over to watch. PJ felt totally embarrassed. "Try to loosen the kid up, will ya, Jack," the man by the camera called. "He's all tense."

 

Jack looked down at PJ with a grin, shaking his head ruefully. Leaning down, he whispered, "Don't let this stuff get to ya, PJ. I have to do this all the time. Just wear your biggest smile and don't flip 'em the finger!"

 

            PJ sputtered, choking back a laugh, and after that felt much more relaxed. The men posed him shaking hands with Jack, then asked him to hand Jack a baseball. They took dozens of shots. One of the men grabbed Charlie's baseball bat and they took a dozen more pictures of PJ handing the bat to the big baseball icon. Finally, they announced that they were done. With a smile, Jack gave PJ a quick pat on the shoulder. "Good job, Tiger. I guess we didn't break the camera. I see Charlie fixed you up with swim trunks." PJ nodded, grinning back at the man, not feeling nervous or embarrassed at all anymore. Jack Canon had called him "Tiger!" It was all just as he had hoped! He stood there looking up, proud and happy, forgetful of the messy house, aware only that in person Jack was everything he had dreamed he would be!

 

            "Charlie's a good kid," Jack went on. "Made top team in Little League last summer. I've worked with him a lot on and off. Taught him a curveball. Get him to show it to you." He looked questioningly at PJ. "I guess you play some ball, don't you, kiddo?"

 

            "Y -Yes," stammered PJ. He wanted to go on and tell Jack how he was better at football and swimming, but that baseball was his favorite sport, and that he played on his house team, and knew everything about baseball history that you could know, and. . .

 

            But before he could, before he could get the words out, Jack was saying, "The shirt and hat are yours to keep, Tiger. Hey, go get yourself a hamburger or something before they're all gone." Then he was walking away, calling to the two photographers, asking if they wanted something to eat. But the photographers yelled something about catching a deadline, and left.

 

            PJ ran into the house with his new cap and shirt. He sure didn't want to spill ketchup or mustard on them! That would be stupid, he thought. This cap may not be a fitted one, but it's sure nice just the same. The shirt is almost as neat as the jerseys in the ESPN store. And Jack gave me these! He carefully placed the items in his overnight bag. After that, he ran back outside so he could grab a hamburger, to which he applied ketchup but no mustard or relish. He didn't see any pickles. He liked pickles on a hamburger, but not relish. And he never used mustard on his hamburger. Mustard was for hotdogs. PJ was nothing if not particular about what he ate!

 

            As he bit into his hamburger, he heard Jason's mother say, "Jack, you need to get some sun block on that boy or he's going to lobster out!"

 

            "I don't know where any of that stuff is, Marilyn," Jack called from the grill. "I don't even think I've got any."

 

"I've got some," said another lady. "Michelle, hand me my purse."

 

            "I'm eating!" complained Michelle loudly from the picnic table. The woman, who PJ decided had to be Michelle and Tyler's mother, got up and retrieved her purse from under a chair. "Come over here, PJ." She smeared some kind of clear stuff all over him, saying, "I guess you don't get too much sun up in New York."

 

            "I don't live in New York," PJ tried to explain, but it didn't seem as if the woman heard him.

 

            Charlie tapped PJ on the shoulder. "Come on, PJ. We're gonna play ball!"

 

            PJ started to run after him, but Walter caught him up first. "PJ," he whispered. "Hey, sorry about those pictures. They were sort of the price I had to pay to get us down here, you know? Hope you didn't mind."

 

            "No," PJ told him. "I didn't mind. It was kinda cool."

 

            "PJ!" yelled Charlie. "Come on!"

 

            "Can I get one of the pictures, Walter?" PJ asked.

 

            "I'll get you some copies," the lawyer promised. PJ ran off to the end of the yard where the other boys were waiting.

 

            "We're playing `dead ball,'" Jason told him. PJ had never heard of it. "What's that?" he asked.

 

            Charlie showed him a baseball-sized object wrapped in layers of black tape. "I found this old baseball in the water by the channel. It must've been there for at least a year. It was all mushy. I taped it up so we could use it in the yard."

 

            "If you hit it," said Jason, "it doesn't go too far."

 

            "Yeah," said Charlie. "Even Jack's backyard is too small to play real hardball. And his is the biggest around here."

 

            "You can catch this ball without a glove," said Jason.

 

            "But watch out for bent fingers," Tyler added, holding up an index one that was swollen.

 

            "Yeah," echoed little Andy. "Bent fingers!"

 

            They spent some time playing catch so PJ could get used to the ball, and he saw immediately that Charlie was a good player. Everything he did appeared effortless; every catch looked easy, all his throws were on line. PJ had seen kids like him at Gordonsville; his roommate Erik was one. Coach Lewis called them "natural athletes." PJ suspected he could practice baseball for the next ten years straight and still never be as good as Charlie was right then.

 

              Jason was a good player, too; not as talented as Charlie, but strong enough to throw hard, plus he liked to show off. PJ watched enviously, knowing he could throw just as hard but not as accurately.  To keep the ball in line, he had to throw softly. After PJ, Tyler was next best, but he was afraid of the ball, and Jason kept teasing him by faking a hard throw to make him flinch. Little Andy was still learning, so Tyler, PJ, Charlie, and even Jason were all patient with him, lobbing the ball or throwing underhand so he could practice catching.

 

            Eventually, Charlie ran to get his bat so they could take turns pitching to each other. Charlie's hitting was as good as everything else he did. He had a classic swing and could make contact on any pitch. When PJ got a turn to hit, he was determined not to embarrass himself. Hitting was the best part of his game because he was strong enough to turn on the ball. His problem was strikeouts. He tended to "whiff" a lot, and to his complete mortification he proceeded to do just that, missing pitches twice in a row. "Stop using your curve on me, Charlie," he complained.

Charlie grinned, threw him one right down the middle, and PJ made contact with a solid "Wop!"  The dilapidated old ball flew straight to the bottom of the yard. "Hey, nice one!" Charlie called.

 

            PJ looked around to see if Jack might have been watching, but all the adults were still sitting around the barbecue grills talking.

 

            The boys batted around a few more times, PJ got some other good hits, but Jack never was looking their way.

After Jason and Tyler had worked with Andy to make sure he got one last hit, Charlie sang out, "Wall-Bal-l-!"

"Yeah!" Tyler whooped.

 

            PJ had no idea what they were talking about. He followed the boys as they ran to the side of the yard where a big concrete block wall decorated with a peeling Red Sox logo had been built along the edge of the property. Tyler picked up a tennis ball that was lying in the grass and threw it against the wall. Charlie fielded the ricochet, threw the ball back against the wall, and Jason fielded, bouncing the ball to PJ. Quickly catching on to the game, PJ bounced to Andy, and then Andy bounced to Tyler again.

 

            They kept this up for a few rounds, and then began a complicated game Charlie and Tyler had invented that awarded points for spectacular plays, subtracted for misses, and counted double scores for extended runs without a miss. PJ enjoyed this new game, even though his fielding was nowhere near as good as Charlie's or even Jason's. He had fun just doing his best, trying to improve his score. As usual, his worst trouble was keeping his hands down on what he thought of as "skittery" ground balls. He had just blown another one, allowing the ball to go right between his legs, when he looked up--and there was Jack standing close by, watching. PJ's mouth opened in dismay. Red with embarrassment, he scrambled away as quickly as possible, chasing after the ball. Why now? he thought in frustration. Why did Jack have to come over and see that? Jack must think I'm a total klutz!

 

            But when he trotted back with the ball, Jack seemed very understanding and even had some advice for him. "Learning to stay down on ground balls is tough, PJ," he said. "I know. I have trouble with it sometimes myself." He took PJ aside and showed him different ways to position himself so he could stop the ball. "Give those a try. They helped me a lot. Here," he added, "watch the way Charlie does it and you'll see what I mean."

 

            Jack flipped the tennis ball against the wall, making Charlie field to his right, then his left, then in front of his body. Each time, Charlie smoothly scooped the ball, flicking it back to Jack. It was like watching a machine.

"See, PJ?" Jack asked. "See how he positions himself?"

 

            "I see," PJ answered, somewhat chagrined.

 

            "It takes practice, but once you get it you won't miss many." He tossed the ball to PJ and gave Charlie a pat on the shoulder. "Lookin' good, Tiger."

 

            Charlie grinned, nodding, and Jack walked off toward the house.

 

            PJ's heart sank right into his feet. Tiger! Jack called Charlie "Tiger." When Jack called me that I thought it was his special name for me. But he probably calls every kid that! And Jack stood right over there and watched me make an idiot out of myself with my dumb fielding. Jack now knows that I'm a complete spazz! PJ thought how stupid he'd been to think that he could meet Jack and somehow impress him, make friends with him. Jack already had a friend. His name was Charlie, and he lived right next door.

 

            With a sigh, PJ went over to hand Charlie the tennis ball. "I wish I could field like you do. I guess Jack coaches you a lot, huh?"

 

            "Nah," the blond boy shook his head. "Just a little sometimes is all. He's really not here that much."

 

            "What do ya mean?"

 

            Charlie shrugged. "He travels around a lot. An' for most of the year, he's playin' baseball."

 

            "Oh." PJ thought about that. "I just figured . . . well, he seems to like you."

 

            "Oh yeah, he does," Charlie agreed. "I think it's `cause I knew his son."

 

            PJ decided to play dumb. "His son?"

 

            Jason joined in. "Jack used to be married," he said in an authoritative tone. "That's when he built this house. Jack, his wife, and his son all used to live here."

 

            "And his son and I used to play together all the time," Charlie added. "Jack built this baseball wall for us to use. See, he built it right on the line between our properties so we could use it in both our yards."

 

            "What happened?" asked PJ, although he knew the answer perfectly well.

 

            Jason glanced back over his shoulder, then lowered his voice to announce dramatically, "His wife and little boy got killed in a plane crash."

 

            "Five years ago," Charlie whispered, also looking around. "His son was the same age as me. He would have been eleven now. So I think Jack likes to coach me and stuff 'cause it, like, reminds him of his son and stuff like that," Charlie concluded.

 

            "Oh." PJ nodded. He tried to look as sad as he could to hide the jealousy he felt, because he would've given anything to take Charley's place. . . . "It's gettin' hot," complained Tyler, who'd been bored by all this. "Let's go in the pool."

 

            "Good idea!" Jason grinned at them. "Last one in's a rotten egg!"

 

            The boys raced across the yard, ducked through the bushes, and dove into the water yelling and whooping. The two girls, Michelle and Lauren, were already there, and soon all seven children were splashing around, chasing each other and playing tag.

 

            Once the play area switched to the pool, PJ's spirit began to revive. Charlie and Jason may have been better at baseball, but in the water PJ was supreme! Of course, the Florida kids all knew how to swim, but PJ was a trained competitor. Compared to them, he was a shark among minnows, plus he was in far better physical condition. Effortlessly he led the way in every game; no one could catch him at tag, he swam the farthest underwater, held his breath the longest, and dove the farthest. He could tell that Charlie and Jason were impressed, even though they didn't say anything. When he did a fast lap of the butterfly, they tried to imitate him and could manage no more than a few strokes.

 

            "Man, that is hard!" Charlie cried.

 

            PJ loved doing butterfly. It was a difficult stroke requiring not only a lot of strength in the shoulders, but also mastery of the special dolphin kick needed to keep the body on top of the water. Even most competitive swimmers couldn't do it well. PJ was very proud of the fact that his was the second fastest butterfly in all the Middle School at Gordonsville. It was something he enjoyed showing off at.

 

            All five boys and both girls stayed in the pool for the rest of the afternoon. They followed games of tag with monkey-in-the-middle, shark-attack, and splash-war. In those, Jason and Lauren used water mats, luring the others to play attack-the-mat. Then Charlie got a basketball for a game of water hoops that was sorta like water polo. PJ was the center of everything. By far the best swimmer, he kept dashing about in the water, hoping all the time that Jack would come over to watch, the way he'd done when they were playing baseball. But for a long time, the adults remained on the patio, sitting around in chairs, talking among themselves.

 

            At last, late in the afternoon, his wish was granted. First Tyler's parents, then the rest--Jack, Walter, Jason's parents--came walking across the lawn to take their seats poolside. PJ, trying not to be obvious, switched to full "show-off" mode. He used his butterfly whenever he had a chance. Other times, he would escape from kids trying to catch him by using his freestyle and charging to the pool wall for a racing turn. He kept trying to see if Jack was looking, but it was impossible to tell if Jack noticed or not.

             Suddenly, to his immense delight, Walter, Jack, and Tyler's father all got into the water, playing along with them. They had a huge splash war. Then PJ looked up and saw Jack letting Charlie climb on his shoulders. Jack pushed off the bottom of the pool, propelling Charlie high into the air so that he could crash back into the water like a cannonball. "Me, me!" PJ begged, as jealous as he could be. "Let me do that!" He swam over and climbed on Jack's back.

 

Jack seemed a bit annoyed that PJ hadn't asked first, but he said, cheerfully, "Okay. Here you go." He held PJ's hands so PJ could get up and stand on his shoulders. Then he catapulted PJ into the air.  PJ went way up high, not into a cannonball, but into a perfect forward flip, dropping cleanly back into the water. Jack didn't say a word, but he acted impressed.

 

            Everybody wanted to try a dive after that. Soon Jack, Tyler's dad, even Walter all began throwing kids into the air. But PJ wanted only Jack to throw him. Over and over, he kept coming back, begging, "Again, again." He got Jack to help him devise a new trick, too. He'd curl himself into a ball so Jack would toss him as high as he could. Then opening up into a back flip, he'd drop into the water like an arrow. PJ thought he'd never had such a wonderful time in his life. He  never wanted it to end! When Jack headed for the side as if to get out, he climbed on his back, wrapping arms around his neck. "One more, Jack," he begged, "just one more."

 

            "You havin' fun, PJ?" Jack asked.

 

            "Oh yeah!" PJ laid his cheek against the back of Jack's neck, hugging, hoping Jack would notice.

 

            "Okay," Jack said, laughing. "One more time. But this has to be the last one!" PJ wiggled around to Jack's front, curled up, and felt Jack's strong hands grasp his body, hurling it up into the air with a mighty push. At the top of the arc, PJ snapped open, rotated back in a perfect layout, and dropped into the pool without a splash, experiencing a thrill of joy so intense it was almost painful. In a mere second he'd rocketed to the bottom of the pool, his outstretched fingers jamming against the concrete.

 

            He hovered for a while on his back in the underwater silence, staring up at the rippling surface far above, letting his open mouth fill with water, vaguely toying with the idea of staying down forever, holding that joy within himself. He would never have to return to the other world above the glittering surface, or feel sad ever again. He visualized his body floating in the depths, silky hair waving in the current, open staring eyes fixed on infinity. . . . But Jack was up above . . . waiting? The thought of remaining below faded, and slowly, very slowly, without moving arms or legs, PJ let himself drift back to the top.

 

            After catching his breath, he looked around and saw that Jack had gotten out of the water. He hadn't even wondered what PJ was doing. Instead, he was standing behind the chairs, laughing and talking to a man and a woman PJ hadn't seen before. PJ was disappointed he'd been ignored.

 

            Then he heard Charlie say, "Crud! I bet I have to leave now." Sure enough, the woman Jack was talking with called to Charlie, beckoning. "Are those your parents?" PJ asked. But Charlie was already swimming to the side so he could climb out. He went over to the woman, appeared to argue, but she shook her head and said something. Charlie yelled out, "See ya' tomorrow, PJ!" and waved. PJ waved back, and all three of them walked out of the yard.

 

            "Were those Charlie's parents?" PJ asked Jason.

 

            The older boy nodded. "Yeah."

 

            PJ was relieved to know that Charlie almost certainly had his own father. He felt so good that he swam two fast laps of freestyle in his best form, using a quick racing turn at the far wall.

 

            It was getting dark when the adults drifted back toward the patio. Soon Tyler's parents were calling for him to bring his brother and sister. After they'd left, only PJ, Jason, and Jason's sister Lauren remained. Over at the grills, someone was obviously broiling steaks because the delicious aroma was drifting over the lawn.

 

            "You wanna see Jack's trophy room?" Jason asked.

 

            "Yeah, sure!" excitedly exclaimed PJ.

 

            The three children went inside through the patio doors where the living room was still as messy as it had been earlier. PJ still felt oddly embarrassed by it. Jason led them down a hallway to a big room and switched on the lights. PJ gasped in amazement!

 

            This room was just as messy as the others. A long desk was piled with papers, magazines were tossed everywhere, and stacks of folders overflowed onto the floor. But PJ hardly noticed either the clutter or the framed sports pictures hanging on the wood-paneled walls. At the far side, extending across an entire end, were glass cases filled with huge glittering trophies of gold and crystal. Also dozens more smaller ones, plus an array of cups and plaques, and scattered among everything else on the glass shelves, autographed balls, bats, team jerseys, and baseball caps. In one corner there was even a pair of baseball cleats mounted on a wooden stand. PJ had never seen anything like it. Not even the display cases in the Gordonsville field house lobby had so much stuff!

 

            Jason pointed to a big trophy in the center. "That's his Rookie of the Year award. Over here are his MVP trophies. These are his batting title trophies." He went on and on. PJ couldn't keep track of it all.  He stared at a baseball that had "First Major League Hit" inked on it with magic marker, along with a date. "This is incredible," he softly whispered.

 

            "You can bet he'll win more stuff, too," Jason said confidently. "My dad says this year could be his best ever."

 

"Wow!" PJ tried to visualize it. "He'll have to buy more shelves. He doesn't have room for any more stuff." Then he added, "Wouldn't it be awesome if he and the Red Sox could win the World Series?"

 

            "I don't know about that," Jason said dubiously. "Dad says there's a good chance Jack won't even be playing with the Red Sox next season."

             Lauren had been silent during all this. Now she finally spoke up. "You shouldn't talk about that, Jason. You're gonna get in trouble."

 

            "Only if you tell on me, Miss Sneaky-Pants."

 

            PJ was so shocked by Jason's statement that for a moment he was speechless. Jack Canon not play for the Red Sox? It was unthinkable. "But-t-t . . . Jack always plays for the Red Sox," he finally stammered.

 

            Jason shrugged. "Not next year, he won't. Not unless they give him a better contract. Dad says they could, but they don't want to."

 

            PJ thought about that. "Why doesn't he just play for them anyway and win the World Series? Then they'll have to give him a really good contract."

 

            Jason shrugged again. "What if they don't give him one? Or, what if they don't win the World Series? Then what? My dad says Jack has to get what he can now while he's still playing his best. Besides, what if his old injury comes back and he can't play anymore?"

 

            PJ had never thought of any of those things. He could see Jason's point, even though he was still confused. "But, Jack already has plenty of money from playing baseball."

 

            Jason shook his head, glanced around quickly, and whispered, "Jack's broke."

 

            "What?" PJ was stunned. "What do you mean?"

 

            "Geez, what do you think I mean?" Jason asked. "Broke. Busted. Outta' gas. No dough. That's the other reason he needs the new contract. I don't know exactly how much, but Jack owes people. That's the reason we have to leave here tomorrow. Dad and him have to attend some sort of business meeting." And with that comment, PJ suddenly realized why Jack had only invited them to stay for one night.

 

            But he focused instead on Jason's revelation about Jack's finances. "How can that be?" he asked doubtfully. "He makes a lot."

 

            "I don't think Jack's too careful about money," Jason answered. "Anyway, my father says he isn't."

 

            "Can't the Red Sox help him out?"

 

            "I don't know. You're the owner, why don't you tell them to."

 

            "I don't really own the Red Sox," PJ said in exasperation.

 

            Jason shrugged once more. "Whatever you say. But I know one thing. You better not plan on seeing Jack Canon in a Red Sox uniform next summer."

 

            Lauren was getting bored with the discussion. "Let's go," she said turning away. "I wanna see a movie. Jack has `Jurassic Park--The Lost World.'"

 

            "Hey, I'd go for "Golden Eye," said PJ. "I saw that too."

 

            "That's boys' stuff," objected Lauren.

 

            "How `bout a compromise like 'Lady in Red?'" chimed in Jason.

 

            Jack Cannon in the red, thought PJ. The wheels in his mind were turning. . .

 

Chapter Ten: The Invitation