INSTALLMENT FIVE
PJ ON FIRE, or, THE LETTER
From
THE FATHER CONTRACT
By Arthur J. Arrington
Edited by Paul K. Scott
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Installment Five Table of Contents:
Chapter Eleven: "PJ On Fire, or, The Letter"
Chapter Twelve: "What, Me Worry?"
On Sunday, after spending an extra day in the
PJ liked Gulfstreams, but the flight crew was not
friendly the way the two pilots on the Cessna had been, so PJ stayed in his
seat during the flight to
When Charlie had told him they were going out fishing in the bay, PJ had visualized everyone crowded into something like a rowboat, eating sandwiches from a paper sack with fishing rods hung over the side and a tiny outboard motor put-putting them around the water. So he was totally unprepared for what he found when they climbed out of Mr. Thomas' big SUV at the marina.
Lunch, rather than something out of a paper bag, had instead been a sumptuous array of hot and cold sandwiches, custom-prepared by a chef at a long cloth-covered table in an outdoor dining area where you could eat in a bathing suit. Charlie, Lauren, and Jason had seemed unimpressed, but PJ had never seen anything like it. And then there'd been the boat itself, a yacht for goshsakes! PJ had stared transfixed by what he saw! A gigantic, dazzling-white cruiser, complete with flying bridge and two enormous marine diesel engines that'd swept them out into the bay with discretely muffled rumbles of power.
The other big surprise had been the two jet-skis cradled on the boat's stern. The prospect of fishing all afternoon hadn't particularly thrilled PJ, although he'd been willing to try it since he liked Charlie. But it turned out that fishing was for the adults. Once they were out in the bay, Mr. Thomas let Charlie launch the jet-skis, admonishing them to "Keep clear of the channel, and don't scare the fish!" while Mrs. Thomas sang out, "Now you children be careful!" Minutes later, PJ was sitting behind Lauren on one of the skis, wrapped snuggly in a red life jacket, all thoughts of fishing forgotten, while they chased after Charlie and Jason in a game of jet-ski tag.
Now, twenty-four hours later, shifting again in his seat to ease the stinging burn on his back, PJ recalled the thrill of that first ride: the ski engine's roar, the blinding glare of the hot sun on the sparkling water, the wind buffeting his face and streaming through his hair! Heart beating fast in his excitement, he'd pressed against Lauren, first clutching her life jacket, then reaching around with both hands to hug her bare waist. It was exhilarating, even scary until he got used to it, and it felt a lot better holding on to a real human being rather than a piece of fabric. Lauren grinned at him over her shoulder as she twisted the throttle to accelerate, leaning with him into a turn to pursue the other ski in its wake.
They'd played tag, each team trying to spill the other, but Charlie was an expert at the game so PJ and Lauren got dumped several times in a row. Every time they climbed back on their own ski, they heard Jason cat-calling. After a while, Lauren and PJ exchanged places so he could learn to control the ski while she sat behind, coaching. He learned quickly. With Lauren hugging against him, arms around his own waist, he'd led the other ski, now being driven by Jason, through a complicated series of figure eights, winding their turns tighter and tighter until he slipped in behind and tipped the other two boys off in a neat little maneuver that had Lauren squealing with glee.
"Hey, Charlie," Jason had cried while unceremoniously bobbing in the water, "check this out. Lauren's got a crush on PJ!"
"Shut up, Jason!" his sister had shouted. "You're just mad `cause PJ got you back!"
While he and Jason were climbing onto their ski, Charlie had shouted to them
with a grin, "Don't mind him, PJ. You got us back all right! We just gotta be careful from now on that my dad or the bay patrol
don't see us doin' this or its trouble! Keep an eye
out!" Then they all had been off again, throwing up sheets of spray as
they slalomed to evade each other. PJ had loved it--an afternoon of adventure
amid shimmering water, brilliant light, and blue sky. But the fierce
"You're gonna feel that later," Lauren had told him with a grin. Boy, had she been right on the money!
Sunset had brought a flurry of fishing activity. PJ got the impression that the adults hadn't done much before that except drink and talk, but in the deepening twilight, Mr. Thomas had said something about the "snapper starting to run" and the lines had suddenly splayed out. Soon, everyone had been busy: Walter and Mr. Thomas pulled in fish, Mrs. Thomas handled the controls on the bridge, and Charlie, Lauren, Jason, and PJ helped Mrs. Kirkland get the wriggling fish off hooks, into an ice chest. It was dusk before they docked at the marina and disembarked, the kids' bare feet pounding on the wooden boards of the dock as they ran up to the picnic area.
When Charlie's mom saw how bad PJ's sunburn was, she
put soothing ointment all over his shoulders and back, while Mr. Thomas fetched
cold drinks for everyone, adults and children alike. PJ had never been
thirstier in his life and had downed two bottles of Pepsi before dinner even
started. With Walter's help, Mr. Thomas and Mr.
Even though he now regretted not using sunscreen, PJ had really liked hanging with Charlie. It had been almost as good as having Erik there. Erik and Charlie were the same age and, like Erik, Charlie enjoyed sports, video games, and other cool stuff. It`d been fun hearing about his baseball travel team, plus Charlie had mentioned several more times about how seldom Jack was around, so PJ felt less jealous of Charlie for living next door to Jack and getting coached by him.
There had only been one worrying moment. Like Jason, Charlie had said something about Jack not playing for the Red Sox.
"How do you know?" PJ had asked.
Charlie had shrugged. "My dad said he might not. It's some contract thing."
"But he always plays for the Red Sox," PJ had protested.
"Yeah, I know." With a sigh, Charlie had shaken his head. "That's what sucks. I hope it doesn't happen."
They had gone back to their video game, but the thought had lingered in the back of PJ's mind, one more of the nagging things that had kept him wakeful during the night.
What was most comforting was Jack's promise to visit Gordonsville and be at the swim meets. PJ had said nothing to either Charlie or Walter about that. The knowledge that Jack was coming to see him was the best secret PJ had ever kept and he treasured it, visualizing the amazed surprise of teammates, teachers, and his friends when they realized who it was that had come to watch PJ race. He pictured the way it would be after the meet.
He would show Jack the school, taking him to see his dorm
room last. Then they would have dinner at the
For nearly an hour, PJ watched the clouds drifting past outside the plane while he held this fanciful picture in his mind. But afterwards, other, less pleasant thoughts intruded. Maybe Jack wouldn't come to the meets! He's probably already forgotten his promise. He might not even like me. He might not even play for the Red Sox next season!
PJ got up, walked back to where Mr. Harris sat reading papers from his briefcase, and sat down across from him. "Walter, do we really own the Red Sox?"
The young man looked up. "Your trust controls a majority interest in the team, PJ. We own more of the Red Sox than anyone else does."
PJ pursed his lips while he digested that. "If I wanted to," he said slowly, "could I make them give Jack Canon a contract?"
Walter leaned back in his seat. "There are good financial reasons why the Red Sox aren't willing to pay Jack as much as he wants. Whether paying the price to keep Jack is best in the long run is a matter of opinion. Could we force them to accept his demands and give him a contract?" He considered this for a moment. "I think we could. We might have to twist a few arms, but we could do that." He smiled at PJ. "I know one thing for sure. Jack's agent thinks we can do that. He wants to keep you happy."
"Is that why we got to go to Jack's house overnight?"
"Maybe part of the reason." Walter smiled again. "But only a part. The rest, I think, is that Jack Canon really is a nice guy who happens to care about kids."
PJ went back to his seat with plenty to occupy him for the rest of the flight.
When they landed at
PJ explained that most of the swim team was only taking a few days off at
Christmas, spending the rest of the holiday at the school for extra training.
"Sounds like you're all set, then." Walter Harris nodded with
satisfaction. "Good luck with your swimming. Thanks for the
PJ found a seat in the lounge where he could settle down to wait, suddenly tired of traveling and wishing he was home. The thought of home reminded him that he should call his housemaster, who needed to know when he could pick him up. Getting up again, he walked over to the coffee counter and asked the lady behind it if there was a telephone he could use. She pointed to a hallway, where PJ found a pay phone which he looked at with misgiving. Expert as he was with many things, public toll phones were not on the list of items he'd mastered. He got out Mr. Williamson's number, found a few coins in his pocket, and inserted them in the slot that got him a dial tone. But after dialing, he got a recorded message instructing him to put in another $2.80 for three minutes. That was no good. The only other coin PJ had was a dime.
Back at the coffee counter he got the lady's attention again. "Excuse me. Could I get some change, please?"
The woman gave him a bored look. "We don't give change for the phone."
PJ gave up. Returning to the seat, he opened his bag, pulled out The Call of
the Wild, and got comfortable. He was halfway through and thought it was
pretty good. Maybe not quite as good as his all-time
favorite,
PJ read for quite awhile. It seemed to him that the plane was awfully long refueling, and found out why when he was finally called to his departure gate. He wasn't continuing on the same aircraft. The Gulfstream was gone, its place taken by a larger, twin-engine propeller plane. And PJ was no longer the only passenger. When he got on board, carrying his duffel, he found six other people sharing the cabin. He didn't mind, but he didn't feel like talking to any of them, so once he found a seat, he got right back into his book.
The propeller plane was not as fast as the jet, plus there were delays getting
take-off clearance from
It was getting dark and a cold wind was blowing down the runway. Feeling the chill, PJ retrieved his ski jacket from the duffel bag, put it on over his blazer, and walked to the airport office expecting to find a phone he could use, only to discover all the offices dark and locked tight. He put his face up against the picture window in the front. The place was empty. He could see a pay phone just inside the door, but there was no way of getting in to use it. Wind gusted around him as he peered in all directions, wondering what to do. It was getting colder. He needed to find another phone.
Picking up his bag, he went out to the two-lane highway that ran past the airport. Far down the road, in the afternoon twilight, he thought he could see a gas station, so he started trudging toward it, trotting every few steps to stay warm. It was a twenty-minute walk, but he was rewarded in the end by finding a pay phone on the side of the building. PJ collected all the change in his pockets, praying there would be enough this time, fed the coins in one-by-one, and dialed Mr. Williamson's number.
"Hello." It was Mrs. Williamson.
"Hi, Mrs. Williamson. It's PJ." He was very relieved that the call had gone through.
"PJ, Dear. How are you? Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?" Then PJ heard her say to someone else, "It's
PJ." A moment later, Mr. Williamson's voice came on the line. "PJ, where are you calling from?" PJ thought he sounded worried.
"I'm at a gas station."
"A gas station! Where? What gas station?" Mr. Williamson definitely sounded worried now.
PJ explained how the plane had dropped him off, how the airport office had been closed, and how he'd searched to find a phone somewhere else.
"PJ, is the gas station open? Is someone there?"
PJ said he thought there was.
"Okay. Listen, PJ. I want you to stay right there. Don't go wandering around. I'm leaving right now to come get you. I should be there in about fifteen or twenty minutes."
"Okay, Mr. Williamson. I'll be here."
There were lights on in the gas station. After hanging up, PJ went inside, finding two men working on a car who gave him permission to wait in the tiny office. He was sitting there by the candy machine reading his book when Mr. Williamson drove up. As PJ got in the car and placed his duffel bag in the back seat, he could tell that his housemaster was upset because the first thing he asked was, "PJ, why didn't you call ahead and tell me you were coming? I could have met your plane at the airport."
"I tried to call." PJ explained about not having change for the phone and about the lady at the counter.
"But, what about. . . " Mr. Williamson shook his head in exasperation. "I don't understand, PJ. Wasn't someone with you?"
PJ shook his head.
The elderly man sighed. He put an arm around PJ to give a little hug. "Never mind. I'm very glad you're back. I'm sorry if I snapped at you. Tell me about your trip. How are the lawyers? What did you do on Thanksgiving?"
As they drove back to the school, PJ launched into the tale
of his adventures. He omitted an account of his wanderings through
"He's nice." In the darkness the boy's face was only a pale blur as he looked up at his housemaster. "He's almost the nicest person I've ever met. I don't know. . . ." PJ shrugged, shaking his head because he couldn't find the words. "He's just . . . really great!" He reached back and fumbled in his duffel bag, finally finding what he was searching for: the newspaper article about Jack that had his picture in it. "You and Mrs. Williamson can read this and you'll find out! You can return it to me whenever you like."
"Thank you, PJ." He accepted the article without taking his eyes off the road and put it in a pocket. "It sounds like you had quite an experience! You'll have some exciting things to tell Erik about. He's waiting at the House for you."
"Erik's already here?" PJ looked up with a grin. It felt so good to be back at Gordonsville with Mr. Williamson, Erik, and everything that was familiar. . .
"Yes, Erik's stepfather drove him up from
"Neat!" PJ was already anticipating the fun he'd have telling Erik all about Jack Canon! "Guess what? Erik's dad took him to the Army-Navy football game, an' I saw them on TV! It was so cool. . . ."
PJ was still talking when they drove through the Gordonsville main gates. When they parked by the House and got out of the car, PJ said, "Tell Mrs. Williamson I'll come by after school and say hello. And Sir, thanks so much for the ride home!"
"I'll be sure to tell . . ." the housemaster was starting to say, when before he could finish, a figure burst out of the front door, ran down the sidewalk, and planted himself at PJ's side, a big grin on his face. "About time you got here, Roomie! You had everybody wondering where you were!" Erik high-fived him. Then Bill appeared out of nowhere and PJ winced as a big man's hand squeezed his sunburned shoulder. "Good timing, PJ!" the man's hearty voice boomed. "Mr. Williamson told us he was going to get you. I'm taking you and Erik out for something to eat. Okay, Jim?"
"Go right ahead, Bill," the housemaster told him with a smile, and he winked at PJ. "Erik, from what I just heard, I think PJ has a few things he'll want to share with you." PJ grinned back. Carrying his duffel bag, filled with the souvenirs that he wanted to show his roommate, he accompanied Bill and Erik across the parking area.
"PJ, did you do anything cool on vacation?" Erik asked as they piled into Bill's big car.
"Oh, nothing much," PJ replied innocently, smiling in the darkness.
"I'll tell you when we get to the
Mouth open, Erik stared in delighted surprise. When he finally managed a response, the words tumbled out of his mouth: "Oh, wow!" followed by "That is so cool!" and "You really saw us?" and "We were on TV?" Erik commenced talking a mile-a-minute. "PJ, me an' Bill had such an awesome time at the game!--He like took me around to get autographs.--Bill, like, knows everybody!--We got to meet a bunch of players an', like, this Senator!" He was still going on about their trip when Bill parked the car at the restaurant.
Ever since coming to Gordonsville, PJ had heard about the
As they were getting seated, Erik could no longer contain his curiosity. "All
right, PJ, now it's your turn! I want to know all about Thanksgiving in
PJ covered all the particulars of his
"Jack Canon? You saw Jack Canon? In person?" Erik was beside himself with awe and curiosity. That triggered a conversation which lasted throughout dinner! Of course both Erik and his stepdad wanted to know all about Jack, about what he was like, about how he lived. PJ told them about his swim workout with Jack, about the trophy room, about all the new friends he'd met, about staying overnight at Charlie's, and especially about the jet-skiing. And that gave Bill an opportunity to ask about the redness which he'd noticed on PJ's face and neck. He took a finger and pressed it to PJ's cheek. The pressure turned the spot white.
"PJ, is the skiing the reason you got so sunburned?"
"It's really nothing, Bill, but yeah, I guess it sorta is. I was kinda out in the sun a lot for two days without a shirt."
"Let me guess, my young friend. You didn't use sunscreen because you didn't think you'd need any, right? Swimming in a pool without sunscreen is bad enough. But didn't you know you can burn twice as bad if you're on the water? I can imagine what your back looks like!
Erik told PJ to sit up straight, pulled at his collar, and looked down his back. "I can't see much in this light, Dad, but he looks kinda red."
"You're so incredibly blind, Roomie," said PJ. "You couldn't see a thing `cause I've got a tee shirt on!"
"Still. . . Bill frowned. "PJ, promise me right now that tomorrow you'll have Mrs. Williamson check on you."
"I promise, Bill. Now, I got some souvenirs I want to show Erik." He picked up his duffel bag and unzipped it. "Check this out, Roomie." He laid the baseball cards Jack had given him out on the table. Erik's eyes widened, he uttered "Geez!" and pounced on them. PJ didn't collect cards himself because he preferred to concentrate on the history of the game, but Erik was a card fanatic. He looked through the Jack Canon set with longing, saying over and over, "PJ, you are so lucky!" PJ brought out his other souvenirs as well, including his signed photograph, and was thinking about announcing that Jack was coming to one of his swim meets-- but decided instead to keep that a secret because nothing must spoil the surprise!
Any other time, PJ would've loved the sumptuous steak dinner Bill ordered for them, but the sunburn so blunted his appetite that he couldn't finish. He knew, too, that Bill had noticed because on the way back to the School, Bill insisted on stopping at a drug store to purchase a bottle of calamine lotion. "No excuses, PJ. You need to put this on. You help him tonight, Erik. And make sure he sees Mrs. Williamson like he promised!"
In the House entrance hall, Bill said goodbye, first giving Erik a big hug, while reminding him to write more often to his mother. Then he shook PJ's hand. "You've still got all my numbers, right? You call me if you need anything." There were some boys hanging out in the common room nearby and PJ wondered at Erik not being embarrassed by Bill hugging him that way where others could see. His roommate had seemed unconcerned. PJ had the sudden realization that if it had been Jack hugging him, he wouldn't have minded either.
Back in their room, Erik threw on a bathrobe and hustled down the hall to take a shower. Not PJ. His shoulders and back felt too hot for even the touch of water on them, unless it was a cool shower later on when the bathroom was free. Instead, he unpacked his duffel, carefully putting away his new sweatshirt, ball cap, and Red Sox shirt. After getting out of his traveling clothes and stripping down to just his briefs and tee shirt, he mounted the picture Jack had autographed for him in the frame of the mirror over his desk. Sitting down carefully to avoid contacting the back of the chair, he only wanted to see his picture alongside his Jack Canon poster with its bold "Anything's Possible!" lettering. He'd met Jack Canon! He really had. The proof of it was right there in the picture! And Jack was coming to visit and watch him swim!
But was he? PJ shifted position, trying to ease the fiery stinging in his shoulders. Now that he was back at Gordonsville with the excitement of the past few days only a memory, little fears that'd been lurking in the back of his mind all along seemed to be crowding forward--things he didn't want to think about. Another chill shivered through him, like the one on the airport runway. He was starting to feel hot all over, as if he might be running a temperature.
What if Jack didn't come?
"But he said he would," PJ whispered to himself.
So what? So what if he said that? Jack was in a hurry to leave. He probably said it just to shut you up. The only reason he even saw you was because Walter made the agent talk him into it. They think you own the team. And you heard Jason and Charlie. Jack might not even play for the Red Sox anymore! Then what? He'll be busy in some other place. He won't care about you!
"No!" PJ squeezed his eyes shut tight, willing the thoughts to stop. "He's coming. I know he is!"
He's already forgotten all about you.
PJ didn't want to listen to that. He turned toward the desk, eyeing his PC. He would write Jack a letter! That would help. It would be almost like talking to Jack again, and if Jack got a nice letter from him, it might be harder for him to forget his promise. Bringing up his word processor, PJ began typing:
Dear Jack,
Thank you very much for inviting me to your house and letting me stay overnight. Since I was eight years old I have wanted to met you. You have helped and inspired me in lots of ways. Now that I have met you, I know that you are just as super in real life as you're suppose to be.
I think you are the nicest person I have ever met. Thank you for the Red Sox hat, the shirt and the baseball cards. My friends were all jealous when they saw them. My favorite thing is the picture of you and me that you signed. I have it over my desk.I know you will not forget. Just in case, here are the dates and times for my swim meets. I am not telling anyone that you are coming. That way we will have more fun because it will be a suprise! Please tell me if you need Walter's plane so I can fix it for you.
Thank you again for meeting me and for all the presents. Sometime I hope I get the chance to tell you how much you have helped me.
Your best friend, PJ
After typing that last part, PJ stared at it for awhile, then changed "Your best friend" to "Your good friend." He wasn't sure Jack would like "best."
"What'cha doin'?" Erik asked, coming back into the room carrying his toothbrush and towel. He walked past PJ and started getting into his pajamas.
PJ replied without looking up, "A thank-you letter to Jack," He was really glad now he'd decided to keep Jack's planned visit a secret. That way there'd be no need for excuses if Jack never showed up. He read the letter over a few times, fixed some misspelled words, then after a bit more consideration added two postscripts:
PS. I know the swim meets will be exciting. Please don't forget to come.
PPS. I'm going to spend Christmas at the school doing extra training with the swim team. What are you planning to do?
Remembering how messy Jack's desk had been, PJ figured the first postscript might help Jack remember the visit. He could visualize, all too clearly, Jack's appointment book disappearing under a stack of papers, taking all traces of Jack's promises along with it!
The second postscript was the opening phase of his campaign to spend at least a day or two in Jack's company at Christmas. It's never too early to begin hinting, PJ thought. In order to give his hint the right setting, PJ bordered his letter with reindeer and mistletoe from the word processor's menu of art selections. He examined the finished product with a glow of satisfaction. PJ was proud of the high marks he got in composition, and he liked showing off his writing skills. He also spell-checked his draft to correct any errors he might have missed. He wanted the letter to be perfect!
He ran off a copy of the letter on his laser printer, signing it at the bottom with his ballpoint pen, "Your Good Friend PJ," in his best cursive! Then after closing the word processor window on his screen and folding the printed letter so his roommate wouldn't see what he'd written, he turned and asked, "Erik, have you got a long envelope?"
"Yeah, sure." Erik went to his desk, rummaged through it, and produced a creased envelope from the back of a drawer. "Here's what you need," he said, passing it over. "That's cool, writing to Jack. Hey, I bet he gets a ton of mail from fans on his web site. But if you send a personal letter like that, he'll read it for sure." He glanced at the small, round bottle of calamine lotion his desktop and picked it up. "Hey, Dad wants me to put this stuff on you . . ."
But PJ wasn't listening. It was not until that moment that he realized he'd forgotten to get Jack's address! What an idiot he was! He turned back quickly to his desk so Erik wouldn't see his dismay. How could he have forgotten such a simple thing! Then he had a thought. Walter's paper with the directions to Jack's house! Of course! Jack's street address will be on that paper!
"Hold off a sec while I look for something." Erik waited, puzzled, while PJ got up and searched in his pants pockets. Nothing. He went on to look in the pockets of his jacket, searched his overnight bag, and finally went through the pockets of all his other clothes. The paper wasn't in any of them. He stood for a moment, thinking. Erik had reminded him that Jack had a website. It was called "The Jack Canon Fan Page" and an address might be there.
"C'mon, Roomie," Erik coaxed, uncapping the calamine bottle. "Get your shirt off. Let's see where you got burned."
PJ sat down. Maybe putting on Bill's stuff was a good idea. His shoulders were really starting to hurt and the skin on his face, neck, and arms felt tight and hot. Why hadn't he saved that address! Gingerly he removed his tee shirt, lifting it up and off. "Okay, Roomie. You can begin feeling me up to your hearts' content."
"Dickwad," Erik replied, beginning to spread the pink lotion. "Geez, PJ! You really got scorched! That must sting like hell!"
The sunburn treatment lasted five or so minutes, and PJ felt the pain almost melt away. Or maybe it was as much the gentle soothing of Erik's fingers as he rubbed the lotion over PJ's back and shoulders, around his neck, and then down his arms. "That really feels superiorly awesome, Buddy," he said over his shoulder. He was actually feeling a bit turned on, a familiar sensation building in his groin.
Erik smiled broadly. "Bill said it would. Let this stuff dry and just leave your shirt off."
Snapping out of what surely was a trance, PJ turned back to his PC and found Jack's website with his browser--but there wasn't any mailing address! Instead, the site had a button labeled "Write to Jack." PJ clicked on it and posted a copy of his letter to Jack's fan mail. He hoped it wouldn't get lost in the thousands of other letters since he was sure Erik was right about Jack getting loads of such messages. Then he thought of one more address option! He printed another copy of the letter on his laser printer, shut down the computer, signed and folded the second letter, and asked Erik, who had been in the bathroom wiping calamine lotion off his hands, "I so hate to bother you again, but I desperately need to bum another envelope and two stamps. If you can lend me those, I will be your slave for a week!"
"Slave? What good would you be? With that sunburn, it'll be a week before you can even move right!" Feigning reluctance, Erik rummaged again in his desk drawer, and handed over the requested items with a sarcastic "Mooch! What in the crap would ya' do without me!" When PJ smirked at him, Erik blew him a kiss. "I love you, too!" Then he yawned and announced, "I'm goin' to bed. If you need anything else, wake Mr. Williamson up!"
PJ's new strategy was to send the first letter to
Jack Canon,
Like, he could really make it to swim practice! And that delusion was followed by another more jarring thought! He was sending three versions of his letter. What if Jack never gets any of them?
PJ had figured he would feel better once he the letters were finished, but he was dismayed to find that he was even more anxious than before. He sat on his bed for a minute, then swung his feet up and lay back sprawled on the coverlet, arms spread wide, eyes staring at the ceiling.
He started having one of his "weirds"!
"Weirds" was what he called them. They'd been
happening to him once or twice a year for some time, always
coming on
without any warning, usually in the evening when he was alone. The "weirds" started as they always
did--a soft,
high-pitched ringing in his ears like the sound he got when he held a seashell
against his ear. Then came the
heightened sense of vision. Suddenly he was intensely aware of the patterns in
the plaster of his ceiling.
Colors shifted in tiny, tiny dots dancing just out of his sight. He felt in,
but not part of, his body--the
same strange
sense of disorientation he'd felt as he ran through the woods in
He had no backup plan!
Other analogies came to him. He was doing gymnastics without a spotter; working the trapeze without a net; flying over water on one engine. If Jack never came to the meets, PJ had no last fallback position, no safe place to retreat--only a cliff edge with no bottom in sight.
Before, PJ had always possessed two well-prepared lines of defense. The first was his unshakable conviction that someday, if he waited long enough, his parents would come to find him. Battered, almost twisted out of recognition, that hope had survived every disappointment his parents had thrown his way. Now, with their deaths, it was gone.
Drawn behind that defensive line was PJ's final, impenetrable wall: the secret dream that, if only Jack Canon were his father, everything would be different. Now this last wall was going to be tested. Behind it there was no place to run.
PJ sat up on the edge of his bed again, clenching his fists, pressing them against each other in front of his chest as hard as he could. He held the position until his muscles begin to flutter and he could relax by breathing deeply. If the idea of Jack not coming was unthinkable, then he wouldn't think it! He'd done everything he could possibly do. Now it was time to wait. Jack would either come, or he wouldn't.
The planned visit was a secret. PJ would say nothing. If Jack never showed up,
no one at Gordonsville need know. A Jack no-show would be disappointing. Terrible, in fact. But. . . . PJ
got up and went to his desk. In the bottom drawer, hidden under a pile of
notebook paper, there was a long article with pictures that PJ had taken out of
a magazine. It was about the street kids in
I get all the food I need, PJ reminded himself. I sleep in a comfortable bed every night. I get to go to one of the best schools in the world every day and learn interesting things. I have spending money and I get to play sports. If Jack doesn't come I'll be very disappointed, yes. Oh, well. It won't be the first time. The world will not end. The sun will still shine. There will still be a swim meet. I will still race in it. Life will go on.
I'll survive. I think . . .
He went down the hall and took his pre-bedtime pee, then set his alarm to
Anything's possible, he told himself. Anything! But he still felt alone and afraid. In his ears the soft, high-pitched ringing of the "weirds" started all over again. . .
Chapter Twelve: What, Me Worry?
On Monday morning, PJ woke up with a
start. He glanced at his clock:
Across from him in the other bed, Erik was a lump huddled under his covers, so dead to the world that he couldn't have possibly heard the alarm either. When PJ sat up, he shivered in the cool air of the room, his sunburn still stinging even though Erik had put lotion on it the night before. Because of that, he'd gotten precious little sleep. That and the dreams--which he couldn't even remember!
Though feeling dizzy, he put on his
jacket and crept quietly downstairs with the letters in his pocket. The House
had a basket to collect mail that was taken to the office daily for posting,
but PJ didn't want anyone to see what he was up to. Instead, he went outside to
drop his letters into the big mailbox by the main building. Navigating down and
up the House stairs was no easy task, but he managed as best he could.
A busy school day faced him, and PJ was determined to give it his best shot no matter how badly he felt. He enlisted Erik's help in getting to his first-period English class--only to fall asleep at his desk during a lecture on adverbs. Mr. Bingham had a classmate wake him up and sent him directly to the Williamson's! The first words out of Mrs. Williamson's mouth were, "My goodness, Dear, what ever happened to you? Didn't your friends make you put on suntan lotion? Take that shirt off right away and let me see how bad you are." Despite his pleas that he was fine, she made him strip to the waist and brought out a jar of Aloe which she liberally slathered all over his shoulders, back, face, and arms. She wanted to check his legs, too, but PJ begged off, assuring her that he wasn't sunburned anywhere else. Another white lie. He had to admit, though, that after her sympathetic attention, his sunburn felt a heck of a lot better!
Next, she took his temperature. "One hundred-and-one, PJ! You are burning up with feverl Take these two Tylenol and turn into bed, young man! And stay there! I'll be checking on you. No playing your video games. No guests. We'll ask Erik to get you any homework assignments. What you need is rest! Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
It occurred to PJ that she hadn't even asked him about his vacation--but at that point he didn't care.
This day was a blur to PJ. He did get some sleep. He knew that Mrs. Williamson checked on him at least twice to feel his forehead, the second time bringing him a glass of water with more Tylenol. Around mid-afternoon, Erik stopped by to see how he was doing and brought him only one homework assignment, from Ms. Faringer in Social Studies. "She said you'll like the reading. The other masters are just feelin' sorry for you, Roomie. You sure know how to pull the wool over people's eyes!" Erik grinned good-naturedly when he said this, and PJ managed to smile back. Late that day, Randy, his swimming team captain, came in to give him a report on the meeting he'd missed, which PJ had clear forgotten about. He told him nothing much had happened except for a briefing on their next meet with Franklyn Prep, and passed on well wishes from the entire team. When Mr. Williamson brought by chicken soup for dinner, PJ was able to finish most of it along with what must have been a gallon of water.
His bed rest lasted two more days.
On the first, his fever broke. Mrs. Williamson continued to apply Aloe
treatments, and this time she didn't spare his thighs and lower extremities. On
the second, he was sitting up in bed and was allowed visitors. That included
Pedro, Danny, Mike, and the other House residents who'd been impatiently
waiting to see the souvenirs PJ had brought back from
On the third day, PJ resumed classes and swiftly dropped into his old routines. Holiday decorations had already appeared in the Dining Hall, common rooms, and even some schoolrooms as the school term went into final countdown to Christmas Break. PJ had plenty of things to keep him busy. He had to finish his projects, he studied for midterms, he worked out in the weight room, went to swim practice, practiced his violin, read his books, went to cheer for Erik at his basketball games, and it wasn't long before the only torment he had to put up with was a constant itching where he'd been sunburned. But despite all these healthy distractions, he couldn't rid himself of a gnawing fear that Jack Canon had completely forgotten him! That fear increased steadily as the day for the first swim meet of the indoor season approached. There'd been no response to his letter, nor had he gotten any messages or phone calls. There was nothing at all to indicate Jack might be coming!
As always, PJ concealed his fears well. To friends, teachers, and coaches, he was his usual, cheerful self. But his roommate was not so easily fooled. Erik was a sensitive, intelligent boy who saw far more than PJ imagined. Growing up as an only child, he'd experienced his own share of loneliness, and because he viewed PJ as the longed-for twin brother he'd always wanted, he kept a protective eye on him. He noticed the long silences, the near-manic activity, and the troubled sleep. Out of respect, he didn't say anything. He did, however, perform a little service for PJ which turned hilarious and temporarily kept PJ's mind off his troubles.
"Geez, PJ," he said one night as the boys were getting ready for bed and PJ had just removed his shirt. Your back is peeling somethin' awful! It's like you got leprosy! You're gonna gross people out when you're paradin' around in your Speedo."
"Go jerk yourself off!" replied PJ.
Erik flipped his roommate the bird, walked over to PJ's bed, sat down beside him, grasped his arm, and slowly swiveled his upper body around. "Do you mind, Numbnuts, if I peel off that dead skin?"
"No, actually I wouldn't mind as long as it's you. I got most of what I can reach off my arms and stuff, but I can't get the rest. I hate asking anybody for help. If you want to, it's OK. Just don't pull too hard. . . ."
"Relax, Buddy. For you, I'll do this. You'll look brilliantly outstandingly wonderful by the time I'm through." Erik's fingers felt surprisingly cool and soothing and gentle, so PJ held still while his friend worked for a full ten minutes on his back and shoulders. Afterwards, he gently wiped calamine antiseptic lotion all over the newly-exposed skin, spreading it around PJ's waist on both sides.
That's felt great, Erik. Thanks! You can quit `cause I'm not burned anywhere else."
Erik, though, suddenly mischievous, scooped a glob of lotion from the jar, rubbed it in swirls all over PJ's chest, and before PJ could react, reached with lightning speed and groped him in the crotch! PJ doubled over in squealing, silly laughter, while Erik yelled out, showing off his recently acquired Shakespeare, "A goose, a goose, my kingdom for a goose!"
PJ managed a croaking "Asshole." Then he turned with a smirk and gave Erik a big, wet bearhug!
"Aw, shit!" said Erik, clearly aggravated as he swept the pile of peelings off the bed. Like I really needed you to ruin my pajamas!"
* * *
Gordonsville's opponent for the
season opener was Franklyn Prep, a school in
But he now had grave doubts about Jack's appearance. He still had heard nothing. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps there'll be a message waiting for me at the House.
When he came back, however, once again there was nothing. No message on the corkboard, nothing on the table in the hall, nothing anywhere. Discouraged, he mounted the three flights of stairs to his hallway. Erik was still at basketball practice and the room was empty. On a sudden hunch, he turned on his computer . . . checked . . . he had mail! Hurriedly he went into his mailbox and found one, unopened message. Holding his breath, he clicked on it.
Hi PJ! This is to wish you all the best of luck in the first swim meet of the season. I know you guys will win and I hope you do your best time in all your races. You know I will be there cheering for you. Your friend, Erik.
PJ's throat tightened. It wasn't the message he was hoping for, but it was still nice to have it. Erik was a good friend. "My very best friend," he whispered to the empty room.
PJ was tense all that evening, with little appetite for dinner and even less inclination to do homework. Unable to concentrate, he moved restlessly between his desk and his bed until he caught Erik watching him with concern. After that, he forced himself to sit at his desk and study.
Later, lifting his head, he stared at the big poster on his closet door. Jack Canon stared back with that smiling, confident grin. "Anything's Possible!"
Jack would never let him down. He'd be there tomorrow.
Then why hasn't he written or called me? he thought.
"You gotta believe I'll be there, Tiger." He could almost hear Jack saying it.
But then, He's forgotten all about me.
I don't know what to think anymore, PJ lamented to himself.
That night he awoke, terrified, sitting straight up in his bed. He stared around wildly and tore at his bed sheets, feeling to see if they were wet. Erik was sitting up on the side of his own bed, staring at him, looking very concerned.
"PJ, are you okay?"
"Yes," PJ assured him. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm okay. Hey, an' thanks for that e-mail!"
"You're welcome, Buddy. But you woke me up." Erik's voice was trembling a little. "You were shouting something."
"I'm sorry. I'm okay now. Really, I'm all right."
"PJ? Is something wrong? Is it something I can help with?"
"No, no. Everything's fine, Erik. I'm fine. I think I'm just nervous about this meet tomorrow. Thanks anyway."
"Do you want me to get Mr. Williamson?"
"No, no. It's okay. I'll be fine now."
"Okay, PJ," Erik told him, but PJ could see that he was still worried. Then Erik grinned. "If you start yelling again, I'll just hit you on the head with my pillow." This remark got them both smiling and eventually they went back to sleep. Neither one mentioned the incident in the morning.
* * *
Because the first meet was on a Friday afternoon, PJ had to endure an entire regular school day before going to the Field House with the rest of the team. He had a difficult time. He was always jittery anyway right before a meet, but now his uncertainty about Jack's appearance had him in an agony of suspense. He could not eat his lunch; he made careless mistakes in math--one of his best classes--and spent most of English period staring blankly out the window.
At long last, the final bell rang and it was time to find out if Jack had come. All of a sudden, PJ was afraid to go look. He walked slowly across the campus, trying to put off for as long as possible the moment when he would discover Jack had forgotten about him.
It was not until he reached the Field House that he finally realized how much he'd been counting on Jack's appearance. He saw his teammates entering the building. He saw the Franklyn Prep School bus parked in front. He saw spectators, kids, and parents going in. But no matter where he looked, there was no sign of Jack. PJ felt such a terrible despair that he almost lost control of himself. There was a sudden urge to run as far away as he could until he found someplace to hide. He actually let out a little moan of agony. But the feeling passed. Glancing around, he made sure no one had noticed or heard, then forced himself to take a step . . . another . . . and yet another. Step by careful step, he went up the Field House stairs into the lobby and down into the gray corridor leading to the team locker room. By the time he reached the door, he had himself back under control. He went in trying to appear confident, greeting various friends on the way to his locker.
As he undressed and put on his Speedo, PJ suddenly understood. Jack's testing me. It was so obvious! Jack wants to find out if I have faith in him! That means he'll be here for sure! There's no way I'm going to let him down by not trying my best just because he's late!
He put on his team sweat suit, and got the two things he had brought for Jack out of his school backpack: a list he'd made of the meet events, and his stopwatch. He intended to let Jack use the watch during the meet so he could record his splits. He knew perfectly well that his coach would get his splits along with all the others, but he wanted Jack to time him too because that was what all the other parents did when they came to a meet.
He made sure his locker was locked, picked up the stuff for Jack, and got his towel and racing goggles. Then he went to the door leading out to the pool. He took a deep breath. "Please be there, Jack," he whispered softly. He could almost hear the reply: "Anything's Possible, Tiger." He pushed open the door and walked out onto the tiled deck.
The familiar pool space was enormous. Huge sodium lamps hanging from a vaulted ceiling three stories high illuminated it. Swimmers warming up from both teams filled all eight lanes. Along one side, the stands rose in giant tiers of seats all the way to the roof. The noise from all the spectators was deafening because there was a good crowd for this first Middle School meet of the season. PJ anxiously scanned the faces. He spotted his roommate right away. Erik was jumping up and down waving excitedly, shouting something. Then suddenly he pointed.
PJ looked.
A crowd was gathered on the bottom step of the stands at the far end of the pool, all clustered around a tanned, rangy man in a yellow sport shirt who was leaning over the railing talking to PJ's coach on the deck below.
PJ held his breath and looked again.
"Jack!" he yelled. He ran down the deck to where Mr. Bernard was reaching up to shake hands with the man.
Jack!" PJ yelled again in delight.
Jack Canon turned and grinned at him. Except for the clothing, he looked just like the poster in PJ's room. He leaned way over the railing and shook PJ's hand. "Well, Tiger, here I am. Just like I promised."
The thrill of happiness PJ felt when he took Jack's hand was as powerful as an electrical shock. More than anything he wanted to jump into the stands and give Jack a hug, but he knew he couldn't do that. Instead, he said with a huge smile, "Jack, you came!"
Jack winked and gave him a look of pretend indignation. "What? You thought I wouldn't, after I promised?"
PJ laughed in delight. "I knew you'd come, Jack. I never doubted it for a sec!"
You're lying, PJ, but don't you dare let on!
Jack leaned even farther toward PJ and said with another wink, "Hey, didn't I do a great job keeping your secret? I bet nobody knew I was coming!"
PJ laughed again and nodded. He gave Jack the list of events and the watch. "I brought these for you," he explained. "These are the races and here's my stopwatch so you can get my splits. I gotta go warm up. I'll come back and show you how to keep score, but during the meet I have to sit with the team. The best place for you to sit is over at the end where the starting blocks are."
Looking up, he saw Erik behind Jack, waving and pointing to himself. "That's my roommate, Erik," PJ said, pointing him out to Jack. "He'll explain everything to you. I gotta go warm up, but I'll see you later." He left Jack and Erik shaking hands with each other. Erik had a crazy grin on his face and looked ecstatic.
PJ was bubbling with happiness as he hurried to the other side of the pool. Jack was here! Why had he even been worried? I passed the test!
He found a place where he could leave his stuff on the long, tiled bench that ran the length of the pool. After stripping off his team sweat suit, he left it folded neatly on the bench with his towel covering it, picked up his goggles, and walked to the starting-block end of the pool to find a warm-up lane. He'd never felt so alive in his life. Everywhere he looked, things seemed bright and fresh, as if he was seeing them for the very first time. The clothing of people in the crowd, the colorful racing suits on the young lean bodies of all the swimmers, the bright tiles of the pool--all were crisp and fresh, like new dollar bills from a bank. Next to him, a boy dove into the water, sending up a column of spray that was a sparkling shower of diamonds in the late afternoon sunlight beaming through the big plate-glass windows along the side of the pool. Suddenly, PJ knew with absolute certainty that he would remember that moment forever.
He dove into his lane and began the warm-up, feeling light and strong, as if he were gliding over the water instead of through it. After a few easy laps to loosen up, he practiced some turns. Then he swam a lap of breaststroke. The breaststroke was the weakest part of his individual medley, but today it felt effortless. He got out of the water and went to the bench to dry off, charged with energy, not tense the way he usually felt before racing. He was filled with confident power, the way he imagined a great jungle cat might feel as it prepared to hunt its prey. It was the same feeling he got on the rare occasions when he played a perfect musical passage on his violin, the instrument's sound-energy flowing through his body in a thrilling fusion of force and beauty.
He put his sweats back on and ran to where Jack and Erik were sitting. They both leaned down over the railing so he could talk to them. "You look good out there, Tiger," Jack said. PJ flushed with pride and took a quick glance around, making sure people were watching. He wanted everyone to know that Jack was here to see him! To his delight, he saw that everywhere, people in the stands and on the deck were looking toward them and talking to each other.
PJ showed Jack his events on the list he'd made for him. "You can only be in three," he explained. "Either one relay and two individual events, or two relays and one individual event." Pointing to the medley relay, he made sure Jack understood he'd be swimming the third leg. "Be sure to get my split," he reminded him.
"No problem, PJ." Jack was smiling at him. "Erik has me all checked out on the stopwatch." Then Erik leaned in close and added, "I'll make sure we get your lap times in your individual events, too, PJ."
For just a second, PJ felt a stab of jealousy. Erik was sitting right next to Jack. Suppose people think that it's Erik who's Jack's friend? He immediately pushed the thought away. What a stupid way to think! Erik was his best friend. PJ was not going to allow any crazy ideas to mess up this perfect day. Besides, everyone knew which boy Jack had come to see.
Behind them whistles started blowing and the meet officials were calling, "Clear the pool. Clear the pool." Warm-ups were over. "I gotta go sit with the team now," PJ said.
Jack reached over the rail and tousled his hair. "Go show these guys what you've got, Tiger!"
"Yeah! Good luck, PJ," Erik echoed.
PJ trotted back to the other side of the pool, found a place with his teammates on the bench, and was mobbed as everyone crowded excitedly around him. "PJ, is that really Jack Canon?"; "Introduce me to him, PJ!"; "I'm gonna ask him for his autograph!"; PJ! I got his baseball card in my room. If I go get it, you think you can ask him to sign it?"; "What's Jack Canon doing here?"
PJ looked at them all proudly. "Jack's here to see the meet and watch me race. If you guys want autographs, you can get them. You know what a nice guy he is. He'll give you one if you ask nice."
PJ loved being the center of all this attention. He was having such a good time he almost missed the call for the first event, his medley relay. He pulled off his sweat suit and hurried up to the starting blocks with the other three kids on his relay team. Coach Bernard came and stood beside them as they adjusted their goggles and got ready. "Watch out for that kid going second on the other team," he told them. "The breaststroker. He's their best swimmer."
PJ looked over and saw a tall, older boy who looked like an experienced competitor. He was glad it was the breaststroker who was so good and not their butterflyer. The starter told the backstrokers to get set. Then the gun fired and they were off!
The Gordonsville team had the lead at the end of the backstroke leg, but the other team's ace breaststroker got it all back and more. He sprinted past Donny, Gordonsville's swimmer, and was leading by more than a body-length at the end of the leg. PJ had to watch the other butterflyer do a racing dive off his block and start stroking as he waited for Donny to finish. Come on!, he thought, willing his teammate to go faster.
The instant Donny's fingers brushed the wall, PJ launched off the block, his muscular body flashing to the water in a shallow arc. The first surging dolphin kick powered him into a planing position on top of the water, then the muscles in his upper body contracted and stretched as his arms drove him rapidly forward. He was determined to hold perfect body position on the first lap and not lift his head for a single breath. He knew he'd passed the flyer from the other team before he even got to the wall. Exhilarated, he grabbed a quick breath as he made his turn and pushed off the side like an uncoiling spring. He didn't even feel tired! Let's really nail this second lap!, he thought.
Surging powerfully over the top of the water, PJ tried to increase his pace. Halfway down the lap, he lifted slightly for a quick breath, sprinted for the finish, and thundered into the wall with a perfect extension. A moment later, he felt the Gordonsville freestyler hit the water behind him in a flat racing dive to start the final leg. He pulled his head up to look around. He'd a given his team a tremendous lead! Davis, the Gordonsville freestyler, was almost halfway down the pool, while the other team's flyer was still struggling to finish! PJ was suddenly aware of the roaring noise that filled the air around him. He turned his head and saw that everyone in the stands was on their feet clapping and cheering at the top of their lungs. Jack was holding the stopwatch, a big grin on his face. Next to him, Erik was jumping up and down, waving and yelling something.
PJ pumped a fist over his head in a victory salute and pulled himself up out of the water. As soon as the race ended, he put on his team sweats and trotted over to the stands where Erik was calling excitedly to him and holding up the stopwatch. "Your best split ever, PJ! Way better than last year!" Jack laughed and shook PJ's hand. "You sure looked like a champ!"
"Thanks," said PJ happily. "I'll be back later." He ran over quickly to sit with his team. Coach Bernard wanted the team to stay together during meets and didn't like for them to wander around the stands. But PJ couldn't resist having everyone see Jack talk to him and shake his hand one more time.
As PJ had known, Gordonsville was much better than the other team. Their only good swimmer was the breaststroker. By the time PJ's 100-yard butterfly event came up, Gordonsville was way ahead in points. Even though PJ was one of the youngest members of the team, and even though there was an older boy on the team named Blake who could beat him, he was entered as the number one competitor for Gordonsville. Since Blake was also one of their best freestylers, Coach Bernard had decided to use him in one of those events instead, but PJ would see Blake later because the two of them were Gordonsville's entries in the individual medley.
Now, with almost no competition, PJ easily won the 100-yard butterfly. It was a four-lap race, and PJ finished several body lengths ahead of the other Gordonsville boy entered with him. The Franklyn swimmers were far behind. PJ's time was good, but as he hurried over to the stands after the race so people would see him talking to Jack again, he felt sure he could do even better.
PJ knew his toughest challenge would be the IM. By then, Gordonsville had already won the meet, so the points no longer mattered, but the race was still important to PJ. He was Gordonsville's second swimmer in the event because the top entry would be Blake, the older boy who could beat him in butterfly, which is precisely why PJ wanted to do well against him. Moreover, when he went up to the blocks, he saw there'd also be some tough competition from the other team. The tall breaststroker was going to be in the lane next to his.
The IM was the most grueling race in the meet: eight laps, two on each stroke. It required strength, stamina, and courage to go the distance, but PJ felt confident he could hold his own against the older and bigger boys. Determined to do his best and swim a tough race, he adjusted his goggles and stepped onto the starting block with a look of grim concentration on his face. The starter called them to the mark. Then the gun fired. PJ exploded off the block!
The first two laps were butterfly, his best stroke. He tried to make the most of his advantage by taking the two laps as hard as he could. As they went into the next leg, two laps of backstroke, PJ saw that he was only a stroke behind his Gordonsville teammate, and that they both had a good lead on the tall boy from the other team. PJ had a decent backstroke, but his weakness was the turn. This time, though, he just happened to hit it right, got a good push-off, and swam hard into the second lap. Taking a quick glance to the side, he thought the boy from the other team might have had trouble with his own turn because after catching up, he had now fallen back again.
When they made the turn into the breaststroke leg, PJ was surprised to find himself closer to Blake than he'd expected. And he was still ahead of the boy from Franklyn. The breaststroke leg would be crucial! It was the third of the four legs--psychologically the most difficult one. He was tired now, so he concentrated on keeping perfect form, holding fatigue at bay and forcing his pace. The breaststroke was PJ's weakest. He had practiced it enough so that it wouldn't hurt his IM too badly, but he lacked the natural flexibility in hip and knee that allowed a powerful frog kick. Next to him, his Franklyn opponent was coming on. Breaststroke was his best. PJ had to try and hold him off!
As PJ pulled as hard as he could down the lap, out of the corner of his eye he could see the other boy slowly catching up. He was at PJ's waist. Then he was at PJ's shoulders. They hit the turn and PJ snapped into his push-off. But the other boy was even better, plus he was older and a bit stronger! When they came out of the turn they were even!
As they raced down the second lap of breaststroke, the Franklyn boy pulled steadily ahead of him. Going into the final two laps of freestyle, PJ was at the boy's feet.
They were both tired now. The grueling race had taken its toll. PJ's lungs were screaming for air. Oxygen depletion in his muscles was making his body burn like fire. But years of competitive training had taught him to ignore even the most desperate demands of his body. Without conscious thought, he swept pain and fatigue aside, consciousness narrowing to only one, dominating impulse: a competitor is just in front of me. Catch him or die trying! The fact that his team had already won, that where he placed was meaningless, never entered his mind.
Sports can be taught and boys trained, but great competitors, like great natural athletes, are born and not made. Deep within PJ, where even he was unaware of it, lurked the killer instinct all truly great competitors possess. Like a shark smelling blood, PJ sensed that his opponent was tiring as much as he was. Calling on his last reserves of stamina, he summoned his body to a supreme effort.
Like most flyers, PJ had an excellent freestyle. His upper body strength was sufficient to pull him up on top of the water like a cresting surfboard. Now, with long agonizing strokes, he steadily gained on the Franklyn swimmer. He moved up even with the boy's knees, then the middle of his thighs. The older boy's strokes were awkward into his turn. PJ aced his. When he came off the wall, he was at the boy's waist.
Now his opponent could see him and was desperately trying to hold him off. His strokes were choppy with fatigue, but he still had the advantage of size and strength. Beside him in the adjoining lane, swimming superbly, the smaller PJ relentlessly came on.
Inch-by-inch, PJ kept gaining.
Both boys went into the last few yards with everything they had.
For PJ it was almost--but not quite--enough. His head came up as he touched the wall, eyes searching for the electronic scoreboard. Blake had won! He'd forgotten all about his own teammate! PJ had placed third. The tall boy from the other team had beaten him by a few hundredths of a second!
For an instant disappointment flooded through him. But when he turned, he saw that everyone in the stands was on their feet cheering. Jack and Erik were standing with everyone else, both clapping. Jack was smiling at him and nodding his head. PJ realized that he had done the best he could, and done well!
And so had his rival, the Franklyn swimmer next to him. PJ extended his arm over the lane marker and offered the other boy his hand. "Nice race," he said.
"Thanks." The older boy was panting for breath as he shook with him. "Man, you swam a great race yourself." Pausing to let his breathing catch up he grinned and then added, "You killed me in the butterfly. I didn't think I was ever gonna catch up."
"You got a great breaststroke," PJ told him.
"It's my best," the older boy admitted. "I was dead at the end. I don't see how I stayed ahead of you. I just did my best time by two seconds." They both got out of the water. PJ got his towel. The other boy had a towel, sweat suit, and a ball cap piled on a chair in the back of his block. After he picked everything up, he said, "Hey, my name's Travis."
"Mine's PJ."
They shook hands again.
"PJ, that guy over there you keep talking to. Is that really Jack Canon?"
PJ laughed. "He really is. Would you like to meet him?"
"Oh, yeah!"
PJ led his new acquaintance over to where Jack and Erik were waiting.
"Another best time, PJ!" Erik crowed. "You just killed your old record."
"That was a great race," Jack said to both PJ and Travis. "You two kids showed a lot of guts. You were both terrific."
"Jack, this is Travis."
"Nice to meet you, Travis." Jack shook hands with him.
"Oh, Wow!" Travis was staring up at him in awe. "It's . . . it's nice to meet you too, Mr. Canon. I'm sort of a Phillies fan, but you're still my favorite Major League player!"
Jack smiled. "The Phillies are a fine ball club, Travis. You're rooting for a great team with a great history."
"Yes, Sir." Travis hesitated a moment, and then asked hopefully, "Mr. Canon, do you think you could sign my ball cap?"
Jack got a black magic marker out of his pocket. "Let me see it." He took Travis' ball cap and wrote carefully on the brim: "To my friend Travis -You swam a great race." Then he signed his name in large letters. "I hope we meet up again, Travis," he said, handing the cap back.
"Thanks, Mr. Canon!" Travis happily regarded his signed cap. As he and PJ were walking back to their places in the team area, Travis exclaimed, "PJ, he is really nice! How'd you get to know him?"
"Oh, we've been friends for a long while." PJ `d decided there was no harm in stretching the truth a bit.
"You are really lucky."
"Yeah, I know."
"PJ," Travis said seriously, "you guys come to our school in February. If it's an overnight, I want you to stay with me."
"Sure, Travis," PJ said. "I'd like that."
"Hey, I'm warning you now. I'm gonna practice really hard to stay ahead of you in the IM."
"Okay, but I'll be trying even harder to beat you next time!"
They both laughed and shook hands once more.
"See you, Travis," PJ said.
"See you, PJ. And don't forget. You're staying with me!"
"Okay."
PJ went and sat with his team. The last few events went quickly, and when the meet ended, both teams gave each other a cheer and mingled together with a shaking of hands. PJ and Travis both introduced each other to their friends. Finally, everyone drifted into the locker rooms to get dressed.
Erik was waiting in the basement corridor outside. "Take your time. We're not going anywhere," he said when PJ came out.
"Whadya' mean?"
"You'll see."
They had trouble getting up the stairs because the foyer at the top seemed to be packed with people. After he and Erik had fought their way through, PJ looked around. "Holy geez!" he exclaimed. The foyer was not just crowded, it was mobbed. You could hardly move. And standing in the middle of it all was Jack, signing autographs.
"I told you," Erik said.
"Erik, half the school's in here!"
"At least. I expect the other half in about five minutes."
"I do not believe this."
"They started in on him before the meet was even over," Erik said shaking his head. "Do you think it's like this everywhere he goes?"
"I guess it must be," PJ said thoughtfully. He jumped up and down and waved his hand. "Jack," he yelled. "Jack, over here!"
Jack turned his head and saw him. "Give me a few minutes, PJ," he called, "I gotta take care of the customers!"
Erik tugged at PJ's sleeve. "Come on. We might as well get over by the wall, out of the way."
"Erik, I can't believe how patient he is. This would drive me batty. Why doesn't his hand cramp up from all that writing?"
"PJ, this guy is way beyond patient. You would not believe how many people came up and bothered him during the meet. He always said something nice. He was really patient with me. There I am standing with my mouth open after you go running off. Jack doesn't even know me. I'm just some stupid kid you say is your roommate. In less than a minute, he has me thinking we've been friends my whole life. PJ, even the Head came over to get his autograph!"
"What! When? I didn't see that."
"You must have been talking to your coach or something. He came over and Jack signed a card for his grandson."
"Geez!"
"Yeah. It was something else. And PJ--you would not believe how much Jack knows about sports. I mean, not just baseball, but everything!"
"Yeah?"
"Oh, man. The guy is awesome. Soccer, football, basketball, you name it. I told him how I was playing basketball, and he starts in telling me about him and Michael Jordan playing one-on-one once. He knows everybody. He also asked a lot of questions about you."
"About me? What did you tell him?"
"What do you think? I told him the truth: that you were a little nerd, a total jerk, and the worst roommate anyone ever had!"
"Liar."
"Well, don't ask dumb questions."
The crowd in the foyer was starting to thin out. PJ watched as Jack signed baseballs, shirts, cards, books, scraps of paper; there seemed no end to the things boys wanted Jack's name on. PJ saw that Jack had a smile and a kind word for every one of them, even the ones who jostled or were rude. Finally, the last autograph was finished--until one more boy ran into the foyer waving a card he wanted signed. Jack took care of him, too, just as patiently as with all the rest. Then he turned and walked over to PJ and Erik.
"Sorry to take so long, guys. I just don't like to disappoint the customers. I apologize for making you wait."
PJ nodded. "That's okay, Jack," making it sound casual, though he was relieved that it was all over, because inside, he was telling himself, I hate sharing you with anyone!
"You should `a brushed most of those kids off," Erik said. "Ninety percent of `em don't know anything about baseball."
"Every one of those kids is a potential young fan," Jack said. "I don't like to brush anyone off. Fans who buy tickets to the ballpark or watch on television pay my salary. I want everyone to be a fan." They went out through the doors of the Field House into the winter darkness, where Jack stood on the steps buttoning up his coat. "PJ, I hate to do this, but it's getting late and I have to get to Hershey and make a speech. I'm afraid I'm gonna have to leave soon."
"Ah Geez, Jack. . . . " PJ looked up in disappointment. "I wanted to have dinner with you an' show you our House and our room."
"I know, Tiger. I'd like to stay, too. But this speech is something I promised to do a long time ago. I have to do it. I thought I did a pretty good job working your swim meet in with it."
"Yeah, you did. I understand," PJ dejectedly told him.
"Look," said Jack, "I still have a little time before I leave. Why don't we walk over to my car and we can talk for awhile."
"What kinda speech do you have to give?" Erik asked as they strolled to the parking lot.
"Well, it's a speech I usually give to business groups. That's the kind of folks I'm talking to tonight. I call it my 'Keep Your Eye On The Ball' speech. It's about motivation and focus; and keeping yourself going in tough situations."
"Anything's Possible," PJ said.
Jack smiled. "Yup. That's the kind of thing I mean, Tiger. "Looking down at the boy he added, "You know something about how to keep going in tough situations yourself, don't you." He made it a statement and not a question.
"Yeah," PJ said.
They reached the car. Jack unlocked the doors and they all got into the front seat to get out of the cold. "Is this yours?" Erik asked.
"No," Jack told him. "Just a rental."
"What other kinds of stuff do you talk about?" PJ asked.
"Well, I often talk to coaching organizations, youth groups, people like that. With them I mostly talk about values: character and sportsmanship and stuff. Speaking of sportsmanship, I'd like to say, Tiger, that the way you handled yourself with that kid you raced--what was his name? Travis? I thought you handled yourself very well. Nice job."
PJ blushed in the darkness. He was glad no one could see him. He loved being praised like this by Jack.
"Travis was pretty nice, too," he said.
"Oh sure," Jack agreed. "I thought you both handled the situation very well. I think Travis would be a good person to know, Tiger."
"He asked me to stay with him when our team goes down to his school for an overnight meet."
"I think you should. If you don't mind my asking, Tiger, who taught you how to behave that well? How did you learn to be such a good sport?"
PJ squirmed in his seat, unsure of how to answer. "Ah . . . I don't know. No one actually taught me. I mean, some coaches talk about it, I guess. An' other kids. I mean, I see what they do. An' books. I like to read sports books. An' they're always talking about sportsmanship. An'. . . well . . . I've heard you talk about it some, too. On TV, I mean."
Jack nodded thoughtfully. "That's one of the reasons I try to be careful of what I say on TV, Tiger. Because I know kids like you are listening."
He looked at his watch. "Guys, I really have to get going now." He started the car and let the engine run to warm up. "Look, PJ," he said, "I know you're a little disappointed. I came up here to see you and I probably spent more time talking to Eric then to you. And I didn't stay long."
PJ wondered if Jack was reading his mind.
Jack kept on, "I want you to know I'll do better on the next one. That meet's on a Saturday morning. I'm planning on staying the whole day--that is, if you want me to."
"We do, we do!" both boys yelled.
"You really are gonna come, aren't you Jack?" PJ wanted to be absolutely sure.
"If I say so, then I'll be there." Jack turned to look closely at him. "PJ, you weren't worried that I wasn't coming today, were you?"
Erik moved restlessly in his seat but didn't say anything.
"No, Jack," PJ lied. "I knew you'd be here."
But Jack was shaking his head. "Damn," he swore softly. "You were, weren't you. Okay; that's my bad. I should'a sent a message or something. I was so busy keeping your secret, I didn't think about it."
"I guess you didn't get my letter," PJ said.
"Oh, boy," Jack answered sadly. "I really screwed the pooch on this one, I guess. I am really sorry, PJ. Your letter's probably sitting on my desk somewhere. Or on my secretary's desk . . . or something. I'm not too good with letters. Where did you send it?"
PJ explained how he had sent it to
Jack's Red Sox website with a copy to his house and another to the Red Sox in
"I promise, Jack."
"Fine. Now, there's one more thing. I want to know if I can take you guys out for dinner, or for a pizza or something after that next meet. And before you answer, there's one thing you better also know. I'm not gonna take `No' for an answer. So how `bout it?"
Yes, yes!" both boys yelled.
"Good," said Jack. "That's settled. OK, where's this house, or dorm, or whatever it is where you live? I'll drop you off." The boys directed him out of the parking lot, and they drove past the administration building and the main school building. Christmas lights were twinkling in the windows.
"I see you've already got some Christmas decorations up," Jack said.
PJ pounced on the opening. "What are you doing for Christmas, Jack?" He tried to make it sound casual.
"Oh, I don't know," Jack replied. "Usually some of my friends invite me over. What are you doing?"
"There's our House," Erik said pointing. PJ wanted to kick him!
Jack stopped the car. "Okay guys." He popped the door locks. "Everybody out."
The boys exited with their book packs in hand. Jack rolled down the passenger side window. "Just one last thing," he said. The boys stood next to the window listening. "PJ, you told me your team would win easily today and you were right. You also told me it wouldn't be too exciting, and on that you were dead wrong. I thought every one of your races today was exciting, Tiger! Especially that last one. You and that Travis put on a top-notch show! I've been around sports a long time and I can tell you, you never know when you're gonna see a great performance. They don't all happen in the big games. I've seen just as many great plays in spring training--heck, in Little League--as I've seen in the World Series. I saw one of those performances today. And I'm gonna tell you something about it I want you always to remember."
He beckoned for the boys to come closer. They both leaned into the window.
"Anyone, PJ--a swimmer, a runner, a baseball team, a football team--anyone can win when they're ahead." Jack looked intently into PJ's eyes. "But only the great ones--only the great champions-- can come from behind!"
He straightened up and put his hands on the steering wheel. "I'll see you at the next meet." Then, as he was pulling away, they heard him call, "And don't you worry, Tiger, I'll be there!"
The two boys watched the car turn and disappear in the direction of the gate.
As they walked in the dark toward their House, Erik said, "He is one great guy."
Yeah, he sure is," PJ quietly agreed.
* * *
CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT FIVE
Editor Paul K. Scott's e-mail: paulkdoctor@gmail.com