INSTALLMENT

TEN

 

from

 

THE FATHER

CONTRACT 

 

By Arthur Arrington

 

Edited Paul Scott

 

Please consider making a contribution to Nifty so we can keep PJ and his friends happy and moving on with their wonderful little lives!!

Chapter Twenty-Two: Going for the Gold

 

The weeks that followed Jack's visit were busy, happy ones for PJ and Erik. PJ got an "Outstanding" for his book report on Kim, and he and Erik cooperated on a science lab project that not only got the two of them an excellent grade, but stank out the whole class as well--a result both boys found most amusing. They continued to play wall ball nearly every day at lunchtime, and often another snowstorm provided extra opportunity for snowboarding on the Hill, adventures that twice included Billy. In short, PJ and Erik both enjoyed the young boy's enthusiastic company.

 

Meanwhile, PJ was making steady progress on his project of reading all the sports books by Matt Christopher, the author of The Kid Who Only Hit Homers. Erik, who'd recently discovered science fiction, got PJ reading some other books as well: The Time Machine by H. G. Wells and a book PJ really liked called Red Planet by an author named Heinlein. "This guy's a really good writer, PJ," Erik said. "We need to find more by him."

 

Keeping up their support of each other, PJ worked with Erik on his basketball, and Erik attended PJ's swim meet against Perry on Thursday to cheer for him and record all his splits.

 

"Another best time!" Erik announced gleefully after PJ's butterfly race. "You keep this up and you'll have a shot at winning something in the Championships!"

 

"Ssssh!" PJ warned. "Don't jinx it!" He'd already, secretly, set his heart at making the finals in the Championship meet in March. And maybe, just maybe, winning a medal for Jack!

 

As they were leaving the Field House after the meet, the two boys stopped in front of the big glass case in the foyer to stare at the fading team photos, the banners, the old trophies.

 

"Someday, Erik," PJ said softly, "we're gonna put some new things in that case, and our pictures will be in those frames."

 

"Yep," Erik whispered. "We'll do it together, PJ, 'cause we're a team."

 

They high-fived each other and went to the Dining Hall to eat.

 

On the Friday of the New York trip, the swim team was scheduled to leave right after lunch. Erik accompanied PJ to the charter bus that was waiting for them. PJ was wearing his Red Sox tie and hat with his gray pants and dark blue blazer.

 

"I put the stopwatch in your swim bag," Erik was saying. "Be sure Coach Bernard or somebody gets your splits so we can record them in the book."

 

"I will," PJ promised. "Gee, Erik, I wish you're going too."

 

"Basketball team goes next week, so I get my chance," Erik said cheerfully. "Say "Hi" to Jack for me and tell him we won another game this week."

 

"I will. Don't forget to call Billy and tell him we'll see him Sunday. I should be back late Saturday night."

Erik nodded. "Good luck, PJ. See if you can talk your coach into letting you do an IM, even if it's unofficial. We don't have a recent time on you and I know you can break your record."

 

"Okay," PJ told him, shaking hands. "Thanks." When he got on the bus, Erik stayed around to wave them off.

 

PJ hated the long trip to New York. Even though the Gordonsville bus was a big fancy charter affair, he didn't enjoy riding on buses of any type. If he tried to read, he got sick, and there was only so much to see out the window. He killed some of the ride talking with a few of his teammates, and managed to get through the rest of it by constructing magic squares in his head or reciting, under his breath, passages he'd memorized from books and movies.

 

As they crossed over the George Washington Bridge in late afternoon, PJ looked out, entranced as always by the New York skyline. Their rival school, Riverside Heights Latin, occupied a park not far from the exit ramp off the bridge, only a few blocks from the Hudson River. The Riverside Middle School swimmers were there waiting for the Gordonsville bus when it pulled up in front of an old, impressive-looking main building. After greeting one another, the two teams paired off to make sleeping arrangements. PJ found himself assigned to a shy, skinny kid his own age who introduced himself as "Skip." "I do breaststroke, mostly," the boy said in an embarrassed way, "but it's, like, only my first year, so I don't get a chance to swim in too many meets. They won't let me swim tomorrow, either."

 

"It's only my first year, too," PJ told him. "I know what you mean. I just got lucky."

 

He saw Skip eyeing his cap and tie. With a grin the boy said, "I guess you can tell I'm sort of a Red Sox fan. You like baseball?" It turned out that Skip was a Mets fan too. He and PJ chatted for awhile, comparing the differences between the National and American Leagues and debating the merits of Designated Hitter. The whole time, Skip kept staring at the cap. "Whose autograph is that on your hat?" he finally asked.

 

PJ took it off and showed it to him.

 

"Wow! Jack Canon!" Skip exclaimed, awestruck. "Where'd you get this?"

 

"Jack gave it to me when I was with him in Florida last Thanksgiving," PJ tried to make it all sound casual, but he was secretly delighted Skip had asked.

 

The other boy's eyes widened. "You know him?"

 

PJ nodded. "Yeah, we're good friends. Would you like him to sign something for you? He'll be here tomorrow morning for our meet."

 

"Jack Canon?" Skip was stunned. "Jack Canon is coming here?"

 

"Yeah. He comes to a lot of my meets. Like I said, we're friends."

 

"That is awesome!" The boy cocked his head to one side and stared at PJ suspiciously. "You're not putting me on, are you?"

 

PJ gave him a friendly smile. "Nope. I don't blame you for thinking that. But you can ask any of the other kids on my team. They'll tell you. I really do know Jack Canon. And he really will be here tomorrow. I'll introduce you to him. And if you bring his picture or a baseball card or something, he'll sign it for you. He's really nice."

 

The other boy just stared. "That is so cool! Thanks, PJ. This is gonna be fun! I wish the Mets had Jack Canon. He's just the greatest."

 

"Yup," PJ agreed, nodding his head. "He really is."

 

The rest of the evening went very successfully. PJ meet Skip's roommate, a boy he called "Mills," and they all ate dinner together. That evening, they talked, watched TV, and played some video games. PJ was better than they were, but he politely let them win more than half the time. Taking his usual precautions of a pre-bedtime pee and wrapping a towel around his middle, he camped out comfortably on an air mattress that night, and slept well.

 

The following morning after breakfast, Mills disappeared, and Skip, less shy now that he'd gotten to know PJ, kept them both laughing with funny stories about things he'd done in the city with an older cousin, including a Mets game they'd both snuck into the previous summer. It turned out that Skip liked the same big arcade in Times Square that was a favorite with PJ, and they had a good time comparing notes until the coaches sent word that it was time to get ready for the meet.

 

"PJ, is Jack Canon really coming today?" Skip was still skeptical. "You weren't just fooling about that, were you?"

 

PJ grinned at him. "I'm pretty sure. He promised he would. And Jack would never break a promise. I know."

 

Skip pulled out a dresser drawer, fumbled in it, and produced a Mets baseball cap. "You think he'd sign this? I know it's not a Red Sox thing, but . . ."

 

"Jack's a super-nice guy," PJ assured him. "I bet if you ask him, he'll sign it."

 

"I really hope he comes," Skip said, putting on the hat. "I think he's just the greatest."

 

The Riverside Latin pool was older than the one at Gordonsville, and it didn't have too much room for spectators, but PJ thought it was nice enough. He was warming up, keeping one eye on the stands, watching for Jack, when he saw a commotion near the door. Suddenly Jack walked in—and right behind him were Walter and Ms. Pam Snyder! PJ scrambled out of the water and waved.

 

"Hi, PJ!" Jack's voice boomed out.

 

PJ ran over to the railing where Jack, Walter, and Walter's pretty assistant all leaned out to greet him. With a thrill, PJ noticed that Jack was wearing his Red Sox tie.

 

"Jack," PJ said grinning, "I didn't know you were bringing Perry Mason and Della Street!"

 

"Hi, PJ," Walter said, shaking hands.

 

"PJ." Pam bent over the railing and gave him a peck on the cheek. "You look wonderful!"

 

Jack winked and leaned down close so only PJ could hear. "I brought them along as extra insurance against that pack behind me." Looking up, PJ saw men with notebooks and cameras standing in back of his three friends. One of them was a face he was sure he'd seen on ESPN.

 

"PJ," Jack said, turning toward the men, "I'd like you to meet some fellows you may have heard of." He introduced PJ to sportswriters from the New York Daily News, the Long Island Sun, the New York Times, and the Boston Globe, giving the names so fast that PJ, who was politely trying to shake hands with everyone, didn't quite get them all. He was ready to greet the three men with cameras, too, and was surprised when Jack ignored them.

 

"And this gentleman," Jack said, indicating the ESPN commentator, "you may have seen on TV."

 

"Yes I have." PJ shook the man's hand. Here, at least, was a name he knew. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Davis. I enjoy your show very much."

 

The commentator looked surprised and pleased. "Thank you, PJ."

 

PJ turned back to the others. He wasn't much of a reader of newspapers, but he felt he ought to say something even if he had to lie. "I've read some of your columns. I think you're good writers." He looked at the man from the Globe and continued, "My English master makes us study your style, Mr. Hibbard. I'm glad to have a chance to meet you."

 

The Globe writer actually blushed a little and stammered, "Say, how 'bout that. Thanks."

 

All the newsman stared in amazement at the little, self-possessed, well-built boy standing in front of them in his tight Speedo. Jack gave PJ a sly wink. Finally the New York Times man broke the spell. He clapped Hibbard on the back and said with mock seriousness, "Christ, Malcolm! I bet you never guessed your stuff was such an influence on the next generation. You better watch what you write!"

 

This got a laugh, and the Daily News reporter grinned at PJ. "You've done it now, PJ. Poor Hibbard will be so self-conscious he'll have writer's block for a month!" More laughter followed this, but PJ had stopped listening because his mind was already elsewhere. "I have to finish warming up," he told Jack. "I'm swimming at least three events today. The relay, the fly, the 100-free . . . and I'm gonna do a 200 IM unofficially unless the other team objects!"

 

Okay, Tiger," Jack said.

 

As PJ headed back to his warm-up lane, he saw all the reporters talking to Jack, who held his hands up and shook his head in mock frustration.

 

Once he finished loosening up, PJ got the stopwatch and took it to where Jack was sitting. "Don't forget to write down my splits," PJ reminded him. Jack borrowed a pen and some paper from the Daily News man, who like all of the reporters was leaning in, listening to what was said. "Don't worry, PJ," Jack assured him. "I'll get 'em just like Erik does." Then he lowered his voice. "Four races in two hours? Pushin' it today, huh, Tiger?

 

PJ nodded, eagerly explaining, "The Riverside team isn't too good. Coach is given' some of the big kids a rest, so this is my chance to do more events. An' I haven't been timed in my IM in awhile. Even if I'm a little tired, I think I can still beat my record."

 

Jack winked and reached over the railing to give PJ's shoulder a little tap. "You bet! Go get `em, Champ! Show these guys what you can do!"

 

"Thanks Jack." PJ looked up, eyes shining, not caring about reporters or cameras or anything else. He was Jack's Little Champ! What could matter more than that! Heart thumping with excitement, he went over to sit with his team, noticing that most of the spectators had already noticed that Jack was there. All over, people were standing up to get a look at him. Even the Riverside swimmers were whispering and pointing.

 

PJ was in the first event, the medley relay, and from the start it was obvious that Gordonsville would win easily. They were almost a lap ahead at the end. PJ had raced as hard as he could on his fly leg, but without the spur of competition, all he could do was to equal his best time. He was a little disappointed when he went to talk to Jack afterwards. "I'll do better in the individual event," PJ promised as he dried himself off. "There'll be more competition in that one."

 

"Don't you dare be down on yourself, Tiger," Jack told him. "You did just fine! Just take it out real fast like you did last time! Get a lead on the field and then bring it home!"

 

The reporters were still listening in on every word, and the man from the Daily News asked, laughing, "What are you, Jack? The kid's trainer? Sounds like you're on the rail over at Belmont." When the others all laughed too, PJ felt a surge of anger. Who did these reporter guys think they were? But he was careful not to let the irritation show. Instead he just winked at Jack, smiled, and said, "I'll do it, Jack. Just like you said. I'm gonna do my best time today, too. I can feel it."

 

Back with his team, waiting to be called up for his event, PJ's mood changed from anger to fierce determination. He knew that Jack wanted him to show those guys. He'd show them all right! Even more keyed up than he usually was before a race, he moved around restlessly, shaking his arms to stay loose.

 

Gordonsville was winning the meet easily, but PJ didn't care about the team score. Only his own performance counted! When his fly event was called, he went up to the blocks with such complete focus on his race that he barely registered the other three swimmers. One was a Gordonsville boy named Fogerty he knew he could beat. The Riverside Heights kid from their relay team was no competition. And he just ignored the third, a bigger boy PJ hadn't seen before. None of them mattered! No one was going to beat him today!

 

Right from the starter's gun, PJ knew he was going to win. He flew through the first two laps, gliding over the top of the water with confident, powerful strokes. He didn't even feel tired! Powering off the wall into the final two laps, he was right on his pace and in the lead!

 

Using all the strength in his taut, hard body, PJ forced himself to the limit on the last lap, deliberately controlling his breathing so he wouldn't break his perfect streamlining in the water. On the few breaths he took, he saw out of the corner of his eye that his teammates were all standing on the side of the pool, swinging towels and cheering. In the final half of the last lap, he put his head down and sprinted to the wall with everything he had, undulating his body in powerful kicks. As his hands hit the concrete, he pulled his head up to take a gasping breath and heard the pool rocking with the chant of "Pee-Jay!, Pee-Jay!, Pee-Jay!, Pee-Jay!. . ."

 

He glanced to either side. The swimmers behind him still hadn't finished! He'd won by almost half a lap! Coach Bernard knelt down by the starting block to show him his time. "Your best by more than two seconds!" he yelled over the deafening noise. "Way to go!"

 

PJ pulled himself up out of the water. He was a little tired, but he felt great! He knew he could do it, and he had! He waited for the other boys to get out of the pool so he could shake their hands, gathered up his towel, and strode over to see Jack with an excited grin on his face.

 

"My best by two seconds!" he announced when Jack leaned over the railing. PJ was so excited he was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "How'd I look?"

 

Jack eyes flashed as he grinned at him. "You came down that last lap like the Twentieth Century Limited, Tiger! And look at those splits. You took it out just the way we wanted!"

 

PJ dried himself off. "I still feel real good, Jack. I'm gonna try for another best in the 100-free. That'll be tough. I probably won't be able to get first in that."

 

"So what?" Jack said, his grin getting even wider. "Go for it! You're on a roll!"

 

PJ smiled up him. "It's funny. I just knew I was gonna win that last race and do my best time. I knew it just as sure as anything!" And as he said it, PJ noticed that the sportswriters behind Jack were all listening very closely again.

 

"That happens sometimes," Jack replied, nodding. "Every once in awhile I know, I just know, I'm gonna crush the ball when I come up to bat. I don't know what it is. It's like everything's clicking just right. It's in the air and nothing can stop it." Jack gave PJ's shoulder a squeeze. "I've got the same feeling about your freestyle race. And your IM." He reached into his pocket and handed PJ a roll of LifeSavers. "Here, take these. They worked that other time."

 

PJ grinned. "I'll go rest up. That 100-free is soon."

 

As he turned to leave, he heard Mr. Davis say, "That is some kid!"

 

"Best in the world," Jack replied.

 

Best in the world! The words filled PJ's heart and mind with such sweetness that he thought he'd die of happiness! He was so dizzy with it he nearly stumbled as he walked around the pool. It felt as though his feet weren't even touching the tiles of the pool deck.

 

He sat down and pulled on his sweat suit in a state of exhilaration! If Jack had asked him to die for him just then, PJ would've done it gladly! He sucked on the LifeSavers and rested during the diving competition, then waited eagerly for the call-up of the freestyle race. He felt more than his usual nervousness now. It was as if his whole body was thrumming like a taut bowstring.

 

The officials announced the event. PJ took off his sweats and went up to the blocks, taking the outside lane as the second Gordonsville competitor. Looking neither left nor right, trembling with excitement, he stayed totally focused on the lane in front of him. When the starter called them to their marks, he crouched down. The gun sounded, and he exploded off the block in a flat racing dive.

 

PJ never had any clear recollection of that race, only vague impressions of powering over the water, kicking strongly and never feeling really tired. Every time he rolled his head slightly to take a breath, he saw he was even with the other swimmers. He came thundering down the last lap, conscious only of a driving need to push himself harder than he ever had before. He hit the wall with his outstretched hand and pulled his head up to hear his teammates cheering wildly!

 

He had no idea what place he'd gotten until, after pulling himself out of the water, Coach Bernard came up, his face shining with excitement. "Second place, PJ! We took first and second! It's your best time again!"

 

PJ shook hands with the other swimmers and walked over to Jack in an exultant daze. "Another best time, Jack!" he said happily.

 

"What a race, Tiger!" Jack held a fist out for PJ to touch. "What a race! You guys got the top two places! Those kids from the other team were twice your size and you beat 'em in your last few strokes! You should've heard the place cheering!"

 

PJ didn't care who had been cheering as long as Jack liked the race. "Did I still look good, Jack?"

 

"The best! Better than any of 'em! The only reason that other kid beat you is that he's so much bigger than you."

 

"That race kind of took it out of me. I don't know about the IM, though," PJ said doubtfully.

 

"So what? It's unofficial, right? If they let you swim it, an' I bet they will, give it a shot. Today's your day! Like I said before, you're on a roll. It's in the air, kid." He paused thoughtfully a moment, then asked, "The IM's the one where you do all four strokes, right?"

 

PJ nodded.

 

"And the first one's butterfly, right? Your best stroke?"

 

PJ nodded again.

 

Jack gave him a big grin. "Then what the heck, PJ. Just take those first two laps out as hard as you can, blow everybody's doors off, get a lead, and take it on home again! Make 'em catch you!"

 

PJ grinned back. "Okay."

 

Leaning down close so the reporters couldn't hear, Jack winked and said fondly, "Trust me, PJ. Today's your day! It's in the air! And when it's in the air--let it roll!" By a slight gesture of his head, he indicated the reporters behind him and leaned even closer, staring into PJ's eyes. "Show 'em what you got, Little Champ!"

 

A thrill of exultation shivered through PJ. Jack's Little Champ! He would walk through fire to hear those words! Face glowing with pride, he stared back at his hero and promised, "I'll do it!" Jack nodded. He gave PJ's shoulder a pat, and PJ walked back to his team, filled with grim determination to do his best time in the 200 IM or die trying!

 

When the event was called, Coach Bernard went over to talk with both the officials and the Riverside Heights coach. PJ saw the other coach nod and thought, Yes! He tightened his fists. Coach Bernard came back to say, "You're in, PJ. Take one of the outside lanes. You're unofficial, your place won't count. But since you're in the race, do your very best!"

 

Nodding, PJ adjusted his goggles while butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He took a deep, steadying breath, pulled off his sweats, and went poolside. As he climbed up on his starting block, a few of his teammates called out, "Let's go, PJ!"; "Good luck, PJ!"

 

And then, another "Good luck, PJ!" yelled shrilly from an unfamiliar voice. PJ looked. Over by the other team's bench, Skip, his host from the previous night, was standing up, giving PJ a high sign. PJ smiled and nodded. Then the starter took over. The swimmers took their marks. The gun fired . . . Now go for it! . . . and they were off!

 

PJ swam the first two fly laps just as if it were his fly leg on the medley relay. He held nothing back. As he started the next two laps of backstroke, he saw excitedly that he was in the lead! He knew he was already beginning to tire, but the elation of being out in front pushed him to an even greater effort. His backstroke had been improving, and he could feel the difference as he flipped the turn and pushed into the next lap. He drove powerfully with his kick and with outstretched arms stroked as hard as he could. At the turn going into two laps of breaststroke, he was still ahead!

 

It was at that point that he began to feel his strength failing. The race was more than half over, yet the breaststroke was his weakest. Although he kicked and pulled with everything he had, he knew the others were catching him. He couldn't see all the lanes, but the boy nearest him drew even as PJ struggled to keep up his pace.

 

Fatigue was closing in now. His chest was tight . . . arms and legs on fire . . . lungs screaming for air! Ignore it! He pushed the distress signals from his body into a compartment and locked it. It's just as bad for the other guys! Worse, even! I'm in better shape than they are! And I'm Jack's Little Champ!

 

Charged by this thought, PJ kicked off into the final two laps of freestyle, his head even with the knees of the boy in the lane next to him. I'm going to get this guy! I've got more left than he does. I know it!

 

Reaching down for reserves of stamina that were the result of all his hours and hours of training, PJ attacked the next-to-last lap using surging, powerful strokes. With a thrill, he realized the Riverside boy was struggling! Like a shark scenting blood, PJ shot past him, kicking, driving, forcing his arms into an even faster rhythm. Faster! Go faster! I'm Jack's Little Champ!

 

He hit the turn perfectly, controlling his breathing in and out of it for maximum speed and streamlining. Desperate, desperate for air! But he held his breath by iron will, nearly blacking out under the water when he came off the wall. Now go! Go! Last lap! Give it everything you've got! Sprint! Sprint for the wall! For Jack!

PJ's fingers slapped the wall. For a few seconds his only thought was to breathe. Eyes closed, head flung back and chest heaving, he clung to the lane ropes trying to pump enough oxygen in to satisfy his desperate need. His lungs burned like fire and every breath was painful. His arms and legs were numb. But gradually his heart stopped racing and he became aware of the cheering all around him. "Pee-Jay!, Pee-Jay!, Pee-Jay!, Pee-Jay!, Pee-Jay!. . ."

 

He looked around, dazed. His teammates were up on the side of the pool chanting, swinging towels and sweat suits around wildly. The crowd in the stands was on its feet. Coach Bernard was on his knees by the block above him, yelling in excitement. "Another best by over eight seconds! You beat them all, PJ! We got first and second, but you beat them all!"

 

Gradually, PJ realized that he had taken an unofficial first place!

 

Arms shaking, he pulled himself out of the water. He could barely walk. It felt as if he'd been pummeled by baseball bats. Leaning against the starting block for balance, he shook hands when the other swimmers, including the ones from Riverside, who both congratulated him. "Thanks," he said with a tired grin. "Thank you. Thanks a lot."

 

"PJ, you never told me you were this good!" It was Skip, standing next to him, grinning like crazy.

 

"Wait a second," PJ told him. He got his towel, took another breath, and said, "Listen. Thanks for cheering for me. It was really nice of you. Real quick, I'll take you to meet Jack. Come on." The two of them shuffled over to where Jack was sitting. He was grinning broadly at PJ. "My best time by eight seconds!" PJ told him proudly.

 

Jack bent down so his words would be for PJ alone. "Not just your best time, Tiger . . ."--his hand went to the boy's shoulder, giving it a squeeze--". . . but a great finish! Only the best can come from behind! You were a champion again today! And you're my Little Champ every day! I'm real proud of you." Staring up at him, PJ wanted to hug Jack right then, but he didn't dare in front of all the other people.

 

"I wanted you to be proud of me, Jack," he said softly.

 

"I am, PJ." Jack squeezed his shoulder again. "I think you're just the greatest kid in the world!" PJ nearly reeled with happiness. He was going to reach up and hug Jack anyway no matter who saw it . . . but something still held him back, and instead he introduced Skip, explaining, "My new friend was my host partner for our overnight."

 

"Hi!" With a big grin, Jack held out a hand. Skip grasped it, but he'd turned shy again and just stood there with his mouth open, not saying anything.

 

"He's got something for you to sign later, Jack," PJ said.

 

"Come back with PJ when you're done changing and I'll sign whatever you want," Jack told the youngster kindly.

 

"Th-Thank's," Skip finally managed to stammer out.

 

Go be with your team now, Tiger," Jack said, giving PJ's shoulder a tap. I'll be waiting right here for you after the meet's over."

Sitting with his teammates during the rest of the meet, PJ felt totally content. He had Jack's word that he had done well and there couldn't be anything better than that. When Gordonsville won the final relay, he clapped and cheered for his teammates, but he didn't really care anymore who'd won or lost. Jack's approval was what mattered most.

 

The awards ceremony that followed the two team cheers was going to be anticlimactic—until PJ found out that Riverside, along with the usual ribbons, was handing out medals for the individual events! Why, no school ever did that, much less in a dual meet. It wasn't heard of! Oh, they weren't big or fancy ones like the ones at a Championship, but still. . . . Guess I shouldn't be surprised, he thought. Skip's a cool kid and all the Riverside swimmers are pretty neat! PJ got excited and proud of himself all over again when he got, not only his blue ribbon for the relay, but his two medals, a silver for the 100 free and a gold for the butterfly! Awards were never given to unofficial race winners, but his name was announced for his victory in the 200 IM, and the swimmers from both reams gave him a resounding clap of applause. That made PJ feel the most proudest of all!

 

Once Gordonsville had given Riverside Heights another cheer and everyone was headed for the locker room, PJ found Skip and told him, "Let's change fast. Then we'll get your cap signed." As soon as the two boys had dressed, they rushed back to the pool and climbed into the stands. PJ was wearing his blue Red Sox tie and cap. Skip had on a cap with a superimposed "N" and "Y."

 

"This was something, PJ!" Walter held out a hand in greeting as they came over. "Yes, PJ," Pam Snyder said. "We had no idea you were so good."

 

"Do you still want to go to that same swim camp you went to last summer?" Walter asked.

 

PJ nodded. "Yes, please. It's really cool. And they have baseball, too."

 

"Okay." Walter was nodding his head. "I'll make sure you're signed up. I can see why it's so important to you."

 

Jack was still talking to the sportswriters and their cameramen, but he beckoned the two boys over and smiled at PJ's shy friend. "What can I autograph for you?"

"It-It's a M-Met's cap, Mr. Canon," the boy stammered, holding it out. "But c-could you sign it anyway? Y-You're my f-favorite player. I w-wish you w-were on the M-M-Mets."

 

Jack got out his pen and knelt down. "The Mets are a great, great team, Skip," Jack said as he signed the bill of the cap. "I'm proud to sign one of their caps and they should be proud to have you as a fan." Flash bulbs were popping. Instead of handing the cap back, Jack placed it on Skip's head. More flash bulbs popped. "Put your hand on Jack's shoulder, PJ," one of the reporters called, "and both of you look this way." Both boys smiled. There was another burst of flashes and Mr. Bunker declared, "Those are the kind of pictures that sell newspapers!"

 

"I c-can't believe I j-just shook hands with J-Jack Canon!" Skip said. He was staring straight ahead looking dazed, as if he were sleepwalking. "You sure did," PJ assured him.

 

"If you'll give me your address," Jack told Skip, "I'll make sure you get one of those pictures with my autograph on it." "Th-Thanks Mr. Canon," the boy said eagerly. He seemed less scared now and gave Jack his address at the school.

 

The photographers took down his home phone so they could obtain consent from his mother to use the pictures. Walter knelt down and whispered to PJ, "You're a minor too, PJ," he explained. "They can't take a picture without my consent and I won't give it if you don't want me to."

 

"It's okay," PJ whispered back. "I don't mind at all!

 

"Boy, Mr. Canon really is nice," said Skip.

 

"Told you so," said PJ.

 

Meanwhile, Jack was talking to the reporters. "There's your story, guys. You just saw an exhibition of heart, courage, and sportsmanship as great as anything you'll ever see in big-time sports. And you saw it all for free. You didn't have to pay a dime." The writers had all taken out notebooks; PJ saw their eyes shift to him and then back to Jack.

 

"All the great plays aren't in the Big Leagues, guys," Jack continued. "These boys here"--he turned to smile at PJ and Skip, winked, and then faced the newsmen again--"these and others like them, they've got more guts and heart than a lot of Major Leaguers I've known. We get paid to play. It's a business. Maybe too much of one. These boys do it for the love of sport itself. That's a very pure and precious thing."

 

"So you're saying professional sports are corrupted by money, Jack?" It was the man from the New York Times.

 

Jack didn't answer him directly. "There are guys who love the game in the Major Leagues," he said. "But these kids here . . . they're the future athletes, the future fans. Heck--the future of everything! The guidance they get, the things they learn, the influences on them . . . it's so important! They make a lot of things we professionals do seem pretty small."

 

Now the reporters were all looking at PJ's cap and tie. "Say, PJ," the Long Island Sun man asked, "what's all this about you owning the Red Sox?"

 

Walter stepped forward to answer. "The young man's trust owns companies that have a majority interest in the team. That's all. PJ is only a boy who loves the game of baseball, as many boys do. He is not the owner of any team."

 

"Jack seems to think a lot of you, PJ," the New York Times writer said. "What do you think of him?"

 

Both Jack and Walter seemed about to object, but PJ went ahead and answered anyway. "I think he's the greatest guy in the world," he said looking directly at Jack. "He's my friend. And when he talks to me about heart and to never say die and sportsmanship, I listen, because I know that's how he plays himself." The reporters were all quiet for a moment. There was a crowd of people standing around watching and listening, waiting for Jack to sign more autographs, and they were silent, too.

 

Finally, Mr. Davis asked, "How are the Red Sox going to do this year, PJ?"

 

PJ glanced at Jack and smiled. "I think if anyone can win the World Championship, Jack and the Red Sox can." He turned back to the reporters. "Jack and I have never talked about it, but that's what I think. I think it's time!" The reporters were all scribbling furiously. PJ grinned at them. "I know you didn't ask me, but I think you should know that the Gordonsville Middle School baseball team is gonna have its best season ever this year, too. My roommate Erik and I have been practicing." The reporters all chuckled at this, and Jack smiled.

 

Jack hurried through the rest of the autographing, and after PJ had promised to meet Skip again when the Riverside Heights team visited Gordonsville, he and Jack, accompanied by Walter and Pam, went out to where Coach Bernard and the rest of the team were waiting by the bus that would take them to the Museum.

 

"We'll take off now," Walter said. "Have a good time at the Planetarium, PJ. I'll sign you up for that camp first thing on Monday. Is there anything else you need?"

 

PJ couldn't think of anything, but Pam was consulting a list. "Clothes, Walter. The boy needs clothes."

 

"Oh. That's right. PJ, when's your Spring Break?"

 

Apparently Pam's notes had that too, because she answered before PJ could. "April, Walter. During Easter."

 

"Well, plan on coming to New York then, PJ. We've got to get your clothes for summer and fall.

 

"Okay."

 

"Have fun, now." Then Walter smiled at Jack. "It was good to see you again. You were right to call." After a brief handshake, he headed off for his car, followed by Ms. Snyder. Jack nudged PJ. "Your friends on the bus are waiting for us."

 

Looking up with a smile, PJ took Jack's hand. No more reporters. No more autograph hunters. No more Walter or Pam, even. Now maybe it can be just me and Jack spending time together, the way I always want it. He was about to start toward the bus when Jack suddenly stopped and said, "Listen, PJ. While it's just you an' me here I gotta tell you. The way you handled those reporters . . . those races you swam . . . I was so proud of you!" He stared down at the boy, eyes flashing. "I've learned enough to know what you pulled off in that IM. I wouldn't have missed that for anything! Better believe I meant every word of what I said--to you and to those damn reporters!"

 

PJ looked up at him with loving eyes. "I did it for you," he whispered. Then he dropped Jack's hand, reached in his pants pocket, pulled out all three of his awards, and pressed them into Jack's palm. Jack stared at PJ, obviously taken aback. And if he responded, PJ didn't hear it because he was so self-absorbed in his day's triumphs, darn convinced that he'd earned Jack's title of "Little Champ." All in all, he felt as proud as if he'd just won an Olympic gold medal! Not a tin one like Riverside had handed out--but one made of the real thing!

Chapter Twenty-Three: Natural Wonders

 

"Damn," Jack grumbled as they climbed up the steps onto the bus. "This is like being back in the Minor Leagues."

 

PJ giggled. "I don't like buses either."

 

PJ could tell that Jack wanted more time to talk with him, but on the bus there was no chance. Once they found seats, PJ's teammates all swarmed around Jack, and Coach Bernard called PJ up to the front to review his splits. By the time they reached the Museum of Natural History, he and Jack had managed no more than a sentence or two with each other.

 

The bus dropped them off in front of the new Rose Planetarium, and PJ nearly fell on his butt getting out because instead of watching his feet, he was staring up, gasping at the sight. "I've seen pictures," he told Jack excitedly, "but I never knew how big it was." He gazed in wonder at the enormous cube of glass. "This is awesome!"

 

Coach Bernard checked the time of the next show. "We have until three," he told everyone. "Eat lunch, and you can wander around the exhibits until then. But I want you paired up! Nobody goes off alone! And you're all to be back here by quarter to three." PJ naturally paired with Jack when they went to have lunch in the Museum cafeteria, but private conversation was still out because groups of Gordonsville swimmers tagged along with them.

 

PJ frowned when he saw the prices. "Four bucks for a roast-beef sandwich is kinda a lot," he muttered, examining his selection.

 

Jack gave him an incredulous look and said in a low voice so the others wouldn't hear, "Geez, listen to you! Walter tells me you're richer than God. And I've just signed one of the biggest baseball contracts in history. Why worry about a lousy four bucks?!"

 

"But this is coming out of my allowance!" PJ complained.

 

"No, it's not," Jack told him sarcastically. "I'm buying. Now quit bitchin' and eat!"

 

PJ giggled. "Okay."

 

After lunch, the other boys went off on their own. The moment they were gone, PJ was tugging at Jack's arm. "Come on! There's a zillion things I gotta show you."

 

"Hold on!" Jack put a hand up. "Time out. Show me all the stuff you want, but first give me a minute. This is only the second chance I've had all day to say something to you." PJ looked up eagerly. Jack wanted to talk? PJ would talk to him forever! Talking with Jack, listening to him, learning from him, just being alone with his hero, being the sole object of his attention--it was everything PJ wanted.

 

Jack hesitated a moment before saying, "PJ, you know how proud I was of all your races. But I also have to tell you again how impressed I was at the way you handled those reporters. I guess I was all worried about nothing."

This was the kind of praise PJ could never get enough of, but he shook his head. "The only reason I could do it was `cause they never asked any hard, nosy questions. I was really scared they would."

 

"Yeah. . . ." Jack gave him a wry smile. "I did take care of that. But even so, I think you really impressed them. Heck, you impressed me. Did you really mean all that crap you told those guys about me?"

 

PJ was so shocked that for an instant all he could do was stare up, open-mouthed. It was as if Jack had smacked him across the face. "'Course I did, Jack." He had to force the words out, trying to hold back tears. "Don't you mean the things you say about me?"

 

"Yeah, sure I do," Jack hastily shot back. He glanced around, took PJ by the hand, and led him to a bench where they could sit down. "Geez, PJ! How could you even think I didn't? Of course I do. You know I do, Tiger! Hey, come on." He hugged PJ's shoulders. "I didn't mean anything by that question. It's just . . . that stuff you came out with! It kinda took me by surprise. You know? And you sure as hell surprised those reporters! They had no idea what to say!"

 

Jack leaned down to look directly into PJ's face. "PJ, I mean every word of what I say to you."

 

PJ nodded and brushed at his eyes. "Jack?" he asked in a voice like a very young child's. "Jack, do you think they noticed we had on the same tie? I wanted everyone to notice."

 

"Bet your ass they noticed," Jack told him, smiling as he brushed PJ's hair with his fingertips. "I knew you'd want me to wear it, so I did."

 

Man and boy were both silent for a moment. Then Jack frowned and drummed his fingers on the bench. "Look," he said, "this clothes thing Walter was talking about. I mean, is that how they always are with you?"

 

PJ looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

 

"Well, the way they do it. I mean, Walter sits there and says 'Oh, it's April. Have PJ come to New York and we'll have him measured for clothes,' or else maybe, 'Oh, it's summer. Sign PJ up for the usual camp and send him off.'" Jack made an annoyed gesture. "It's so damned impersonal!"

 

Pausing, Jack rubbed his head and then went on, "I guess what I'm trying to get at here is . . . well . . . PJ, who takes care of you?"

 

"Lots of people," PJ said.

 

"Yeah, okay, but . . . I mean, who's really looking out for you?"

 

PJ knew how he wanted to answer that question. You, Jack. You're the one looking out for me. And I want you to look out for me always. . .

 

But he couldn't say that. Not even to Jack. Not right now. It would be too weird. So he didn't say anything.

 

Jack sighed. "PJ, in April the season will have started. I probably won't be able to get away to help you with your clothes."

 

"I can buy my own clothes," PJ reminded him.

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know that," Jack said quickly. "I know you can do that. But someone should still . . ." He sighed again, looked at his watch, smiled, and continued, "Listen, Champ, here's this big Museum and I wanna see what's in it. Where do we start?"

 

PJ jumped up. "I know where all the cool stuff is, Jack. Come on. We'll start with the dinosaurs!"

 

To PJ, the Museum of Natural History was a vast treasure house of wonders. Although he knew and liked everything in it, there were certain things he felt no one should ever be allowed to miss, and the dinosaurs topped that list. PJ loved dinosaurs. He'd been fascinated by them since he was a little kid, had read numerous books about them, and knew all their names.

 

He took Jack first to the Hall of the Brontosaurus, where they both stood in awe, gazing at the huge skeleton. "My God, look at the size of that thing!" Jack said wonderingly. "It's bigger than a house!" He turned to PJ. "You know, you see re-creations in movies like ' Jurassic Park.' But until you actually stand in front of one, you just don't feel in your gut how enormous they were!"

 

They wandered into the next hall and saw the towering skeletons of Tyrannosaurus Rex with their hideous snarling mouths filled with razor-sharp teeth. "PJ," Jack said nervously, "that damn thing has been dead for millions of years and it's still scaring me. I feel like it's looking right at me and licking its chops!"

 

PJ giggled. "Sixty-five-million years, Jack."

 

"Huh?"

 

"Sixty-five-million years," PJ repeated. "That's how long they've been dead. The dinosaurs ruled the earth for over two-hundred million years. Then they were wiped out, almost overnight, when a giant asteroid hit the planet sixty-five-million years ago."

 

"Holy cow! The ultimate disaster movie!" Jack slowly shook his head. "I don't know, PJ. All those millions of years? My brain can't get a grip on such big numbers. It quits somewhere after four hundred, which is where I wish my batting average was."

 

PJ grinned at him. "Come on."

 

He led Jack by the hand to the next hall where they admired other fossil skeletons, including Stegosaurus, which for some reason PJ had always liked, probably because of that big what he called a "shield" around its neck. Then PJ took Jack to the Hall of the Blue Whale so Jack could see the largest animal still living on the planet. "This thing's even bigger than the Brontosaurus!" Jack exclaimed as he tilted his head back, looking up at it. "I had no clue these whales were so huge!" He kept on staring until PJ tugged at his sleeve impatiently. "Come on."

 

In another of PJ's all-time favorite spots, they wandered through the exhibit on Asian Peoples where PJ gazed, fascinated, at the diorama re-creating the marketplace in Samarkand, and then spent an equal time staring at the re-creation of a hotel clerk's desk in Hong Kong. "Someday, I want to go to those places," he whispered, looking up at Jack, who stood next to him with an arm around his shoulders.

 

Downstairs, they made a quick tour of the Hall of North American Mammals, and PJ showed Jack his two favorite dioramas: the wolves and the big horn sheep. The wolves were shown hunting at night in a snowy wilderness. "You can almost feel the cold coming through the glass at you," Jack said. "It's incredible." The big horn sheep were displayed in their natural habitat, the mountains of Wyoming. "I'd love to go to Wyoming someday," PJ said.

 

"It's a beautiful state," Jack agreed.

 

"You've been there?" PJ turned, looking up at him enviously.

 

Jack nodded. "Fishing and hunting. And Jackson Hole in the winter."

 

They finished, as PJ always liked to, in the Hall of American Indians. PJ stared wistfully at dioramas depicting daily life, with children and adults eating and playing together.

 

"I wish we had time today to go across the park and see the Metropolitan Museum of Art, too," he said at last.

 

"Why's that," Jack asked quietly, struck by the longing in the boy's voice.

 

PJ half shrugged. "Oh, they just have a lot of things I like over there. There's an Egyptian tomb you can go in that's neat." He paused a moment and added, "And there's this statue I like." Jack waited, saying nothing, until PJ went on, "There's this Indian boy. He's shooting an arrow. It's like some kind of ceremony. And this old man is helping him, like teaching him or something."

 

"The Sun Vow," Jack said.

 

PJ stared up at him in astonishment. "You know that?"

 

Jack nodded. "I do. It's in the Hall of American Statuary." He put an arm around the boy. "I do know a few things. But don't tell the sportswriters that, Tiger! I'd never hear the end of it!"

 

"Sometimes I think you know everything," PJ said wonderingly. He looked up again. "Jack, it's important for kids to have someone who can teach them stuff and watch out for them, isn't it?"

 

"Very," Jack said, smiling down. "Very important, PJ."

 

It was time to go to the Planetarium. PJ and Jack made their way through the corridors, coming out into the huge glassed-in expanse of the new wing where PJ's coach, looking harassed, was getting everyone together so they could go through the turnstiles into the Planetarium exhibits as a group.

 

"Where's Douglas and Hutchinson?" he demanded, holding up the clipboard PJ had given him at Christmas.

 

"I'll get `em, Coach B." Randy, the unofficial team captain helping with the round-up, gave PJ a grin as he went by, saying, "I got ya' checked off, buddy!"

 

There were several minutes of confusion, but eventually the team was assembled and passing through the turnstiles. Jack and PJ joined the end of the line. The ticket-taker, seeing Jack and PJ walk up together, thought they were separate from the group, and noticing that man and boy were wearing the same tie, made a natural mistake.

 

"How old is your son, sir?"

 

"What?" Jack said, startled.

 

The elderly man smiled. "How old is your son?" He pointed to a sign by the ticket counter. "If he's twelve or under, he gets in at half-price."

 

"Oh." Jack nodded and gestured at the boys ahead of them. "We're with this group."

 

"That's fine," the man said, waving them through.

 

Tingling with excitement, PJ went past the ticket gate and took Jack's hand again, wishing the moment could last forever. It was all just as he had imagined! The Red Sox ties! When people saw them together, both wearing the same ties, of course they thought . . . It was so perfect! Someday Jack would . . .

 

"PJ?"

 

He looked up and every happy thought vanished. Jack was frowning. That was no good! Jack hadn't liked what the old man had said!

 

"PJ, I know you told me this once already, but how old are you?"

 

Fear knotted PJ's stomach. It isn't time to do this yet. It's too soon! Jack might get really mad! "Eleven," he whispered, barely able to force the word out. He stood there, looking up, clinging to Jack's hand. Don't ask, Jack! Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask . . .

 

"Eleven, huh? So, when's your birthday?"

 

PJ was too terrified to answer. Jack's gonna be mad! He won't like it that I haven't told him. He's gonna walk away. I'll never see him again! The thought was so awful PJ started to shake.

 

"PJ, what's wrong?" Jack asked in a worried tone. He took the boy to a bench where PJ's knees almost buckled before he could sit down.

 

Desperately, PJ gathered his courage. This is Jack! he told himself, tightening his fists. He's your friend! You can tell Jack anything and he'll understand! He'll find out someday anyway. Now or later, you'll have to tell him!

 

"September seventh," PJ whispered softly.

 

"What?" In his concern over PJ's sudden distress, Jack had forgotten the question.

"September seventh," PJ whispered again. "That's when my birthday is."

 

Jack stared. "September seventh! That was my. . ."

 

"Don't be mad, Jack," PJ begged. "Please?" He took Jack's hand. "It's not my fault!"

 

But the man didn't appear to be listening. For a few moments, while PJ waited with his heart pounding, Jack was silent, looking off into space. Then he frowned, shook his head, and his eyes focused on PJ again. "What?"

 

"Don't be mad at me, Jack."

 

"Mad at you?" Jack shook his head again. "Why should I be mad at you?" With a sigh, he gently ruffled PJ's blond hair. "I'm not mad at you, Little Champ. You just sort of surprised me again, that's all." He gazed around. "This is some place." Afternoon sunlight was streaming through the huge glass walls. Above them loomed the enormous globe of the Planetarium Theater. "What are the good things to see here?"

 

Relief went over PJ like a wave. Jack wasn't mad! "I don't know," he answered. "I've never seen all this new stuff."

 

"Well, let's do some exploring." Jack stood up and PJ did, too. He was still shaky, but it was over! Jack knew about him having the same birthday as his son--and he wasn't mad!

 

When they started walking, PJ kept a hand on Jack's arm, leaning as close as he dared, wanting to be certain of Jack's reassuring presence. His heart was thudding as if he'd just finished a race. He'd been right on the edge of having one of his "weird's! Jack would hate that! After taking a careful breath, PJ began looking around, trying to act as if nothing had happened.

 

They went past a wall of beautiful photographs; colorful pictures of stars, nebulae, and vast galaxies that'd been taken by the Hubble Space Telescope. PJ stared at them from the safety of Jack's side. Then came an exhibit that drove all thought of recent worries out of his head. Meteors! Real ones! Enormous rounded chunks of dull, black metal that had smashed into the Earth from outer space! PJ was instantly fascinated. Several of the huge things stood higher than his head. All were slagged, scarred, and pitted by their fiery passage through the atmosphere. And they were not behind glass or a chain, but right there where you could walk around, get close as close as you wanted--even touch them! Standing next to Jack, PJ examined pictures, reading the captions that explained how the meteors had been found in Greenland. More pictures described the famous expedition that had brought the enormous objects back by ship to New York.

 

"Says here they were parts of a real big one that busted up as it came down," Jack said, reading over his shoulder. "Good thing it didn't do a number like that bast . . . ahem . . . that one you say whacked the dinosaurs, or we'd all be in trouble!" PJ looked up at him with a grin. He'd been keeping tight hold of Jack's arm, but now he let go to walk over and smooth a palm on the cold hard surface of the largest meteor. He poked his fist into one of the holes that riddled its surface. "This was once out in space," he whispered in awe.

 

There were lots more exhibits. PJ gazed in wonder at pictures sent back by the many explorer satellites. He particularly liked the giant model of the solar system because he could show off by naming all the planets and moons. Nearby were scales that told what your weight would on the other planets. PJ tried all of them. "Look, Jack! If I were on the moon, I'd be less than fifteen pounds. You could throw me like a football!" Then on the one for Jupiter. "Wow! Six-thousand pounds! I'd be squished into my shoes!"

 

It seemed in no time at all it was their turn to enter the great sky theater for the show. PJ gasped in amazement at the huge, domed amphitheater with its graceful, spidery star projector in the center. "This is awesome!" he told Jack while they found seats. Gradually, the lights dimmed as one-by-one, the stars of the winter night appeared on the dome above them. When it became completely dark, the starry spectacle of the night sky glittered in all its breathtaking majesty. The Milky Way was a pale band stretching across it!

 

"This is how the sky looks at night in Wyoming," Jack whispered.

 

The lecturer for the show directed attention to different stars with a laser pointer, and PJ could often whisper to Jack the names before the man identified them. He listened raptly as the lecturer interspersed facts with the stories of the constellations. Then the great computer-controlled projector in the center of the auditorium took the sky back through time, showing the star field it as it had been when the sun was newborn and the earth was just being formed. After that, they traveled ahead, billions of years into the future to see the sky as it would be when the sun died. PJ felt as if he were floating through time and space. When the lights finally came slowly back up, it was like waking from an incredible dream.

 

"That was so unbelievably cool!" he said to Jack as they walked back out to the exhibit area. "I wish we could stay for a week at this place!"

 

"Next time I visit, I hope we get a clear night," Jack told him. "I bet we could see a lot of stars from that hill where you guys snowboard."

 

"Yeah!" PJ said excitedly. "Let's do that, Jack! For sure! When you come next time!"

 

In the Planetarium gift shop, Jack bought him a star guide they could use for a night expedition to the Hill. "This will be so neat!" PJ exclaimed, and he looked around and found a few other things he liked. Jack bought him a Planetarium tee shirt, a book on astronomy, and a colorful poster of one of the Hubble Space Telescope pictures. "Thanks Jack," PJ beamed. He had never had anyone buy him stuff like this before and it felt wonderful!

 

After looking at all the exhibits and finishing their shopping, Jack took PJ outside to the bus and went over to exchange a few words with Coach Bernard. After he came back he asked, "Would you mind if I rode back to school with you, PJ?"

 

"That'd be great, Jack!" But then PJ had a worried second thought. "Won't it be kind of a lot of trouble for you getting back home?"

 

"You let me worry about that." Jack smiled at him. "I don't mind a little trouble if it means I get to spend more time with you." PJ was practically glowing as they got on the bus. He sat next to his hero and turned the pages of the astronomy book, talking eagerly about the pictures while Jack kept nodding his head, making an occasional comment.

 

It was dark by the time the bus took them through heavy traffic across the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey. They stopped at a steakhouse not far from the Meadowlands sports complex where Coach Bernard announced, "All out for dinner!"

"Ah, steak!" Jack said hungrily. "I note that, as usual, you guys are going first-class. If this were the Minor Leagues we'd be stopping at Popeye's." PJ giggled with delight.

 

"Come on," Jack told him. "I don't believe you can eat a whole steak. I want to see you prove it." "You'll see," said PJ with a grin.

 

Everyone had a big appetite after their exciting day, and the boys all had plenty to fill their bellies. PJ devoured an entire sirloin steak, accompanying it with French fries, salad, and two helpings of ice cream with chocolate sauce. He smiled triumphantly at Jack. "See? The whole steak."

 

"I've never seen anyone eat like you, PJ," Jack kidded. "I think you must have a tapeworm."

 

"No I don't!" PJ said in mock disgust. "I'm just growing, that's all."

 

"Is there any food you don't like?" Jack asked, trying to keep a straight face. "If there is any, I bet it's a short list." He broke into a grin.

 

"Um-m-m, let me think. . . ." PJ screwed up his face. "Eels," he finally told him. "I don't like eels."

 

"When the hell did you ever have eels?"

 

PJ shook his head. "I haven't. But I know I wouldn't like them."

 

"How `bout fried monkey brains, or sheep's-eye soup, or boiled cockroaches?" Jack asked, laughing.

 

PJ tried to look thoughtful, but could barely conceal a smirk. "I'd have to try them first."

 

After they had gotten back on the bus and were rolling along the Interstate, PJ leaned against Jack and got comfortable. "Jack?" he asked. "How do you know so much?"

 

"Oh, I guess I read a lot."

 

"I love to read," PJ told him. "I think it's the best. You can go right into a different world with a book."

 

Jack nodded. "That's why I like it."

 

PJ explained to Jack how he was reading all the sports books by the man who had written The Kid Who Only Hit Homers. "They're short, so they don't take too long. I just finished a really great one about this boy who runs away from a foster home and races dirt bikes."

 

"My friend will be very happy to know how much you enjoy his books," Jack said.

 

"Do you really know him?"

 

"Yes, I really do."

 

"That's so cool, Jack, the way you know everybody."

 

"Well, I don't know everybody," Jack said, "but I do get to meet a lot of people."

 

"Do you meet a lot of kids?"

 

"Sure," Jack answered. "All kinds. Mostly at games and appearances. Plus the Red Sox have a special charity for very sick children and I sometimes go visit them in the hospitals."

 

PJ had a sudden uncomfortable thought. "You don't know any other kids like me, do you?"

 

"No, PJ," Jack said reassuringly. "None like you."

 

The boy was quiet for a while and Jack watched his eyes begin to close. Then they opened again.

 

"Tired?" Jack asked.

 

"Kinda, I guess," PJ said. "But I don't wanna be tired, Jack. I wanna talk with you."

 

"That's why I'm here," Jack told him. "So you can talk."

 

"Jack?" PJ asked.

 

"What, PJ?"

 

"Jack, I might not be so good in baseball as I am in swimming. You won't mind that, will you?"

 

"No, PJ," Jack assured him. "As long as you're having fun and trying to do your best, I'll always be proud of you."

 

"Thanks, Jack." PJ's eyes began to close again. He pulled his legs up onto his seat and curled up with his head in Jack's lap. Jack gently stroked his shoulder.

 

"Jack?" PJ said dreamily. "How long were you in the Minors?"

 

"Just about three years, PJ."

 

"Was that when your little boy was born?"

 

Jack nodded. "Yes, he was almost two when I came up to the Majors."

 

"When you're boy was little, did he wet his bed?"

 

"Yes. Most boys do that."

 

"I used to do it a lot," PJ said sleepily. "I don't now, but sometimes I still worry that I will."

 

"You're all right now," Jack soothed.

PJ was quiet for a bit and then said, "I did good today, didn't I, Jack?"

 

Jack stroked his shoulder. "You're my Little Champ."

 

That was all PJ needed to hear. He slept the rest of the way back to Pennsylvania, and as the bus rolled steadily along the Interstate, most of the other boys dropped off to sleep too, or sat talking very quietly. Jack held PJ safely in his lap, keeping him steady on the long sweeping turns. When they finally left the highway, exiting onto secondary roads, PJ stirred, pulled his head up, and rubbed his hands down the front of his pants, checking to see if they were dry. Jack bent down and said gently, "You're okay PJ. Everything's fine." The boy sighed deeply and went back to sleep.

 

He woke again as the bus turned into the School driveway. This time he aroused himself, looking around in confusion. "Where are we?"

 

"We just came through your School gates," Jack told him.

 

"Already?"

 

"Yup. Already."

 

"You let me go to sleep," PJ accused.

 

"Just for awhile," Jack assured him. "We had a good talk first."

 

They stopped near the House Quad and unloaded everyone. PJ was almost sleepwalking as Jack gathered up his swim bag with all the purchases from the Planetarium. Mr. Williamson was still up waiting for the team members from his House to get back. He met them at the door, looking at Jack in surprise. "I decided to keep him company for the return trip," Jack explained.

 

"Jack, go upstairs with me," PJ said sleepily.

 

Putting PJ's swim bag and the rest of the things in one hand, Jack stooped and swept PJ up with the other, steadying him against his shoulder. "Let's get you to bed, Champ." He mounted the stairs easily and carried the half-dozing boy to his room. Erik was already in bed, asleep.

 

"Jack!" Erik woke when the room light came on and sat up in alarm. "Is PJ okay?"

 

"He's fine," Jack assured him. "We've just had a long day."

 

"Erik, I did all my best times," PJ mumbled to his roommate over Jack's shoulder.

 

"I knew you would, PJ."

 

With help from Jack, PJ got undressed and into his pajamas. Then he went down the hall to brush his teeth in the bathroom. When he came back, Jack was sitting on his bed telling Erik about the sky show at the Planetarium. "It's incredibly real. Just like being out under the stars up in the mountains."

 

"The basketball team gets to go next week," Erik said excitedly. "I can't wait!"

 

"You all set, Tiger?" Jack asked, getting to his feet as PJ came in. He went to the door and was about to turn off the room light when PJ stopped him. Erik reached across from his bed to switch on the little night light on his roommate's stand, explaining, "He likes to have this on, Jack."

 

"Sure. That's okay." Jack smiled down at PJ and leaned over to pick the boy up just the way PJ had seen Bill do with Erik. Without even thinking, PJ wrapped arms around Jack's neck, feeling warm, safe, and very happy. Jack turned off the room light, leaving just the glow of PJ's lamp, and slipped the boy beneath the bedcovers. Reluctantly letting go, PJ begged, words slurring, "Read to us, Jack. . ."

 

"It's much too late for that, PJ," Jack softly objected. "I think Erik's already falling back asleep, and you need to do the same."

 

"Hey, I'm not asleep yet," Erik whispered. "Please read us something."

 

Jack sighed. "Okay, but no books. It's too late. I'll give you some poetry instead." He sat down on the chair by PJ's desk, thought for a moment, and then started:

 

"Listen my children, and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.

On the eighteenth of April in seventy-five . . . hardly a man is now alive

To remember that famous day and year . . ."

 

The two boys lay in their beds, listening, trying their very best to stay awake. When Jack had finished the poem, PJ begged, "Another one, Jack. That was good."

 

"Yeah," agreed Erik. "That was great."

 

"Oh, man. . . ." Jack sighed again, rubbing his chin. "Okay, guys. Let's try this." He stared up at the ceiling and then started in a soft voice,

 

"On the road to Mandalay, where the flying fishes play . . ."

 

He recited the poem slowly, half chanting the words--and that did the trick. The boys' eyelids drooped, then closed. They were both asleep before he got halfway through. Jack let his words trail off, sat watching the two boys for a moment, and then working quietly, used paper and a pen from PJ's desk to write a note:

 

Little Champ – Keep these safe for me. I've never been prouder of anyone than I was of you today. Next time I come let's use that star chart. Never stop going for the gold, PJ! Your friend -- Jack Canon

 

Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he drew out PJ's ribbon and medals, left them with the note on the desk, then tiptoed out of the room, and shut the door.

 

* * *

 

As Jack went down the stairs, he met Mr. Williamson coming up. The older man smiled at him. "Thought I'd check and see how you were doing."

 

"They're both sawing wood," Jack told him. The two men started back down the stairs together.

 

"The kid's something else," Jack said, and told the Housemaster about PJ's races, his swimming success, and the reporters. "You should have seen him. He had those guys eating out of his hand. And they were experienced sports reporters, too. The best in the world."

 

"Yes, he knows how to get himself liked," Mr. Williamson observed.

 

Jack went on to tell him about the visit to the Museum. "He knows the name of every plant, animal, mineral, and fossil in that place. He gave me a tour better than you could get from one of their guides. And in the Planetarium, he knew the names of all the stars. Rattled them right off before the lecturer did."

 

Mr. Williamson nodded. "Well, that's no surprise. None of us here really know all the things that boy does or thinks. As you must have noticed, Mr. Canon, both PJ and Erik are very intelligent kids. PJ in particular has a mind that soaks up knowledge like a sponge. It's been easy to teach him things here."

 

"Yeah, and he reads even more than I do!"

 

"Mmm. . . . Yes, he does as you say read a lot. I hope it will gratify you to know, Mr. Canon, that since Christmas both I and his masters--you would call them his teachers--have noticed that PJ has been unusually happy and cheerful. We all hope this keeps up."

 

Jack looked at him. "Well that's good to know."

 

"Has he confided in you about any more things?"

 

"Well,"--Jack paused--"yeah, I guess in a way he has. Not much, but he said some things I couldn't talk about without violating his confidences."

 

Mr. Williamson held up a hand. "No, I agree. You mustn't talk of it. Unless . . ."--he gave Jack an inquisitive look--". . . unless it was something that worried you? Something unusual? Or dangerous?"

 

When Jack shook his head, the Housemaster sighed and then went on, "Well, I hope eventually PJ talks about a lot of things with you, Mr. Canon. You see, most of my colleagues don't share this view, but I think the boy is carrying around more of a burden than we think."

 

"Yeah, well, maybe." Jack frowned and then asked, "Listen, if you don't mind, when's PJ's birthday?"

 

Mr. Williamson thought for a moment. "PJ will be twelve on the seventh of September."

"Ah." For a few moments Jack was silent while he stared off into space. Then he turned to smile at the housemaster. "Well, okay, just thought I'd check. I'll make a note of it so I can get him something. Look, I wonder if I could use your phone. I need to call a taxi."

 

The words were said calmly, but as Mr. Williamson led the way to his telephone, it seemed to him that Jack Canon was preoccupied by something more than just a need for transportation. . .

 

* * *

 

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT TEN

 

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