Date: Sun, 29 Mar 2015 13:41:41 -0400
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: INSTALLMENT TWENTY of "THE FATHER CONTRACT"

INSTALLMENT TWENTY
from

THE FATHER CONTRACT
by

Arthur J. Arrington

Edited Paul K. Scott

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

Chapter Forty: "Little Jack"

As spring went on, PJ continued to send e-mails to Jack almost every day,
finding that he had plenty to write about. He and Erik completed a joint
project on New York City's Holland Tunnel, having found information about
it on the Internet just as Erik had predicted. PJ also wrote a theme for
English about people who'd climbed or parachuted off the Trade Center after
he'd discovered an article on the web about a man who'd tight-rope walked a
cable stretched between the Twin Towers.

PJ's music teacher also had him learning a supporting violin part for a
spring recital. "It's hard," he wrote Jack. "We're going to try and play
Dvorak's American Quartet. I'm not that good yet, but it will be fun to
try, and I'm going to do my best."

Billy got on a coach-pitch baseball team, and PJ and Erik sneaked off
campus to watch some of his games. "Billy is playing different positions,
but he likes shortstop or third-base best," PJ told Jack. "He says for me
to tell you 'Hi Jack' every time I see him."

But the big news, day after day, continued to be the Middle School baseball
team. PJ always told Jack how he was doing.

"I am getting better at seeing the ball when it's hit towards me in the
outfield. It's like you said, anticipateng where it will land takes
practice. Fly balls to me are still an adventure but I'm starting to get
most of them. My throwing is much better also.  Wall ball has helped me a
lot. I think that is why my fielding got good enough to make the team. We
still do wall ball every day just like you showed me. Hitting is still my
best thing.  Jack, I am getting lots of hits. Since the one at Riverside
I've gotten more singles, plus another double, plus a triple against Warren
school, and they are good. But we lost any way. I wish our coach could get
our team to play more like a team. I think we would do better. Coach Lewis,
who works with us subs, is better at it. You would like him. He first got
me into the games for at least an inning, sometimes two, but now it's
mostly three because of my better hitting. Hey, maybe some day I will hit a
home run just like you!  Erik is doing good also and says to say hi. We are
the only 11 year olds on the team.  All the other kids are 12 or 13, and
they are good, but so is Erik, and I'm doing fine.  Write soon.  Your
friend, PJ"

Jack did send e-mails: usually every week, and on occasion twice in the
same week. None of the messages were very long, but there was always a
comment or two on what PJ had written and often some lines about Jack's
most recent game. The Red Sox were continuing to play well; they led their
rivals, the Yankees, by four games in their Division, so all of Jack's
notes were upbeat. Sometimes they even included advice. When PJ told Jack
that he and Erik were competing against each other to see who could get the
highest batting average and RBIs, Jack e-mailed back,

"It's okay to push each other by competing, but be sure to do it in a
friendly way.  Remember, you are roommates and teammates.  Your friendship
and your team are more important than who has the highest average.  If you
both knock in a lot of runs, you both win.  Be supportive of each other and
all the rest of the players on your team.  Jack"

PJ and Erik did encourage each other. And because of them, the team subs
were a spirited group who always practiced hard and had fun. Even those
thirteen-year-olds who'd been subs all three years and weren't very good
caught their enthusiasm. But the Gordonsville team as a whole had its ups
and downs. They only won about half their games and PJ was surprised by
some of the losses. "There's no way we should have lost to that team!" he
complained to Erik one day after a particularly frustrating game. "We beat
them in swimming and in basketball this winter!"

"It's the starters," Erik grumbled. "They don't stick together. When one of
them makes a mistake, all the rest bitch at him instead of helping. And
then Coach Bates yells at them."

"Yeah," PJ agreed. "It's just like Jack says. That doesn't work."

The team was hurt even more when one of the best starters quit. PJ had
never known the older boy that well, but as soon as he heard about it, he
sought him out, stopping his former teammate to talk to him when he saw him
coming out of the Dining Hall. "Why did you quit?" PJ asked, appealing to
him. "You're one of our best guys."

"Aw, I just got tired of it," the older boy said. "We do the same thing in
practice all the time and the coach doesn't play me in the positions I
like. Besides, this team isn't going anywhere."

"We can still make the Tournament," PJ protested.

"Not if we keep losing like we have. Anyways, I need more time for
studying." With that, the boy stalked off and left PJ standing on the
sidewalk.

This defection from the team's lineup had a surprisingly positive effect
for PJ and Erik. A starting outfielder was moved to the infield, so they
both began to see more playing time. "I guess it's not all bad," Erik
remarked, "but we sure could use that guy!"

The team was still in turmoil over this loss in the week when they were
scheduled to play against Franklyn Prep, Travis' school. Travis, PJ, and
Erik e-mailed each other almost every day, so Travis knew all about their
trouble and he messaged:

"You may wish that you still had your good player when you come down here.
We have a few good kids on our team this year and they have been winning
some games.  (Too bad they weren't swimmers, too!).  We also have a track
meet the same day against you that I will be in so I might only see part of
your game.  Are all you guys coming on the same bus?  How is Erik's high
jumping?  Mine is really doing well.  I guess cause I have grown so much
this year.  See ya soon little bros!  Trav."

Erik, who was running track and high-jumping on the House intramural team
in addition to playing baseball, frequently e-mailed Travis about his
latest times and jumps. "I hope we get to watch him compete, PJ," he
said. "But I bet our game and his meet are going to be happening at the
same time."

"It's gonna be a busy day," PJ agreed. "Bill's coming, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Erik said, grinning happily. "I really, really like it when he
comes to see me play. I always seem to do good when he's there."

"I wonder if the track team and the baseball team will go on the same bus?"

"I doubt it," Erik said. "There's too many of us."

Two days before the Saturday of that Franklyn Prep game, PJ got an e-mail
from Jack. He sat straight up in his chair when he read the first few
lines. "Erik!" he cried. "Jack's coming! He's gonna be at our game!"

"You mean Saturday?" Erik scrambled over to look at the message, nearly
tripping on a leg of his chair. "Oh, cool!"

"We're gonna have a cheering section!" PJ exclaimed in delight. "Bill,
Jack, Travis, Travis' coach! This is gonna be fun! It's too bad the game's
not here. Then we could have Billy and Billy's dad, too!"

"Why shouldn't they come?" Erik asked him. "It's far, but not that
far. Let's call them and see if they wanna go. Billy's dad and mine like
hanging out with Jack."

"Everyone likes Jack," PJ said proudly. They ran downstairs and Erik called
Billy's house.

"Where's the game?" Mr. Thatcher asked. After Erik gave him all the
information, adding that Jack would be coming too, Mr. Thatcher announced
with gusto, "We'll be there! We'll come over and follow your bus down. This
is will work out great!" While he was saying that, Erik could hear Billy
shouting excitedly in the background.

PJ's roommate was grinning happily at him as he hung up the phone. "Now we
really have a cheering section!"

"And Billy will get a chance to meet Travis," PJ told him. "I bet he'll
like him."

The game at Franklyn Prep was not an overnight, so they prepared to leave
early on Saturday morning in two team buses, one for the track squad and
another for the baseball players. Behind them several cars and vans were
lined up, ready to form a caravan. Mr. Thatcher was not the only one who
was going to follow the buses down.

When PJ and Erik arrived with their bags, lots of boys were milling around
outside the Field House, and above all the excited shouting and laughing,
they heard a little voice call out. "PJ! Erik!" A small form emerged from
the crowd, hurtling at them like an NFL tackler. "Hey, Billy!" the boys
laughed. They both picked him up and pounded him on the back. Billy was
wearing his complete baseball uniform, right down to pants and little
baseball shoes. "I wanna show Jack," he told PJ.

After hastily conferring with Mr. Thatcher and getting his approval, PJ and
Erik smuggled Billy onto the team bus, picking a moment when none of the
coaches were looking, and headed straight to the back where they could be
out of the way. "My little brother," PJ told everyone. Erik cautioned the
young boy, "Keep it quiet. Try not to get noticed," and Billy giggled
happily.

The bus ride to Philadelphia went quickly because they had so much
fun. PJ's and Erik's friends made visits, sneaking into the back so they
could meet Billy, everyone trying to contain their laughter to avoid
attention when they told jokes. There was only one "bad" moment. They were
all busy looking out the window collecting license-plate numbers and didn't
notice Coach Lewis coming down the aisle. When he loudly cleared his
throat, PJ, Erik, and Billy turned their heads, to find him looking down at
them with a stern expression.

"Hi!" said Billy, smiling up brightly.

"Okay, guys," Coach Lewis said. "Who's this?"

"Ummmm, he's my little brother, Coach," PJ told him hesitantly.

"Yeah," Erik added, trying an ingratiating smile. "He's kinda like our
good-luck mascot, Coach."

"Uh-huh." Coach Lewis glanced toward the front where the head coach was
sitting. "Just keep him out of sight. And PJ, we'll talk about this later."
With that, he turned and walked back up to his seat next to Coach Bates.

PJ looked at Erik. "Oops. That was close!"

"Are we in trouble?" Billy asked, looking wide-eyed from one boy to the
other.

Erik shook his head. "Naw. Coach Lewis is okay."

"Billy, when we get there, you're gonna to get to meet Travis," PJ said to
distract his small buddy.

"Who's Travis?" Billy asked, immediately interested.

"He's our big brother, just like you're our little brother," Erik told
him. "And that means you're his little brother too."

"He's thirteen," PJ explained. "You'll like him. He's about the nicest kid
you'll ever meet."

"Not as nice as you and Erik, I bet," Billy loyally declared.

"He is, I promise," Erik assured him. "He's really neat. He's a swimmer and
he runs track."

"Yup. Wait and see, Billy," PJ added. "I know he'll like you. He has a
friend who's his coach who's real nice too."

"If we get a chance, we're gonna all cheer for him at the track meet," Erik
said.

"I'll cheer for him," Billy promised.

The Gordonsville caravan reached Philadelphia just before eleven, and when
they pulled up at Franklyn, there were already a few people waiting. Two of
them were Travis and Coach Drew. "There he is, Billy!" PJ pointed. "That's
Travis. See, he's waving. Hi, Trav!"

Erik, PJ, and Travis had an excited reunion on the sidewalk, shaking hands
and patting each other on the back. "Travis," PJ told him, "meet our little
brother, Billy. Billy this is Travis."

"Hi," Billy shyly said.

"Hi, Billy." With a smile, Travis crouched down and took Billy's hand. "PJ
and Erik have told me all about you. I hope you'll be my little brother
too."

"Okay," Billy agreed, smiling back.

Once Mr. Thatcher joined their group, PJ introduced him to Coach
Drew. "Travis and the boys are going over to eat in the cafeteria," the
coach told Billy's dad. "Why don't you and Billy come with me and I'll show
you a good spot for lunch."

"Wait, PJ said, grabbing Coach Drew's arm. He was trying to conceal his
excitement. Deliberately he hadn't e-mailed Travis the big news, and now he
couldn't wait to spring it! "Guess who's comin' to the game today?"

But he just couldn't resist teasing first. "Erik's dad. Bill's gonna be
here."

"Hey, that's great!" Coach Drew exclaimed. But Travis, his eyes on PJ's
face, had already guessed that the "who's comin'" was someone far more
important.

"PJ? PJ, is . . . ?"

"Someone else will be here too," PJ told him, grinning from ear to ear.

"I knew it!  I knew it! Jack! Jack's comin'!" Travis held out a fist for PJ
to tap. "Oh, wow! PJ, that's fantastic!"

"Oh, yeah," Coach Drew said, laughing. Trying to pull the wool over my
eyes, huh, young man? If Jack's here, there'll be quite a stir!" He turned
to Mr. Thatcher, who was chuckling, and both men nodded. "Trav," Coach Drew
went on, "you and these boys better eat something and get yourselves ready
to go before the show starts."

"The rest of us will keep an eye out for Jack and your dad, Erik,"
Mr. Thatcher told him.

"I doubt we'll have any trouble knowing when Jack gets here," Coach Drew
added with another chuckle.

"Yeah," Travis said, "he's gonna get mobbed!" He turned to PJ and
Erik. "C'mon, guys."

"Daddy," Billy was tugging at his father's arm. "I wanna go with PJ."

"Let the boys get ready for their game," Mr. Thatcher told him, placing an
arm around his son. "You stick with us for now and help us watch for
Jack. He's gonna want to see you in your uniform when he gets here."

"Yeah!" The boy's face brightened at that and he waved to his friends as
they walked off.

PJ, Erik, and Travis waited together while Coach Bates finished talking
with a Franklyn Prep staff member who'd met their bus. Then the
Gordondonsville team was taken over to the cafeteria for lunch, with Travis
tagging along to keep his two friends company. "It's the same food as the
last time you were here," he told them, laughing. "It hasn't gotten any
better."

They all sat together, sharing the same table while they ate, eagerly
exchanging their experiences since the Swimming Championships in March,
with a chance now to cover all the things they hadn't been able to include
in the many e-mails they'd been exchanging with each other. Travis related
details of a trip he and Coach Drew had taken to a regional swimming meet,
and he listened with interest to PJ and Erik's description of their
adventure with Jack in New York. Finally, Erik told him about PJ's Spring
Break with the Red Sox.

"Geez, PJ," Travis exclaimed, "I didn't know you'd done all that stuff! You
hardly said anything about it in your messages."

"He's modest," Erik said, laughing. "If it was anyone else I wouldn't
believe him. But PJ never lies. Except when he's trying to hide something
from me," he added, looking sarcastically at his friend.

PJ turned red. "It wasn't all that big a deal."

"Are you kidding?" Travis protested. "It's incredible! Batting practice in
Fenway with the Sox? I can't imagine it!" After looking thoughtfully at PJ
for a moment, he went on, "You know what? I bet Jack didn't have any
problem getting them to do that for you. I bet they wanted to do it because
they liked you. You're just a really great person, Little Bro."

"Come on, Travis," PJ said, turning even redder.

"I mean it, PJ"

"Boy oh boy, Big Brother, you've done it now," Erik told him. "I mean, I
like him too, but if you keep telling him stuff like that, he's not fit to
live with. Give me a break!"

They all laughed.

Travis looked at the clock. "I better start getting ready for my meet. I'm
in the 440 hurdles, the high jump, and one of the relays. Come over if you
can, guys. I can use all the support you can give me. This track stuff is
pretty darn tough. We'll be in the field across the street from your
game. Tell Jack. It's so-o-o awesome that he's gonna be here!"

"We'll try and come over," PJ promised. "For at least some of your
events. And I know Jack will.  I'm sure he'll want to see you."

"I'll try to get over to your game, too," Travis said. "Good luck, Little
Brothers."

They all touched fists, Travis left, and PJ walked with Erik went to a
table where some of the other subs were finishing up their lunches. "My
friend Travis says they have a few good players, guys," PJ told them.
"This game could get interesting."

"We're gonna win, though," Erik declared confidently. "Because we're
better."

"We beat 'em in football," PJ started . . .

"We beat 'em in basketball," Erik said . . .

"Killed 'em in swimming," PJ continued . . .

"And we'll beat 'em today!" the other subs finished loudly. Heads turned
all through the cafeteria as the boys high-fived each other.

"Just don't get hit in the head by any fly balls today, PJ," Erik teased
his friend.

"Oh man!" groaned PJ in exasperation. Then he cracked up the whole group by
calling out "Seven!"

This was a joke PJ and Erik had invented at the beginning of the season,
assigning numbers to all the excuses outfielders gave for missing fly
balls. Excuse number one was "I lost it in the sun," and there were others
ranging from "It was over my head" to "I thought the other fielder had it."
There had originally been six standard excuses, but during batting practice
a week before, PJ had nearly gotten creamed by a fly ball while he'd been
talking to Coach Lewis instead of watching the batter. Erik had gleefully
added a number seven to the excuse list: "I was talking to the coach," and
had been having fun yanking PJ's chain ever since.

"My idiot roommate's never gonna let me live that down," PJ complained to
all the grinning faces around the table.

A few rows away, the coaches were getting up from their places, so the
players all turned in their trays of dirty dishes and followed them across
the campus to a building with an old locker room in the basement. It was
different from where PJ had been for the swim meet. He and Erik took
side-by-side lockers to change into their uniforms and after that wait for
the adults.

Coach Lewis came into the locker room with a clipboard, gesturing for the
team to gather around him. "Here's the lineup and the substitutions, guys."
When he started reading off names, PJ was startled to hear his own read
earlier than he expected. He looked up in surprise. He was batting seventh
and starting in right field! I never start. It's Erik who always starts! He
was going to start in right field, the same position Jack played. And
Jack's gonna be right here to watch me play! An' it's not a dream!

"Hey, all right!" Erik whispered next to him. He gave PJ's arm a soft
punch.

Erik's name was called out as PJ's substitute and PJ whispered excitedly,
"We'll both play half the game, Erik!" He grinned at his roommate. "Hey,
bet I get more hits."

"Not!" Erik said, grinning back. They high-fived.

Coach Lewis finished his announcements. "Okay, guys, let's go out and get
warmed up. And be careful crossing the street!" He warned, "This is a city
and the streets do have cars! PJ, I need to see you. He grabbed his young
player by the shoulder and gave him a stern look, tempered by the hint of a
smile. About your, uh, 'little brother.' I'll just pretend I didn't see him
on the bus, okay? But you owe me one!"

"Thanks, Coach," replied PJ.

"Yeah, well . . ." The young man gave PJ's butt a pat. "I heard someone
might be here for the game today. An' nobody hustles more in practice. So
you can impress that someone and pay me back at the same time, okay?"

"Right, Coach." PJ followed his teammates out of the locker room determined
to play the game of his life! What a great guy Coach Lewis was!

The Gordonsville players all trooped over to the field, their plastic
cleats making a "clacking" sound on the pavement. Once past the bleachers,
PJ could see that the field was a nice one with a grass infield diamond
that was perfectly groomed and limed. Numerous spectators were already
gathering in the stands. Over by the edge of the bleachers on the
left-field side, a mob of people were all looking at something in their
midst. "Uh Oh, PJ," Erik said, seeing the people waving pieces of paper and
yelling and pushing, "guess who's here!"

"It's Jack!" PJ cried.

The two boys ran over to the fence beyond the dugout. "Jack! Jack!" PJ
called, but he couldn't make himself heard over all the noise.

"Come on, PJ," Erik said, pulling him away. "We might as well warm
up. He'll be awhile. You know how that goes."

They played catch on the sideline to warm up their arms, and then went into
the outfield to shag some fly balls that Coach Lewis hit for them. They
were playing pepper with a few others when they heard a voice from the
fence calling them.

"Hey Erik, PJ! Over here!"

They turned their heads. Bill, with Jack right next to him, was standing at
the other side of the fence. Bill was waving and Jack was surrounded by a
group of kids that were swarming about, most of them black, all from the
local neighborhood. "Jack!" PJ yelled. He ran over and looked up, eyes
shining.

The big, rangy man gazed at him fondly. "Here I am, Little Champ. I told
you I'd get to one of your games." His smile turned to a big grin. "Come
here, Tiger." He reached over the fence, put his big hands on PJ's sturdy
shoulders, and stared down at the boy, shaking his head in wonder. "Oh
man!" he exclaimed softly. "Don't you look great in that uniform. PJ, I
know you love football, and you're a champion swimmer. But there's
something about seeing you in that uniform, playing baseball for your
school, that gets to me. PJ, I'm so damn proud of you!"

PJ thought he would die of happiness right there on the field. His knees
actually began to weaken. He had to grab on to one of Jack's hands and hang
on to the fence for a moment to keep from falling. If it weren't for the
chain link barrier in the way, he would have hurled himself into Jack's
arms then and there no matter how many kids were watching! He stared up at
Jack adoringly, his eyes brightened with pride. "Jack, I'm starting in
right field. The same position as you! And I'm batting seventh!"

"I know you'll do well, Little Champ," Jack said, his big hands squeezing
PJ's shoulders. "You always do. You're one of the great ones."

"I will, Jack," PJ promised.

"Hey, Jack!" Among the crowd of youngsters milling around Jack, clamoring
for attention, was a small dark boy jammed in by the older ones against the
fence. Jack now ignored him along with all the rest while he greeted Erik,
wishing him luck. But the little kid kept yelling, pointing at PJ. "Jack!
Who 'dis kid? He your son? Hey!" he announce to all the other kids. "Dat
Jack's son!"

"Jack got no son," another boy said. "Jack's son dead."

"No he ain't," the first boy insisted. "Der he is, right der. Dat Jack's
son."

PJ had never felt so proud in his entire life. Amid all the noise, Jack
hadn't heard the little boy, but PJ had caught every word. He stood tall
with Jack's hands on his shoulders, looking up at the father he believed
in, hoping every person in the stands and on the field could see him.

I am his son, he thought to himself. He wanted to shout it out loud for
everybody to hear. "I'm Jack Canon's son!"

"Jack," he yelled instead, shouting over the racket, "Travis and his coach
are here. Travis is in a track meet across the street. And Billy and his
dad are with them. They're all looking for you."

"Okay, PJ," Jack told him with a smile. "Don't worry, we'll find them."

"You've all got to sit together," Erik told Bill. "You're our cheering
section!"

Bill and Jack both laughed. "Okay," said Bill.

"And you gotta cheer for Travis in the track meet, too," PJ reminded
them. "He's countin' on you."

"We will, PJ," Jack assured him. "Now, you concentrate on your game. Go out
there and do your best."

"I'll do my very best for you, Jack."

Jack gave PJ's shoulders a pat and let him go. "I know you will. I'm so
proud of you! Go get yourself ready."

PJ grinned and walked away, feeling as if he was floating. "Dat Jack's
son," he heard the black boy say again to someone.

I'm gonna play the best game of my life today! he voiced to himself. I'm
gonna do it for Jack. Erik came trotting over and caught up at
him. "They're goin' across the street to find the others," he
said. "They'll be coming right back. I'm gonna see if Coach Lewis will let
me go too, until it's time for me to go in for you. That way at least one
of us can cheer for Travis."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Then I can go over after you come in for me," PJ
agreed.

In the dugout, they explained their plan to the young coach. "I'll be with
my dad," Erik told him, "an' I'll be back in plenty of time to sub."

"He'll be with Jack and my little brother, too," PJ added. "Please,
Coach. Travis is our best friend and we want to cheer for him."

"Okay, fellows." Coach Lewis gave his reluctant approval. "I wouldn't let
anyone else do this, but I know I can trust you guys. Go ahead, Erik. But
be sure you're back well before the fourth inning! You go in at the bottom
of the fourth."

"Thanks, Coach." Erik high-fived PJ again. "Good luck, PJ. I'll be
back. Get some hits!"

Sitting happily in the dugout, PJ felt wonderful. It's gonna be my very
best game ever, he vowed again softly to himself. For Jack! I'll do it for
Jack!

In watching Franklyn take infield practice, he knew Travis had been
right. They did have a few good players!  There were some boys he thought
he recognized from when he'd stayed overnight for the swim meet. They could
be tough, he thought. But we'll win. I'm going to play my best or die
trying! Ah, oh. Not that. Remember what Jack said. Never say die!

He looked at the bleachers on either side of the field. There were a lot of
people at this game!  He was really surprised at the size of the
crowd. Must be 'cause it's a Saturday afternoon with nice weather, he
figured. He wondered if word had leaked out some way that Jack was going to
be at the game. "Can't be," he muttered. "I only knew two days ago." Jack
would be back by now from saying "Hi" to Travis. No way would Jack want to
miss the start of the game! He looked for Bill and Jack and Billy's dad but
didn't see them. I bet they're in the bleachers behind the dugout. And
Billy might stay with Erik for a few minutes to cheer for Trav.

When the umpire called "Balls in!," the Franklyn Prep catcher yelled,
"Coming down!" and threw to second base. Pretty good arm, thought PJ. The
infielders fired the ball around the horn and the shortstop took it over to
the pitcher. "Batter up!" cried the umpire, and the game started.

PJ didn't get to bat in the first inning. Gordonsville started out well
with back-to-back singles, but then the number three and four hitters
grounded or flied out with no advance by the runners. After Gordonsville's
next batter was thrown out at first base ending the half-inning, PJ trotted
to his right-field position, grimly determined to put out his maximum
effort, and knowing that these guys won't be easy to beat. Scanning the
bleachers for Jack, he saw what looked like a crowd behind the
dugout. Still signing autographs, he thought.

The Gordonsville pitcher, Dustin, struck out the first batter, and PJ gave
him a hearty cheer. Though he wasn't acquainted with most of the older
Gordonsville players, he knew Dustin well because he was one of his
football teammates. The next batter looked as if he might strike out
too. The kid put himself in a hole by fouling two pitches off, but worked
back to a full count and then singled up the middle. PJ shook his head and
called out more encouragement to Dustin, adding his voice to those of other
teammates. "Let's go . . . let's go now!" Let's get these guys! he thought,
pounding his glove and returning to his crouching position.

The third Franklyn batter tried to bunt his runner over to second. But the
bunt skidded almost straight to Dustin, who threw to second to erase the
lead man. The follow-on throw to first was not in time to catch the batter,
but at least we have another out, said PJ to himself. He placed his hands
back on his knees and concentrated on the next hitter.

Uh-oh, he thought. A lefty. The batter took a few called balls and then
swung at a good pitch. PJ knew the ball was coming in his direction as soon
as he saw the swing. There was a "Ting" of aluminum hitting horsehide, and
the baseball became a line drive arcing to PJ's right. He reacted swiftly,
calling for it, keeping his eye on the ball, dashing hard towards where he
calculated it would slam into the grass. He stretched out as far as he
could on a dead run, left arm across his body, slid on his belly, and made
a clean one-hop, one-handed snag. Rolling to his feet, hesitating just long
enough to be sure he had both his balance as well as secure control of the
ball, he flipped it into his right hand and hurled it to his cutoff man
behind second base. PJ was still having trouble getting his throws on line,
so he didn't try to whip the ball in too hard, concentrating instead on
accuracy. The lead runner rounding second, with thoughts of advancing to
third, hastily put on the brakes and tagged up.

Yeah, sucker!, thought PJ. You better park your ass on second! Nice play,
PJ. He hoped Jack had seen that. It was just like they had practiced it at
Fenway. He thought he could hear Billy cheering, but there were just too
many people jamming the bleachers to be sure where he was.

Now let's get a third out and strand these fuckers!

That third out proved hard to get. No more balls came PJ's way, so all he
could do was run in to back up plays on hits to the infield, looking on
helplessly as Franklyn tallied two runs, one of them on a passed ball,
before Dustin could get a batter to ground out to short.

"That's okay, we'll get those runs back!" he called encouragingly as he
trotted in at the end of the inning. Pulling on the Red Sox gloves Jack had
given him, PJ grabbed his bat and a helmet and headed straight for the
on-deck circle. After taking a few practice swings, feeling loose and
relaxed, he knelt in the limed circle just as he'd seen Jack do so many
times, and studied the pitcher, a slender older boy not quite as tall as
Travis.

I can hit this guy, he thought.

The batter in front of him singled to the right side, which brought some
clapping and cheering from the Gordonsville dugout. Then PJ came to the
plate. One of the Franklyn players laughed, and their entire infield moved
in when they saw him. As the youngest boy on the Gordonsville team, PJ knew
he didn't impress anyone with his size. The player who'd laughed pounded
his glove and jeered, "Easy out, easy out."

PJ ignored him. his concentration total. All he could hear was the Red Sox
hitting coach's voice telling him, "Focus on the ball, kid. Only the
ball. Watch it leave the pitcher's hand."

The older boy on the mound decided PJ was no threat and tried to blow him
away with a first-pitch fastball straight down the middle. PJ never
hesitated. Stepping into the pitch, his compact body uncoiling powerfully,
PJ brought the bat through the ball. There was a loud "Tonk!" He could feel
that he was a little late and hadn't quite gotten the ball with the sweet
spot of the bat. But it was good enough. The ball sailed out into the
right-field corner. PJ flew up the baseline, knowing he had at least a
double, so he didn't even bother to look at Coach Lewis in the box at
first. Rounding the bag, he raced toward second, switching his gaze to
Mr. Bates in the coaching box at third. He was swinging his arm in a big
circle, signaling PJ to keep going! All right, here we go! After burners
ON!

The second baseman was faking a catch and tag. PJ ignored him, rounding the
bag with his field of vision narrowed to just the base at third! Go faster!
Faster! Beat the throw!  When Coach Bates flung his hands down, PJ hit the
dirt, sliding under both incoming throw and the tag, careful to keep his
hand on the bag as the umpire yelled, "Safe!"

"Time," PJ called. He bounced up, dusting himself off, and only then became
aware of the cheering. Looking around with a grin, he searched for
Mr. Thatcher, Bill, or Jack, but couldn't spot where they were in the
bleachers. He was only pretty sure he could hear Billy yelling. . .

"Nice hit, PJ," Coach Bates was shouting over the noise. "That's a triple
and an RBI! There's one of those runs back!"

PJ smiled and nodded, barely hearing the coach's words, only one thought
filling all his consciousness--My second triple! And I just hit this one
for my dad! Jack! Jack, that was for you! He searched the packed bleachers
again for the face he wanted so desperately to see, but it was all a
blur. His eyes were filled with tears. Okay, he told himself, brushing at
them. Okay, straighten up, PJ. He knew exactly what Jack would tell
him. Jack might have been at his elbow, right there next to him, arm around
his shoulder, whispering in his ear: Great hit, Son! But let's get back in
the game! We'll celebrate later. Check out their pitcher. Look at him! He's
scowling at you. Boy, did you piss him off! That's it. Smile back at him,
Son. Bet he'll remember you next time you're up! Now make sure you know the
situation. No outs, so play it safe. Tag up on a fly, score on a definite
single, let the batters bring you in. And listen to your coach!

PJ nodded, took a deep breath, and focused back on the game, heart still
pounding with excitement. A triple! And with Jack watching! Plus Coach
Lewis, too, who had let him start! It was his longest hit since that double
in the practice game weeks ago, longer, even, than that first triple. And
now he just had to score. As if responding to PJ's thought, the eighth
Gordonsville batter hit a high fly ball to right field. "Tag up, tag up!"
Coach Bates yelled. Then, "Go!" as the ball was caught. PJ pelted down the
baseline, the cutoff man didn't even try a throw, and PJ scored standing
up. For you, Jack! he thought triumphantly. Both runs back! His teammates
gave him high-fives in the dugout.

PJ hoped they might get more runs, but the number-nine batter grounded to
the shortstop for the second out, and even though the Gordonsville leadoff
man singled, their number-two man flied out, stranding him. That's okay, PJ
thought as he trotted to right field. We're tied up 2-2. Now let's hold
'em!

The leadoff batter for the other team grounded to second for the first
out. "All right, that's one. Two more!" PJ yelled, backing up the play. He
was feeling terrific after his triple, his body light as a feather. "Shut
'em down," he muttered, pounding his own fist into his glove. "Shut 'm
down. Shut 'em down." Searching the bleachers for Jack so he could wave, he
thought he spotted him, but wasn't sure. And anyway, I need to be
concentrating on the game! Like Jack says, we can celebrate later. The very
next batter hit a zinging grounder through the left side of the infield for
a single. Then the man after him blooped one out to left center that rolled
to the fence. Suddenly there were men on first and third, and still only
one out. But all PJ felt was exhilaration. Sure, Franklyn was tough! But
we're gonna be better! "Bear down now, bear down," PJ called to
Dustin. "You can do it!"

He'd never felt so good in his life. He knew that somewhere in the stands,
Jack was watching him with enormous pride. He was Jack's son, his Little
Champ. And he'd just hit an RBI triple while his dad cheered him on! He was
charged with excitement. He could do anything!

The Gordonsville pitcher delivered. PJ saw the batter swing . . . and knew
it was coming his way even before he heard the "Clank" of the hit! The ball
sailed toward him. It was going to land very short. PJ sprinted in. The
safe thing to do was to let it bounce and play it on the hop. But Jack's
watching and I can get it! PJ sprinted harder . . . dove headfirst, arm
outstretched. "Smack!" The ball landed perfectly in the pocket of his
glove! Gripping it tightly, he did a half somersault on the grass, used the
momentum to bounce back onto his feet! The hapless runner in front of him,
sure that the ball wouldn't be caught, stood between first and second,
staring at him open-mouthed. Got you, sucker! PJ hesitated for one
heartbeat to be sure of his balance, took the ball from his glove, and
hurled it to first base with all the power his strong little shoulders
could deliver. Be on line, he willed the ball. Be on line! His throw hit
the first baseman's glove with a "Whop!" heard all over the field! PJ
pumped his fist. Double play! My very first one! Inning over! Franklyn
scoring threat--toast!

The bleachers erupted with cheering, and as PJ trotted to the dugout, he
whispered fiercely to himself, "That was for you, Jack. That was for you!"
Vision blurred with tears of happiness, he couldn't see his dad, but he
knew his hero was proud of him. Mobbed by teammates, PJ went into the
dugout with hands pounding his back or offering high-fives. Jack's here,
and I'm playing the best game of my life, he thought. It's like a dream,
only it's all true! "We're gonna show these guys, now," he shouted
confidently. "Everybody hits! Let's get some runs!"

The team cheered as the first Gordonsville batter started them off with a
line-drive single to left-center. "All right!" PJ yelled. Then the next boy
made contact as well. Nothing spectacular, a swinging bunt that dribbled
out toward the mound. But even though the pitcher made a good bare-handed
play on the ball, getting the batter out at first with a hard throw, the
runner advanced safely to second. "Way to go, Chip. Way to go!" Mr. Bates,
coaching at third, clapped his hands congratulating his batter on the
sacrifice. Then he turned to the dugout and shouted, "We got a man
on. Let's bring him around!" An answering cheer came from the Gordonsville
boys.

The Franklyn catcher went out to his pitcher to give a few words of
encouragement while all the Gordonsville players shouted and stomped their
feet. But whatever it was the catcher said, it provided no help. The
pitcher walked the next batter. Now he had a man on first and second with
only one out.

PJ put on a helmet, took his bat to the on-deck circle, and pulled on his
batting gloves while watching the pitcher. Clearly, the boy looked
nervous. I already proved can hit your stuff, PJ thought. I own you! Jack's
watching me! There's nothin' you got I can't hit!

Completely focused, yet totally relaxed, he had never felt so sure of
himself. Around him the air was filled with noise, Franklyn spectators
rooting for their team, Gordonsville fans shouting and clapping, both
dugouts cheering, the Gordonsville boys stomping their feet and banging
their fists on the dugout walls, PJ heard all of it, yet at the same time
he was strangely detached, as if he were in a world apart. He couldn't wait
to get up to bat! This was his time!

"Hey, Little Jack! LITTLE JACK!"

It was a shrill voice. PJ turned his head. At the fence by the on-deck
circle, the short black kid who'd been standing near Jack was holding on to
the fence, calling to him.

"Hey, man. You his son, ain't you!"

PJ smiled at the boy and nodded. It seemed the most natural thing in the
world.

"Man," yelled the black boy. "You is good!"

The Gordonsville batter hit a slow roller toward second. Spectators in the
stands stood up as the infielders charged, but the only play was to
first. They got the out, but now, runners were on second and third! Two
outs, two on, PJ summed up as he walked to the batter's box. And then the
craziest thought came to him: Time for a home run!

Suddenly he knew it was going to happen. He was going to do it as surely as
the sun was going to come up the next morning. He actually remembered
mentioning it to Jack in an e-mail. He was going to hit a home run. I'm the
Kid Who Only Hits Homers! No, I'm Crash Davis in "Bull Durham"! No, I'm not
any of those things . . .

He knew who he was.

I'm Jack Canon!

How often had he seen Jack come to the plate in situations like this? Two
on, two out . . . the crowd clamoring for a home run. And how often had he
seen Jack deliver? So many times.

"This one's for you, Jack!" he said softly. And in that moment he knew
exactly what it felt like to be Jack Canon.

"Come on, Little Jack!" he heard a shrill voice calling. "Jack one, Little
Jack!"

I will!

The pitcher, glowering at PJ, obviously remembered him from his earlier
at-bat. None of the infielders were laughing this time. "Let's see what
you've got, mister," PJ whispered.

The boy on the mound was careful. He tried to keep his pitches on the
corners, but in doing so, he threw some balls well off the plate that PJ
just ignored. The count went to 2-0. His next pitch was a little closer. PJ
swung at it and fouled it off. Now it was 2-1. Come on, put one over.

The pitcher tried to throw another one on the corner, but this time it was
almost right on the plate. PJ stepped up and belted it. He was a little
back of the pitch and the ball sailed over the right-field fence!
Foul. There was a groan of disappointment from the Gordonsville rooters who
like all the spectators were now up on their feet.

PJ shook his head and stepped out of the box, glaring fixedly at the
pitcher while he adjusted his batting gloves. Then he stepped back in. The
pitcher threw several more balls on the outside corner, close enough so
that PJ had to swing at them. He fouled them off, waiting for the older boy
to make another mistake that he could pounce on. But instead, the next
pitch went wide and PJ laid off. Now the count was full.

The catcher went running out to talk to his pitcher for the second time
that inning, a lengthy conversation that PJ watched while adjusting his
gloves once more. At last, the pitcher nodded reluctantly and the catcher
trotted back. Are they gonna walk me? PJ asked himself. No way! No way
that's gonna happen! Not with Jack watching! He grimaced, lifted his bat,
and pointed it straight at the boy on the mound. Back at ya'! Let's see
what ya' got! It was a challenge to "Man up!" Or as Erik would put it,
"Shit or get off the pot!"

The pitcher stared at PJ in disbelief. There was no way he was going to let
that pass. A challenge? From some little shit on some fuckwad team? Screw
that! He reared back in anger and fired his best fastball right over the
plate.

PJ knew it was coming. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched the
ball float toward him, getting bigger and bigger. Head down, he thought,
head down. He stepped into the pitch, bringing his bat through with all the
strength months of training had given him. His head stayed right down on
the ball. He saw it hit the bat. There was no vibration at all as he
slammed it on the sweet spot--only a loud "WANG!" PJ followed through, head
coming up to see the ball arc far into the sky, soaring out toward left
centerfield. The centerfielder never even moved. Standing there, peering
upward, he watched the ball disappear far beyond the fence.

An incredible, enormous roar of sound exploded around him. Nodding to the
pitcher, PJ trotted up the first-base line, tossing his bat aside exactly
the way Jack always did. People in the stands were going berserk,
screaming, shouting, stomping, and cheering--so loudly it was a solid wall
of noise. As he rounded first, PJ took off his helmet and cap, tucked them
under his arm, and trotted around the rest of the bases bareheaded. Just
like Jack. Jack's Little Champ! His teammates poured from their dugout
chanting, "Pee-Jay, Pee-Jay, Pee-Jay, Pee-Jay. . ."

The other base runners had crossed the plate in front of him and were
waiting to greet him at home plate with the rest of his team. As he ran
across, they swarmed over him, high-fiving, slapping his
shoulders. Everyone was chanting his name. He was escorted back to the
dugout in triumph. On the other side of the fence he saw the little black
kid and the rest of his group jumping up and down, pulling on the wire,
reaching out to try to touch him as he passed. They were yelling, "Little
Jack! Little Jack!" He looked for Billy, missed him in the crowd, but was
positive he heard the young boy shrieking "PJ! PJ!" Yet amidst all of this
chaos, PJ's focus was elsewhere. This was for you, Jack, he kept telling
himself. This was for you. I'm your Son. Your Son . . .

"Way to swing, PJ!" Coach Lewis shouted over the noise in the
dugout. "Geez, you really burned that poor pitcher. Jack's here somewhere,
isn't he? I bet he's telling everybody how proud he is of you." PJ nodded
happily. Bet I really pissed that pitcher off! He felt as if he was
floating. As if nothing was completely real. It's like one of my dreams. I
hope I never wake up! All around him his teammates were yelling and
cheering. The three-run blast had so completely rattled the Franklyn hurler
that his coach took him out, sending in a reliever. The new boy managed to
get the next batter to ground into a third out, but the damage was
done. PJ's homer had put Gordonsville ahead, 5-2.

When PJ left the dugout, running out to his position in right field, the
crowd came to its feet once more, cheering him all over again. He knew Erik
was probably saying to Jack right now, "Geez! PJ's head will be so big we
won't be able to get him on the bus!" It was all so perfect! He had never
had a game like this in his life, and to get lucky enough to do it with
Jack watching was the most wonderful, the best--the most incredible thing
he could imagine! Oh boy, he thought, grinning at himself. Now I'll
probably make some giant blooper out here! But then he shook his
head. Nope. It's in the air! Just like Jack told me that one time. It's in
the air!

Trailing by three, Franklyn Prep's batters came to the plate in the bottom
of the third inning, determined to get some runs of their own. These guys
have plenty of good players, PJ reminded himself. They're not about to give
up! Dustin had been through their batting order once; they had all seen his
pitches. Now they began to hit him. Two back-to-back doubles through the
left side produced a quick run. At that point, the lefty PJ remembered came
up and caught everyone flat-footed with a beautiful drag bunt which
Gordonsville's charging third baseman mishandled. His rushed throw went
wide of first base into foul territory, allowing the on-base runner to
advance from second to home, and the lefty to race around the base paths
all the way past second. He had ideas about going to third, but PJ, backing
up the play, picked up the errant ball and forced him to retreat.

But the damage had been done. Suddenly Franklyn was behind by only one run,
and when a nervous Dustin walked the next batter, they had two men on base,
first and second with nobody out!

"Hang tough, Dustin!" PJ called, adding his encouragement to what his other
teammates were yelling. He knew the older boy was doing his best. Dustin
wound up and delivered. A strike! Now he's dealing, PJ thought. Another
delivery . . . "Wang!"

It was a long fly ball deep to right field! PJ was sure it was
gone. Sprinting back desperately, trying to keep the ball in sight over his
shoulder as Jack had taught him, he forced himself not to think about the
fence looming in front of him. Luckily, there was no sun glare to hinder
him. Could he reach it? Yes! The ball had just enough hang time to let him
get back! He still had to make a running, over-the-shoulder catch in order
to get it. Skidding to a stop, he bounced off the fence, turned, and fired
to his cutoff man! The runners had to scramble back to their bases. Oh,
wow! I did it! I really did it!

PJ had his own cheering section now. First of all, Dustin from the
mound. Then, the little black kid and his friends standing behind the fence
on the right-field foul line, waving and shouting. "Yeah! Little Jack be
the man! Way 'ta play. Way 'ta play!"

"Ain't nobody better den Little Jack!" the short kid, his best fan, yelled.

PJ grinned and waved back at them, ignoring a twinge in his shoulder where
he'd banged it on the fence. He nearly stumbling as he trotted back to his
position because he was so giddy with happiness. Oh, wow! Jack! Jack, did
you see! Just like you taught me! I only managed to do that a couple of
times at Fenway. And this was in a real game! With everyone watching! Oh,
wow! I can't believe I did that!

"Ok, OK," he muttered to himself. Get it together, PJ!" There were still
two dangerous Franklyn runners on base, and Gordonsville needed more outs
to keep them from scoring. "Let's get 'em, guys!" he yelled, smacking his
glove.

And then, for an instant . . . there! On the top of the bleachers by the
third-base dugout! For sure that was Bill. And wasn't that Jack right next
to him?! PJ waved before shifting his gaze back to the infield, reminding
himself to focus! Focus! Stay in the game. Plenty of time to celebate
later. But he couldn't suppress the glow of happiness radiating through
him. Jack was going to be so proud of him. So proud!

Perhaps because he was re-energized by PJ's circus catch, Dustin was
pitching with more confidence. Even the way he was standing on the mound
looked different: taller, prouder. Smack! Smack! He fired in two successive
fastballs into the catcher's mitt, both called strikes, and when the
Franklyn batter tried swinging on a third one, all he could manage was a
weak roller to the right side. The Gordonsville second baseman charged and
cleanly fielded the ball, with PJ running in from the outfield to back the
play up, and threw the batter out at first. Two outs!  But Franklyn now had
runners at second and third!

"Get 'em, Dustin!" PJ yelled, pumping his fist, and his teammates called
out similar encouragement. The lanky boy on the mound wound up dealt
another fastball to the next Franklyn batter.

"TANG!"

A high fly ball to right! PJ moved over a few steps, tracking it down just
as Jack had taught him to do, and it was as if his idol was there next to
him, whispering, "That's it, PJ. Don't take your eyes off it. Call for it,
Son. Call for it!"

"I got it!" PJ sang out loud and clear, waving off the centerfielder.

"That a'way!" Jack was telling him. "That's it. Now, two hands, Son. Two
hands! No hot-doggin'!"

The ball got bigger and bigger, PJ eying it as it dropped toward him,
trying not to think about how stupid he would look if he screwed up this
easy play after making such a spectacular catch earlier. That voice in his
ear didn't help matters, either.

"It's not easy," Jack urgently whispered. "There's no such thing as a
routine fly ball! Stay on it, Son! Remember what you were taught!"

"Whop"!

The ball smacked into PJ's glove. The glove my Dad gave me, he thought. He
immediately trapped it with his other hand, making sure the catch was
secure. Got it! Got it!, he thought, just like Jack taught me. . .

. . . and he was running in, glove held up in the air to show he had the
ball, aware only of his cheering teammates, and the kids on his personal
fan club jumping around on the fence in excitement, yelling, "Little Jack!
Little Jack!! You d' man!""

He searched the bleachers trying to see where Bill and Jack were sitting,
when he was swamped by the other Gordonsville players including Dustin,
grinning widely, holding out a palm for PJ to slap. And here too was Erik,
grinning as well, his hand raised for a high-five.

"Way ta play, Roomie! Way ta play!"

When he trotted with Erik to the dugout, all PJ could think of was that
nothing could be better than this! "I'm playing in front of my Dad, he
whispered to himself. "My DAD!"

He turned to Erik who, seeing how happy he looked, laughed, shook his hand,
and like Dustin held out a palm for him to slap.

"Think you'll get up this inning?" he asked.

"Hope so," PJ told him excitedly. "I'm two for two so far!" Then,
remembering belatedly that things were also going on across the street,
asked, "How's Travis doin'?"

"Great!" Erik answered. "He placed second in the hurdles, and he was ahead
in the high jump when I left. He's hoping you'll get there in time for his
relay. His time in the hurdles was his best. I think he's feeling pretty
stoked."

"I hope I get to see his race!" With all of the excitement and happiness
bubbling within him, PJ was finding it hard to keep still. He bounced up
and down a little on the bench while he and Erik watched the action on the
field, cheering for their team, and PJ with fingers crossed, desperately
hoping for one more time at bat. Just one more for Jack! Please! This might
be the only time Jack would see him play. He wanted to do everything he
could. With vivid clarity, he could remember how awful the previous year
had been, playing on the House intramural team, game after game, the only
boy who never had anyone in the stands to watch him. Now he had someone!
The greatest baseball player in the world was here watching him, PJ was his
Little Champ, and he was playing the best game of his life! "I'm playing in
front of my Dad," he whispered again to himself. It was so wonderful! He
loved the sound of the words, "in front of my Dad."

What's that?" Erik asked.

PJ shook his head. "I just hope I get up once more."

He came close, but he didn't get the chance. PJ was in the on-deck circle
when the half-inning came to a close. "Substitutions!" yelled Coach
Lewis. "Erik, you're going in at second base."

Hiding his disappointment, PJ put a hand on Erik's arm. "Go get 'em,
Brother. Show 'em you're the best. Let's win this one!"

"Believe it, PJ!" Erik's eyes flashed. "Since you didn't get up again, I'll
get a hit for you next inning!" Giving his best friend a little punch on
the shoulder, he trotted out onto the field, PJ thinking as he watched him
go, It's only fair that Erik gets his share of innings. After all, Bill's
here and Erik wants a chance to play in front of his dad, too. Eager to
find Jack, PJ stepped out of the dugout, searching the stands for where
Jack and all his other friends were sitting.

Suddenly there was a shrill little voice behind him. "PJ! PJ!" He turned to
see Billy running up to him. "I saw you catch the ball, PJ!" the boy said
breathlessly. "That was good! You were awesome! Guess what, PJ? Travis won
the high jump! You should see how high he went. He's nice, PJ. Just like
you said. I like him."

"Hey, all right!" PJ gave Billy's shoulders a quick hug. "Where's Jack,
Little Brother?"

"There they are, PJ." Billy pointed, and PJ saw Jack, Bill, and
Mr. Thatcher in back of the bleachers. Billy tugged at his hand and led him
over. "Here's PJ!" he announced. They all turned toward him.

"PJ!" Bill's face lit up with a huge smile. "What a nice catch! Way to the
end the inning. That was beautiful!"

Jack looked down at him, beaming, his eyes shining with pride. "Just like
we practiced at Fenway, Tiger! You called for it and everything. Man, it
was pretty. I'm really proud of you!" When he put his arm around PJ's
shoulders for an affectionate hug, PJ looked up adoringly, his heart
thumping, waiting to hear what Jack would say about his home run, his
triple, his running catch, and all his other plays. He loved being praised
by Jack! "I see you guys are up by a run," Jack said looking around. "How's
the game been going? We heard a lot of cheering over here while we were
watching Travis."

"We. . . w'-we made a few good plays," PJ stammered. At first he felt
confused . . . . And then . . .

Realization hit him with stunning force!

They hadn't been there!

Erik, Jack, Bill, Mr. Thatcher, Billy--none of them had been there! For the
whole first half of the game, they'd been watching the track meet, cheering
for Travis. They'd seen PJ's last catch in the outfield--and that was all!
The entire time that PJ had thought Jack was watching, there'd been no one!
The best game I've ever had . . .  and he didn't even bother to see me
play!

It was like a physical blow. PJ had to catch himself to keep from
staggering. Some of his enormous disappointment showed in his eyes because
Jack looked down and patted his shoulder. "I know you're disappointed about
coming out of the game, Little Champ. I know how competitive you are. But
don't worry. You keep playing as well as you did making that catch, soon
your coach will want you in all the time."

PJ's thoughts whirled. Jack doesn't know . . . Jack never saw . . .

Somehow he made himself nod. "Yes. Thanks, Jack. . ." He was awfully close
to crying. He took Jack's big hand, though for some reason he didn't really
want to.

"Say, PJ," Jack told him. "Travis was here to see your catch. You should
have heard him yelling for you! He went back over to get ready for his
relay. He's hoping you'll come over and watch him."

"Okay . . . sure." PJ forced a smile. There was a roaring in his ears, and
when he spoke . . .  his voice sounded miles away to him. "I'll go over
there now."

"Let's find a seat, guys," Bill said. "I don't want to miss anything while
Erik's playing!"

"Right!" Jack gave PJ's back a pat and took his arm away. "PJ, you and
Travis come over as soon as Travis is done. We'll hold some spots for you."

PJ nodded. He was finding it difficult to stand.

Just then, kids on his personal fan club came running up looking for him,
the little black kid in the lead. "Hey man, whaz up!" the black kid
demanded. "Why these fools take you out? You the star!"

PJ gave him a weak grin. "It was time to give my friend a chance to play."

"Hey, Jack!" the kid yelled, catching sight of the tall star. "Where you
'bin? Little Jack 'bin cleanin' house on these dudes. Why you not here to
see?"

But Jack was already leaving with Bill to look for a seat, and paid no
attention.

"Where your fren' at?" the boy asked PJ.

"He's playing second base."

"Let's go watch him," one of the group shouted, and they ran off--all of
them, that is, except the one who'd first called PJ "Little Jack." He
stopped, turned around, and came back. "Why so sad, dude?" His expression
was deadly serious.

PJ was trying hard not to blink tears back, but some escaped and ran down
his cheeks. He brushed at his face with his left sleeve before thrusting
out his right hand and asking in a choked-up voice, "What's your name,
Little Bro?"

The black kid shook hands, pumping PJ's arm up and down. "Name's James." He
gave PJ a proud smile. "J-Boy on d' street."

PJ nodded to show he understood. "They call me PJ." He blinked some more,
and with a deep breath got his crying under control. "Thanks for cheering
for me. It meant a whole lot to have you there backing me up."

The younger boy stared up at him. "You doan' need no posse backin' you,
PJ. You solid gold. Them honky fools crazy takin' you out! An' Big Jack?"
James made a contemptuous gesture. "A honky who's doan' stick to see his
Little Jack? Seem like he da Little Jack. You the Big Un'!"

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT TWENTY

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