Date: Fri, 17 Jul 2015 16:18:00 -0400 From: Paul Knoke Subject: INSTALLMENT TWENTY-EIGHT of "THE FATHER CONTRACT" INSTALLMENT TWENTY-EIGHT from THE FATHER CONTRACT by Arthur J. Arrington Edited Paul K. Scott Please consider making a monetary contribution to Nifty! We need to keep PJ's story on their site! Chapter Fifty-Two: The Top Floor Gang "What do you hear from Jack?" Erik casually asked PJ at breakfast the next morning. Erik was pretty sure PJ hadn't heard a thing because he'd been secretly checking his roommate's Inbox for messages. And PJ had been restless again the previous night. Erik was beginning to get worried. He knew PJ's birthday was on Friday, Jack apparently wasn't sending him anything, and since he wasn't sure how to help him, he'd decided to ask PJ himself to see what he would say about it. "Nothing yet," PJ answered, "but maybe soon. They won last night and today is a travel day for them. Maybe something today." This was the lie he'd prepared in case Erik asked questions. He hated being dishonest with his best friend, but he was too ashamed to admit the truth, and the lies came easily now, just as he'd often so easily lied about his parents. "Could be I'll hear from him this afternoon," he added. Erik swallowed his milk and said, "Yeah, probably. It'll be fun to see what he thinks of all your football news." He made up his mind to drop the subject and stop worrying. PJ was okay. Jack would almost certainly write, and once classes got started, PJ was going to be fine. Eyes lowered, PJ concentrated on his food. He'd been telling Erik that he was sending e-mails to Jack every day, when in fact he was not. He would have to do something to make it look like he was getting replies from Jack. The fake birthday cards should help, he thought. And maybe--just maybe--there'll be a message, or a card, or even a present. He knows when it is, that's for sure. PJ closed his eyes momentarily and tightened his fists. Did he really want to hear from Jack? Sometimes he was scared to look at his computer, afraid there might actually be an e-mail with words that would hurt when he read them. Oh, yes. Jack knew the date of his birthday. The same day as his son's. And Jack's son is dead. "Lots of kids should be coming back today," he said to distract himself and change the subject. "Yeah." Erik's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Let's get 'em all out for football! The more, the better. There were good ten-year-olds doin' flag football last year. Like, remember that kid Brian? They all should be back." "Yup. An' don't forget, we need kids for basketball, and swimming, too." "Yeah, and wrestling, track, baseball, lacrosse." Erik gave his roommate a big grin. "PJ, I wish Gordonsville could be champions in everything!" They both laughed. After breakfast, they ran to the Field House for their hour on the weights. "When classes start on Thursday, we'll hafta squeeze this in at lunch," Erik said regretfully. "Just so we do it," PJ told him as he finished a set of shoulder presses. "This is gonna help a lot for football and everything else, too." After their workout, while they were crossing the Quadrangle going back to the House, Erik gestured toward a number of cars driving in with clothes and boxes piled in the back. "Well, here they come." Someone cruised past in a small U-Haul van. "Now that kid is definitely bringing too much stuff!" PJ said, laughing. Boys and their parents, many carrying boxes, were parading in and out of the House. Erik saw someone he knew, hurried over to talk to him, and PJ headed upstairs, thinking he might as well check his computer for any messages, including possibly one from Jack, while Erik wasn't there. On the stairs, he nearly ran into a slender, wiry, brown-haired boy whom he'd never seen before, a boy who was almost his own size, staggering under a heavy box that he was trying to carry up the steps. PJ knew exactly how that felt. "Hi!" he said. "Let me give you a hand with that." The boy didn't say a word, but the grateful look he returned was thanks enough. PJ helped him negotiate the bulky object up every flight, expecting him to stop at each floor, but they continued right on to the fourth, where a surprise awaited PJ: they ended up taking the box into the room across the hall from his own! Moreover, inside the room, a man, a woman, and another boy PJ did recognized were unpacking various suitcases and cartons. "Hey, Brian!" PJ exclaimed, putting down his end of the heavy box. "PJ!" A strong-looking, dark-haired boy tossed aside some clothes he was holding and ran over. "Guess what?" he said excitedly. "We're gonna be right across the hall from you and Erik!" "That's great!" PJ held up a palm for a high-five. The year before, Brian had been one of the coolest ten-year-olds in the House, a star in intramural flag football and a tough little stud for his weight in intraschool wrestling. He and Erik both liked him because he was upbeat and cheerful, often dissolving into fits of giggling when PJ told a dirty joke or pulled a funny trick on somebody. Yet when PJ's parents had been killed, he'd also been among the first to come by and offer sympathy. "This is Philip," Brian said, indicating the boy whose box PJ had helped carry. "He's gonna be my roommate. He's eleven like me, an' he's new this year. Phil, this is PJ. I guess you guys already met. PJ lives across from us." "Hi, Phil." The two boys exchanged smiles, and PJ could sense that Phil was shy. He held out his hand, and the slender boy, his eyes downcast as if he were taking some kind of risk, tentatively shook PJ's hand with a grip that had "I wanna be your friend" plastered all over it. Brian continued the introductions: "This is my dad. You've met him before. And this is Philip's mom." PJ and Brian's father spoke to each other, but the woman merely nodded and then turned to her son. "Philip, if you need some help, I can bring boxes up for you too." "No, I can get it all, Mom," the boy hastily said, escaping immediately into the hallway before his mother could say anything more. PJ followed him downstairs. He knew what the boy was thinking. The only thing worse than having no help moving your stuff was having your mother move it for you! He tailed Phil all the way out to a car in the parking lot that had a back seat and trunk full of boxes and loose odds and ends. "I'm gonna help you with this stuff," PJ declared, not giving the boy any chance to say no. "Which box do you want me to take?" Once again Phil didn't say anything, but he gave PJ another grateful look, right in the eye this time, and this time with just the trace of a mischievous smirk. He pointed to a box in the trunk, which PJ confidently reached for, tugged on--and exclaimed, "Whoa! That's heavy!" He looked up and instantly saw from Phil's expression, half anxious and half-hopeful, that the boy was attempting to make friends with him by means of a little prank, directing him to probably the heaviest of all the boxes. "Okay," PJ said with a grin. With difficulty, he lifted the box out of the trunk and rested one end of it on the car bumper. "Books, right? Gotta be books. You like to read?" The boy nodded, but flinched a little as if expecting to be teased. "Me, too!" PJ hastened to reassure him. "Reading's my most favorite thing--except maybe for breathing and eating," he added with fake straight face. The boy smiled. He seemed so happy that he and his new friend shared the same love of books. For his part, PJ was happy that the shyness had almost melted away. "So?" PJ asked, is it Philip or Phil? Which do you like to be called?" The answer came softly. "Most people call me 'Philip,' but I really like 'Phil' better." "'Phil' it is!" PJ told him. "I'll need your help with this box, Phil. No way I'll get it by myself, but 'course you already knew that! I'll take this end, you take the other. Here we go. . . ." They negotiated the heavy box of books up to the room, and followed that with more trips for the lighter things. There was only one other box that they had to take up together. PJ was delighted to find out that it contained a computer which Phil proudly told him he'd just recently learned how to use. "An' Brian has one too! We hope it will help us here at school." After praising him for "being prepared," PJ tried to get Phil talking more about himself, and discovered that it was his first time away from home. "My mom and dad got divorced last year," Phil confessed. "My dad went here, so when my mom wanted me out of the way, he said I should come here too." PJ frowned in puzzlement. "If your mom wants you out of the way, why aren't you living with your dad?" "She doesn't want me to live with him, and she's got custody of me," Phil explained. "I haven't seen my dad in six months anyway." "I guess you miss him," PJ said sympathetically. "I miss him a l-lot," Phil said in a choked-up voice. The anguished tone of Phil's answer stirred PJ's own terrible feelings of loss. To quickly change the subject, he asked hopefully, "Do you play any sports?" "I was on a swim team at home," Phil told him. "I'm gonna miss that too." "No, it's okay," PJ exclaimed, relieved that he could cheer the boy up. "We got a good swim team here at Gordonsville. Our coach is great. I'm on the team. I'm a flyer and I do freestyle and the IM, too. What stroke do you do?" "Backstroke mostly," Phil said. "Some freestyle, too. You really got a team?" "Heck, yeah!" PJ held out a fist for the slender boy to tap with his own. "Phil, you gotta come out for the team. We can really use you. We need more backstrokers. We have a pretty good one now, but he'll be going to the Upper School next year. We can be on the team together. I'll have someone to go to practice with. Man, that will be perfect! Hey! Maybe you can come out for football, too. Do you like football? You could come to practice today and sign up. Then we could even do that together." "I don't know," Phil said doubtfully, looking a bit overwhelmed. "My mother might not let me. She doesn't like me to play football. She's afraid I'll get hurt." PJ nodded in understanding. "I'll talk to her. Maybe I can convince her. We have really nice coaches. They won't let you get hurt." Once they'd brought all of Phil's things up to his room, PJ approached Phil's mother, who this time offered to shake hands in return for all his helping out. "Peter John Thorndyke the Third, Ma'am," PJ said, putting on his best phony "polite young man" act. "Philip tells me he's a swimmer. We have an outstanding swim team here at school. I'm sure he would make an excellent addition to it. I'm on the team. He and I can go to practice together." Brian coughed. He was standing behind both his father and Phil's mother where neither adult could see him struggling not to laugh at PJ's tongue-in-cheek pantomime. "Did you hear that, Philip?" his mother said to him. "That will be nice for you, Dear." "We're all participating in football this autumn as well," PJ went on, imitating the woman's upper-crust, east-coast accent. "My roommate Erik and I both play. And Brian is signing up, too, aren't you, Brian?" "This afternoon!" Brian declared, red in the face from an effort not to snicker. Phil's mother shook her head. "I don't want you playing football, Philip," she told the boy. "It's too dangerous." "Mom, all the other boys are," Phil protested. "I can assure you that it's safe, ma'am," PJ told her. "The new eleven-year-olds all work with a special coach. They concentrate on skill drills and learning the game. They play in special scrimmages that are just for them. The coaches would never let them get hurt." At this, Brian rolled his eyes and clapped both hands over his mouth to prevent an explosion of giggling. Ignoring him, PJ continued, "The conditioning program is carefully supervised as well. It's extremely well designed. It helped my swimming tremendously last year. It would be greatly beneficial for Philip. He'd make new friends and it would help him settle in here at school." "Mom, please!" Phil begged. "They really do have a terrific program here," Brian's dad told her, breaking in. "The boys all love it. And the coaching is excellent. I wouldn't let Brian go out for it if I wasn't sure of that." "Well. . . ." Phil's mother hesitated. PJ could see that she was weakening. "Brian and I will take care of him, ma'am," he assured her. "We won't allow your son to get hurt." Behind her, Brian nearly lost it. He doubled over, faking a fit of more coughing. "Well, I suppose if all these other boys are playing, too . . ." she said. Phil's face brightened. "Thanks, Mom." Congratulating himself on his nifty con job, PJ winked at Phil, gave him a little punch on the shoulder, and said, "You can go to practice with me today. I'll introduce you to Coach Lewis. He's really nice. You'll like him. And later this week I'll take you to meet our swim coach. You'll like him, too, and believe me, he'll be glad to get another backstroker." While Phil and Brian finished unpacking things and hanging up Phil's clothes, PJ found shelf space for the books. "You've got some good ones, Phil," he said, looking at a copy of The Wind in the Willows. "I think you like the same stuff I do." Footsteps sounded in the hallway. PJ turned his head, caught sight of Erik, and called, "Look who's moving in across from us!" A moment later, Erik burst into the room, grinning hugely. Seeing Brian, he yelled, "All right!" and gave the sturdy youngster a high-five. "This is Phil," PJ said, pushing the other boy forward. "He's Brian's roommate an' he's new. Be nice to him because he's a backstroker and we need him on the swim team. I convinced him to come out for football, too." "Hi, Phil," Erik said, shaking the new boy's hand. "Erik's the water-boy on the football team, Phil," PJ explained, keeping a straight face. "He'll be bringing out your Gatorade during practice. Sometimes we let him pick up the stray footballs, too." Brian nearly choked and fell onto his bed hugging his sides, laughing. With a saint-like smile, Erik patted Phil on the shoulder. "Don't pay any attention to PJ," he said, ignoring his roommate. "He gets odd spells like this when he doesn't take his medicine, and he thinks he's funny. Actually he's just jealous of us players on the team. The only reason we keep him around is as a sort of feebleminded mascot. You stick with me during practice and I'll show you how to play." From over on the bed, a fresh spasm of laughter burst out of Brian while Phil looked from Erik to PJ in confusion. "It's okay, Phil," PJ told him. "Erik and I are just teasing each other. My roommate here is actually a fairly decent quarterback on his good days." "And PJ occasionally has been known to catch a pass or two," Erik said, grinning. "Didn't I say these guys were fun?" Brian told Phil as he got back up, still choking back laughter. "We were lucky to be able to grab this room before someone else got it!" He grinned at the two adults who had been standing apart, watching the verbal byplay, Brian's father with an amused expression, Phil's mother with a frown. The boys, with Erik's added help, resumed the task of putting things away--in a reasonably neat manner. When Brian and his dad left to have lunch together at the Inn, Phil's mother looked at her watch and told her son, "Well, Dear, you appear to be all settled and you certainly have some nice boys here to go to school with." She picked up her purse, obviously getting ready to leave. PJ thought Phil looked a bit pale and he was pretty sure he knew why. He gave Erik a little sign so that when Phil and his mother went downstairs, PJ and Erik were following behind. Outside the House, the two roommates watched as Phil's mother administered a quick hug to her son, got in her car, and drove away, leaving the boy standing alone on the sidewalk looking completely lost. "PJ, why don't you and I kinda stay with that kid for awhile," Erik said. "Yeah," PJ whispered back, "I think we'd better." They went over to him. "Come on, Phil," PJ said. "We're gonna have lunch. Why don't you come with us?" "Afterwards, we'll take you around and show you all the cool places and good stuff Gordonsville has," Erik told him. He put an arm around the younger boy's shoulders and steered him towards the Dining Hall. "Wait 'til you see the Field House and the pool, Phil," PJ added to keep the conversation going as they walked along. "You're really going to like it. Boy, it's gonna be nice to have a friend to go to practice with. I bet we'll have a great season this year!" "And wait 'til you taste the food in the cafeteria," Erik told him. "Is it pretty good?" Phil asked innocently. "Ined . . .incredible," PJ assured him. "Like you wouldn't believe," Erik said, trying not to laugh. They showed Phil what the procedure was in the Dining Hall, demonstrated how to use his meal card, and while they ate, talked cheerfully in an attempt to keep the youngster distracted. Eventually Phil did join in the conversation, but PJ thought he seemed subdued and sad, so he tried to get him to talk more by asking about his swimming. "Were you in any meets this summer?" Phil's face brightened a bit. He related how he had competed all through the outdoor summer season in the eleven and twelve-year-old age group and taken fifth at the Junior Olympics in his district. "Wow! That's great!" PJ exclaimed. "And you just turned eleven, I bet. When was your birthday?" "I turned eleven in May." PJ was impressed big time! Phil's size and appearance were deceptive. Apparently that slender body of his masked a lithe, sinewy strength. He looked at Erik and explained, "See, he was at the bottom of his age group. He'd only been eleven for a few months, so he was swimming against kids over a year older, an' he still got fifth!" Turning back to Phil, he asked, "What was your time?" Phil told him and PJ grinned. "Phil," he said, "it's going to be fun having you on the team this year. You are going to surprise a few people." The boy smiled at him a little more confidently. "Hey, let's show him the pool!" Erik said. They turned in their food trays and walked over to the Field House, where inside the big foyer, Phil's eyes widened when he saw the lighted trophy cases. PJ and Erik stood on either side while he peered in at the awards. "They're nice, Phil," Erik told him, "but you notice there's nothing in there that's recent." "Phil. . . ." PJ turned to him. "If we tell you something, can you keep it a secret?" The boy looked from PJ to Erik. "I can keep a secret," he assured them solemnly. "It's like this" PJ glanced over his shoulder to make certain no one was around to overhear him. Then he went on in a low voice, "Gordonsville School hasn't won a sports championship in eight years. Erik and I want to change that, starting now." "Maybe you and Brian can help us," Erik told him. "We'll all play football together. Then Brian and I can keep things going in basketball and wrestling. You and PJ can tear 'em up in swimming!" "And we can all play baseball in the spring!" PJ finished for him, forgetting for at least a few moments his recent misery and fears for the future. "I like baseball," Phil said. "All right!" Erik again put an arm around Phil's shoulders and looked excitedly at PJ. "This could be great! I can see it now. The four of us, us two, an' Phil here, an' Brian--The 'Top Floor Gang'! We'll put some new trophies in those cases. This could be the start of it. Right here!" He held a fist out. "Together!" Fired by the magic of Erik's spirit, PJ touched fists with him. "Together!" "Together!" Phil echoed, caught up as well in Erik's fervor. He brought his fist down hard on top of the other two. In that instant, as the three fists made contact, PJ felt some of the terrible sadness that had become such a part of him lift away. While looking his roommate straight in the eye, it came to him, as it had so often before, how much he valued Erik's friendship. More than anything, he wanted to anticipate the future with the same excitement as his best friend's, a future without the dark thoughts that even then were trying to sneak back in. "The pool's right through these doors, Phil," Erik was saying. "Come on. Ya' gotta see it." He led the way there, and the three boys stood at the top of the stands gazing down, Phil, in the middle, gaping in amazement at the size of the huge eight-lane facility. "This is where we practice and have our meets," PJ told him. "It's got all computerized electronic judging and timing," Erik said. He pointed to the bottom row of bleachers by the starting end. "That's where I always sit during meets to get PJ's times and splits. Brian and I will get yours this season, too. I'll teach him how to do it. Now have a look at the rest of this place." He and PJ took the boy to the other side of the Field House where they entered the big arena. Phil stood awestruck at the sight of the enormous space. "We play basketball here in the winter," Erik said. "They put a hardwood floor down in the middle." "And, it's where they have the wrestling meets," PJ added. "Brian will probably be going out for that." "Unless I can convince him to play basketball," Erik protested. "In the spring we played baseball in here until the weather got nice," PJ continued, "and they do indoor track, too." "Plus we'll be in here for football when the weather's bad," Erik mentioned. "I've never in my life seen anything like this!" Phil whispered in amazement. "Yeah, it's nice." Erik waved his hand around. "Don't you think a school that has a place like this should be winning a few championships?" Phil looked up at him and nodded. "That's what we think, too," PJ said. Back outside, they walked down to the bottom of the broad Field House steps, where Erik pointed toward the athletic fields. "Come on, Phil," he said. "Wait 'til you see all this." They showed him the football field where they'd be practicing that afternoon, and then they walked further on. "These are soccer and lacrosse fields," PJ told him. They kept going until they came to the Hill. "And this is where we go sledding and snowboarding in the winter," he added. "Plus the woods up at the top are kind of neat. At night, it's a good place to come for stargazing." "PJ got a star chart from the Planetarium in New York," Erik explained. "He and I are now experts. We can show you any star you want." Phil regarded the two boys with awe. "I don't know how to snowboard," he said, "but I like to go sledding." "We'll teach you how to snowboard this winter," PJ informed him. "We'll teach Brian, too. It's fun." On the way back to campus, Erik made sure they passed the baseball diamond. "That's where PJ and I played last spring," he told Phil. "Our team made it to the championship tournament, at least. We got to the second round!" He stood next to the fence, gazing out over the field, a determined look on his face. "Next season we go all the way, if we can just get some pitching. Mine's getting better, so that's gonna help." "I pitch," Phil said quietly. "What?" Erik whirled around to stare at him, and PJ, surprised as well, asked, "Righty or lefty?" " Phil looked up apprehensively at the two older boys, both of who were staring at him intently. "I-I . . . I'm a lefty." "Yee-ee-0000-wwww!" Erik shouted. He hugged Phil and pounded him on the back. "You are the answer to our prayers!" He turned excitedly to PJ. "We'll put him into training when we start wall ball." "Oh, this is going to be so great," exclaimed PJ. "Coach Lewis is going to flip!" Phil was glancing from PJ to Erik in dismay. "Maybe I won't be so good," he said anxiously. "I've never played for a school team." "You don't understand, Phil," Erik happily explained. "Anything would be better than what we got now. The left-hander we had, and some good right-handers, moved to the Upper School. Trust me, we need you. And don't worry about not having played on a school team. Neither had we before last year. You'll be okay. I promise." He gave the boy a gentle punch on the arm. Once they started walking again, Phil asked hesitantly, "PJ? Brian said . . . he said that you know Jack Canon. Is . . . is that true?" "Yes," PJ said carefully. "I know him." The tone of his answer brought a curious glance from Erik that PJ failed to notice. Phil continued, "He said . . . he said that Jack came to visit you last year." When PJ didn't say anything, Erik gave him another glance and answered, "Jack came a bunch of times. PJ spent Spring Vacation with him at Fenway Park. PJ took batting practice with the Red Sox team!" This revelation had Phil gazing at PJ in awed wonder. "You are so lucky! Jack Canon is the greatest player in baseball." PJ nodded. "Yes, he is." He paused, and then softly added, "I guess I was pretty lucky." They all went back to the top floor of the House, and since Brian still wasn't back, PJ and Erik stayed with Phil in his room to help him get his and Brian's computers set up and connected into both the school network and Internet. "Check this out, Phil," PJ said after he'd demonstrated how to how to get on the Gordonsville home screen. "Your first homework assignments are already posted. They're on your class page. You click here to get to it, see? And there they are." "Yeah," Erik called out from over at Brian's desk where he was still hooking up cables behind the computer. "They don't waste any time at this place. Assignments, assignments, and more assignments. All the way to Christmas! Better get used to it." "Don't worry, Phil," PJ told the boy, who was staring at the lists on the computer screen, looking a bit overwhelmed. "It's not as bad as it looks. Me an' Erik will be right across the hall if you get stuck with anything. I'm used to helping out. I gotta do it for Erik all the time or he woulda' flunked out long ago." Erik uttered an unmentionable. He was crouched on the floor, a cable in his teeth, fishing under Brian's desk for something he'd dropped, clearly in no mood for joking around. PJ began showing Phil how to get in to the different sites his instructors would be using for supplemental class material, but looked up when Erik called, "Hey, PJ, neither of these guys will have 'Zork' or the latest baseball game." "Oh, you gotta have those," PJ told Phil. "Life here can be seriously dull without 'em." He dashed across the hall, pulled some optical discs out of his desk, and brought them back so he could load the contents onto Phil's hard drive. Erik then did the same for Brian's machine. They were teaching Phil baseball game strategy when Brian came into the room with his dad. "You're all set up," Erik called, pointing to the computer on Brian's desk. A screen saver on the display was showing some of the spectacular Zork graphics. Erik winked. "I loaded the latest version, plus that baseball one PJ an' me like." "Oh, cool!" Brian happily exclaimed. "Thanks, Erik! See, Dad?" He looked up at his father. "I told you PJ and Erik were the greatest! Me an' Phil are so lucky to be across the hall from them!" "I'd say things have worked out pretty well," his father started to say, giving Erik a grateful look, but Brian had already dashed across the room to slap Phil's palm and declare triumphantly, "See? Didn't I tell you? Didn't I? This is gonna be so . . ." A tap on his shoulder turned him around. "There's something else," Erik said with a grin. We're stickin' together. I already told Phil. You, Phil, PJ, an' me. We're gonna be a crew. The Top Floor Gang. That's us. An' guess what?" He gave the eleven-year-old a playful punch on the arm. "The Top Floor Gang is gonna bring some championships home to Gordonsville!" Brian's eyes had grown wide. His face was lit up with excitement. Thrusting one fist into the air, he shouted, "Yes! The Top Floor Gang!" He stared at the other two boys, who vigorously nodded their heads in approval. "That's, like, awesome! This is gonna be like . . . like . . ." At a loss for words, he threw his fist up again and yelled, "Who's ready for some football?!" "We are!" three of the four chorused. All except Phil, that is. PJ could tell that he was looking a little scared. PJ would have to attend to that. "Hey, Brian's got it right. It's almost time for football practice. PJ, let's get these guys over there so they get signed up. He turned to the new boys. We'll try to get you lockers by us. You need to bring some stuff for today. Socks, shorts, a tee-shirt that you don't mind getting messed up. The sneakers you got on will be fine." While Brian and Phil were scurrying around grabbing their things, PJ nudged Erik and whispered in his ear: "You and Brian go ahead. We'll catch up. I need to talk to Phil by himself." His roommate nodded. "He's nervous?" "Yeah. Just give us a minute." He turned to Phil, who was holding an armful of practice clothing, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, "Let's go over to my room and we can pack both our things in my gym bag." With that, he guided the boy across the hall and sat him down on the bed next to him. "It's gonna be okay, Phil. I promise. The coaches are really nice. You'll like them. I was so nervous for the first practice last year that I almost couldn't make myself leave the locker room. But Coach Lewis talked to me and made me feel real comfortable and I had a good time. You will too. You'll see." "You were nervous, PJ?" Phil asked. "Oh man, was I." PJ laughed, pretending to remember, although he was inventing the whole story. "You better believe it. But once I saw how nice Coach Lewis was, I was okay. Wait 'til you meet him, Phil, you'll see. And remember, Erik and I will be right there with you. You or Brian need help, you come right to us." "Thanks, PJ," Phil said, so appreciative that he was almost in tears. With everything stowed in the gym bag, the two of them started downstairs, and briefly, maybe for only a second or two, PJ felt Phil's arm encircle his waist. With an affection that came surprisingly easy to him, no doubt because of Phil's urging, he squeezed the younger boy's lithe body against his own. Outside the House, Erik was waiting off to one side, watching Brian's dad exchange goodbyes with his son. He was saying, "Let me know how you make out on the team, Brian. And send me your schedule. I'll try to come to some of your games." "Dad, you gotta be sure you're here for Homecoming, Brian pleaded. "That's the Father-Son Dinner." "I'll be there for that one, Son, don't worry." His father put an arm around the boy's shoulders and hugged him. "Keep those good grades up now. "Your mom and I are proud of you." The two shared a last quick hug, and then Brian stood watching as his father walked away. At the corner of the House, the man turned to wave; Brian waved back. A moment later, his dad now out of sight, Brian ran to where his friends were waiting. His eyes were shining. And on the way to the Field House, he was very quiet. "Miss him?" Erik asked sympathetically. Brian nodded. "I know," Erik said. "It's the same with me. Especially the first day or so." PJ, walking next to them, Phil at his side, watched his roommate throw an arm over Brian's shoulders. The Top Floor Gang, he mused. Erik's idea was exactly right. He was so good at things like that. Erik was a leader--the quarterback--he can do things that I can't. He's got us all fired up. He's like Jack that way . . . Jack . . . PJ glanced at his three companions. They're luckier than they know. Sure, goodbyes were tough. But "Get out, I don't want you around anymore"--that sucked a lot worse! Still, Jack might remember my birthday after all. He could still send something. It could just be an e-mail. There's still time. Friday. Not until this afternoon had he been seeing any further than his birthday. But now Erik had him looking all the way to the end of the football season. If anyone could lead them to a championship, Erik could. PJ clenched his fists. Erik was his best friend, and "A faithful friend is a treasure beyond price"! That's what Erik's fortune cookie said at the Chinese place where Jack had taken them during the spring baseball season. They'd made the playoffs in baseball, all right. But that wasn't good enough! My best friend wants a championship! PJ vowed then and there that whatever he had to do to get Erik a championship, he would. No matter what! And afterwards? He couldn't see beyond that. At that Chinese restaurant, his own fortune slip had been blank. Chapter Fifty-Three: Two Little Brothers At the Field House, PJ and Erik introduced their two new recruits to Coach Lewis, got them signed in, and arranged it so their lockers were right next to their own. "Now we're all set," Erik happily declared. "The Top Floor Gang is together." After they changed into practice clothes, Erik led them down to the field for warm-ups. "Hey Phil, you've got a great arm!" PJ commented as the two of them tossed a football back and forth. "Erik, check this out." His roommate had been throwing passes to Brian, but at PJ's urging, both of them came trotting over. PJ waved Phil back further, sent the football to him in a lazy arc, and then had to react quickly when Phil shot it back in a flat, tight spiral which smacked into his hands. What followed was an almost eerie silence, broken only when Brian muttered, "Holy shit!" Without a word, Erik walked over to PJ, gestured for him to finish warming up Brian, and took over for Phil. "What an arm!" PJ whispered as he and Brian moved away. "He's a nice kid too." "Yeah," the sturdy dark-haired boy whispered back, "I think I lucked out and got me a really good roommate myself." Replied PJ, "Me an' Erik lucked out getting' the both of you across from us." Once they started passing back and forth to each other, gradually moving further apart, other boys jogging down from the Field House wanted to join in, and soon, footballs were flying everywhere. Off to one side, a knot of eleven-year-olds, also joining the team for the first time, stood around uncertain of what to do, watching with envy as Brian warmed up with the veteran players. While this was going on, PJ kept an eye on Erik, who was still at the end of the field exchanging passes with Phil. When he saw his roommate finally beckon, he corralled Brain and they ran over to where the other two stood waiting. Erik indicated Phil and pointed a finger at him. "He's a natural. He's nearly as good as I am." PJ couldn't resist this opportunity. "Oh, come on," he objected with a straight face. "There can't be another kid in the world that good!" Phil's face turned bright red, and Brian snickered. Lips tightened in an effort to stifle laughter at this barb, Erik pretended to ignore his roommate and concentrated instead on the two younger boys. "Listen up. All you rookies will be with one of the assistant coaches. Brian, you make sure he sees Phil throw." After Brian nodded, he continued, "PJ and I will be over here with the twelve and thirteens. Come and find us if you need anything. Let's stay tight." Not far away, a flurry of activity signaled the arrival of Coach Lewis, accompanied by his assistants and trailed by boys carrying insulated coolers of water. After making sure he had the new sign-ups and before splitting the group into teams, he gathered everyone around him. "Okay. Get in close. First, 'Hi' to you new guys! You're all gonna have fun! I promise. Looks like a good turnout. Let's get more tomorrow. Plenty of boys will be returning to school tomorrow, so talk up the team, guys! Get as many down here to sign up as you can." He gestured with his clipboard. "In case you don't know, here's how we work it at Gordonsville. Ten-year-olds in the Lower School play flag football for their houses. You eleven, twelve, and thirteens in the Middle School play on this team, and the Upper School"--just then, someone in the rear of the group made a rude noise--"and the Upper School," the coach went on smoothly, "has their own JV and Varsity program . . . and Lester, I see you back there, and I bet you don't have the balls to run over and tell those guys what you think of them to their faces." He pointed to the next field where a group of older boys were milling about, preparing for their own practice. A ripple of laughter greeted this remark. PJ saw Lester, the thirteen-year-old starting quarterback and a kid he considered to be a punk, try to hide behind two of his buddies. Coach Lewis continued the pep talk. "We don't cut anyone here at Gordonsville. As long as you come to practice, you are on the team. When I say we don't cut anyone, I mean exactly that. We have had boys out here in wheelchairs, and several years ago, a boy with one leg. They all played. If we have to modify the rules for you, we'll do it. The coaches out here want two things: we want you to learn to play as well as you can, and we want you to have fun." He paused to scan all the young faces looking up at him. "Now, some of you are going to be better than others. That's natural. Those of you lucky enough to have good skills will play in our Middle School League games. The rest of you will substitute, and we will try to get you into the games as much as we can, depending on how you perform in practice. But . . ." (here Coach Lewis held up his clipboard again) "I want to emphasize that you will all get to play in games every week. We divide the subs into two teams, sometimes three if there are enough of you, and we have regular scrimmage games along with the League games. Some of you will play in both. We want you to enjoy yourselves. But don't forget! There's something else we want too!" Coach Lewis grinned and looked around at them again. "We want--a championship season for Gordonsville!" This got everyone cheering. Erik nudged PJ and smiled. "Okay, enough talk!" the coach shouted. "Let's get started!" As the assistant coaches separated the boys into practice squads, PJ and Erik pointed Phil and Brian over to where the eleven-year-olds were gathering. "Go get 'em, guys," Erik said. "Show 'em that arm, Phil!" The veteran players stayed with Coach Lewis, who put them into them into lines for more of the grueling repetitive skill drills they'd been working on all through their mini-camp. When several players started groaning, he barked, "You guys had a nice rest this morning. Now get moving. You've got another week of this. Enjoy it while you can. On Friday and Saturday, you'll be doing it in helmets!" Erik, feigning dismay, glanced over to where the rookies were still getting organized and said ruefully, "Gee, it's enough to make a guy wish we were still scrubs." There was some laughter at that, laughter PJ joined in with although it was more out of loyalty to Erik than because he disliked the long drills. He understood how the others felt. The drills were tough and exhausting, but he considered them more of a challenge than as torture. Partly this was due to his superior strength and stamina, developed by a summer of hard training. But there was also another factor, one he would never want to admit to Erik because he knew it would make him look crazy. The truth was, PJ actually liked measuring himself against the demands of repetitive exercise. On the football field he could lose himself in the rhythm of physical effort the same way he did in the weight room or the swimming pool, driving himself farther and farther against the limits of endurance. Jack would understand. Suddenly, that thought intruded itself into his mind. It was a thought he'd tried to bury before. He didn't want to think of Jack. He hated Jack! And yet-- My birthday's in four days . . . I know he knows it . . . He'll send something . . . For sure he'll send something . . . Stop it! PJ told himself. Stop it! With an almost desperate eagerness he launched into the lateral step drill Coach Lewis ordered. Step, step. step . . . this side, that side . . . harder, faster, farther . . . Switching from drill to drill, moving constantly, PJ sought forgetfulness, slipping off into his world of total effort, driving himself to never stop, never hesitate, every move precise and controlled, never succumbing to the carelessness of fatigue. The demands of his lungs for more air, the pain in his muscles demanding more rest, these were things long practice enabled him to push into a locked compartment of his mind where they could be ignored. There was only the effort of the will . . . the unending challenge . . . harder, faster, farther . . . Hours later, when the practice ended, all the boys except the ones slumped on the grass were hunched over, hands on hips, gasping for breath. PJ was exhausted too, although not as wiped out as the rest. But all his effort hadn't succeeded in driving Jack from his thoughts. He was still there, staring down at PJ as he'd so often done in their workouts together at Fenway. You push yourself to forget? he was saying. What makes you think you're the only one? I was a shitty father to my own kid, PJ. Maybe there's things I wanna forget too. "Yes, Jack," PJ whispered. "But don't forget my birthday. Please don't." But Jack wasn't listening. He never really was, PJ thought. Coach Lewis was calling for everyone to gather around him again, so PJ, head swimming from the effort he'd put into practice, joined the back of the group. "You get your helmets on Thursday," the young coach announced. "Pads and equipment next week. Our first full scrimmage will be a week from Saturday and the first season game will be on the following Thursday. Questions? None? Okay, I'll see you for more of this tomorrow. Study those playbooks! And don't forget to bring in more recruits!" While the team started moving wearily back toward the Field House, PJ waited with Erik for their young friends. "How did it go?" Erik called when Phil and Brian joined them. "We had fun!" Brian happily declared. "The coach is cool. We're learning all kinds of good stuff." "Did he see you pass?" PJ asked Phil. The boy nodded. "He liked it. Brian and I are in the backs and ends group for offense, and in defense Brian is a linebacker and I'm an end. PJ, the coach is really nice, just like you told me." He looked up gratefully. "Thanks" "That's okay," PJ replied. "I'm glad it worked out." After they got changed, the four of them went to dinner together where they talked about the practice, and Erik entertained the younger boys with stories about the previous season. On the way back to the House, PJ suggested, "Why don't you two come with us after breakfast tomorrow and we'll show you the weight workout we do. Then from now on we can all do it together. It'll be better with four of us. We can all push each other." "You guys do weights?" Phil stared at his two older friends in a way that reminded PJ of Billy. "Every day," Erik told him. "You can, too. We'll show you how." "Some of the stuff I learned from . . . from Jack Canon," PJ said, hesitating before saying the name. He had almost said "my dad" by mistake. "That's awesome!" Brian exclaimed. He turned to his roommate. "We'll come, won't we, Phil?" Phil nodded. "I've never done anything like that before. But I'll do it if you show me how." "We'll show you, Phil," Erik assured him. "It's tough, but it's fun, too." When they got back to the House, the boys went to their different rooms and PJ got down a book from Erik's shelf to read, a science fiction novel by Robert Heinlein called Between Planets. It was one he liked because the hero was a boy who survived on another planet without his parents. He remembered, too, that it was one of the books Jack had given them. He read for a short time until Erik left the room on an errand, and then got up quickly, taking the opportunity to check his computer for any e-mail while he was by himself. Half-afraid that there'd be something from Jack, half-afraid that there might not be, he looked in his Inbox. There was nothing. The last message had been from Travis several hours earlier. PJ couldn't help himself: his heart sank in disappointment. Maybe there'd be something tomorrow. Jack knew when his birthday was. For sure he would send something, even if it was only a short note. He went to the Red Sox website and checked the latest scores and standings. The Sox were hanging on to their one-game lead over the Yankees, but Jack's batting average was still falling. His lead in the batting championship was in jeopardy. PJ went back to his book and was about to immerse himself in it when Erik came back with an announcement: "Mrs. Williamson sent some cookies." He handed a stack to PJ, holding back several more for himself. "I already had five." With a happy smile, he bit into another one and added through a mouthful of crumbs, "Along with a glass of milk." "Mm-mm-m," PJ said, his own mouth full of cookie. After devouring his snack, Erik fell back onto his bed and stretched out with a groan. "Man, am I tired. I had trouble making it up the stairs. Coach Lewis must be trying to kill us." "Mm-ff-mm-fm," PJ said, chewing on another cookie. "Exactly right." Erik nodded his head. "I couldn't have put it better myself." With another groan, he dragged himself up off the bed. "I'm gonna write my dad." PJ finished off the rest of his cookies, watching enviously as his roommate sat at the computer and typed away. After he'd gobbled up the last crumb, he licked his fingers and observed, "These cookies were good. She must've just baked them." "Yeah." Erik kept typing without looking up. "I would've gotten more, but the kids downstairs had already raided her. I was just in time to get the last of 'em." He finished his e-mail message, clicked the mouse to send it, and turned to look at PJ. "Want to play some baseball?" The two boys had become addicted to a new baseball video game Erik had found. PJ liked playing it even though it reminded him too much of Jack. He got up off the bed, dragged his desk chair over next to Erik's, and sat down beside him. They then played a full nine-inning game, another in an ongoing series they were having. "Oh boy!" Erik happily gloated when he won in the last inning. "That ties us up. I told you I was gonna come back! Next time we play in my stadium, too. My guys never lose at home." "We'll see about that," PJ sarcastically replied. "My bullpen had a bad day, that's all. Next time I'm pitching the ace." They both laughed. "This is a fun game," Erik said. He looked thoughtful for a moment, leaned back, and crossed his arms. "Geez, PJ, I hope the Red Sox get to the playoffs and go to the Series. That would be so cool. Hey! They're playing tomorrow night. You wanna watch it? We could make a bowl of popcorn and have like a last-night-before-school-starts party. It would be fun! We can see Jack." "Sure, let's do that," PJ said. He was not at all sure he wanted to see Jack, but he pretended to be enthusiastic. They talked for a while about it. Then Erik yawned. "I guess we better get some sleep." They put on their pajamas and prepared for bed. PJ put his nightlight on. Erik checked to be sure the alarm was set. "Let's take Brian and Phil over to meet Billy after we work out tomorrow morning," PJ said. "Yeah," Erik agreed. "That'll be fun. I bet Billy likes 'em. They're neat kids." "We're lucky to have those two across the hall," PJ said. Both boys got under their covers and picked up books to read before going to sleep, PJ, of course, returning to the Heinlein novel. Erik only read for a short time before turning out his light and drifting off. PJ turned his reading light off as well, but he stayed awake reading by the glow of his nightlight. The House was very quiet and he was tired, but he didn't feel sleepy. He kept thinking about his birthday and whether he would get a message or a present from Jack. He tried to concentrate on the book. He'd reached an exciting part where the boy who was the hero was fighting as part of a guerrilla force on Venus and was about to be reunited with a Venusian Dragon who was like a father to him. Suddenly there came a soft knocking on the door. PJ looked up, startled. At first he thought it might be Mr. Williamson, but the knock came again, a soft "tap-tap-tap-tap." That wasn't Mr. Williamson! PJ got out of bed, opened the door, and saw Brian standing in the dim hallway, looking upset. He was wearing pajama bottoms with no top. "Hey Brian," PJ said softly, "what's up? Come on in." "PJ," Brian's voice was trembling. "Phil's in his bed crying under the covers and I don't know what's wrong with him. He won't talk to me." "Uh-oh. Okay, hang on a sec." PJ went to Erik's bed and gently shook his roommate's shoulder. "Erik," he whispered, "Erik, wake up." Erik's eyes opened wide. He picked his head up in alarm. "PJ!" He looked around for a moment, confused, and came fully awake. "PJ, are you all right?" "I'm okay. It's Phil. Brian says he's in his bed crying." "Ah, Geez. That poor kid." Erik immediately slid out of his bed. "We gotta help him." They tiptoed across the hallway, Brian padding after them, and as they came into the darkened room, PJ could hear the little sounds and moans of a sobbing child. He went quickly to the bed on the far side. Phil was curled up with the covers over his head, crying softly as if his heart was breaking. PJ was sure he had his face buried in his pillow, trying to stifle the sound, because he'd done it enough times himself to know. He knelt by the bed. "Phil," he softly called. "Phil, it's PJ." "Go 'way." The words were muffled, forced out between sobs. "Please go 'way. Just leave me alone." "I can't," PJ told him. "I'm your friend. I can't go away while you're crying like this." He clicked on Phil's reading light while Erik quietly closed the door to the room to keep the rest of the House from hearing anything. "Erik's here, too, and Brian. We're all your friends, Phil," PJ assured him. "We won't leave." Phil sobbed again. PJ could see his slender shoulders trembling beneath the bedclothes. He put his hand over one of them and stroked gently. "You miss your dad, don't you." He saw Phil's head nod, and the boy broke into more crying. "I know what that's like," PJ said. He kept stroking Phil's shoulder. "So does Erik and so does Brian. We all know. And it's okay to cry. We've all done that too. Last year, when my mom and dad got killed, I cried every night and had bad dreams sometimes. It was awful." PJ felt Phil stir. "What did you do?" the boy asked in a muffled little voice. PJ gently pulled the blanket off Phil's head and stroked his brown hair. "Erik helped me," PJ told him. "When I cried at night or woke up from a nightmare, he sat with me and talked to me until I was better. He still does, because sometimes I still wake up at night. Erik is my best friend in the whole world. He takes care of me, just like Brian wants to take care of you. He's right here, and he wants to help." Brian knelt down next to PJ. "Everything's gonna be okay, Phil." "Brian misses his dad, too," PJ said, rubbing Phil's shoulder. "He felt kinda lonely after his dad left today. Did you hear him talk about it to Erik?" Phil nodded. "It helps a lot if you talk about it with a friend. It can make you feel better. Erik always talks with me after his dad leaves." Phil's sobbing had stopped while PJ was rubbing his shoulder. Now he pulled his red, tear-streaked face from his pillow and looked at Brian and PJ. "It's just that I haven't seen him in so long." "I know," Brian said softly. He reached out and took his roommate's hand. "Where does your dad live?" PJ asked. "He w-works in At-Atlanta now," Phil hiccupped miserably. "Hm-m-m." PJ thought for a moment. "You got his e-mail address?" Phil shook his head. "But you have his mailing address, right?" PJ said quickly. "You must. Your mom told you to write him." Phil nodded. "Over in my desk." "I've got an idea," PJ told him. "You said your dad went to school here, right? Then this can't miss. I bet he'd love to hear about your first day and what you're doing. You're gonna write a letter to him right now. We'll do it on my computer so we can print it on my laser printer. We'll help you. Tell him everything. Tell him how much you miss him. Tell him you want his e-mail address so you can write him all the time. Tell him you want him to visit! I bet we can get him to come!" "That's a good idea, PJ," Erik said. "Come on, Phil." Brian tugged on his roommate's hand. The boy uncurled himself from beneath the covers and slowly got up. Like Brian, he was only wearing his pajama bottoms. After they'd walked quietly across the hall to PJ and Erik's room, Erik closed the door while PJ, who'd noticed that Phil was shivering, put his own bathrobe around the boy's shoulders and sat him down in front of the computer. They brought up the word processing software. "Okay, here we go," PJ told him. "Start with 'Hi Dad.'" Phil began to type, with the others making suggestions as the letter progressed. "Make sure you tell him you're on the football team," Erik said; "And that your roommate is just the neatest, greatest kid you've ever met," PJ told him; "Tell him that the two guys across the hall are the greatest, too," Brian insisted; "Be sure to tell him about the pool and the swim team," PJ reminded him; "And tell him that the kids say the classes are tough, but you're not worried 'cause the two guys across the hall are gonna help you if you get stuck on your homework," Erik added; "Say you were kinda scared at first, but now you know everything's gonna be okay," Brian interjected, leaning against the chair and looking over Phil's shoulder; "And say that you want his e-mail address so you can send messages all the time," PJ said wistfully. "That's real important. It's almost as good as talking to him in person. And ask him to come visit. That's the most important thing of all. Tell him he's just got to come!" PJ turned away for a moment and brushed at his eyes. Phil stopped typing. "What if he d-doesn't, PJ?" he said, his voice shaking. "Wha-what if he doesn't answer? What if he doesn't c-come?" "He-he will," PJ forced the words out past a big lump in his throat. "He will. He's your dad." He patted Phil's shoulder. "Ya gotta believe that anything's possible." Phil turned to stare up at him. "That's what Jack Canon always says, isn't it." "Yeah," PJ said. "That's what he says." Phil turned back to the computer and kept typing. The final draft of his letter read like this: "Hi dad, I just finished my first day hear at Gordonsville. I was kind of scared at first, but I think now everything will be ok. My roomate is a really nice kid named Brian. I really like him and we are best friens already. He and I joined the football team. Brian likes to tackle and the coach says I have a good arm. The two boys who live across the hall are really gret also. They are on the football team, to. We all went to practice together today. Their names are Eric and Pj and they are really neat. Pj is on the swim team. He does buterfly, freestyle and the im. He showed me the pool today, you should see it. It is big. Eric says that with me in the backstroke and Pj in the fly we could win a champienship. Pj and Eric and Brian and me are all best friens. The only thing is dad, that I miss you a lot. Plese send me your email address so I can send messages to you all the time about what I am doing. And plese dad, plese come visit me. I miss you a lot and I would like to see you. I am sending my football scedule. Maybe you can come to some of our games. I would like that a lot. The most important thing is the last game. It is homecoming weekend. All the parents come. We have a father-son diner then and everyone brings their dad. I will get us tickets. Plese, plese come for that. It is very important. I will write you more. Plese send your email address. And don't forget the homecoming weekend. Be sure to come. Yours truly, Philip. PS, my email address is on the football scedule." "Why did you sign it 'Yours Truly'?" Erik asked. "I don't know," Phil said. "Isn't that what you always put at the end of letters?" "You love your dad, don't you?" PJ asked him. Phil nodded. "A whole lot." "He won't know that unless you tell him." PJ reached across to the keyboard and typed "Love from your son" over the "Yours Truly." He asked, "Why don't you say that instead? I think he'll like it a lot more." "Yeah," Erik agreed. Without giving Phil a chance to answer, he reached over to click the mouse, sending the letter to PJ's laser printer. "Shouldn't we check my spelling?" Phil wondered. "It's not so good." "Dads don't care about misspelled words too much," Erik told him. "They're not English teachers. My dad wouldn't care if I misspelled every word. He just wants to hear from me. He keeps every one of my letters. I checked once and I know he does." They got the letter from the printer and Phil folded it carefully into an envelope that Erik found for him. Once he'd addressed it in neat penmanship, Brian ran to their room and got a stamp. "Mail it right now, Phil," PJ told him. "Don't even wait 'til morning. You'll feel better." Phil stared at the letter. "PJ," he said, and his voice was filled with anguish, "PJ, what if he really doesn't care about me anymore?" He looked up, his eyes brimming with tears. "What if he hates me? Sometimes I think it was my fault that my mom divorced him. What if he never wants to see me again?" Erik leaned close to look at him intently. "Don't say that, Phil," he told the boy. "I once thought that, too, when my parents divorced. I thought it was my fault. But it wasn't. It's not true. They did it themselves. It wasn't your fault." "Phil, your dad will answer that letter," PJ said. "He just has to. He's your dad. If he can't tell from that letter that you're the nicest, most wonderful kid in the world, then . . ." His voice choked up again and he had to turn away. Erik looked at him with concern and then said quickly, "Look at it this way, Phil. Brian, PJ, and me--we've only known you for a day and we think you're great. We all like you a lot. So does Mr. and Mrs. Williamson. So does Coach Lewis. We can't all be wrong. And your dad knows you a lot better than we do. So he must like you. I'm sure he does. PJ's right. He's you're dad. Like Jack says, 'Anything's possible!' Ya' gotta believe an' keep goin'!" "Come on, Phil," Brian told him. "Let's send that letter. I'll go down with you. We'll put it right in the box." He put his arm across his roommate's shoulders and pushed him toward the door. The two boys slipped out into the dim hallway and padded quickly down the stairs in their bare feet. Erik looked at PJ. "I think we better stay with them tonight." "Definitely," PJ agreed. "I don't think Brian was feeling so great either. You know what, Roomie? I think we just adopted two new little brothers!" "I think you're right, Roomie. Let's show 'em how super big brothers behave." They got pillows and blankets off their beds and carried them across the hall. When Brian and Phil came back, PJ and Erik were already getting comfortable on the floor of their room. "We're camping out in here tonight with you guys," Erik told them. "I think we could all use a little extra company. Anyway, PJ and I just decided to adopt you two rascals as little brothers. You guys have any objections?" "ObJECtions?" Brian shot back, barely able to contain his delight, a huge grin on his face, an expression mirrored by Phil, whose jaw had dropped and whose gratitude had apparently rendered him speechless. "Phil an' me can't imagine anybody else in the world we'd rather have as brothers!" "Good. And things will be better tomorrow," Erik continued. "It's always the first night is the worst." He set his alarm clock on the floor by his blanket. "If it's okay, I'd like to have one of your desk lights on," PJ said. "I can't sleep in the dark. I get scared. I have to have a light on." Phil looked at PJ in astonishment. "For real, PJ? You get scared? I do sometimes, too," he confessed. "Yeah, if we don't have a light on, PJ will be convinced there's something from a Stephen King novel living in the closet," Erik told them. "You don't want that. He'll wake us all up." When the younger boys quietly giggled, PJ said, "You guys don't have to tell everyone about that." "I won't," Phil said. "I'm the same way too." "I would never do that, PJ," Brian promised. The boys climbed into their beds and got quiet. After a minute, Erik whispered, "PJ, are you okay?" "I'm all right, Erik," PJ whispered back. "I'm right here, PJ," Erik reminded him. "Thanks, Erik," PJ said. "Good night." "Good night," Erik whispered. Sometime later, PJ opened his eyes and saw a form kneeling on the floor next to him. It was Phil. "PJ, can I please be with you for awhile?" the boy begged. PJ's hushed response was a no-brainer: "Hop in, Little Brother." He lifted the covers as an invitation for Phil to slip in by his side, pulled Phil's smaller body tightly against his own, and cuddled his bare shoulders. "Everything's gonna be okay, Phil," he whispered in his ear. Sometime afterwards, they fell soundly to sleep in each other's arms. * * * CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT TWENTY-EIGHT Editor Paul K. Scott's e-mail: paulkdoctor@gmail.com Keep on firing in those comments because we both appreciate them!