Date: Sat, 5 Dec 2015 10:04:41 -0500
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: INSTALLMENT THIRTY-EIGHT of "THE FATHER CONTRACT"

INSTALLMENT THIRTY-EIGHT
from

THE FATHER CONTRACT
by

Arthur J. Arrington

Edited Paul K. Scott

Please consider a donation to Nifty to keep this thrilling story of PJ
going on and on!

Chapter Seventy: The Secret Garden

On Saturday, Phil asked PJ in his usual shy way, "Have you read The Secret
Garden yet? They were sitting on the back porch of Billy's house watching
the others practice in the yard. Erik was refusing to allow PJ to do any
running around until his hip was completely recovered, so the boys were
taking turns keeping him company on the steps while the rest went through
their plays.

"Not yet," PJ answered. The book had been sitting on his shelf, untouched
since his birthday.

"I was just wondering if you liked it," Phil said before changing the
subject.

PJ enjoyed talking to the younger boy. The more he got to know him, the
more interesting things he found out about him. Phil shared his passion for
aviation and was a mine of information about such diverse subjects as
astronomy and classic films, subjects that PJ enjoyed too. PJ was sure that
Phil had been sort of a lonely kid before coming to Gordonsville, and he
was glad that events had conspired to make them friends.

He moved his leg experimentally. It was almost pain-free. The morning swim
workouts were helping a lot, and he'd enjoyed more sessions in the
whirlpool. He was pretty sure that he could handle these private practices,
but Erik wouldn't hear of it. "We're not taking any chances," he'd
decided. "You're not doing anything until Coach says you can. You shouldn't
even be walking around. Why don't you just stay in the room and rest." But
PJ didn't want to miss being with his friends, and he was a little nervous
about being by himself for too long a time. He convinced Eric to let him
accompany them to Billy's house by promising not to participate in the
practice. "Really, I'll just sit and watch." Erik had reluctantly agreed.

PJ shifted his leg again. It really did feel a lot better. Now, if only the
Red Sox win today, he thought, everything will be fine. Phil was apparently
worried about that, too, because he asked, "When does the game start today?

"Around three, I think.

"I still don't see how they lost last night."

PJ shook his head. He hadn't believed it either when he checked the score
that morning. The Sox had been ahead when he went to bed. "I think the
bullpen let them down," he told Phil. "Or else Cleveland just got
lucky. Jack did okay, though."

"Yeah. He's definitely playing better," Phil agreed. "But they need to win
today to tie it up again."

"As soon as it comes on, we're gonna watch," PJ said.

Phil was not the only one who was thinking about the Sox. Brian and Billy
both talked about them too when it was their turn to sit with PJ. When
Mr. Thatcher came to tell them the game was starting, the boys all ran
inside to sprawl on the floor in font of the TV.

They watched the first five innings until it was time for the Gordonsville
gang to head back to campus. When they left, the Red Sox were leading three
to nothing, a score that was unchanged when they reached the House and
checked the TV again. They crowded into the Common Room among the other Red
Sox fans and saw Jack drive-in another run with a double before going to
eat. "I think he's out of his slump," PJ told Erik when they were walking
to the Dining Hall.

"Yeah. He's doing way better. Boy they need him, too! This series is gonna
be close. I wonder who's gonna win in the National League?"

"Probably Atlanta. They've got great pitching."

"Did you write Jack about our game?" Erik asked.

"Yeah. I told him all about it. He might send something back tonight."

After dinner, PJ checked on the internet to confirm the Red Sox had
won. They had, by a score of 5-2. He told Erik he was going to the Hobby
Shop, but on the way, he stopped at the Library, which was almost deserted
at that time on a Saturday evening. Using a computer that was in an
out-of-the-way corner, he composed his weekly fake e-mail from Jack. He
still hadn't received a single reply to the daily messages he was sending,
other than the ones he made up and sent to himself. But now it almost made
no difference. The messages he created had become so real to him that it
was as if he was hearing from Jack himself.

Tonight "Jack" wrote congratulating PJ and his teammates on their victory
over Fieldstone and expressing "his" disappoinment at not being at the
game. "He" told PJ about "his own recent games and then let him know that
"he" was still confident about the Sox getting to the Series. "Keep
believing in 'us,'" PJ had "him" say. "We" Sox players "Never Say Die."
Then "he" wrote, "I" just wish "I" could have seen you catch that pass for
Erik, and make that big run. Maybe "I" can take a quick break next week and
see your game. "I" don't know. But even if "I'm" not there, you know "I'll
be thinking of you. Good luck and do well. Remember, you're "my" Little
Champ. Love, "Jack."

After PJ sent this to himself, he went to the Hobby Shop, said "Hi" to
Mr. Jenkins, and worked on his model plane. He'd finished most of the
painting and was beginning a slow careful assembly process. He worked away
happily for several hours and only left when Mr. J. closed up.

As he'd been doing for several weeks, he took the long way around the dark
Quadrangle, avoiding the Chapel steps. His room was empty when he came
in. Erik was gone visiting somewhere. He checked the computer and saw that
he had mail: something from both Travis and "Jack." He read Travis'
first. It told a lot about the game Franklyn Middle School had lost to
Foxton, and PJ studied the details with interest. Then he opened the
message from "Jack." That one he didn't bother with since it was his own
and since it just made him feel dishonest and lonely. He printed up copies
of both messages and left them on Erik's desk. Then he decided to pass some
time with a book.

He went to the shelf. Tucked away at the end was The Secret Garden, the
very book Phil had asked him about. PJ took it down and curiously leafed
through the pages, remembering that he'd bought it because it seemed
different from the things he'd been reading recently. He decided to try
it. He got on his bed, adjusted his light, and started in.

Around him were the usual noises of a Saturday night: a door slammed, a
toilet flushed, voices and footsteps sounded on the stairs and faded
away. Laughter rippled from across the hall, probably Brian's or
Phil's. But one-by-one these these minor distractions faded away as PJ
continued reading. Gradually, without his even being aware of it, like
thousands and thousands of youngsters before him, PJ was drawn into the
beautiful and mysterious world of gardens and robins and great old houses
on wild, windswept moors.

The three children--Mary Lennox, Colin, and Dickon--seemed as real to him
as Erik, Brian, and Phil. He was so engrossed that he didn't notice that
Erik had come in until his roommate turned on his desk lamp.

"Whatcha reading?" Erik asked.

PJ held up his book so Erik could see the title.

"Jack gave you that one, didn't he? They made a movie of it. Any good?"

"Yeah, it's good. Hey, I left two messages on your desk."

Like PJ, Erik read Travis' note first. "This next game is gonna be a tough
one," he said.  Then he read the other one. "Neat! Jack says he might come
to the game. Awesome!"

"I don't know," PJ replied doubtfully. "That's what he said about this last
one, too, and he couldn't do it. He can't just do whatever he wants during
the playoffs."

"Well, it'll be great if he can come," Erik told him. "Anyway, for sure
he'll get to at least a few games before the end of the season. Even if
they do make the Series."

"They'll make it," PJ assured him with confidence.

PJ was enjoying his book so much that he only went to sleep when his eyes
refused to stay open any longer. Though he didn't sleep too badly, he was
restless that night. And that was because he'd fallen asleep thinking about
those neat kids and the mystery of a secret garden and what must've
happened there. . . .

* * *

After breakfast on Sunday, Erik insisted that he go back to the room and
rest. "You're not goin' anywhere today, PJ," he ordered. "We'll come get
you with Billy when it's time for lunch, and you can do the weights with
us, but that's it! We're not takin' any chances. If this Foxton team we're
gonna play is as rough as Travis says, then you've gotta be ready!"

"They can't be that tough, Erik," PJ mildly pointed out. "Fieldstone beat
them."

"Fieldstone came within a point of beating us, too!" Erik said. "You're
staying here."

PJ might have objected more it had not been for the book. He was anxious to
get back to it. He read all through the rest of the morning, took a
three-hour break for lunch and a workout with his friends, and read some
more in the afternoon.

He was glad he was alone when he finished it because the ending moved him
so powerfully that he started crying. He buried his face in his pillow for
a few minutes to get control of himself before sitting up, going to his
closet, and opening the door. Then he sat at his desk and stared at his
Jack Canon poster.

The Secret Garden had a lot of things in it he understood all too well. He
knew what real loneliness was like. And he knew exactly what it was to fear
and hate the world so much you wanted to hide from it. And he knew, better
than anyone, what it was like to yearn for a father.

And he understood the good things, too. When Colin said, "I will live
forever!," PJ was sure he knew just how he felt. It was the same feeling he
had when he saw Jack hit a home run, or when he hit one himself, or scored
a touchdown, or won a close race in swimming with the crowd chanting his
name. And as the author had said, there were only a very few times when you
got those feelings.

He stared at his poster. Colin's father had come to find him, and PJ knew,
he just knew, that someday his new father would come to find him, too. He
was being tested now. Preparing himself, just the way Colin had. He so
wanted it to be Jack. Not the Jack he'd known in Chicago, but the real
Jack--the one in the poster. And he would come. PJ was sure of it. All he
had to do was wait patiently and believe.

PJ hoped he would even come soon. Perhaps he'll come for the game this
Thursday. Jack had said that he might. (Already, PJ had convinced himself
that the most recent "message from Jack," like all the other ones he'd
composed, was real.) Until then, PJ knew he must keep getting himself
ready.

When Erik came to get him for dinner, PJ was still sitting at his
desk. "Come on, PJ," Erik chided. "Brian and Phil are waiting
downstairs. Let's eat!"

PJ followed him absent-mindedly down the stairs. "Phil," he said as they
walked behind Erik and Brain to the Dining Hall, "I read The Secret
Garden."

"Did you like it?" The younger had hesitated before asking, as if afraid of
what the answer might be.

"Yeah! I liked it a lot," PJ told him. Then he added, "Phil, are you glad
you came to Gordonsville?"

"Oh, yeah!" Phil smiled happily. "I have a lot more friends now than I used
to."

"Good." After a pause, PJ said again, "I really liked that book a lot."

When they came back from dinner, they all went to the Common Room to see
game five of the Red Sox-Cleveland series. The National League Championship
game was just finishing, so they watched the end of it while they waited
for the Red Sox to come on. The Atlanta Braves were beating the St. Louis
Cardinals seven to three. "If Atlanta wins, they go to the Series, right?"
Brian asked. PJ and Phil both nodded.

"Hey," Erik said, "you wanna ask Mr. Williamson if we can make popcorn?"

"I don't know . . ." PJ looked at the crowd of boys, who, like them, were
filing in from dinner to watch the game. "It's a school night. He might not
like it."

Erik sighed. "I'm hungry."

"Geez, Erik, you just ate," PJ told him.

"Yeah, I know," Erik glanced around like he was expecting food to magically
appear. "I should have ate more." He got up and went across to
Mr. Williamson's door and knocked. After awhile he came back with a glass
of milk and a handful of cookies. "Mrs. Williamson said there's more if you
want 'em," he told PJ. Over hearing this, Brian and Phil shot up out of
their seats and raced across the hall. PJ followed more slowly, being
careful of his leg. Mr. Williamson was sitting in an armchair reading. When
he saw PJ, he got up and followed him into the kitchen where the two
younger boys were getting glasses of milk from Mrs. Williamson and filling
their hands with cookies.

"How's your leg doing, PJ?" the housemaster asked.

"Oh, it's almost all better now," PJ told him. "I'll be fine for Thursday's
game."

Mr. Williamson smiled at him. "We haven't had a chance yet to congratulate
you on your win. You and Erik certainly put on a fine performance."

PJ blushed and looked down at his feet. He always liked being praised by
Mr. Williamson. "The whole team did well," he said shyly. "We wouldn't have
won without Brian's interception, and Phil's good work on special
teams. And all the other kids. It's good teamwork that lets us win."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, PJ." For a moment, it sounded to PJ like
Jack had been speaking. "But you still played very well," Mr. Williamson
went on, "and we're very proud of you."

"You must try not to get hurt anymore," Mrs. Williamson said as she poured
a glass of milk for him.

"Yes Ma'am," PJ meekly replied.

Brian and Phil left to go back to the TV, but PJ was in no hurry. He took a
sip of his milk, and asked, "Sir, do you remember the book that I got for
my birthday? The one you were surprised about?"

Mr. Williamson thought for a moment. "Now which one was that, PJ?"

"The Secret Garden."

"Oh yes, of course. The one Mr. Canon sent you. Yes, PJ, I remember. Did
you read it?"

PJ nodded.

"That's good. It's a fine book."

"I think it's one of the best I've ever read!"

Mr. Williamson looked at him kindly and stroked his hair. "Lots of people
have thought that, PJ. That's why it's famous. Did you feel like you
understood the characters?"

"Uh-huh." PJ nodded again. "I knew just what they were feeling."

"You've had some of the same experiences, haven't you."

"Yes, Sir."

"Are you still writing to Mr. Canon? When will we get to see him again?
It's too bad he hasn't been able to come for some of your games."

"He's pretty busy now, with the playoffs and everything."

"Well, perhaps he'll be able to come after all that's over with,"
Mr. Williamson said, patting PJ's shoulder.

"Yes." PJ stared off into space. "He'll come. Colin's father came to find
him."

Something in the tone of that reply caused Mr. Williamson to look closely
at PJ. He gave the boy a hug around the shoulders. Then his wife asked,
"PJ, do you want some of these cookies?"

"Yes, thanks." He took two.

Let's go see how the Red Sox are going to do tonight, PJ," Mr. Williamson
suggested.

"Don't let those boys stay up too late," his wife reminded him.

"I'll sit with them and chase them upstairs when it's time," the
housemaster promised. He and PJ went across the hall.

Erik was saving a seat for PJ on the sofa. He moved over to make enough
room for Mr. Williamson too. "Atlanta eliminated St. Louis," he
reported. "They're going to the Series."

"They'll be a tough opponent," Mr. Williamson said as he sat down and got
comfortable. "They have very good pitching, don't they?"

"The Red Sox will beat them," PJ asserted.

The Boston-Cleveland game had already begun when the TV coverage switched
to it. They joined the game in progress, with the Indians batting at the
top of the first inning. PJ's throat constricted a little when he saw
Fenway Park in the background and thought of all the times he'd been there.

Jack came up to bat in the bottom of the first. PJ felt a chill down his
spine as he watched the tall, confident figure step into the batter's
box. This was the Jack Canon PJ felt he knew. The Jack Canon of the poster
on his closet door. The strong, smiling man who could throw him high in the
air at his swimming pool and who called him his "Little Champ."

The crowd was with him again now that they'd forgotten his slump. The chant
of "Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack . . ." was going on in the background and the TV
commentators were no longer talking about his declining average. When he
belted a single up the middle, nearly hitting the pitcher and driving in a
run, the Fenway crowd roared its approval. Jack grinned into the TV cameras
while he stood at first base. On the very next pitch, he stole second,
moving with deceptive speed for such a big man. It was a play that took the
Indians completely by surprise. The catcher nervously hurried his
throw. The shortstop, in trying to cover the base while at the same time
avoid Jack's ferocious slide, took his eye off the ball, which caromed off
the fielder's glove and skittered away into the outfield. Jack was up on
his feet in an instant, heading for third as the defense scrambled to
recover the errant throw. Sliding in safely, Jack used his momentum to
bounce to his feet, dusted off his uniform, and turned to the crowd,
smiling delightedly. The entire stadium was chanting "Jack . . . Jack
. . . Jack . . . Jack . . ."

As the TV showed a close-up of Jack's face, PJ felt another thrill of
exhilaration and longing. Jack would come and find him. He just had
to. Perhaps he'd come as early as this week. Maybe not until after the
Series. But he would come.

The Red Sox were still leading by one run when Mr. Williamson chased them
all up to bed. PJ begged to stay up until the end of the game because he
knew his radio battery was dead, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. The
housemaster merely reminded him that because of his injury, he now needed
his rest more than at any other time. PJ didn't have a chance at winning
the argument.

* * *

	He dreamed that night of the darkness and woke with a start in the
early hours of the morning, convinced that it was time to get up. He looked
around. Erik was fast asleep. His clock said it was just after one A.M. PJ
checked himself to be sure he hadn't wet his bed before slipping out from
under the covers and tiptoeing over to his computer. He logged on to the
Red Sox website to check the final score. Dang! They'd lost 4-2. The
Indians now led the series three games to two. If the Red Sox lost another
game, they'd be eliminated. Now he knew why he'd been dreaming of the
darkness!

	PJ sighed and went back to bed. But he had an awful time trying to
get back to sleep. An awful time, that is, until he recalled the ending of
The Secret Garden, when Colin, who'd dreamed for so long of being reunited
with his father, walked proudly at Mr. Craven's side to the house while
everyone watched. PJ had wondered if those lines had been written for
him. I'll be like that, he told himself. I'll be like that when Jack comes
to find me. We'll walk together into the Father-Son Dinner!

The rest of the night, he slept very comfortably indeed.  Chapter
Seventy-One: Dream Magic

On Monday, the bulletin board in the locker room had both the assignments
for Thursday's game and the standings in the league. "It's a four-way tie
for first," Erik said, pointing. "We've all got 3-1 records."

PJ looked. Gordonsville, Perry, Franklyn Prep, and Foxton, the school they
were scheduled to play Thursday, all had only one loss. "That's gonna
change this week," he said. "At least one of us is gonna lose."

"Let's make it them," Erik declared. "And Fieldstone's playin' Perry. I
think they can beat Perry, so that could be another loss."

PJ nodded thoughtfully . . . "The school we're playin' Thursday. I remember
when we beat 'em in swimming last year. They had this really good
butterflyer. They thought they were gonna beat us, and when they didn't
they weren't very nice about it."

"I remember," Erik said, "Jack was at that meet. And those reporters. That
Foxton team was really a bunch of jerks."

"I hope their football team isn't like that."

"I don't know," Erik shook his head. "It may be a rough game. And we're
starting. So make sure your leg is one-hundred-percent."

PJ was doing everything he could to make that happen. The swim workouts and
the bed rest were helping. He avoided all contact in practice that day, and
had another whirlpool session afterwards.

That night he e-mailed Jack, hoping that this time he might actually get an
answer:

"I'm pretty sure my hip is getting better," he typed. "I guess I'll be
ready for Thursday's game. It hurt real bad in
 the last game and I'm kind of scared a little. But I wont let anybody see
it just like you told me. I guess maybe
 you are a little worried, too, because the Indians are leading in the
series. But I know you will go to Jacobs
 Field tomorrow and do great. I believe in you, Jack. You and the Red Sox
can't lose. And even if you did, I'd still
 believe that you are the greatest. Our game on Thursday is after your
series is over with. I would like it a real,
 real lot if you could come.  Please Jack. Erik and Bill and Mr. Thatcher
and everybody all ask about you all the
 time. If you cant come could you just write and tell me if I'm doing
everything right with my hip? You don't have
 to say anything personel. If you come to my game you don't even have to
talk to me if you don't want to. I'll
 understand. Good luck in your games. I know you will win. Love PJ."

The following day, the Red Sox game was in the afternoon, so it started
while PJ was still at football practice. All through his drills and his
whirlpool session afterwards, he was in an agony of impatience to get to a
TV and watch the game. While he sat in the hot tub, Erik, Brian, and Phil
tried to help by bringing him regular updates from a TV in the coach's
office. It wasn't long before the three of them came running in
excitedly. "It's two-nothing, Red Sox!" Phil shouted. "Jack just homered!"

"Yeah!" PJ held up a clenched fist. "Oh man, I hate missing this. Ask Coach
how much longer I gotta sit here. Tell him my hip's fine."

"Coach said a half-hour more, and not a minute less," Erik firmly
declared. "So just relax."

"Gr-r-r," PJ snarled, scowling at him.

As soon as PJ was finished, he jumped out of the hot water, quickly
dressed, joined his three friends in running to the Dining Hall for a
gulped-down supper, and pelted with them across the campus to the House,
all four piling into the Common Room to get to the TV, where Mr. Williamson
was watching the game along with lots of other boys, who'd so filled the
chairs and sofas that some were sitting on the floor! PJ and his buddies
squeezed in on their fannies.

"It's 4-2 Cleveland," the boy next to PJ said. "The Indians had a big
inning in the sixth."

Oh, no!  Come on, Jack! PJ thought. He tried to will the Red Sox batters
into hitting their way out of that hole. And they did! The Sox came
battling back with a big inning of their own in the eighth. Jack led it off
with a double. The Red Sox first baseman, who up to that point had gone
hitless, drove him in with another double of his own, and then scored on
the next batter's single!

That tied the game, but the inning was far from over because there still
were no outs! Although Cleveland replaced their starting pitcher with a
reliever, the Sox kept on hitting and runners kept scoring. They led 7-4 by
the time the Indians made the third out. A fresh arm from the Sox bullpen
shut down the Cleveland sluggers in the bottom of that eighth, and with
their lead intact through the ninth, they brought in their ace closer and
won the game!

 Around PJ, the Common Room erupted in wild cheering, himself, Erik, Brian,
and Phil whooping just as loud as anyone else! A few pillows flew through
the air until Mr. Williamson restored order.

"All right, boys, that's enough. Tomorrow's a school day. Go up and get
your work done."

"Can we watch the game tomorrow night?" someone yelled.

"You can all see the beginning of it, at least. But none of you are staying
up past ten." There were groans at this. The housemaster nodded to show he
understood, and held up a raised palm. "I'll tape the game so those of you
who want to can see it later. But there'll be no staying up past ten. Now
upstairs, all of you. I know you have homework to do."

PJ did, in fact, have lots of work to finish. But he still found time to
give Phil some help with his science and to send a short e-mail to Jack
congratulating him on his win. For inspiration while he was typing, he kept
his closet door open so he could see Jack's poster. Everything's gonna turn
out great, he kept telling himself. Tomorrow the Sox will win their series
with Cleveland, I just know it! Then the day after that, Jack will come to
my Foxton game. For sure! By the time he was in bed and going to sleep that
night, he'd convinced himself that everything would turn out just that way!
* * *

The Wednesday practices before Thursday games were always easy, so PJ was
expecting nothing unusual when he went to the field that afternoon. It was
a surprise, therefore, when Erik came running up to him, saying, "Coach
needs to see you right away!"

Coach Lewis was standing next to the bleachers flanked by Sandy and
Jacob. As PJ and Erik approached, PJ distinctly heard Jacob say, "Ya' gotta
let him, Coach. He's the best one!"

"How's the hip, PJ? Coach Lewis asked.

"Fine, Coach."

PJ made his answer firm and positive. His hip was not really
one-hundred-percent yet, but he wasn't about to say so. He knew Jack would
do the same thing.

"We got a problem," the coach told him. "Garry's out with the flu."

Sandy hurriedly filled in the details. "He got sick last night. He's stuck
in the infirmary. No way is he gonna play tomorrow."

"Maybe not for a few weeks after that, either," the coach added. He looked
hard at PJ. "You've rotated through running back at practice. Erik says you
know the position. You willing to try it in a game?"

Running back! PJ's heart pounded with excitement. Right in there next to
Erik, every play!  Better believe he wanted that.

Then came misgivings. He'd be competing against thirteen-year-olds. What if
I'm no good? What if . . .

Suddenly, PJ thought again of Jack and was ashamed. No way would Jack come
up with such excuses! Never let 'em see you're afraid, he'd say. PJ took a
breath, met Coach Lewis' eyes, and said, "I can do it. If you need me at
running back, I want to do it for you!"

The young man ruffled his blonde hair. "I know you'll do your best, PJ."
And we may have to rely on you a lot." With a frown, he turned to look at
Sandy. "This guy tells me that yesterday, he rolled his ankle playing
basketball."

"It's okay if I tape it, Coach," Sandy protested. "I'll be all right."

PJ was barely listening. Running back! Yes! He saw that Jacob was trying to
get his attention. When he looked, the stocky fullback winked and gave him
a thumb's-up sign. He's with me, PJ told himself. This is gonna work. Then
a thought occurred to him. "Coach, let Brian take my place at wide
receiver! He's good! Give him a chance."

"We'll see." Matthew had come running up with the clipboard, on which Coach
Lewis began making notes. "At least I might rotate him at that spot. We'll
see what happens."

"Come on, guys." Erik gestured for the others to follow him toward where
the team was gathering for warm-ups. As the four of them jogged across the
field, PJ saw Erk and Jacob touch fists.

In the practice that followed, PJ found the transition from wide receiver
to running back easy enough. As Coach Lewis had said, he'd rotated through
the position lots of times during drills earlier in the season, plus
there'd been hours and hours of time spent teaching the playbook to Brian,
Phil, and Billy. In the pro-set formations, he took Garry's spot on Erik's
right with Sandy lined up on the left. For the I-formation plays, he and
Sandy alternated at tailback. PJ even helped out Jacob a few times by
taking his fullback spot while the older boy ran to the sideline for a
quick gulp of water.

"This is gonna work," Sandy kept reassuring them all, but PJ noticed he was
favoring his right ankle all through the workout. Erik noticed it too. "You
better be ready to play the whole game tomorrow," Erik muttered while he
and PJ gathered with the others around Coach Lewis at the end. "I'm not
sure we can count on Sandy."

"Listen up, guys," the coach told them. "Be ready for a tough one against
that Foxton team. They knocked off Franklyn Prep last week and tomorrow
they'll be gunnin' for you. It's a long bus ride to their campus. We leave
right after morning classes. You'll have bag lunches to eat on the way
(Ug-h! thought PJ, anticipating what eating on the bus would do to his
stomach), because I want you guys well-rested." Coach Lewis looked around
sternly at the team: "No skateboarding, no frisbee games on the Quad, and
no basketball!" At that point he pointed at Sandy, who grinned in
embarrassment amidst a ripple of laughter.

"And I know the Red Sox are playing tonight," he continued. "No staying up
late to watch!" There were a few groans, but the young coach shook his
head. "Be in bed, asleep, before ten o'clock. No exceptions!" (Erik gave PJ
a dig in the ribs with his elbow). Coach Lewis grinned and clapped his
hands. "Win! On three!"

Instantly Erik took over. He stepped to the center, pumped his fist, and
yelled out "Gordonsville! One-two-three!"

"WIN!" everyone shouted.

As the meeting broke up, Coach Lewis told PJ, "At least an hour in the
whirlpool before you leave!" Then came a tap on the shoulder and there
stood Jacob with Nolan, the big lineman, both telling PJ, "Rock 'em an'
sock 'em tomorrow, teammate!" It gave PJ a good feeling to know that the
guys on the team were behind him. He waited with Erik for the scrub
practice to finish, and when Brian and Phil joined them, Erik gave them the
news. "PJ's playin' running back tomorrow!" Both younger boys' faces lit up
with excitement. "Yeah!" exclaimed Brian.

I asked Coach Lewis if you could take my spot at wide receiver," PJ told
him. "I think he will."

"With PJ at running back an' you in as a receiver," Erik said, "we can run
some of our special plays!"

"Awesome!" Brian exchanged a palm slap with Phil, who then turned to PJ and
said, "We're both on the bus. They told us at practice."

"Like there was any doubt," Erik laughed. "No way they'd leave you two
home!"

"Top Floor Gang!" PJ exclaimed, holding out a fist. Three other fists piled
on top of his. "Together!" the rest shouted.

On the walk up to the Field House, Brian and Phil led the way, talking
energetically. PJ remained close to Erik. "When I'm in at running back," he
quietly said, "I won't let you down."

His best friend looked at him with great seriousness. "I know you
won't. Same here."

PJ used his time in the whirlpool to plan his strategy for the evening. As
soon as he was dressed, he ran to the Dining Hall for a fast meal, and
afterwards to his room to get started on his homework. It was a challenge
to quickly finish all his assignments and study for his classes the next
day, but he was helped by the fact that he only had to prepare his morning
recitations because the team bus was leaving at noon.

The first pitch in the Red Sox game was at eight-thirty, but it took him
until almost nine to finish everything, so he missed the start and got to
the Common Room halfway through the second inning. It was okay, though,
because the score was still 0-0 and he hadn't missed out on any big
plays. He settled in on the floor to watch the action.

There wasn't too much of it. Both teams were using their best pitchers, and
the hits were scattered. Scoring opportunities arose for both sides, but
neither team could capitalize. Jack had hit a long fly ball that just
missed being a home run in his first at-bat. Later on, he singled and got
stranded. When Mr. Williamson chased them all upstairs at ten o'clock, the
score was still nothing, nothing.

PJ was fully prepared. He changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and
got into bed, his Walkman loaded with a fresh battery. He was already tuned
into the game when Erik returned from the bathroom. "Still no score," PJ
reported.

"Geez, PJ, don't stay up too late," Erik pleaded. "If I hand off to you
tomorrow and you're sleepwalking, I'll probably get killed recovering the
fumble."

"I'll get plenty of sleep," PJ promised. "Phil and I are skipping morning
swim practice."

Erik shook his head as if he disapproved. But he got into bed and switched
off his light without saying anything else.

PJ didn't notice. He was already getting into the remainder of the
game. Radio coverage was so much better than TV. With the play-by-play in
his ear, it was like he was right there at the stadium. In his mind, Jacobs
Field lay spread out before him, its magnificent playing surface gleaming
like green, watered silk under the lights. The roaring of the immense crowd
was like the sound of ocean surf. He could see every batter and every pitch
through the magic of the Red Sox commentator's voice. He thrilled as first
the Red Sox and then the Indians scored. His heart pounded as Jack came up
again, walked, and then made it around the bases for another Red Sox run!

He knew that he was very tired. He rolled into a more comfortable position,
adjusting the earpieces so he could rest his head on the pillow and still
follow the action in one ear. He decided to close his eyes just for awhile
to rest them. The game continued, so real, so much better than the little
picture on TV. It was as if he were there . . . then suddenly, he was
there, sitting next to Jack in the dugout, wearing his little Red Sox
uniform.

And Jack was telling him, "It takes courage to play this game, Little
Champ, lots of courage. And injuries are part of the game. You've got to be
tough. It took me two years to come back after my hip operation. Yours is
gonna' be okay. Just do what your coaches tell you. They know best. And
never give into it, PJ. Never, never, give in. But I know you won't. You're
my Little Champ and I'm so proud of you . . ."

There were men on base now; PJ could see them from the dugout. The crowd
was roaring. "On-deck time, PJ," Jack told him. "Get me a good stick."

PJ went to the rack. There were half a dozen bats in Jack's slot. He felt
each of them, but only one felt just right. It seemed to tingle in his
hand. He took it and brought it to Jack in the on-deck circle. The great
lights of the stadium were dazzlingly bright. PJ sensed the TV cameras
focusing on the two of them.

Jack took some practice swings to get loose before he and PJ knelt together
in the circle painted on the ground. Jack studied the pitcher.

"He's got his stuff tonight all right," Jack said. Then he grinned down at
PJ. "But there's no pitcher we can't hit, right, Little Champ?" PJ grinned
back at him and nodded.

The Red Sox batter swung and missed. The Cleveland crowd roared their
approval. Without even looking at the scoreboard, PJ knew there were two
outs and the game, the series, and the whole Red Sox season were on the
line. But this was Jack. And PJ believed in him with all his heart! They
stood up. Already, the Red Sox fans out in the bleachers had started their
chant.

"Jack . . . Jack . . . Jack . . . Jack . . ."

The sound thundered through the stadium. The very air shook with it!

"Show time, PJ." Jack smiled and held out the bat. "Touch it for luck,
Son."

PJ clasped the bat, their eyes met . . .  And then with a grin and a nod,
Jack strode to the plate.

In that instant, PJ knew that he loved Jack Canon more than he loved anyone
else in the world!

The pitcher tried to use his stuff, but Jack wasn't fooled. He let two
balls go by. The next pitch sped in . . . over the plate! Jack uncoiled in
that seemingly effortless swing that PJ knew contained so much
power. TWACK!

	He heard the radio announcer yelling into his microphone, "Canon's
hit a tremendous shot into the gap in right-center! The fielders are racing
back. The ball's over their heads! Oh! It caroms off the wall and it's
completely by them again! One run scores! Another run is in! Jack has
cleared the bases with this shot! Canon's going to third! There will be no
throw! The cutoff man is holding the ball. Canon is in with a stand-up,
two-out triple! The Sox go ahead five to four!"

PJ came half awake and stirred on his pillow. Jack! Jack had done it! The
Sox were in the lead. Now hold them, he thought. He stirred again and
adjusted his earpieces, trying to keep one in so he could stay awake for
the end of the game.

The Red Sox were in the field and Cleveland was at bat. Now it was the
Indian's turn to see their whole season go on the line. The Red Sox closer
was on the mound, but the Cleveland lineup was tough. He was missing on his
first pitches, getting behind the hitters. One singled, another
walked. Then he got two ground-ball outs. One of the sluggers came to the
plate. The Red Sox manager went to the mound. PJ's eyes closed.

"Never get down on your pitcher, PJ." Jack was talking to him again. He was
standing next to PJ out in right field under the lights. But they were in
Fenway Park, not Jacobs Field. And he and Jack were playing together!

"Your pitcher has a tough job. The pressure's really on him," Jack said. PJ
moved closer to him and got in his stance as the batter stepped in. Home
plate looked a long ways off.

"Every batter, every pitcher is different," Jack went on. "You have to know
them. Anticipate them. You need to position yourself for each batter. Know
which way to go on every pitch."

The crowd was making a lot of noise. PJ had to strain to hear what Jack was
saying.

"Watch this guy now. Here he goes! Be ready!"

PJ saw the batter swing. There was a tremendous roar from the crowd as the
baseball arced up into the lights.

"Here it comes, PJ," Jack yelled. "It's a long one! Get back. Get back!"

PJ sprinted back toward the wall, keeping the ball in sight over his
shoulder. "That's it!" Jack was telling him. "That's the way. Keep your eye
on it. Don't lose it in the lights! Come on! Sprint! You can get it! Here
it comes! Get up in the air now. Jump for it!"

PJ leaped as he hit the wall, straining his glove up over the barrier. The
ball dropped into the tip of his webbing. He hung on desperately and fell
back, sprawling onto the ground. He held the ball up in triumph amid an
explosion of cheering from the crowd.

	"He's got it! He's got it! He makes the catch!" The radio announcer
was screaming hysterically, "Jack Canon has made the catch at the top of
the wall! That ball was gone and Canon saved it! The ball game is over! The
ball game is over! Ladies and gentlemen your Boston Red Sox have given you
an American League Championship! Listen to this crowd!"

The noise flowed around PJ like the roaring of waves in a hurricane. He
could feel the sound in his body. He was exhilarated, rushing atop the
rolling noise. Jack was trotting in from right field, holding the ball up
under the lights, and PJwas trotting in with him. "Jack . . . Jack
. . . Jack . . . Jack . . . Jack . . ." The chanting thundered in his
ears. The Red Sox players were pouring from the dugout to meet them,
running toward Jack excitedly. PJ watched helplessly as Jack was borne
away.

But which one of them had made the catch, and in what ballpark?

"Jack!" he cried in confusion.

But did it matter? "Never say die, Little Champ!" Jack shouted, grinning,
and then PJ lost sight of him in the whirling mob that stormed the
field. Crowds broke through the barriers.

"I never will," PJ whispered. The sounds were fading. "Anything's Possible,
Jack," and this time he knew how true that was!

He gradually felt himself falling asleep, until he heard this:

	"If the Red Sox have a heart and a soul, it is this man," someone
on the radio was saying. "Canon's leadership and great play got them to the
playoffs. Tonight his bat gave them the lead and his incredible leaping
catch won the Championship and gave them the chance to go to the World
Series. It's hard to see how anything can stop the Red Sox now!"

	"Yes, but they have to face the Atlanta Braves," another voice
said, "who also have great hitting as well as awesome pitching. And there's
still the Curse. . ."

	"Canon saw that pitching in the All-Star game and you saw what he
did . . ."

PJ came partially awake with the voices from a late-night sports talk show
yammering in his head. He stirred and his headset fell off. Sleepily, he
gathered it up with his radio and put them on the floor beside his bed. The
Red Sox. They'd won. He knew he'd heard that. He had no idea what the score
had been. But they'd won! Jack was taking them to the World Series!

He shifted to a different position on his pillow and closed his eyes. Jack
. . .

In the night he dreamed of the long, empty corridor with its locked doors
and its row of lights stretching into infinity. From somewhere far above
him, the distant thundering of a vast cheering crowd echoed faintly along
the concrete walls. Behind him, the darkness still crept towards him, but
PJ felt no terror. As the dark engulfed him, two strong arms took hold of
him and threw him, laughing, up into the light. He dove back into the water
and swam to the bottom. The pool was silent and glowing with light. He
stretched himself on the rough concrete, holding the drain to keep himself
down, and stared at the rippling surface far above him. His hair waved in
the current.

His eyes stared sightlessly and his body drifted. . . .

	"You're safe, PJ," he heard Jack's voice whisper. "Safe! Safe!
Safe!"

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT THIRTY-EIGHT

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

As always, write in as whenever you're so inclined, 'cause we love hearing
from you!


CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT THIRTY-EIGHT

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

Keep them cards an' letters comin'!