Date: Sun, 1 Mar 2015 16:54:46 -0500
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: The Father Contract Installment Eighteen

INSTALLMENT EIGHTEEN
from

THE FATHER CONTRACT
by

Arthur J. Arrington

Edited Paul K. Scott

Please give a donation to Nifty in order to keep this wonderful serial of
PJ and his boy friends alive and well!

Chapter Thirty-Six: Brothering Master Billy

"Tonk!"

The sound of an aluminum bat hitting a baseball was quite different from
the sound made by a wooden bat, but PJ thought it was just as sweet,
especially when the ball went sailing off as nicely as this one did.

"Thataway, Billy!" he called to the little boy, and lobbed another easy one
over the milk crate they were using for home plate. His young friend took
another swing. "Tink!" This time Billy only got a piece of the ball,
grounding it past PJ.

"That's the last one," PJ said. He and Billy began picking up the dozen or
so balls they were using for Billy's batting practice. As he bent over,
hunting in the weeds for balls, PJ reflected that at this time just a day
before, he'd been taking batting practice with the Boston Red Sox in Fenway
Park! And the pitcher had been the current Cy Young award winner of the
American League! What a difference from the vacant lot where he was
coaching a little boy in his hitting. Still. . . . Billy was going to be
playing in the nine and ten-year-old coach-pitch league that spring. He'd
not be hitting off a tee as he had the year before, so PJ was getting him
used to live pitching.

After collecting all the balls, PJ had Billy swing a few times for
him. "That's the way," he encouraged.  "Keep your head down. Step into the
ball." PJ had discovered that teaching hitting was just as hard as hitting
itself. But he remembered how patient the Red Sox hitting coach had been
with him, so he was patient with Billy.

The little boy was obviously having a wonderful time. He loved doing
anything with PJ or Erik, whom he talked about as if they were older
brothers, and PJ knew Billy especially liked it when he taught him
things. So seeing his enthusiasm, PJ couldn't resist giving the younger boy
one more time at bat. "Billy, I'm gonna pitch one extra round. Then we
better check with your mom about eating."

"Okay! This is neat, PJ. I can really hit good when you pitch to me."

Again, PJ threw the ball carefully, trying to get his pitches over the milk
crate so that Billy would have a fair chance at swinging the way PJ was
teaching him. He made nice contact on most of them. For the last pitch, PJ
called out, "Remember, keep that head down!" He put one over the crate and
his pupil came through with his best swing yet, popping one all the way to
the edge of the lot. "All right!" PJ yelled. "Home run!"

Billy was jumping up and down, shrieking in excitement. "Did you see that,
PJ? Did you see it?"

"Wait 'til they see you do that in the coach-pitch league!" PJ shouted
back, pumping a fist. The two of them went around collecting all the balls
again, and afterwards walked over to Billy's house for lunch. On the way,
Billy looked up and said, "PJ, you're the very best friend I've ever had!"

It was the same thing Billy had told PJ that morning when he'd come running
to the door in answer to PJ's knock. He'd looked cute, standing there
wearing a cut-off half shirt which showed his tiny belly button (for a
moment, PJ's hand had moved to check his own belly button--before he
reminded himself that he no longer needed to worry about that).  With a
huge smile, Billy had shouted delightedly, "Mom! . . . come here!
. . . It's PJ! . . . PJ's here! PJ, guess what?" and then in staccato, "I
saw you on TV . . . My Dad and I both saw you . . . You were in the Red Sox
dugout with Jack . . . They showed you a bunch of times . . . We saw the
whole game!"

Billy's house was the first place PJ thought of going to on Monday morning
when he woke up.  His own room was filled with boxes of clothes from Brooks
Brothers, every piece of clothing with a neat little tag sewn into the
lining, "P.J. Thorndyke" embroidered in small letters. He didn't feel up to
organizing all those things, putting new stuff away, throwing out old stuff
he had outgrown. Nor did he want to wander aimlessly around the campus
missing Jack and feeling lonely. He knew Billy was on Spring vacation just
like he was and would want to play some ball, so the first chance he got he
sneaked off campus and walked to the Thatcher house.

It had been necessary to avoid Mr. Williamson in order to get away because
his housemaster had been asking PJ all sorts of questions about his
vacation with Jack ever since he'd picked him up at the airport. He and his
wife had also seen PJ on TV, and they were full of curiosity about Jack and
the Red Sox. But PJ was still wishing he hadn't had to leave Jack so
soon. He really didn't feel like talking about his trip.

Not the Boston part of it, anyway. The return flight was another
story. Jack's driver had been no help at all. He'd dropped PJ off at Logan
Airport's General Aviation terminal, given PJ the name of the charter air
service he was supposed to use, and just driven away without another word,
leaving PJ standing on the sidewalk. After wandering into the terminal, PJ
found the right charter service only by asking several people and getting
directions. But soon after, he'd been introduced to his pilot, a Captain
Dutcher. When PJ had explained his need to call Mr. Williamson, the next
thing he knew, it was all taken care of. He didn't even have to use a pay
phone; the pilot placed the call from the charter office, and once PJ had
greeted his housemaster, the pilot had taken the phone to tell
Mr. Williamson their arrival time. Having everything arranged like that was
a pleasant surprise.

The plane they had flown in was a nice surprise, too. It was a Cessna 310,
a fast twin-engine propeller-driven aircraft that could carry up to six
people. PJ was the only passenger on board, so Captain Dutcher invited PJ
to sit up front with him in the copilot's seat. When he told the pilot that
he was trying to learn how to fly and intended to solo when he was sixteen,
the man was really pleased! Right after takeoff, he let PJ fly the plane
for the entire two-hour flight to Gordonsville, and even let him make the
initial approach to the Gordonsville Airport. Captain Dutcher only took
over the controls for the final part of the landing. PJ had waited with
Mr. Williamson in the evening twilight to watch the pilot take off, feeling
sorry the flight hadn't been longer. The Cessna 310, like the Citation, was
now high on his list of favorite airplanes. He was happy to see that it was
included in his current version of "Flight Simulator." He looked forward to
telling Billy all about the fun he'd had when they ate lunch.

Over the soup and sandwiches Mrs. Thatcher provided for them, PJ kept Billy
entertained by telling him about his plane ride and how the pilot had let
him fly. Afterwards, helping to clean up, he thanked Billy's mom. "I
appreciate you giving me lunch like this and letting me come over here."

"Nonsense," she said. "My husband and I appreciate all you do for
Billy. You're welcome here anytime." She gave PJ a fond hug and stroked his
hair. "I'm glad you're here with us instead of all by yourself over at that
school. When do your friends come back?"

"They should all be back by Wednesday," PJ told her. "Our classes start up
again Thursday."

"Well, until then, you plan on visiting Billy as much as you want," the
woman told him. "You need some taking care of and I'm here to do it. I wish
I could take care of you more often."

When the dishes were finished, PJ and Billy went out and played with the
new skateboard that PJ had brought with him. Because Billy had tried
skateboarding a few times already with some of his friends, it didn't take
him too long to manage riding the board up and down the street. Patiently,
PJ taught him how to turn, and properly stop. After a few hours, Billy was
able to try a little jump. After that, they played wall ball off the front
steps of Billy's house, and then went back to the vacant lot for more
batting practice. Billy's father arrived home from work while they were
still hitting, and when he came over to say hello and see what they were
doing, Billy greeted his father by running across the field and jumping
into his arms. "Daddy!" he cried enthusiastically. "PJ's here! He's been
teaching me how to skateboard and all about batting. Watch how well I can
hit!"

The man came across the lot carrying his son. He held a hand out to PJ and
smiled warmly. "PJ! How was your vacation? We all saw you on TV. I'm glad
you came right over. I was going to call to see if you had gotten back
okay."

PJ gave him a shy smile in return and shook hands. "I had a great time with
Jack. I learned all sorts of new things about batting. I've been showing
them to Billy."

"Hey, that's great, PJ! Tell you what. I'll pitch to you guys and you can
both show me what you've learned." The three of them spent the next hour
playing Home Run Derby as PJ and Billy showed off the new skills. PJ found
he had to swing very softly or else he would hit the ball out of the "park"
every time. Billy was able to make contact on almost all of his dad's
pitches and was enormously pleased with himself, especially when he knocked
a solid one the length of the field. "Daddy, do you see how much better I
am?" he kept asking, and his father kept assuring him that he was doing
"Just great!"

After they picked up all the balls and were walking to the house, Billy
held his father's hand and chattered to him nonstop about all the things he
and PJ had done that day. PJ watched enviously. He saw, with a pang, how
interested Billy's dad was in everything his son wanted to tell him. It was
exactly the relationship he wanted so badly to have with Jack. Maybe after
baseball season's over, he thought. When Jack's not so busy. Maybe then he
could spend more time with me.

PJ rode his skateboard back to school and found Mr. Williamson waiting for
him at the House. "No dull meal at the Dining Hall for you, PJ!" the man
told him, putting an arm around his shoulders.  "Mrs. Williamson has a
delicious pot roast all ready for you. And we're both dying to hear about
your vacation. So get cleaned up and come down as soon as you're ready." PJ
knew there was no way out of answering those questions now. But his spirits
had already been raised by his visit with the Thatchers', and they picked
up even more because pot roast was one of his favorite dishes! "I'll be
right there!" he told his housemaster. After bounding up to his room, he
took a quick shower, donned clean clothes, and passed a very nice evening
telling the Williamsons about Jack and the wonders of Fenway Park.

PJ spent the next day with Billy as well. They took turns riding PJ's
skateboard over to the school where they played Home Run Derby for awhile
on the Middle-School baseball field before taking the skateboard behind the
Field House to practice jumping from the curb. Then they went back to
Billy's house for lunch. It rained in the afternoon, but Billy had gotten a
baseball video game for his ninth birthday and the two of them had a great
time playing it. PJ left as soon as there was a break in the
rain. "Tomorrow, Billy," he told the younger boy. "Tomorrow Erik comes
back. I'll pick you up in the morning."

That evening both before and after dinner, PJ faced up to straightening out
his clothing mess, unpacking all his new things and weeding out all the old
stuff that he'd outgrown. He ended up with a big pile of old clothes, most
of which were perfectly good even if they were too small for him. Last year
Mr. Williamson had taken the things he'd outgrown and donated them to some
charity. This year PJ had a better idea. Why not see if Billy could use
them? He went right downstairs and called Billy's house. When Mrs. Thatcher
answered, PJ explained his intention.

"Oh PJ, that is very thoughtful," she told him. "I don't know if Billy is
big enough yet to wear your hand-me-downs, but if he isn't, I know some
families in our church that could use them. I'll send my husband right
over."

PJ stuffed all his outgrown things into the empty boxes the new clothes had
come in and lugged them downstairs. The boxes were big and awkward, so it
wasn't an easy job. He was just bringing the last one down when
Mr. Thatcher knocked on the front door and came in wearing a big
grin. "Hey, PJ! I hear you're having a clothing drive!" Once they'd packed
the boxes into the car, the man put his hand on PJ's shoulder and stood
looking down on him. "PJ," he said, "You're a real big brother to Billy. I
guess you know that's just how he thinks of you. I guess you know, too, how
much I like you."

PJ nodded. He felt a little embarrassed.

"Everything's okay with you, isn't it? I mean, there isn't anything you
need or something, is there?"

For an instant, PJ found it difficult to meet Mr. Thatcher's searching
gaze. Then he shook his head and with a shy grin answered, "Nah. I'm okay."

The man squeezed his shoulder. "Because, you know, if there ever is
anything . . . well, all you have to do is call us. Billy, my wife and I,
well . . . we just think of you as part of our family, PJ. You know that,
don't you?"

PJ nodded again.

"Okay, big man. Thanks for these things. If Billy can't use all of them, I
know boys that can. And listen, PJ. Get your baseball schedule to me
somehow. I want Billy to see some of your games. And if there is ever some
way you and Erik could come to one of his . . . well, I can't tell you how
much it would mean to him. He just thinks the world of you."

"We'll try," PJ told him. They shook hands and PJ watched as Mr. Thatcher
drove off.

* * *

Right after breakfast the next day, PJ skateboarded to Billy's house where
he found the young boy just finishing his own breakfast with his mother in
the kitchen. "PJ!" Billy shouted delightedly. "Look!" He stood up so PJ
could see what he was wearing. It was one of PJ's old shirts, much too big
for him, and a pair of PJ's old shorts that bagged around his legs and came
down below his knees.

"I took in the waist of those shorts so they would stay on," Mrs. Thatcher
explained. "The clothes are too big, but he insisted on wearing them
anyway."

"Now, I look just like you, PJ," Billy said proudly.

PJ felt a lump in his throat.

While Billy finished his breakfast, PJ explained to his mother what they
planned to do. "We'll play baseball over at the school all day," he told
her. "There'll be so many kids coming back from vacation that I'll be able
to sneak Billy in at the Dining Hall for lunch. Erik'll be back today, and
he and I'll be sure to bring Billy home before it gets late."

Billy's mother nodded. "It sounds like fun. You boys have a good time."

As soon as they were out of the house, Billy turned to PJ and hugged him.
"You're the best big brother in the whole world, PJ,"

They took turns riding the skateboard over to the school and down to the
baseball diamond for a few rounds of Home Run Derby. At first it was just
themselves, but eventually more boys joined them. PJ introduced Billy to
everyone as his younger brother so no one asked any awkward questions. All
the returning boys admired PJ's new skateboard, and the ones who'd seen him
on TV with the Red Sox begged to be told what it'd been like. There were
also a lot of envious looks at PJ's cool satin soccer shorts, his colorful
shirt, and his fitted Red Sox hat. When he told them that Jack had helped
pick everything out, the boys were awed. "You are so lucky, PJ," a few
said. Billy just looked at him and beamed.

Some of these boys had skateboards, too, and soon all were clustered up
behind the Field House showing off tricks by turns. Billy was able to hold
his own with most, even the older kids, and kept telling everyone who'd
listen that, "My big brother, PJ, taught me how to do this."

When it got closer to noon, PJ took Billy over to the House to see if Erik
had come back yet.  "I don't see Bill's car," PJ said. "Let's check
upstairs." They arrived at PJ's room to find the door open, with Erik and
his stepdad inside, unpacking clothes and hanging them up. "Erik!" PJ and
Billy both cried. They jumped on him, temporarily ignoring Bill, all three
boys tumbling onto Erik's bed, rolling over each other, laughing
delightedly.

"Wh-hee-ee-ee," Billy shrieked as Erik tickled him.

"Erik, you won't believe what I did while I was with Jack!" PJ declared
breathlessly as he pummeled his roommate on the back.

Bill picked PJ up, gave him a hug, and then did the same to Billy. "You get
bigger every time I see you!" he told the small boy.

"I'm nine now," Billy told him proudly.

"PJ, we saw you on TV!" Erik announced. "Right in the dugout with Jack. You
had a Red Sox uniform on!"

"Yup." PJ nodded. "Jack let me be an honorary batboy."

"Guess what, PJ?" Erik went on, his eyes shining. "Travis, his coach, and
Dad and I went to a Phillies game. I got some player autographs! And dad
and I practiced baseball every day! Didn't we, Dad?"

Bill broke into a huge smile. "We sure did. PJ, I'm expecting big things
from you two guys this season!"

"Me too!" Billy cried. "I'm playing in coach-pitch this year."

Erik and PJ both laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. "Yup, you too, Billy,"
PJ told him.

They all chattered happily away as PJ and Billy helped Erik unpack. Then
Bill said, "Well, Erik. I think you're all set. I'm gonna miss our practice
sessions, but I think you'll get a lot better coaching here at school."

Erik looked up at his stepdad and shook his head. "I'd rather practice with
you than anybody, Bill, no matter how much they think they know."

Looking fondly down at his stepson, Bill hugged his shoulders and nodded
without saying a word. They all went downstairs, the boys following the man
around to the back where he was parked. The House lot was swarming with
returning boys and parents, and PJ and Billy stood a little ways off while
Erik and his stepfather said goodbye. Thinking of his own parting from Jack
just a few days before, PJ watched enviously as Bill picked Erik up and
gave him a big hug. They obviously didn't care that there were people
around to see. Why couldn't Jack have picked me up that way and hugged me
goodbye? PJ felt an aching pain in his heart. Jack understands so much. Why
can't he understand how much I need him?

All three boys waved as Bill drove away, after which Erik turned to
PJ. "Lunch?"

"Suits me," PJ answered. "We have to sneak Billy in. And after that. . ."

"Baseball!" Billy shouted gleefully. They all laughed.

Erik was quiet while they ate at a table in the Dining Hall. "Do you miss
Bill?" PJ asked.

Erik nodded. "Yeah, I always miss him and my mom for a few days every time
I come back. You know how it is, PJ. I know you miss Jack." He paused for a
bit, and added softly, "It was pretty bed before Bill came and married my
mom. That's why I really like him. And it's why I understand about you and
Jack. I guess all of us--you, me, and Billy--we're all pretty lucky."

"Yeah," PJ said. "Pretty lucky." Erik didn't catch the uncertainty in his
voice.

They ran straight down to the field after lunch and sat in the dugout for a
bit while PJ told Erik, with Billy hanging on every word, all about his
adventures. Erik shook his head in disbelief. "You mean you actually caught
fly balls in right field, in Fenway Park, with Jack Canon hitting to you?
And you actually took batting practice with the Red Sox team?"

"I got a signed baseball to prove it," PJ assured him.

"I'm your roommate, PJ," Erik said. "I believe you. And so does Billy. But
you better not tell anyone else. They'll think you're crazy."

PJ laughed. "Probably."

"You know, your picture got in the papers again."

"When?" PJ felt his stomach tighten. It always worried him when there was
publicity about him and Jack.

Erik reached into his pocket. "I saved it to show you." He unfolded a piece
of newspaper, and Billy leaned over his arm to see it better. "Look, that's
you PJ!"

The article was from Monday's paper. It had two photos. One had been taken
in Florida during Thanksgiving. It showed PJ standing next to Jack, who was
down on one knee, the very same picture that PJ had sticking in the side of
the mirror over his desk. The other had been taken Sunday afternoon at the
Yankee game. In that one, a young boy in a Red Sox uniform was handing a
bat to Jack. The boy's face was in shadow, hidden by the brim of his ball
cap. The article that followed was by a New York columnist. It was titled,

"Youngest Owner, Biggest Fan, Inspires the Sox."

PJ gave the clipping back to Erik. "That was just before Jack hit his
second home run in the eighth inning."

Erik nodded. "The TV cameras didn't show it very well, but I thought that
was you."

"Let's play some ball," PJ said, evasively.

They went out on the diamond and took turns pitching to each other, with PJ
and Erik both coaching Billy on his swing. Soon they were joined by other
kids, eventually enough to start a game with six players on a side. PJ and
Erik had to agree to be on different teams because they were both so
good. The game got even livelier as more boys joined in, and they kept
playing until about four when it was time to take Billy home. PJ and Erik
got their skateboards from the room and borrowed one from another boy so
Billy would have a board to ride too. Then all three sneaked out the main
gate and as quickly as possible disappeared into an alley between the
stores on the other side of the road.

"Now that everyone's back from vacation we have to be a lot more careful we
don't get caught off campus," PJ explained.

At Billy's house, his mom had them all come in for Cokes and some cookies.

"School starts up again tomorrow for us," Erik said. "When do you go back,
Billy?"

"Tomorrow too," Billy said, glumly.

PJ laughed. "Relax, Billy. It's not that bad. At least you don't have
homework yet. When will you know what baseball team you're on?"

"Tryouts are Saturday," Billy answered. "On Monday night, a coach is gonna
call to tell me what team I'm on."

"Hey Master Billy," PJ said. "As soon as you know your schedule, give Erik
and me a copy. We want to come to some of your games."

"For real? Cool! Promise, PJ?"

"Promise," PJ told him. Erik nodded in agreement. "You come to our
games. We want to see you play, too."

Billy beamed at them happily.

"We better get back before somebody misses us," PJ warned. He ruffled
Billy's hair. "Do good in school, and don't forget that schedule, Little
Brother."

The smaller boy stood transfixed, overcome at what he'd just heard his
bigger friend call him. But it was an emotion mixed with joy and
pride. With tears in his eyes, all he could manage was to look back at PJ
with gratitude and love.

As for PJ, all he could do was to swallow and quickly glance away as a lump
grew in his throat. And Erik, he looked down, himself touched by the
bonding he'd just witnessed.

The older boys skateboarded back to school, carrying the extra board with
them, proceeding cautiously to be sure no one spotted them. They had to
wait for a while on a side street until the main gate was clear. Then they
ran across the road, skateboards tucked under their arms, and safely
re-entered school property. As they neared their House, PJ said to Erik,
"First practice tomorrow."

"Yup." Erik stopped and turned to face PJ. "Together," he said softly.

PJ gave his best friend a high-five and whispered back. "Me and you will
always stick together."



Chapter Thirty-Seven: Taking Big Risks

"Come on, PJ! Give it a ride!" he heard Erik yell.

PJ stepped into the batter's box and got comfortable. Two of his teammates
were already on base. He stared out, concentrating on the ball in the
pitcher's hand. "Always watch the ball," the Red Sox batting coach had
taught him. "Only the ball. Watch for the release."

He was totally focused now, just the way he was for one of his swimming
races. Time seemed to slow down. He knew this pitcher well: an older boy
from one of the other houses, so he knew exactly what he was going to
throw. It was the final inning of their last intra-squad game before the
season began--subs against the starters--and PJ was determined to show that
he could hit as well as anybody, even if he was a sub. Here it comes, he
thought. Here it comes. He won't walk me--he won't want to walk a
sub. He'll challenge me. It'll be right over the plate.

The pitcher wound up and released. PJ focused only on the ball, which
seemed to float toward the plate, getting bigger and bigger. Yes! He
stepped into the pitch, slender upper body strengthened by months of
swimming and weight training, uncoiling powerfully as he swung. Head down,
watching the ball hit the bat, he felt the sweetness of impact as his hips
and shoulders pivoted around. He finished the swing in perfect balance, the
same as he'd done so often in the netted cage beneath the stands of Fenway
Park, and the resounding "TONK" of his aluminum bat echoed around the
field.

I bashed it! he thought triumphantly, jerking his head up to watch the ball
arc towards the centerfield fence. The centerfielder started to run back,
then tried to play it as it caromed off the chain link. "Yeah, PJ!" Erik
yelled. PJ started dashing up the first-base line, tossing his bat toward
the dugout just as he'd seen Jack do a hundred times on TV. Because he
could see that the fielder had misplayed the ricochet, he was determined to
stretch his hit into a double! He flew into second without even having to
slide. The two runners on base ahead of him scored easily.

The next batter singled PJ home to tie the score, and Erik high-fived him
in the dugout. Erik had homered in a practice game the week before, and his
eyes flashed as he grinned at PJ. "That'll give the starters something to
think about, Roomie! Come on, guys!" he yelled to the other boys, "we're
dead-even! Let's get more!" The other subs tried. PJ and Erik had them all
fired up, but the starters were just a little too good. Though one more
runner got on base, the next batter grounded into a fielder's choice to end
the inning.

"Hey, it's okay guys," PJ told everyone. "At least we made 'em take a final
at-bat. Let's hold 'em!" He ran out to his place in right field, while Erik
went to shortstop. The subs had their best pitcher on the mound, a
twelve-year-old who was almost good enough to already be a starter. He
threw hard with pretty good control, but he was tired, and the
thirteen-year-olds on the starting team were good hitters. Even though the
pitcher got two ground-ball outs, the older boys finally pushed a couple of
runs across to win the game.

"But we made them work for it!" PJ said as Erik led the subs over to shake
hands. "Man, you guys are good!" PJ told each one of his older
teammates. Tom, the pitcher who'd thrown PJ the ball he'd whacked for a
double, gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "You're pretty good
yourself. You sure cranked that last pitch I gave you."

PJ smiled. "I got lucky. You threw a great pitch."

"Okay, boys, over here!" Mr. Bates, the Middle School head baseball coach,
looked very pleased as he gestured for all the players to gather
around. Next to him, assistant coach Lewis was grinning at his subs. After
the two men tapped fists with each other, Coach Bates told them, "Good
game, everybody. We've got the best group of subs we've had in years. You
starters better all watch out! These younger kids are after your jobs!"

PJ felt a thrill of pride when he heard those words. And he appreciated the
point about competitiveness that Mr. Bates was making. But he wished that
the coach had also emphasized the importance of teamwork. As Jack had so
often told him, teamwork was the most important thing in baseball. Coach
Lewis too. He always emphasized teamwork over everything else, and the
necessity of the subs all helping each other. And sportsmanship too, the
way he and Tom and just acted towards each other.

"Our first game is this weekend," Coach Bates was saying, and I think you
guys are going to enjoy it. It's an overnight game against that easy team
in New York City, Riverside Heights. You're all going, and you'll all get
to play, subs and starters both, so it should be a good way to start the
season. On top of that, we have a field trip planned afterwards that I know
you'll like. Make sure you're on time for the bus tomorrow after
classes. Bring your uniform and a change of clothes. Coats and ties,
guys. Don't forget. You're representing your school!"

PJ stirred impatiently. He was anxious to shower and change so he could get
back to the House and see if there was an e-mail from Jack. Surely Jack
must have sent something today!

At last Coach Bates finished talking and the crowd of boys trudged up
toward the Field House. "Think you'll hear from Jack today?" Erik asked as
he and PJ entered the locker room.

"Sure hope so," PJ told him. He stripped off his sweaty clothes and hustled
into the shower.  Everything else is going so well! he thought to
himself. If I can just hear from Jack it will all be perfect!  Soaping and
rinsing off quickly, he dressed as fast as he could and almost ran from the
Field House across campus to his room. He went right to his computer and
checked his mail. Nothing!

Slumped into his chair, stomach churning, PJ bit his lip to keep from
crying. Why was Jack not answering his messages? What had he done wrong? He
put his face down in his arms on the desk, slender shoulders shaking in
little heaves of distress. Since Spring Break, PJ had been trying so hard
to make Jack proud of him. He and Erik were at the top of all their
classes. He'd gotten a perfect mark on his book report on Johnny Tremaine,
the only "perfect" the master had given out. And in baseball he was doing
so well! Even though he was the youngest on the team, he was one of the
best subs.

In the short e-mails he sent faithfully every day, PJ had told all this to
Jack, along with so many other things he wanted to share with his adopted
"father." But Jack didn't write back. He'd sent one short note weeks ago,
and then there'd been nothing. PJ couldn't imagine what the problem was. He
had tried sending congratulatory notes to Jack for great plays he'd made in
the Red Sox games he'd seen on TV. He'd asked Jack to say hello for him to
Mr. Brock, the batting coach, and to Harry, the young trainer in the weight
room. Still, there had been no response. PJ just didn't know what more to
do. How could Jack have forgotten him? He had to be getting the e-mails!

PJ heard Erik's footsteps on the stairs, pulled his head up off the desk,
and tried to look as composed as possible.

"Any luck?" Erik asked as he came in and sprawled on his bed.

"Not yet." PJ made this sound as nonchalant as he could manage. "He'll
prob'ly send one tonight after the game."

"I sure hope so." Erik gave his roommate a wary look. "PJ, if he doesn't,
he's gonna be awful surprised when we show up on Saturday."

"Well, it might be fun to surprise him," PJ said. "I wonder if his Palmtop
is broken or something."

Erik nodded. "I'll bet that's it. He'll probably call ya', or leave a
message."

"Yeah, hopefully." Hiding his anxiety, PJ got out his math book and
pretended to work on a problem-set assignment, but his heart was
pounding. He prayed that Jack would somehow get in touch. His whole plan
for the weekend depended on it. Jack just couldn't have forgotten about me!
He just couldn't have! I've got to see him! he thought desperately,
clenching his fists, staring down at the open book. He must be mad at
me. I've done something wrong. I've got to find out!

The surprise Erik alluded to involved an elaborate plan PJ had
concocted. As more and more days had gone by without hearing from him, PJ
had conceived the grandiose idea of paying Jack a visit. When his Middle
School baseball schedule had been handed out the previous week, he had
immediately e-mailed a copy to Jack, pointing out that his first game was
an overnight in New York at the same school where Jack had come to see his
swim meet. On that same date, the Red Sox were scheduled to play a day game
against the Yankees at Yankee Stadium, the second game of a three-game
series. PJ had asked if he could come to the Yankee game after his own game
was over, and stay with Jack for the night, returning to school the next
day. Jack had never replied, but PJ had proceeded as if Jack had agreed. He
called Walter in New York, informed him of the plan, and asked him to get
tickets to the game. "What's that date again, PJ?" the young lawyer had
asked, and after PJ had repeated it, he had said, "Hey, that's a day
game. Bet it'll be good! I may join you. Have you and Jack got everything
worked out?"

"Oh, sure," PJ had lied. He knew he was taking a risk, but it was one he
had to chance and just hope for the best!

"Fine. OK, I'll meet you at that Riverside Heights School. And I'll make
sure Gordonsville knows you have permission. See you then, PJ."

When PJ told Erik that he wouldn't be returning with the rest of the team
on the bus, his roommate had wanted to know what he was doing instead, so
PJ explained about visiting Jack.

"Okay, but then how you gonna get back here, PJ?"

"Jack will get me back somehow. Maybe on a bus or something."

"You mean, by yourself."

"Sure. It's okay."

But Erik had looked unconvinced. "What if Jack can't arrange it? He's
busy. He hasta play those ballgames. What if there is no bus? What if you
get stranded?"

"I won't," PJ said, trying to sound confident.

Erik kept staring at him and asked more pointedly, "Has Jack said this is
okay?"

"Sure he has. In his last e-mail."

"You haven't gotten an e-mail from Jack in weeks, PJ." Erik was shaking his
head. "The last message you got from anyone was the one from Travis three
days ago."

"Yes I have. How do you know what messages I've gotten?"

"Because I'm your nosy roommate, that's how. You don't fool me. I know you
haven't heard from him and you're worried. I can always tell when you're
worried. You don't sleep right and you wake me up with your bad dreams."

"I'm not worried about anything!" PJ insisted.

Erik sighed in exasperation. "I'm going, too," he said at last.

"You are not."

"Yes, I am," Erik told him firmly. "Either I go, or else I tell the coach
that you're going off on your own without Jack's permission."

"I have Walter's permission," PJ snapped.

"Then I'll have the coach call Walter and tell him that you haven't gotten
Jack's permission."

PJ was silent for a bit, until finally giving in. "Okay."

"Good." Erik let out a deep breath. "Listen, PJ, I can help you. It's
better if we stick together."

"Yeah," PJ conceded. "I guess." He paused a moment, before adding, "Thanks,
Erik."

"What are brothers for? I'll call Bill to get his OK."

And so they arranged it. After their game, while the rest of the team went
off on their field trip and back to Gordonsville on the bus that same
evening, Erik would accompany PJ and Walter to the Yankee game.  "And if
you don't get Jack's permission by that time. . ." Erik had said.

"He'll send it," PJ assured him confidently.

Except he didn't. Every single day before the New York trip, PJ checked for
an e-mail. Nothing came. On that last day, PJ looked up from the math book
he'd been pretending to study and glanced at his roommate. "Erik, if I
don't hear from Jack before we leave tomorrow, we can't tell Walter."

Erik nodded. "Don't worry, PJ, I won't say anything."

"We'll have to ditch him at the stadium somehow."

"Yeah."

"It could be we'll get stuck."

"Nope," Erik shook his head. "If worse comes to worst, I'll call Bill and
he'll come get us. You can trust him."

"I know." PJ heaved a sigh. "Thanks, Erik." He went back to his math book,
trying to concentrate, but it was no good. Why wasn't Jack answering his
e-mails? I just gotta see him! PJ was frightened of the dreams he was
starting to have. So frightened, he was afraid to go to sleep. Desperately,
he resolved to tire himself out with homework. But it was so hard to keep
focused! He made another stab at the math assignment, doggedly waded
through several of the problems, and afterwards went to the Dining Hall
with Erik to eat a big dinner. Upon their return, PJ kept grinding at the
math, finished it at last, and immediately went on to more studying. Only
when he had to fight to keep his eye open did he finally change into
pajamas and get into bed. Erik was already dead to the world. PJ read his
latest book, an adventure story called Buffalo and Beaver, until he his
eyes were closing again. Then he drifted off to sleep. . .

The room was a dull off-white. It was filled with toys, but most of them
were worn out and didn't interest PJ very much. He liked some of the cars
. . . the trucks . . . he was playing with them now, sitting on the floor
making motor noises. "Vroooom, vroom."

The nice old lady was there. She was always there. Always there
. . . sitting in her chair . . . PJ rhymed it to himself. She was nice. She
liked PJ. She liked to ask questions. Sometimes they were questions PJ
didn't want to answer. She was asking them now.

 "What are you feeling? PJ?"

"Vroooom, vroom. . . ." PJ raced the car over the soft carpeted floor.

"Are you a car?" asked the old lady.

"Yes, I'm a car, a car," PJ said. "Car, car, cee-ayy-are."

"What's the car doing?"

"Always there, in your chair," PJ sang happily. "Vroo-oo-oom."

"Is the car going somewhere?"

It was the old lady asking again and PJ sang back to her, "It's going, it's
going, it's going . . . it's going far. Far in the car. Far, far. It has to
go away."

"PJ?" the old lady asked softly. "Why does the car have to go away?"

"It's been bad," PJ answered crossly. "Bad, bad, sad, sad. No one can love
you if you're bad. If you're bad, you're sad. If you're sad, you must be
bad. So you have to go away. Far away."

"How far away, PJ?"

"Far, very very far," PJ sang. "You must be punished."

He picked the car up to shake a finger at it. "You've been bad. That's why
no one loves you. Because you've been bad! You have to be punished. You
have to be punished because you're bad."

Placing the toy car back on the floor, he pushed it hard so that it ran
into a wall. "There. Now you're dead. Now you can't be bad anymore."

"Why does the car have to be dead, PJ?" the nice old lady asked.

"If it's dead it can't feel. That's what dead is. It won't be bad
anymore. People can like it then."

"Does it half to be dead before people can like it?"

"Yes," PJ said. "Dead, dead. dead in the head. Because it's been bad. I've
been bad. Bad. Bad. Bad and Sad. Bad. Sad. Bad. Sad. . . ." PJ banged his
head on the floor.

"PJ," the old lady said. She tried to grab him. "PJ! PJ!"

"PJ, wake up!" Erik told him. "Wake up!" He grabbed PJ's arms and held them
tightly.

Frantic, struggling to free his arms, PJ opened his eyes and stared around
wildly. "It's okay. You're okay," Erik soothed. "You're all right. You were
dreaming. That's all. You woke me up. You're okay."

PJ stopped struggling. The moment Erik let go of his arms, he patted his
bed covers checking for wetness. "You're all right, PJ," Erik assured him
again. "Do you want me to get Mr. Williamson?"

"No," PJ answered quickly. "No, that's okay. I'm fine. I had a dream,
that's all. Just a bad dream."

"It must have been a whopper." Erik smiled at him, but with concern in his
expression. "You were yelling your head off."

"What was I saying?" PJ gave his roommate an apprehensive glance.

"I couldn't tell. It was all mixed up." Erik grabbed his pillow, put it
next to PJ's, and stretched out on PJ's bed. "Why don't you tell me about
it?"

"I thought I was back in a place where I used to go a lot a long time
ago. . . ." PJ looked away. "I really don't remember much. Let's talk about
something else."

"Right," said Eric. "Let me tell you about this trip Bill and I took last
summer to Montana. I've never told you about that, have I? You see, it was
a business trip for Bill, but he fixed it so I could go too, and. . . "
Erik rambled on and gradually PJ fell asleep to the sound of his low, soft,
boy-tenor voice. This time around, he didn't dream.

The next morning, PJ had only a very confused memory of what had
happened. After checking his computer, he told a yawning Erik, "Sorry if I
woke you last night."

"It's okay." Erik yawned again. "Did you get anything from Jack?"

PJ shook his head. "Not yet."

It was the same news after breakfast, and again at lunch. Still no
message. After the last class in the afternoon, PJ ran back anxiously to
the room. Surely there would be something now. He looked and his heart
sank. Nothing!

Erik's shoes clattered on the stairs. He looked expectantly at PJ as he
came in. His face fell when PJ shook his head. "Well, that's it," Erik
said. "We're just going to have to lie to Walter. I wonder what's happened?
There has to be something wrong with his Palmtop."

"I'm sure that's what it is." PJ tried to sound confident, but inside he
was terrified that the Palmtop was not the problem at all. The boys grabbed
their duffel bags, both checking to be sure they had their gloves,
uniforms, and everything else they would need. "How 'bout money, PJ?" Erik
said. "I've got twenty bucks."

"I've got fifty," PJ told him. "I've been saving up."

"Well," said Eric with a grin, "let's do it."

When they went downstairs to leave, Mr. Williamson caught them in the hall
to ask, "You boys will be back on Sunday instead of Saturday night, right?"

They both nodded. "I'm still not sure at exactly what time," PJ told him.

"Well, call if you need anything. You have all the numbers, don't you?"

"We do," both boys assured him.

"All right, you two," their housemaster said. "Have fun. Good luck in your
game."

* * *

The ride into New York was just as long and tedious as PJ remembered it,
but he wasn't bored this time because he had Erik to talk to. They kept
each other entertained until the great skyline of the New York skyscrapers
came into view.

"That is so cool," PJ said, staring. "I never get tired of seeing it."

"Yeah, New York's exciting, no matter how many times you've been," Erik
agreed.

Their bus rolled across the George Washington Bridge and down into the maze
of streets that was Manhattan's upper West Side. They pulled up at last by
the same building PJ remembered from his previous visit, and just as
before, the Riverside Heights team was waiting for them so they could pair
off with their host roommates. Looking out the bus window, PJ was delighted
to see Skip, the shy young boy he'd roomed with on the swim-team trip, the
one Jack had signed a cap for. He slid his window open.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Hey, Skip! It's me!"

Skip's face lit up with recognition. He started to wave and smile. "I'll
stay with you again!" PJ yelled, and the boy nodded, waving once more
before running over to a man with a clipboard, obviously arranging it.

"Hey!" Erik cried. "There's Eddie, the kid I roomed with from the
basketball team! Hey, hey!  Over here!" He stuck his head out the window
and yelled to a tall boy on the curb.

As soon as the bus stopped, PJ and Erik got off and went to meet their
friends. They all introduced each other. "We're roommates at school," PJ
explained.

Erik's tall friend Eddie looked at him. "Are you the kid who knows Jack
Canon?"

"That's him," Erik told the boy.

"PJ introduced me to him when he came to the swim meet," Skip said. "That's
how I got my cap autographed, and my picture."

"Is he coming to our game tomorrow?" Eddie asked eagerly.

"Nah," PJ said. "He's in town all right. The Red Sox are playing the
Yankees. But he'll be busy getting ready for their game. Erik and I are
goin' to visit with him after we finish playing."

"Wow!" The tall red-headed kid stared from PJ to Erik. "You guys are
lucky!"

"PJ's the one who knows him," Erik said modestly. "I'm just the roommate."

All four of them went off to get ready for dinner. It turned out Eddie was
in the same dormitory as Skip, so they were able to stick together. They
had fun that night exchanging stories about the swimming and basketball
seasons, and the New York boys told their Gordonsville guests of the
difficulties they had trying to hold their baseball practices in the middle
of a big city. "We only got one field," Eddie said. "Yeah," explained Skip,
"everyone's gotta share it. You should see some of the stuff our coaches
come up with so we can all practice. We work on batting with whiffle balls
in one of the classrooms!"

PJ looked over at Erik. "I guess we're pretty lucky to have all the nice
places to practice that we've got."

"Better believe it," Erik agreed.

Since Skip and his roommate Mills had a computer with videogames, PJ joined
them in playing until it was time for bed. He got comfortable on the same
air mattress he'd used the last time, with a towel from his bag wrapped
carefully around his middle. Then he called softly to his friend.

"What do you need, PJ," Skip said, kneeling by the mattress.

"Can I ask you a favor?" PJ kept his voice low.

"Sure. Anything, PJ."

"Well, I just got over being sick. If I make noise in my sleep or
something, would you wake me up and then go get Erik?"

"Oh sure, PJ," Skip assured him. "No problem. I'll take care of it. Is
there anything else you need?  Would you rather sleep in my bed? I don't
mind being on the air mattress."

"Thanks," PJ said gratefully. "I'll be okay now that I know you'll be
watching out for me."

"Okay, PJ. I hope you sleep okay, but if you don't, I'll be right here for
you."

That night, PJ slept just fine. If he had bad dreams, he didn't remember
them in the morning.

* * *

Their game took place at nine the next morning on the one field Riverside
School possessed, located in a nearby park. Because it had to be used by
both the Upper, Middle, and Lower School teams, it had an all-dirt infield
with bases that could be moved to different positions, allowing shortened
base paths for the Middle and Lower School games. The pitcher's mound was
permanently in place for the Upper School distance, and Middle or Lower
School pitchers had to throw from in front of it. Altogether, it was a
peculiar set-up, but PJ didn't mind. He liked being with Skip, Mills, and
Eddie; he liked playing an easy team because he, Erik, and the other subs
got way more game-time; and he liked being in New York because it would
give him a chance to see Jack!

Just like the swim meet, the contest was a blowout. But what PJ admired
about the other team was their sportsmanship. Even though badly beaten,
they stuck together, kept cheering for each other, and even cheered if a
Gordonsville player made a particularly nice play. PJ was glad when he saw
Skip finally get into the game, and when his shy host bunted, surprising
the Gordonsville infield for a single, PJ stood and cheered. The other boys
in the Gordonsville dugout looked at him disapprovingly. "He's my friend,"
PJ explained. "He cheered for me when I was here for our swim meet. I don't
care if he is on their team. Friendship's more important."

Coach Lewis came over and patted PJ's shoulder. "You're exactly right, PJ."
He turned to look at the others. "All you boys should remember that. Sports
are a good way to meet and make new friends. You all stayed with these kids
last night. They were nice to you, weren't they? And they've been cheering
for you guys all through this game. Every time you made a good play. Show
them some sportsmanship. Let's hear you guys do some cheering, too."

After that, a lot more noise came out of the Gordonsville dugout for both
sides.

Losing or not, because the Riverside coach was giving all his boys a chance
to play, PJ didn't understand why Coach Bates kept running the score up
when they were winning big. Why not let our subs in early too? he
thought. The starters will be in lots of other games. He was afraid that
the man wasn't learning a thing by watching how the opposing coach was
handling his own players. This time, though, he wasn't just a normal
sub. Thanks to Coach Lewis, he played four full innings in right field,
more than half the game. He got to catch a fly ball for an out (I can tell
Jack his coaching worked! PJ told himself as he threw it back to the
infield), plus he fielded some ground balls, a line drive, and got two
at-bats!

Fresh from the excitement of hitting a two-run double in the last practice
game, PJ was eager for another opportunity to show his coaches he could
hit. Hitting was the best part of his game, he knew, and as an
eleven-year-old competing against twelve and thirteeners for playing time,
PJ needed to show his stuff. He would never win anything with his fielding,
that was for sure. Wall ball with Erik had improved him enough to make the
team, but PJ was well aware that even a thousand years of wall ball would
never give him the uncanny, ballet-like grace with which Erik and other
boys could field or throw a ball. It was almost like they didn't have to
try, except he knew that was wrong. Erik practiced just as hard as he
did. No, it was more like the butterfly in swimming. PJ could do it and
lots of other boys couldn't, no matter how hard they worked at it. It was a
matter of natural ability.

In his two chances at bat, PJ went to the plate hoping to give his coaches
extra reasons to move him up even more in the substitution roster. After
all, he told himself, how good can the Riverside pitching be? He soon found
out. The first Riverside boy he faced was none other than Eddie, Erik's
friend! "I'm still kinda learning," Eddie told them later, and his
deliveries were indeed erratic, coming in slower than the speeds PJ was
accustomed to. That upset his timing so much that the hit he finally got
was only a single off the end of his bat, a ground ball through the right
side. The second time he came up, another Riverside pitcher walked him. PJ
later came around to score, but a base-on-balls was not going to help him
earn more playing time in games against tougher opponents. PJ could only
remind himself to at least keep showing his coaches lots of hustle.

When the game ended, he and the rest of the Gordonsville players went over
to shake hands with the Riverside kids. When he came to Skip, PJ patted him
on the back. "That was a great bunt you made for a hit! I wish I could bunt
that good!"

Skip gave him a pleased smile. "I've been practicing. I don't hit so well,
so the coach said I should learn to bunt and get on base with my speed."

"Well, it worked!" PJ assured him.

"Thanks for cheering for me," the boy said gratefully. "I heard you when I
got on base."

"You cheered for me at the swim meet," PJ said, holding out a fist for his
friend to tap. "I'll never forget that."

Both teams went to lunch together, where there was a lot of excited chatter
about the game and the upcoming season. Erik and his buddy Eddie joined
Skip and PJ at the table. "You guys sure have a good team," Eddie said as
he sat down.

"Thanks," PJ replied. "Erik and I are hoping that maybe this year we can
make the League Tournament. We haven't been there for years."

"Eight years, in fact," Erik said, sliding into a chair and putting his
tray on the table.

"You've got some good players, too," PJ told Eddie.

Skip laughed ruefully. "Yeah, just not enough of them."

Eddie nodded in agreement. "We could use a few good pitchers. I'm hopin' I
can be a lot better by next season."

"PJ?" Skip said, looking over at him, "when you see Jack today, would you
tell him for me that I said thank you for the autographed picture he sent."

PJ nodded. "Sure. And I'll tell him you have it framed right on the wall by
your desk. He'll be glad to know. Jack really does care about stuff like
that. He'll remember you 'cause he likes kids an' . . . an' he doesn't
forget about them." PJ had to force those last words out because his throat
had tightened. He coughed to cover it up, turning away to hide his eyes
while he brushed at them with his sleeve. Erik glanced at him knowingly and
thumped him on his back. "Take it easy, PJ," he said, giving his roommate
additional cover. "Don't eat so fast."

The two other boys hadn't noticed anything. "You think this could be the
year for the Sox, PJ?" Eddie asked.

PJ cleared his throat and turned back to the table. "I hope so. Jack says
'Never say die!' He also says "Anything's possible." An' I believe in him
. . . I do." He added the last wistfully.

"Hey, if anybody can do it, Jack Canon and the Red Sox will," Erik said
quickly. "They're playing great right now."

"I hope they make it," Skip said. "I like the Mets, but Jack is such a
great player. I hope his team wins."

"Yeah," Eddie agreed. "He's the best. I wanna see him beat the Curse of the
Bambino."

"Bet there's a lotta Yankee fans here at your school," Erik said.

"Sure. But even they like Jack. He's just the greatest."

"He sure is," PJ said in a low voice. "He is the greatest."

After lunch, the rest of the Gordonsville team got ready to leave on their
excursion to the Central Park Zoo and Statue of Liberty. PJ changed into
one of the cool pants and shirt combinations that Jack had bought for him,
put on his fitted Red Sox cap, and shook hands with Skip and Eddie. "When
you guys travel to our place, be sure you stay with Erik and me," he told
them. "We'll be looking for you."

"I might not be good enough for the travel team, PJ," Skip shyly
confessed. "But if I am, I won't stay with anyone else but you guys."

"Erik and I think you're good," PJ assured him. "And I bet you're coach
does, too."

Skip flushed with pleasure. "Thanks, PJ. Don't forget to thank Jack for
me. An' tell him we're all rooting for him. Even the Mets and Yankees
fans!"

PJ laughed. "I will."

Out on the sidewalk where the Gordonsville team was boarding their bus, PJ
and Erik looked around. "Where's this Walter guy?" Erik said.

"I don't know. He's supposed to be here." PJ glanced anxiously at his
watch.

"He better turn up." Eric took a look over his shoulder at the team. "The
coach won't let us go if he's not here."

PJ peered up and down the street, but there was no sign of Walter. Laughing
and joking, the last of the Gordonsville players were climbing up into the
bus. PJ's stomach knotted in panic. There was no way he was leaving without
seeing Jack! He began to edge away.

"PJ, we have to get on the bus if he's not here," Erik told him, obviously
nervous. "This whole thing is getting too risky!"

PJ shook his head. "I'm going to see Jack."

Erik had an eye on Coach Bates, who was checking off names. "PJ, we're
gonna get in trouble." But PJ kept moving away. Erik took one more look
over his shoulder and started after him, saying, "I won't let you go by
yourself." Yet just as he did so, a silver-gray Lexus shot around the
corner. "Wait! I think that's his car!" PJ exclaimed.

A well-dressed brisk young woman got out and looked around. "Della Street!"
PJ yelled happily and ran over to her.

"Hello, PJ," Ms. Snyder said. She seemed a bit distant. "I'm here to take
you to the stadium.  Where's your coach?"

After being introduced to Coach Bates and shaking hands with him in a
businesslike manner, she showed both her identification and a letter. "Have
fun, boys," the coach told Erik and PJ. Then he got aboard the bus. The
Gordonsville team left.

"Let's go." The young woman gestured for the two boys to get into the
car. "I have to get you up to the stadium and then go to another
appointment." PJ and Erik climbed into the back seat. "Nice car," Erik
observed. When Ms. Snyder didn't reply, Erik looked at PJ, raising his
eyebrows. Bad mood, PJ silently mouthed at him. Erik grinned, nodding.

The drive up into the Bronx seemed to take forever. Traffic everywhere, and
the game had started long before they arrived. Erik stared out the window
at the sight of the huge stadium rising up out of the parking lots around
it, and PJ, now a "veteran" who'd been to Yankee Stadium once before,
pointed out some of its features with the casual air of an old
hand. Ms. Snyder parked in a reserved spot close to an entrance, led them
inside, and produced club-level passes for both the boys. "Don't lose
these," she sternly admonished. As soon as her back was turned, Erik made a
funny face at PJ. They both snickered.

The same security guard was on duty that PJ remembered from before. They
went up the narrow stairs, following Pam Snyder, who walked quickly down
the same carpeted hallway, leading them to the same box. Inside, they found
Walter and three other men talking and watching the game through the room's
glass window. "PJ!" Walter said when they came in. He waved, but didn't get
up. Ms. Snyder went to him, said something, and hurried off. Then Walter
introduced PJ and Erik to the three other men. PJ had no idea who they
were.

"Walter, can Erik and I go down and buy a program?" PJ asked. "We wanna try
and get some autographs."

"Sure," the young lawyer told him. "Just be careful and don't get
lost. Stay together."

"What's up?" Erik asked as they clattered back down the narrow stairs. "We
don't need a program."

"That was just an excuse to get us out of there," PJ explained. "There's no
way you can see the game from one of those boxes." Down on the concrete
walkway under the stands, he led Erik up through a gangway leading out to
the seats by home plate. As soon as Erik stepped into the open air and saw
the panoramic view of the field and the great stadium in front of him
gleaming in the afternoon sunshine, he gasped, "Oh, man!" He just stood
there and stared.

PJ waited beside him. "It's something else isn't it?" he finally said. "An'
you oughta see Fenway Park!"

Erik just slowly nodded his head. "This is awesome. It's way nicer than
where the Phillies play."

The game was already in the third inning and the Yankees were
batting. Pointing to the Red Sox pitcher on the mound, PJ told his
roommate, "That's the guy who pitched to me in batting practice. That's
Pete Montoya." Erik stared in wonder and shook his head. "Man, PJ," he
muttered. Montoya fired in a breaking ball that left the Yankee batter tied
in a knot. "He didn't throw that way to me," PJ explained with a
chuckle. "I guess not," Erik said, laughing with him.

They wandered around the stadium looking for good places to sit while PJ
revealed all the tricks he'd learned at the other game he'd attended. "You
have to keep moving. Make it look like you're going to the snack bar or
something."

There was no score in the game until the fourth inning when Jack sent a
towering home run into the left-field seats. PJ and Erik jumped to their
feet cheering, and discovered there were plenty of Red Sox fans in the
stadium because lots of others were cheering too. After that, they noticed
Red Sox caps and tee shirts being worn in every seating section.

The Yankee batters were good, but the Red Sox ace quieted their bats and
kept their one-run lead until he began to tire in the eighth. Then trouble
began! The Yankees sluggers began to catch up to his fastballs. When a
double followed by a single tied the game with nobody out, the Red Sox
manager had to bring in a relief pitcher. But before the reliever could get
three outs, the Yankees had scored again.

Down by a run, the Sox came to bat in the top of the ninth inning with Jack
leading off. Erik, PJ, and all the rest of the Red Sox faithful were on
their feet praying for another home run. "Come on Jack, belt one!" PJ's
high young voice screamed out. "Jack . . . Jack . . . Jack
. . . Jack. . . Jack . . ." the fans were chanting all over the stadium.

The Yankees had their closer on the mound. He looked toward the catcher,
got his signal, and delivered his first pitch--a ball, down and away.

"They're not gonna give him anything to hit!" Erik yelled in PJ's ear.

That must have been the instructions from the Yankee dugout because the
closer walked Jack on four straight pitches without once trying to use his
own famous fastball. Jack tossed his bat in disgust and trotted up to
first. But the Yankee strategy backfired! The next batter in the Red Sox
lineup sent the first fastball thrown by the Yankee closer deep into the
right-field corner, where it rattled around before the outfielder could
pick it up. By the time he relayed it to his cutoff man, the Red Sox batter
was already safe at second, and PJ was on his feet cheering Jack's dash to
third.

Suddenly a thrill went through every fan in the stadium! Jack hadn't
stopped at third! Rounding the bag at full speed, he was racing toward home
plate! "He's trying to score!" Erik shrieked as he pounded PJ's shoulder. A
great roar went up from the crowd. There was going to be a play at the
plate!

Jack was already past third base before the throw came in from the
outfield. The cutoff man caught the ball, whirled, and fired as hard as he
could toward home. But his hurried throw was just a little off target. The
catcher had to move a step to get it, just as Jack hit the dirt behind
him. Ducking under the catcher's desperate attempt at a tag, Jack reached
. . . tapped the plate . . . and slid by him amid a spray of dirt!

"SAFE!  SAFE! He's SAFE!" Erik was screaming. The umpire signaled it with
his arms spread wide.  The game was tied!

What a fantastic play, thought PJ. Talk about taking a risk!

"Yeah!" he shouted happily. "And look, Erik!" The runner on second had
advanced to third on the play.

"Oh, this is great!" Erik said.

PJ watched Jack trot into the Red Sox dugout, clapping his hands and
shouting. He's gettin' em' all fired up, he thought.

The Yankees tried to stop the bleeding. Their closer bore down, got two
strikes on the following batter, but the result of his next fastball was a
high, slow chopper. The second baseman fielded it, throwing out the batter
at first, but the runner on third scored, and the Red Sox were back in the
lead!

That one run lead proved to be enough. The Yankees got out of the inning
with two more ground-ball outs, but in the bottom of the ninth, the Red Sox
brought in their own closer, who shut down the New York hitters once
again. The last out was a high fly ball to right field that Jack caught. He
trotted in, grinning his trademark grin, waving to the cheering Red Sox
faithful.

PJ was already leading Erik back to the club-box level, explaining, "We
gotta check in with Walter."

"What are you gonna tell him?" Erik wanted to know. PJ just shrugged.

Up in the box, Walter was waiting for them, and looked relieved when they
came in. "There you are! I was just getting ready to send out a search
party! Some game, eh, boys? PJ, where did Jack say to meet him? Is he
coming up here?"

"Nah," PJ lied glibly. "He said for you to take us down to the
clubhouse. He'll meet us there."

"Okay." Walter went with the boys down through the stadium ramps to the
clubhouse entrance, which was guarded by two big security men. After one of
them examined Walter's identification, he lifted a phone, had a short
conversation with someone else, and told Walter something PJ couldn't
hear. But he could guess what it was and prepared another improvisation.

"He says we're not on any of his lists," Walter told PJ.

"Someone probably forgot," PJ told him. "That was always happening up at
Fenway during my vacation. Tell him to talk to Jim Wagoneer. That's Jack's
roommate. Tell him to say that PJ's here to see Jack."

Walter went back, talked to the guard, and the big security man got back on
the phone. There was a long delay, during which Walter tapped a foot
impatiently and kept looking at his watch. Finally the security guard said
something into the phone, put it down, and beckoned to them. "They say for
you to come ahead." He opened the door. "Okay, PJ," Walter told him. "I
guess you're all set. I'll be seeing you."

"Thanks, Walter." They shook hands.

"Nice meeting you, Erik," Walter said as he walked off.

PJ looked at his roommate and grinned. "See?"

"I just hope Jack isn't mad," Erik muttered in a worried tone as he
followed PJ into the clubhouse.

Answered PJ, "Me too."

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT EIGHTEEN

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