Date: Sun, 24 May 2015 13:05:27 -0400
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: INSTALLMENT TWENTY-FOUR of "THE FATHER CONTRACT"

INSTALLMENT TWENTY-FOUR
from

THE FATHER CONTRACT
by

Arthur J. Arrington

Edited Paul K. Scott

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

Chapter Forty-Four: An Awful Journey Home!

Once he was outside the clubhouse, PJ had no idea what to do next. The one
thing he dared not risk was Jack finding out in some way that he'd run off
to the game on his own, so in case anyone was watching, he walked
confidently away from the clubhouse door as if he knew right where he was
going, making sure he was out of sight before stopping to work out a
plan. He checked his wallet and found exactly what he expected to
find. Counting the change in his pocket, he had just over five dollars. On
that, somehow he had to find a way home.

First, he needed to get to a bus terminal. Following the few people still
leaving the stadium, he got outside to the adjacent parking area where an
attendant collecting tickets from cars exiting the lot seemed a good person
to ask. He waited until there was a lull and approached the young man.

"Excuse me, Sir. I need to get to the bus station. Can you tell me how to
get there?"

The attendant regarded PJ with a bored look. "You take the shuttle bus." He
pointed to a spot behind PJ on the far side of the stadium.

Finding the shuttIe was easy. Unfortunately, it cost money to ride it and
PJ had nothing to spare. It took him two hours to get to the downtown bus
station, walking all the way. Six times he stopped to ask directions from
people on the street or in small stores. By the time he made it into the
station concourse, the sun had set and day had passed into evening.

The station was busy but not crowded. After getting a steer to the
information counter from a man emptying trash receptacles into a big
motorized cart, PJ went over and told the black woman behind the grill,
"I'm trying to get to Gordonsville, Pennsylvania, Ma'am. I need to get
there as soon as I can. Can you help me?"

The woman consulted her computer screen, typing something on a
keyboard. "We don't have anything to Gordonsville on weekends."

"Where could I get to that would be close?" PJ asked anxiously, deciding
that if he could get reasonably close, he could probably walk or hitchhike
the rest of the way.

"I don't know," the woman answered. "If you give me the name of a city or
town, I can tell you if we have service to it."

"How 'bout Wilkes-Barre?" It was the only name PJ could think of.

The woman typed. "There's a bus leaving in half an hour that gets to
Wilkes-Barre at eleven tonight," she said. "Gate six."

PJ returned to the concourse, hunting for and eventually finding the gate
the woman had given him. But there seemed to be no one around. He sat down
on a nearby bench, nervously waiting, wondering the whole time if he was in
the right place, or if there was another gate somewhere with the same
number that he was supposed to be at. After awhile, other people drifted
toward the gate, some sitting, others forming a line. Finally, a man in a
faded brown uniform arrived with a portable desk on wheels. He turned a key
that lit the gate sign and opened a door leading outside, so PJ got up and
joined the line. When he reached the portable desk, the man asked him for
his ticket.

"I don't have one," PJ told him. "I want to get to Wilkes-Barre."

The man dug out a thick pad of tickets, pulled one off, and told him,
"Seven dollars."

PJ got out his wallet. "Uhhh . . . I only have five."

"Ticket to Wilkes-Barre is seven bucks, kid."

"How close can I get to Wilkes-Barre with five dollars?" PJ asked.

The gate man punched something on the ticket and handed it to him. "I'll
give you a ticket to Allentown. That's not too far away."

With a nervous qualm, PJ surrendered the last of his money and went outside
into night air that smelled of diesel exhaust. A bus was pulled in to the
curb by the door. When PJ boarded, the driver looked at his ticket, made a
notation on a clipboard, and gestured for him to move on. Edging cautiously
down the dark aisle, he searched for a seat by a window, taking the first
one he found, more than halfway to the back. After a few more passengers
had boarded, the gate man climbed up into the bus for a conversation with
the driver. They compared lists. Finally, the gate man climbed off again,
the driver closed the doors, backed the bus out, and they pulled away from
the station.

Once they'd gotten started, PJ assumed it would be awhile before they
stopped again, but that proved to be wrong. The bus made several more stops
in the city, boarding additional passengers at every one while PJ waited
apprehensively for someone to take the aisle seat next to him. But no one
did. Finally, when they were rolling through the suburbs with Philadelphia
left behind, PJ decided he could relax. He'd just started to when he
discovered another dilemma--the same one that had confronted him in New
York. How was he going to know when to get off? He'd never been to
Allentown, had no idea what it looked like, and even if he did, what if he
slept right through his stop? PJ was just realizing how tired he was. He'd
had almost no sleep the night before, and the excitement of the day,
followed by a two-hour walk to the bus station, had left him exhausted. He
desperately wanted to sleep. But what if he missed his stop?! Every time
his eyes started closing, he managed to jerk himself awake.

Yet the trip went on and on, and PJ got sleepier and sleepier. He dozed
on-and-off despite all his efforts, waking with a start whenever the bus
made a stop in a small town, heart pounding, wondering if it was Allentown
but too shy to ask, and worrying as they drove away that maybe that's where
he should have gotten off. Then they were on the interstate, moving so
smoothly it was as if the bus were standing still and it was the night
itself that was rushing past outside. PJ drifted off, the hum of the bus
engine and the sound of its tires blending into a roaring noise of an
enormous crowd into which he was pushing . . . shoving . . .

He was looking for Jack.  He wanted to see if Jack was wearing the tie clip
he'd given him. The crowd's shouting and cheering was all around as PJ
shoved his way through. There were lots of kids and PJ saw that they were
all with their fathers. He saw Erik and Travis. He waved but they didn't
see him. Suddenly, PJ realized that he was lost. He looked around
desperately but nothing was familiar. The crowd noises grew louder. He was
jostled. He became frightened. "Jack!" he cried out. "Jack, where are you!"
It grew dark.They had forgotten to put the stadium lights on! PJ began to
panic. "Jack, please!" he called. "It's dark. Come find me!" But there was
no answer except the crowd's roar. "Daddy!" PJ whispered, in a
last,terrified appeal.

"Your father's dead," a voice told him.

"No!" As panic was overwhelming him, PJ fought off the thought. "No! No!"

"Allentown!" the voice said. "Allentown! I know we got some one for
Allentown back there!"

PJ jerked awake. He patted himself frantically to be sure he was dry, then
shakily got up from his seat. The bus was stopped at the curb in front of a
lighted building. He walked down the aisle of the bus, edging sideways to
avoid bumping into people's shoulders. The driver held the door open for
him while he climbed down the steps. Then the door rolled shut behind him,
and with a rumble, the bus pulled away.

The building in front of PJ was a medium-sized bus station. He could see a
few people in the lighted waiting room. Much further away, way down the
street, more lights were shining in a strip mall, and beyond that, cars
were passing on a busy highway. Without money, there was nothing for him to
do in the station, so he started walking toward the highway, trying not to
worry about how hard it was going to be to hitch a ride without getting
busted by police almost certain to be patrolling the busy road. Passing the
strip mall, he saw that nearly all the stores were dark, but the bright
flashing on a movie theater marquee showed that a theater was still
open. Cars were in the lot, and the sight of people moving around suggested
to PJ that it might be a good idea to ask for some directions before
putting his thumb out for a ride--because he hadn't the faintest idea which
way to go to get to Gordonsville! Backing up a few steps, he turned onto
the sidewalk that led past the darkened shops and headed toward the
theater.

A group of older teenagers was gathered in front of the movie theater,
watching several others leaning against the windows of two cars parked at
the curb, talking to other kids sitting inside. Heads turned, giving PJ
curious glances as he approached. "Better watch it, little dude," a boy
called from the group in front of the theater. "They got a curfew on kids
your age aroun' here." PJ walked over to them. There were three boys and
four girls, all appearing to be high-school age or older. "I'm trying to
get to Gordonsville. Do you know where that is from here?"

"Gordonsville!" Another boy in the group turned his head and spat. "You're
not one of those little rich-bitch kids at that stuck-up school, are you?"

PJ stared back blankly. It was obviously time to put up a front. "I'm
tryin' to get to my father's place. He lives there. I don't know nothin'
'bout no school."

"Where you from, kid?" the third boy demanded. The whole group was eying
him suspiciously.

"Philadelphia."

"You don't talk like you're from Philadelphia."

"I've only been there since this year. Before that I lived in Chicago."

One of the girls staring at PJ said, "He was walking up from the bus
station."

"Why didn't your old man meet you at the bus?" the first boy asked.

"Because he don't know I'm comin'."  PJ wished they would stop asking their
stupid questions. "Look," he told them, improvising freely, "I been livin'
with my mother. Her new boyfriend is a real asshole so I took off today and
went as far as I could on the bus. If I can get to my dad's house in this
Gordonsville place I'll be able to hang out with him. But I don't know
where it's at. If you guys know, how 'bout helpin' me out?"

"Cops!" one of the girls yelled.

"Shit!" The first boy pushed PJ toward the theater doors. "Get inside
kid. Quick! There's a men's room on the left."

PJ dodged through the door of the theatre just as a county sheriff car
pulled off the highway into the mall. Finding the men's room, he entered a
stall, and since he had to go anyway, dropped his pants to take care of
business. After finishing, he remained on the toilet until the door to the
men's room opened and the first boy called, "OK, dude. They're gone." Only
then did he pull his pants up and go back outside. There was no sign of the
sheriff car.

"The pigs hassle us here all the time," the older boy told him. "They catch
you out past curfew, they'll run you into Juvi. Come on, kid." He led PJ to
a car parked by the curb and opened the door. "Get in." A girl in the front
passenger seat pulled the seat-back forward so PJ could climb into the
rear. There were three others already there, two boys and a girl. They
squeezed over, leaving just enough room for him to scrunch in next to the
girl. The first boy stuck his head in the door. "Tony here"--he indicated
the driver--"says he'll take you up to Gordonsville. Good luck, kid!" Tony
sarcastically replied, "We'll take good care of him, Nick!" The first boy
closed the car door and went back to the group by the theater entrance. PJ
liked this Nick, the older boy who'd been nice to him. But he wasn't so
sure about these others. Every street-smart instinct he had learned in
Chicago was kicking in. I better be careful!

"Somebody give the kid a beer," Tony ordered. "What's your name, squirt?"

"Jason." PJ gave them the first name he thought of.

One of the boys in the back seat handed PJ a lukewarm can, which he looked
at it suspiciously. "Come on, Jason buddy," Tony sneered, turning to give
PJ a nasty smirk. "Nobody rides in my wheels without getting into the party
mood!

"Geez, Tony," the other boy in the back seat protested, "he's like a
zillion years underage. You'll get us all in trouble!"

"Nobody's gonna stop us on the road to Gordonsville," Tony shot back, his
expression an icy stare. "I don't think they even got any cops up in that
place! Chug it down, little dude, if you want a ride!"

PJ pulled the pop-top of the can, foam pouring all over his hands onto his
clothes. He had tasted beer before and didn't particularly care for it, but
he decided a ride was a ride. Besides, the car door was closed, he was
alone among older kids, and Tony looked like he meant business. What's it
matter anyway, PJ thought. He put the can to his lips and began to swallow.

The lukewarm beer had a sweetish-sour taste that almost made him gag, but
he forced himself to keep on swallowing, lifting the can higher and higher
until he had drained it. The liquid sloshed in his empty stomach, the
sudden pressure of gas making him belch loudly.

"Yeah!" Tony cheered from the driver's seat. "Hey, boys and girls! I think
little Jason dude here has done this before! Somebody give him
another. Party on, little dude!"

He put the car in gear, and as they pulled away from the theater, the girl
next to PJ handed him another beer. Then she put her hand on his
thigh. "Oh, you got your pants all wet," she giggled, fingers sliding up to
grope PJ's crotch. "Try to be more careful, Jason." Someone turned the car
CD player on loud. "We'll have you in the right mood by the time you get to
your old man's!" Tony yelled over the music.

Lack of sleep combined with the beer in his empty stomach began to make PJ
a bit dizzy. When he popped open the other can, more foam cascaded, soaking
his clothes and the girl's hand in his lap. "Geez, Jason, watch it!" she
snapped in annoyance, but her fingers remained where they were. PJ felt
himself responding. He couldn't help getting hard. As he tipped the can
back for another long swallow, the girl's fingers pressed and fondled
him. PJ had never had a stranger touch him like this before and he wasn't
sure what to think. But he dared not say anything.

"Come on, Charmaine," complained the boy on the other side of her. She
turned to kiss him while keeping her hand busy with PJ.

Once they were clear of town, Tony stopped on a side road, had a whispered
conversation with the girl up front, then passed something to the back
seat. A short, fat rolled thing like a cigarette was put in PJ's hand.

"Light up time, folks," Tony declared. "Smoke 'em if you got 'em." There
was laughter all through the car. A lighter flared and was passed from
hand-to-hand. PJ smelled a strong odor of burning rope.

"Is the Jason dude all turned on?" Tony called.

"He's turned on in more ways than one," the girl next to PJ said,
cackling. She lit her joint, handed it to PJ, then took his for
herself. Sucking in a long drag after she got it lit, she blew the smoke
out slowly and put her hand back between PJ's thighs.

"Come on, Jason," she said. "Don't waste the good stuff."

PJ had never smoked in his life. He put the glowing joint between his lips,
took little puffs . . . and then he was coughing while everyone in the car
laughed.

"Party hearty, Jason dude," Tony said. "Let's see you take a big hit."

PJ was not sure what to do. His brain was buzzing, he felt dizzy . . . the
girl's fingers kept stroking him. And now it was beginning to feel
good. Just like it always did.

"A big hit right now, little Jason, or else you walk to Gordonsville from
here." Tony had turned half around in the front seat to stare at PJ, and he
didn't look at all friendly.

PJ did what he'd seen the girl just do. He pulled a lot of smoke into his
mouth and let it out slowly.

"That's the right party spirit, dude." Tony boosted the music back up,
there was a squeal of tires, and they started moving again.

PJ began to feel very peculiar; relaxed and frightened all at the same
time. The darkness outside the car had no recognizable landmarks for
him. The people and things around him inside the car didn't seem real. It
was as if he was watching himself from a great distance. At some time he
must've finished the second beer because the can was empty in his hand. He
kept puffing on his joint. The glowing tip was almost to his fingers, but
the girl wouldn't let him throw it away until it was burning his skin.

"Don't waste it," she kept telling PJ. Her voice seemed to come up from a
well.

PJ had no idea how long they'd been driving. The ride just seemed to go on
and on. Tony kept the car moving fast, tires squealing around all the
turns, and each time they passed another car there was loud yelling. PJ
yelled too. It all seemed fun and exciting. And yet . . . for some reason,
he was frightened!

Every time they came to a stoplight or a town, PJ hoped it was
Gordonsville. The girl sitting next to him became so involved with the boy
on her other side that she finally removed her hand. Another sharp
curve. The car went around it with the tires squealing. PJ's head swam. He
felt sick, but when whooping and laughing came from the front seat, he
laughed as well.

One of the boys in the back seat yelled something to Tony, starting an
argument, and PJ heard a lot of loud voices shouting over the noise of the
CD player. PJ laughed even more. Tony kept glancing in his rearview
mirror. Then he took a quick look into the back seat over his shoulder. PJ
giggled at him.

"Come on, Tony, let's dump this squirt," the girl in the front loudly said.

"Yeah, yeah, all right. We're close enough anyway." Slowing, the car pulled
to the side of the road. The girl in the front seat opened her door and
pulled the seat back forward. "Time to get out, Jason dudo," Tony yelled.

PJ laughed. It all seemed very funny. He tried to untangle himself,
struggling up from where he was sitting. Then someone pushed him from
behind and he flew headfirst out of the car, sprawling onto the side of the
road.

"Good luck finding your daddy dear, Jason," a voice sang out. With a roar,
the tires spun, nearly fishtailing the rear of the car over PJ, spraying
him with gravel as the teens sped off.

PJ lay on the ground for a minute, head reeling. When he tried at last to
get up, the best he could do was rise to his hands and knees. Crawling to
the brush at the edge of the road, he threw up, stomach heaving in spasm
after painful spasm. After that, he felt better. Trying again to stand, he
managed this time to make it all the way to his feet, weaving unsteadily,
peering around in the darkness. Finally, since he saw nothing he
recognized, he started walking in the same direction that Tony's car had
been going. He had no idea where he was, but it didn't seem to matter very
much. He had to concentrate to go in a straight line.

At some point, PJ became aware that he was near the school. He felt no
elation or surprise when this fact swam slowly into his consciousness. He'd
been trying to get there and now he had, that was all. He was on the back
road near the woods by the athletic fields. He knew the way in from
there. It was the same way he'd snuck out when he went to buy Jack's
Christmas presents. Climbing over the perimeter fence was no simple feat
because he felt so sick and dizzy, but eventually he succeeded, falling
into the brush on the other side, where he tried to throw up again, though
nothing came out. Finding his way step-by-wobbly-step through the dark
woods, he kept thinking for some reason that he was in the tunnels under
Fenway Park and wondered why the lights were off. Then he came out on the
Hill and knew exactly where he was.

He went carefully down the slope, weaving a little. Once at the bottom, as
he headed toward campus, it occurred to him that his clothes were filthy
and reeked of beer. "Better not meet anybody," he muttered to
himself. Avoiding the sidewalks, he approached his House the back
way. There were still lights on in the windows. Moving stealthily around to
the front, trying not to stumble in the dark, he stood for a few seconds,
listening. There was a light on in the common room. He could hear the sound
of the TV. Drawing himself up, PJ took a deep breath. Then, walking as
steadily as he could, he went to the front door, opened it, and went
inside.

To his immense relief, the front hallway was empty. After closing the door
softly, PJ made it to the base of the stairs, grabbing the banister for
support. A quick glance showed a few boys in the common room, all facing
away, watching the TV set. He started upwards. The House stairs--stairs PJ
ordinarily dashed up and down without giving them a thought--those same
stairs now seemed to go forever. Twice he saw people in the hallways. Not
having any way to recognize who they were because his eyes were bleary, PJ
gave them a wave and kept climbing up. It was all he could do to keep from
falling to his hands and knees and crawling. But at last he reached the top
floor. Heading straight into the bathroom, he stepped into a shower stall,
closed the curtain, and turned on both faucets.

At first, the water was ice cold. The shock of it partly sobered him. As it
gradually warmed, he stripped naked and washed out his clothes. When all
evidence of beer was rinsed away, PJ turned off the water so he could wring
everything out, only then rescuing, a bit too late, his wallet from the
pocket of his pants. He peeked out the bathroom door to be sure the hall
was empty, bundled his damp clothes under his arm, and, carrying his shoes,
streaked down the hall to his room. He burst through the door, quickly
closed it, and sighed in relief. The room, thank God, was empty. Grabbing
his pajamas, PJ pulled them on, then spread his clothes out on his chair
and the window ledge to dry. It seemed very important to get them adjusted
exactly right.

He was feeling very dizzy now, so after pulling the covers down on his bed,
he collapsed onto it, drew everything back up, and lay there with his head
swimming. The bed felt like it was moving. A constant buzzing was in his
ears. He thought for a moment it was one of his "weird" spells, but decided
it didn't quite feel like that. He was so very tired! Yet he couldn't fall
asleep. When he tried closing his eyes, it just seemed to make him more
dizzy. He stared at the ceiling, attempting to make sense of the pattern of
cracks. There was a message there if only he could read it. Maybe it was
from Jack.

Jack.  Where is Jack?  He rolled onto his side, looking over at his
poster. There he is. There's Jack. Jack hit a home run for me. But instead
of feeling happy about that, for some reason PJ felt very sad. "Jack is
back, Jack is back, Jack is back," he chanted softly to himself. A tear
trickled down his cheek. "Back is Jack. . ." It was a whisper now. He
stroked his face, staring up at the ceiling.

	The door opened and Erik came into the room. "PJ!" he
exclaimed. Then he looked in surprise at the wet clothes draped around the
room, quite unlike PJ's penchant for neatness. "When did you get back?"

"Hi, Erik, buddy," PJ mumbled.

"Geez, PJ, how did your clothes get all wet?"

"They got dirty so I washed 'em," PJ answered, and it sounded so funny to
him that he giggled.

"I had to invent a few stories to cover for you, PJ." Erik sat down on the
bed. "Mr. Williamson was looking around for you. I told him you were with
us."

"That's cool." PJ giggled again.

"Where did you go, anyway?"

PJ could not remember what lie he'd told Erik about where he was going. And
it didn't seem to matter much anyway.

"I know you weren't with Billy," Erik said. "Dad and I went over there
looking for you."

"I went ta New York," That seemed even funnier, so PJ giggled some more.

Erik stared at him, looking confused. "What in the world are you talk
. . . wait a sec! Erik's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did you see Jack?"

Didya' know I'm a "dude"?

"PJ, are you all right?" He was upset because he'd never seen PJ drunk or
stoned before, but the signs were all too obvious.

"'Course I am. I'm jus' tired." Turning away on his side, PJ closed his
eyes. "I'm gone ta' sleep."

With a shrug and a puzzled, worried look, Erik stood up and got ready for
bed, turning off everything but PJ's nightlight. Then he looked at his
roommate. PJ seemed to be sleeping peacefully, so he shrugged again and
crawled under the covers of his own bed. But he knew darn well that things
were not all right with his roomie. Had something awful happened?

PJ's dreams were very confused that night. He dreamed again about being
lost.

	He kept seeing Tony's leering face. "Good luck finding your daddy,"
Tony kept telling him. PJ could only answer, "My daddy's dead.  Chapter
Forty-Five: What Mattered Most

PJ woke up the next morning nauseous, and with a headache. It was
Monday. The last few weeks of the school year had begun.

He had to be very careful of what he ate for breakfast. Everything he
looked at made him feel sicker, so he finally ended up eating only
toast. Erik kept staring at him with concern. "PJ, you don't look so good."

"I think I've got the flu."

"Maybe you should go see the nurse."

"No." PJ shook his head. "I'll be okay."

By the end of morning classes he felt a bit better and ate a light lunch,
but his headache didn't go away and he had trouble staying awake in class
that afternoon. Later, during baseball practice, his head pounded so badly
he had to ask Coach Lewis for a break. The coach took one look at him,
marched him over to the bleachers, and sat him down.

"You look terrible, PJ."

"I think I'm getting over the flu. I was sick all weekend."

"Why don't you skip the rest of practice?" the coach suggested.

"I'll be okay. I just need a minute."

After the pounding in his head eased a little, PJ forced himself through
the remainder of practice, but he was relieved when it ended and he could
sit down again. He listened while Mr. Bates explained how the playoffs were
going to work.

"Single elimination tournament, fellows," the head coach told them. "One
loss and you're out. So we just keep going until we lose. Our first
opponent is Union Hill. Their record's close to ours. We play two games a
week starting tomorrow. If we win, we'll play another game on
Thursday. We'll be using the same starting lineup as in our last game."

Walking up to the Field House to change and shower, Erik told PJ, "I hope
they put you in the game this time."

Right about then, PJ wasn't so sure he shared that wish, but he felt a
little better after another night's sleep. The following morning, he faced
his classes with more enthusiasm and was actually looking forward to the
game that afternoon. As soon as school ended, he and Erik changed into
their uniforms so they could run down to the field together for an early
warm-up. PJ threw grounders for Erik, who, after fielding them with his
usual grace, tossed high fly balls back to PJ where he had to catch them on
the run. Soon the rest of the team came to join in, Coach Bates and Coach
Lewis organized the regular drills, and things remained lively until it was
time to relinquish the field to the arriving Union Hill squad.

PJ stood with Erik next to their dugout, watching the opposing players go
through their own routine. "These guys beat us in the regular season," he
reminded his roommate.

"Yeah, but it was a close game," Erik replied. "This time we're playing
them at our field. We can beat them."

The game did turn out to be close. And once again, PJ didn't play. He was
sitting in the dugout watching the fifth inning when Coach Lewis sat down,
putting an arm around him. "PJ, it looks like this game might go right to
the wire. I don't think we can chance putting you in until we're sure
you're completely well. I didn't like the way you looked yesterday."

"I feel better today, Coach," PJ assured him.

"I know. But let's not take any chances." Coach Lewis patted his
shoulder. "If we win today, I'll make sure you get into the next game."

"Okay." PJ was thinking that perhaps it was just as well. He really didn't
feel one-hundred-percent. Anyway, what did it matter? He cheered for Erik
through the rest of the game and was glad when Gordonsville won in the last
inning.

"All right!" Erik said later, as they were walking back. "We got through
the first round! Second round on Thursday. But it's a bummer that you're
not playing, PJ."

"Coach Lewis says he'll try to get me in during the next game."

"Gee, I hope so! They ought to know by now that you're good enough to go."

PJ was glad there were final exams to study for, and baseball to occupy his
time, because there were things he was trying hard not to think about. A
voice he wanted to ignore was in his mind. "You're just one of Jack's
Make-A-Wish kids, that's all." PJ could see the sneering face of the Red
Sox batboy whispering that to him. "No!" PJ would yell silently back. "I'm
Jack's son! Jack liked the tie clasp. He liked the card. He hit a home run
for me. He e-mails me! He's taking me to the All-Star game!" That took care
of the batboy for a time, but then another voice would come whispering,
"Good luck finding your Daddy . . ." PJ found that one harder to get rid
of.

The headache and sick stomach from his trip had gone away, but the curious
feeling of detachment persisted. Nothing seemed important. He found it
difficult to concentrate, and he felt sad all the time. Even Erik's corny
jokes, which usually amused him, sounded trivial and stupid. Once, while he
sat on the toilet in the middle of the day, he caught himself crying for no
reason at all.

PJ was a little frightened because he recognized the way he felt. It was
exactly the way he'd felt for a long time when he'd been seeing the old
lady in the big gray building in Chicago. Baseball, along with other
things, had helped him a lot then; and baseball helped him now. He couldn't
really account for his love of the sport; he only knew what it meant to
him. From his first exposure to baseball, in a camp playground, the game
had captured his imagination. The fact that he was better at other sports
didn't change things in the least. Baseball, with its unique combination of
myth, art, and athletic skill, had claimed him. He'd used it as an escape
then, and he clung to it now. On the field, at least, he could still find
things he cared about: fielding a ground ball cleanly, making an accurate
throw, the thrill of hitting a ball on just the right spot with the bat.
These gave him a bulwark against vague dark fears that troubled him, fears
he could usually control during the day but which increasingly invaded his
dreams at night. He applied himself to his studies as an antidote to his
disturbed ideas and tried to enjoy his baseball as best he could. Even not
playing in the first tournament game didn't discourage him. PJ'd sat on the
bench many times in the past. He knew that eventually he'd get a chance to
participate.

* * *

The second tournament game against Essex Academy turned out to be a very
different proposition from the first. For one thing, they had to
travel. Essex was in Connecticut, so with the entire baseball team given
the afternoon off from school, they left on their bus immediately after
morning classes. Box lunches were passed out while the bus rolled along the
interstate.

"Ugh," Erik complained. "I'm not sure which is worse. The bus ride or the
lunch!"

"It's a bad combination." PJ was eyeing the unopened box on his lap. Bus
rides were bad enough for him even in the best of times. The thought of
eating on a bus while it was moving made his stomach, still a little
sensitive since his beer episode, distinctly queasy.

"I hope this team we're playing isn't as good as Coach Lewis says it is,"
said Erik. Gordonsville hadn't played Essex during the regular schedule, so
their coaches had called other teams for a scouting report.

"I can tell you that their swim team was pretty good!" PJ had seen Essex at
the Championships.

"Well," Erik replied, "let's just hope their baseball team is only
average."

When the bus finally got them to the Academy, they all looked curiously
around. The campus, out in the country like Gordonsville, was just as big
as their own. Though there was no imposing field house like the one at
Gordonsville, the Middle School baseball field, which their bus passed on
the way to the gym, was fenced in and perfectly lined and groomed. Upon
reaching a spacious Visiting Team locker room, PJ's first priority was to
shut himself in a bathroom stall and throw up. He did it as quietly as he
could, not wanting anyone tattling on him to the coaches. Once the heaving
ended, he rinsed his mouth out, wondering bleakly if his stomach was ever
going to be right again. Then he went to put his uniform on.

After warming up with his teammates on a smooth grass diamond as nice as
Gordonsville's, PJ had a thought which he shared with Erik while they
watched Essex take infield drill. "Erik? What does this place remind you
of?"

"I don't know." Erik shrugged his shoulders. "What?"

"It looks a lot like Gordonsville, doesn't it?"

Erik looked at him. "So?"

"Well, think about it," PJ said. "These guys can't be any better than us,
can they? I mean, they're just like us. Why is everyone saying they're so
good?"

"'Cause they got some good players, that's why," Erik reminded him.

PJ thought about it. "Well, we have good players, too," he finally
said. "Their swim team was no better than ours. In fact, we beat them in
the Championships."

"We'll see, PJ." Erik still seemed doubtful.

The Gordonsville team started the game with the same lineup they'd used
previously. Erik started at second base; PJ sat on the bench. At first, it
seemed that it might be a close game. Both teams' pitchers looked good in
the first inning. Each team scored a run. Then, in the second inning,
disaster!

PJ sat in the dugout, watching in dismay, as Essex ran off a string of
hits, none of them anyone's fault, simply lucky breaks, the kind of thing
that can happen in baseball. One Essex batter bounced a shot just out of
reach of the left fielder. Another put one right between third base and the
shortstop. A third blooped a short fly ball into the Bermuda Triangle,
dropping it where neither the center fielder, right fielder, nor Erik at
second base could get to it. Pierce, Gordonsville's thirteen-year-old
pitcher, lost confidence, could not regain it, and the next thing anyone
knew he was getting shelled. Essex scored six quick runs, while morale on
the Gordonsville team plunged into the basement. They changed pitchers, but
nothing seemed to help. By the fourth inning, they were down by eight total
runs.

"See, PJ?" Erik said as they sat together in the dugout, "I told you they
had some good players."

"They're no better than we are," PJ objected mildly. "They got some lucky
hits and had a big inning. We might, too. It could be this one."

But it became obvious that it would not be that inning. The Gordonsville
hitters went down one, two, three.

"Subs!" Coach Lewis called out. PJ and the other benchwarmers gathered
around him. "Looks like this is the last game of our season, boys," Coach
Lewis said. "We'll try to get you all a chance to play. PJ, take right
field." Clutching his glove, the one Jack had given him, PJ trotted out of
the dugout feeling elated! He was sorry they were losing, but he actually
didn't care much if they won or lost; he was just happy to finally be
playing again. After jogging out to his right-field position, he tossed a
warm-up ball around with Benny, the boy who'd gone in at center.

The first batter in the inning gave trouble. PJ was still trying to get
into the rhythm of the game when he heard the "Tang!" of aluminum bat
hitting baseball. The high fly arcing out caught PJ by surprise. He backed
up quickly, thinking the ball was going over his head--then had to stop as
he realized the ball was going to be short and to his right! He rushed over
to get under it . . . was not in balance when the ball came down on the
heel of his glove . . . and watched in dismay as the ball bounced to the
ground!

Face red with embarrassment, he scooped the ball back up and made a good
throw to his cutoff man, holding the runner to a single. But the man was on
base because of his error. PJ smacked his glove a few times in irritation,
then took a deep breath and shook his head. He knew exactly what Jack would
have told him. If you miss one, recover as quick as you can and get it
in. Don't let it bother you. Even Major Leaguers don't get all the fly
balls. Just concentrate harder on the next one. He grinned to himself, got
ready for the next batter, and whispered, "Okay Jack, I will." He knew that
at least he had gotten the "get it in" part right. Now he just had to
concentrate more on the hitter.

The rest of the inning went better. As the other team's batters struck or
grounded out, PJ was kept busy running in to back up plays, soon feeling
looser and a lot more relaxed. The runner on base due to PJ's error got
stranded, so after the third out, as he trotted in from right field to the
dugout, he was feeling pretty happy. This was the first inning the other
team hadn't scored. His slot was due up soon. Maybe they could score some
more runs.

When the first batter for Gordonsville walked to start the inning off,
Erik, sitting next to PJ in the dugout, stood up to clap. "Come on, PJ," he
said, giving his roommate a nudge. "Get into the game here. You're the one
who said we can catch up!"

PJ smiled at him and started cheering.

The following Gordonsville batter made an attempt to bunt his way on. He
was thrown out by the catcher, but his well-placed tap down the
first-baseline got the runner over to second. Gordonsville's dugout erupted
in cheers as the boys started yelling for Lyle, up next and the fourth
hitter in the lineup, to bring his teammate home. "Lyle! be a hitter,
Lyle!" PJ screamed at his football buddy. Lyle's first swing sent a long
line drive foul and got everybody excited! On the next pitch, he swung hard
again but just topped the ball, which scittered out toward the
shortstop. The Essex infielder bobbled it for just an instant before
getting control, did a good job of looking the runner back at second, and
fired hastily to first. But Lyle was too fast for him. The hasty throw
pulled the first baseman off the bag. Arms raised high in celebration, Lyle
crossed it before the other boy could get back (PJ couldn't help thinking,
just like an end, always showing off!). Suddenly there were men on first
and second!

"All right!" Erik crowed. He went to get a bat and walked to the on-deck
circle.

The number five batter for Gordonsville almost got an extra-base hit. He
stroked a blistering ground ball up the third-base line that, had it kept
going, would've buried itself somewhere deep in the left-field corner. But
the third baseman just happened to be in the right spot. He put his glove
down more to protect himself than anything else. The ball hopped into it
and he stepped on the bag for the force out. "Oh man, we got robbed," PJ
murmured to himself. The runner who'd been put out came trotting
disconsolately back to the dugout.

Two outs, two men on base, and Erik was up. Putting on a helmet, PJ grabbed
his favorite bat and walked out to the on-deck circle. "Let's go, Erik!
You're the man!" PJ called to his roommate. Erik nodded and stepped into
the batter's box wearing a grim expression as though determined to belt
anything thrown near him into the next county. The Essex pitcher, equally
determined to blow him away with fastballs, proceeded to walk him on four
straight misses out of the strike zone. Giving his frustrated opponent a
gracious smile, and pumping his fist, Erik trotted to first, while the
pitcher, clearly disgusted with himself, slammed his fist into his glove
and stomped around on the mound.

The bases were loaded.

"Oh boy!" PJ softly breathed. For the very first time in his life, he was
up with he bases full in a real game that counted. And not only were there
teammates at every base, there were two outs and the game was in this big
Tournament and a whole bunch was depending on him!

"Oh boy," PJ sighed again. Nervous! Just like before a big swimming race!
He took a deep breath. "OK, Ok," he muttered. He'd seen Jack go up in
situations like this, lots of times. Jack could handle it; so could he. He
swallowed hard, then stepped into the box, so jittery he forgot to look
down to his third-base coach for a signal.

The pitcher stared at PJ. He sure isn't gonna try to walk me! PJ told
himself. He'll try to throw strikes. But can he? Or has he lost the plate?

It seemed as though the latter was true. The pitcher obviously wanted to
throw a strike, but in his eagerness he was aiming the ball. The first
pitch to PJ was in the dirt, nearly past the catcher, who just barely
blocked it. He picked up the ball, called for time, and went running out to
the mound to try to settle his teammate down.

PJ tried to relax while they were talking, but it was impossible. The kids
in the dugout were shouting encouragement, Erik was yelling something to
him from up at first, and PJ's stomach felt like a cage of butterflies had
been emptied into it. He finally remembered to look at Coach Bates standing
by third, but all the man did was clap his hands a few times and call, "Be
a hitter, now!"

"I'll try," PJ whispered. With an effort he made himself focus. It was like
climbing onto the starting block in swimming, staring at the lane in front
of him, waiting for the gun, every distraction shut out. Then the words
were in his head. All you can do is give it your best. He could hear Jack
saying it, just as if he were there beside him. The ball, kid. Concentrate
on the ball. Watch it leave the pitcher's hand. Now it was the Red Sox
hitting coach's voice in his ear. How often had Coach Brock said that to
him as they'd worked in the cage under the stands at Fenway? Suddenly, all
the magic of the old ballpark was there around him: the smell of emerald
grass in hot sunshine, the Green Monster looming in left field, the
murmuring of a huge crowd. And Jack . . . Jack smiling at him. PJ was at
home plate again, taking batting practice. Jack was looking on with a
grin. "Go get 'em, Son!"

Nerves gone, PJ watched the conference on the mound end.  The catcher
jogged back into his position. What had he said to the pitcher? PJ
wondered. What could you say? Throw strikes?

Look. Up the first base line. Erik's clapping his hands, cheering for me!
Just like he did all those times during swim season. He caught his
roommate's eye . . . nodded. I'm gonna try my very hardest, Erik.

Stepping into the box, PJ took his stance, staring out at the mound,
relaxed, yet at the same time poised like a great cat ready to pounce. This
was nothing like the way he'd felt in that Franklyn game. He had no
premonition of hitting any home run. No urge whatsoever to taunt the
pitcher. He sure didn't ever want to be perceived as a grandstander
again. He just felt awed by the moment. He felt that it was terribly urgent
that he do himself proud, that he somehow honor the game of baseball, and
honor Jack in the process, and do the very best that he could.

 The pitcher wound up . . . threw . . . PJ watched the ball leave his
hand. A strike this time! He stepped into the pitch, lean, slender body
uncoiling with power. Head down, he came through the ball, hitting it right
on the sweet spot of the bat. There was a loud "TONK!"

Gone! It's gone! I know it!

He lifted his head on follow-through, saw the ball soaring out over the
left-field fence. There's no other feeling like this! Nothing! Not
swimming, not football, not soccer. Nothing compares with it. Only baseball
makes me feel this way!

"Yee-ee-0000-www!" Erik was going crazy! Yelling his head off, dancing off
first base. Screams, shouts, war whoops exploded from the Gordonsville
dugout.

PJ started to trot up the first-base line. He tossed his bat just the way
Jack did, and followed his cavorting roommate toward second base, wondering
if it wasn't all a dream. I'll wake up and still be on the bus. But the
dream went on. He kept going around toward third, slapping palms with Coach
Bates before heading home. As he came down the third-base line, he searched
the bleachers for any familiar face. But there was no one he recognized. If
this were really a dream, I'd see Jack there. And maybe Travis or
Billy. This must be real. Erik and all the rest of the team waited for him
by home plate. As PJ stepped on the base, Erik first took his hand, then
hugged him, yelling "Grand slam, PJ! Grand slam!"

"Eight to five, Erik," PJ remarked when they got back to the dugout. Then
he added, trying to keep a straight face, "How ya' like our chances now?"

"Geez!" Erik grimaced, pretending to look suitably humiliated. "Okay, PJ,
rub it in. I admit I got a little discouraged there for awhile."

"Erik. . . ." Suddenly turning serious, PJ stared intently at him and
whispered, "Anything's possible! Never say die!"

Erik stared back just as seriously. "I should know that." He gave his
roommate a little punch on the arm. "You're right, PJ. I should know that."

Essex brought in a new pitcher, and the inning ended with a Gordonsville
hitter popping out to the infield. But PJ could feel the momentum of the
game shifting. Essex was beginning to panic. The entire Gordonsville team
smelled a comeback and the bottom of the fifth was another good one
defensively for them. They gave up a walk and a hit, but no further damage
was done, so when PJ came trotting in from right field at the end of the
inning, he was feeling confident. "I sense some more runs coming," he told
Erik.

Sure enough, Gordonsville got two more runs in the top of the sixth off a
new Essex pitcher who struggled as much as the old one had. PJ could almost
smell the other team's fear amid the cracking of their defense breaking
apart. The Essex lead was down to one run! But they weren't ready to give
up yet. With the top of their order at the plate in the bottom of the
sixth, they managed to push a run across when the Gordonsville pitcher
walked two batters and gave up another hit. Fortunately, PJ made a nice
catch in right field to end the inning. The boys ran in to take their last
at-bat, down by two runs.

"Last chance," Erik said to PJ as they entered the dugout.

With a grin PJ met his eyes. "And we're up."

"Hey," Eric said, grinning back. "Would you want it any other way?"

"Nope." They touched fists.

The coaches, who'd been ready to give up back in the fourth inning, were
now all excited. "Okay, guys, everybody hits! Let's do it!" Coach Bates
yelled, clapping his hands. "Be a hitter, Erik!"

Erik put on his helmet, got a bat, and went out to lead off while PJ,
following him, knelt down in the on-deck circle. Two runs, he thought. We
need two runs to keep the season alive. We can do it! Never say die!

Essex had changed pitchers again, and the new one was a tough-looking kid
with a nice fastball. He put a few zingers over that Erik fouled off, then
served up one more, looking for the strikeout. But Erik swung again and
connected. Like PJ, Erik had a lot of power in his nearly twelve-year-old
frame. He took a healthy cut at the ball that just missed crushing it, and
sent a blistering line drive off the end of his bat into right
centerfield. It would have been a double had the Essex centerfielder not
laid out for a spectacular diving stop. Erik made the turn at first base,
started for second, but wisely retreated when the outfielder made a good
throw into the infield. "Okay, PJ, here we go!" he yelled to his roommate.

PJ took one final practice swing and stepped to the plate, thinking, I can
hit this guy too.Just put it over! He got set in his stance and
waited. When the lanky boy on the mound wound up, PJ concentrated on seeing
the ball leave his hand. It came right for his head. Ducking instinctively,
spinning away, he fell back and sprawled into the dirt. He looked up
quickly. The catcher was holding the ball, grinning down at him. He must've
known that was coming, PJ thought, or he could've never reacted that fast
to catch it.

Coach Bates ran down from his box near third base to protest, but was waved
back by the umpire. Stepping in front of home plate, mask in hand, the
umpire pointed a finger at the pitcher. "I'm giving you a warning," he told
the boy. "I see one more pitch like that and you're out of this game!" Then
he turned to PJ. "You okay?"

PJ nodded. "I'm okay."

He got up, dusting himself off while he tried to keep his face
expressionless. Actually, his stomach was knotted in fear. Being hit by a
hard-thrown fastball was no joke, even with a helmet on! But the gruff
voice of the Red Sox hitting coach was in his ears:

"Always remember, kid. Batter against pitcher! It's war! One-on-one
confrontation. Man against man. Never show your fear. Always appear
confident. Look like a hitter, you'll be a hitter. It's a contest of wills
between you and the pitcher. You must dominate him! Never let him take
control! Upset his rhythm, undermine his confidence. . . ."

	 "Easy to say in the batting cage," PJ whispered to himself. He
took a practice swing, feeling a little shaky. Then he thought of Jack when
they were sitting together in the dugout at Fenway Park during a game,
drinking Gatorade:

"Fear is part of the game, PJ." The sound of Jack's voice drowned out
everything else in PJ's head. "Fear's always there. Fear of injury, fear of
pain. Worst of all, the fear of failure. You've got to control it, or else
it takes over and destroys you. Never let it show, PJ. Never. It takes
courage to play this game. Courage every time you step into the batter's
box, every time you catch a fly ball with the crowd screaming, every time
you put yourself in front of a hot grounder. I know you have that courage,
Little Champ That's why I'm proud of you."

"I'll make you proud of me, Jack," PJ whispered. Ignoring the knot in his
stomach, he looked out at the pitcher, gave him a big
"you-didn't-scare-me-one-bit" smile, and nodded. Then, he stepped back
in. It took every bit of courage he possessed. And as he waited for the
ball, his arms shook a little.

The pitcher challenged him with a fastball. PJ watched it come. He knew it
was hittable. He stepped up, bringing his hips around, the rest of his
upper body following. Head down, he watched his bat hit the ball. The sting
of contact ran up his arms. He was just a little off the sweet spot.

"Blang"!

The ball was sailing into the outfield between center and right. Dropping
his bat, PJ raced up the first-base line, knowing he had at least a
single. There was no way the fielders would get to the ball!

His hit had more distance than he'd thought. Preparing to make the turn at
first, he heard a roar from fans sitting in the bleachers. He took a quick
look. He'd almost hit another home run! The ball was going to the fence!
Erik might be able to score!

GO! He rounded first, sprinting all out!

The ball bounced in the outfield grass just in front of the fence, hit a
firm spot on the ground, hopped up, and went over the fence into the field
beyond. A ground rule double.

Damn! Might've had a triple! PJ stopped at second base. Erik, who'd already
rounded the bases and was almost home, got sent back to third by the
umpire. PJ was grimacing in frustration. He'd wanted Erik to score! But
then he caught himself. Don't be dumb! It isn't every day you hit a double
in the clutch! What are you complaining about! We have two men in scoring
position and no outs! Never say die!

"Okay, let's do it!" he yelled.

The eighth and ninth hitters for Gordonsville came to bat, both subs, both
trying their best. But PJ watched with growing dismay as the eighth hitter
went down on a called third strike (a strike that should have been called a
ball! PJ thought), and the ninth hitter popped out to shortstop.

Suddenly, Gordonsville was down to its last out.

Two runs! Just two runs! That's all we need. Erik and I just have to get
around!

The leadoff hitter in the Gordonsville batting order came to the plate, a
thirteen-year-old with a quick bat and plenty of speed. This is it! PJ
thought. Right now. This will do it! He got ready to run.

Throwing to the corners, the Essex pitcher worked the count on the
Gordonsville batter: two balls, two strikes. PJ prayed for a passed ball, a
wild pitch--anything that would allow Erik and himself to advance. But the
pitcher showed no sign of making a mistake.

Then he delivered on the 2-2 pitch. The batter came around on it! "TANG!"
The ball rocketed down the line into the left-field corner with PJ taking
off for third. Yes! This will do it!

He knew Erik would score easily, but he also had to score to tie the game!
He sensed that this would be their only chance. Coach Bates at third was
waving him home! Just before rounding the base, he took a quick look into
left field. For the second time that day, the left fielder had made a great
play on the ball! Somehow, by skill or a lucky bounce, he'd gotten to the
ball quickly. And he was already getting ready to fire it to his relay man.

It's going to be close!

He left third behind him, racing for home. The spectators in the bleachers
came to their feet. There was going to be a play at the plate!

PJ saw the opposing catcher standing with his glove up waiting for the
ball. Behind him, Erik was signaling PJ to slide. Straining every nerve for
a last burst of speed, PJ launched into a slide toward the back of the
plate. He's caught that throw!

The catcher swung his glove around in a desperate attempt to make the
tag. PJ was sure he was under it. He tapped his hand on the plate sliding
past in a dramatic spray of dirt!

Safe! I'm safe!

"YER' OUT!"

It was the umpire. Standing over him, thumb pointed backwards in the air,
signaling his verdict. PJ stared up in shocked disbelief. It can't be! It
can't be! I was safe. I was under that tag! That's wrong!

But there was no mistake. The umpire had made the call. PJ had made the
third out. The game, and the Gordonsville season, was over.

PJ very nearly jumped up to argue. Then he remembered:

"Don't ever argue with the ump, PJ. That's the manager's job. You're a
player. Players play. They don't argue. It makes you look bad. If you lose,
take it like a man. Sportsmanship, PJ! Don't ever let them see your
disappointment. Don't give them any advantage." Jack's words echoed in his
head one more time. "Sportsmanship, PJ!"

He got up, dusted himself off, and held his hand out to the catcher. "Nice
game."

"Thanks." The catcher pushed his mask up, shook with PJ and then with Erik.

The pitcher ran up, taking PJ's hand to shake it too. "Listen," he said,
"about that pitch I threw. . ."

"Forget it," PJ told him. "You pitched a great inning."

"No. . ." the pitcher was shaking his head. "It was wrong. And I want to
apologize. You're a great little player. What I did was stupid. I'm sorry."

"Okay." PJ smiled at the boy and shook back. Jack's right, he was
thinking. He's always right. It's better this way.

Both teams lined up, and after shaking hands, the Gordonsville players
walked slowly to their dugout. "It wasn't your fault, PJ," Erik told
him. "The coach told you to try for it. I thought you were safe."

"Yeah. Thanks, Erik." PJ looked at his friend gratefully. They walked a few
steps more before he said, "I would have tried to score anyway, you
know. Even if Coach Bates hadn't sent me."

"I know. It was our best chance. I would have, too." Erik ruefully shook
his head. "They had to make two perfect throws to get you. The left fielder
made one, and then the relay throw was right on target. They made a great
play."

They kept on walking.

"Hey, Erik?" PJ said. He turned to his roommate.

"What?"

PJ grinned. "Wait 'til next year!"

Erik grinned back and the two boys high-fived.

On the bus heading back to Gordonsville, PJ sat quietly while Erik dozed in
the seat beside him. The baseball season was over, and the school year was
ending with it. Next week would be exams. Then he and Erik would pack all
their things to be put away in storage until September. He would have to
take down his poster of Jack and carefully roll it up. He would turn off
his computer for the first time in ten months.

PJ felt neither happy nor sad about this. Gordonsville had been home to him
in a way no other place had ever been. But more and more in the past few
months, he'd felt that he really fit nowhere; that there never would be a
place where he truly belonged. He'd expected Jack's friendship to change
things, to allow him to be like a normal boy the way Erik and Billy
were. And some things had changed. He no longer needed to dread the awful
questions about his parents. He'd made the best friends he'd ever had in
his life. But the important thing, the really fundamental thing, had not
changed. They had parents--and he didn't!

He'd yearned for a close relationship with Jack; yearned with all the
desire of his young, lonely heart. For awhile, he'd wanted to believe he
had it. Now he suspected that it had never existed, and never
would. Whatever it was that made his parents not love him kept anyone else
from caring about him too. It was inescapable.

Still, Erik's my brother, and Jack's still at least my friend. He clung to
that with everything he had. Erik, he knew, would never change. And Jack
. . . as long as Jack was his friend, he could still hope for something
more. "Never say die," Jack had taught him. And PJ never would. Jack had
agreed to be his friend for a year. That year was already more than half
over, but PJ could not conceive of Jack Canon putting a time-limit on his
friendship. Jack is as much a friend as Erik is. Isn't he? PJ squeezed his
eyes tightly shut, pushing away all the doubts. His friendship with Jack
was not all he'd dreamed of, but it had to be enough. It's got to be! It
was all he had to go by. For the rest of it--he could still pretend. And
pretending was almost as good.

Last year, PJ remembered, he'd been both apprehensive and eager to go to
his camp. Apprehensive at leaving the security he'd found at Gordonsville,
yet eager to get away from the lies he'd had to keep inventing about his
family. No one talked about parents at summer camp. It was a time to get
away from parents, to do other things.

This year, as far as camp or any other place of refuge was concerned, he
felt nothing at all. He looked back at all those past events and they
seemed incredibly distant, as if they'd happened in another world and in
another time. He knew now that there was no escape for him. No matter where
he went--camp, another school, even another country--nothing would change
for him. Other kids would have parents. He never would. But at least he had
Jack's special friendship. Provided he had that, he could still dream of
things that might've been. . .

	PJ sighed. Next week was exams. He supposed that he should make
some effort to do well. No one but his teachers would notice or really
care, but he might at least try to please himself. Anyway, maybe that's
what mattered most.

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT TWENTY-FOUR

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

I appreciate any comments you want to make!