Date: Fri, 17 Jul 2015 16:18:00 -0400
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: INSTALLMENT TWENTY-EIGHT of "THE FATHER CONTRACT"

INSTALLMENT TWENTY-EIGHT
from

THE FATHER CONTRACT
by

Arthur J. Arrington

Edited Paul K. Scott

Please consider making a monetary contribution to Nifty!  We need to keep
PJ's story on their site!

	Chapter Fifty-Two: The Top Floor Gang

"What do you hear from Jack?" Erik casually asked PJ at breakfast the next
morning.

Erik was pretty sure PJ hadn't heard a thing because he'd been secretly
checking his roommate's Inbox for messages. And PJ had been restless again
the previous night. Erik was beginning to get worried. He knew PJ's
birthday was on Friday, Jack apparently wasn't sending him anything, and
since he wasn't sure how to help him, he'd decided to ask PJ himself to see
what he would say about it.

"Nothing yet," PJ answered, "but maybe soon. They won last night and today
is a travel day for them. Maybe something today." This was the lie he'd
prepared in case Erik asked questions. He hated being dishonest with his
best friend, but he was too ashamed to admit the truth, and the lies came
easily now, just as he'd often so easily lied about his parents. "Could be
I'll hear from him this afternoon," he added.

Erik swallowed his milk and said, "Yeah, probably. It'll be fun to see what
he thinks of all your football news." He made up his mind to drop the
subject and stop worrying. PJ was okay. Jack would almost certainly write,
and once classes got started, PJ was going to be fine.

Eyes lowered, PJ concentrated on his food. He'd been telling Erik that he
was sending e-mails to Jack every day, when in fact he was not. He would
have to do something to make it look like he was getting replies from
Jack. The fake birthday cards should help, he thought. And maybe--just
maybe--there'll be a message, or a card, or even a present. He knows when
it is, that's for sure.

PJ closed his eyes momentarily and tightened his fists. Did he really want
to hear from Jack? Sometimes he was scared to look at his computer, afraid
there might actually be an e-mail with words that would hurt when he read
them. Oh, yes. Jack knew the date of his birthday. The same day as his
son's. And Jack's son is dead.

"Lots of kids should be coming back today," he said to distract himself and
change the subject.

"Yeah." Erik's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Let's get 'em all out for
football! The more, the better. There were good ten-year-olds doin' flag
football last year. Like, remember that kid Brian? They all should be
back."

"Yup. An' don't forget, we need kids for basketball, and swimming, too."

"Yeah, and wrestling, track, baseball, lacrosse." Erik gave his roommate a
big grin. "PJ, I wish Gordonsville could be champions in everything!"

They both laughed.

After breakfast, they ran to the Field House for their hour on the
weights. "When classes start on Thursday, we'll hafta squeeze this in at
lunch," Erik said regretfully.

"Just so we do it," PJ told him as he finished a set of shoulder
presses. "This is gonna help a lot for football and everything else, too."

After their workout, while they were crossing the Quadrangle going back to
the House, Erik gestured toward a number of cars driving in with clothes
and boxes piled in the back. "Well, here they come."

Someone cruised past in a small U-Haul van. "Now that kid is definitely
bringing too much stuff!" PJ said, laughing.

Boys and their parents, many carrying boxes, were parading in and out of
the House. Erik saw someone he knew, hurried over to talk to him, and PJ
headed upstairs, thinking he might as well check his computer for any
messages, including possibly one from Jack, while Erik wasn't there.

On the stairs, he nearly ran into a slender, wiry, brown-haired boy whom
he'd never seen before, a boy who was almost his own size, staggering under
a heavy box that he was trying to carry up the steps. PJ knew exactly how
that felt.

"Hi!" he said. "Let me give you a hand with that."

The boy didn't say a word, but the grateful look he returned was thanks
enough. PJ helped him negotiate the bulky object up every flight, expecting
him to stop at each floor, but they continued right on to the fourth, where
a surprise awaited PJ: they ended up taking the box into the room across
the hall from his own! Moreover, inside the room, a man, a woman, and
another boy PJ did recognized were unpacking various suitcases and cartons.

"Hey, Brian!" PJ exclaimed, putting down his end of the heavy box.

"PJ!" A strong-looking, dark-haired boy tossed aside some clothes he was
holding and ran over. "Guess what?" he said excitedly. "We're gonna be
right across the hall from you and Erik!"

"That's great!" PJ held up a palm for a high-five. The year before, Brian
had been one of the coolest ten-year-olds in the House, a star in
intramural flag football and a tough little stud for his weight in
intraschool wrestling. He and Erik both liked him because he was upbeat and
cheerful, often dissolving into fits of giggling when PJ told a dirty joke
or pulled a funny trick on somebody. Yet when PJ's parents had been killed,
he'd also been among the first to come by and offer sympathy.

"This is Philip," Brian said, indicating the boy whose box PJ had helped
carry. "He's gonna be my roommate. He's eleven like me, an' he's new this
year. Phil, this is PJ. I guess you guys already met. PJ lives across from
us."

"Hi, Phil." The two boys exchanged smiles, and PJ could sense that Phil was
shy. He held out his hand, and the slender boy, his eyes downcast as if he
were taking some kind of risk, tentatively shook PJ's hand with a grip that
had "I wanna be your friend" plastered all over it.

Brian continued the introductions: "This is my dad. You've met him
before. And this is Philip's mom." PJ and Brian's father spoke to each
other, but the woman merely nodded and then turned to her son. "Philip, if
you need some help, I can bring boxes up for you too."

"No, I can get it all, Mom," the boy hastily said, escaping immediately
into the hallway before his mother could say anything more. PJ followed him
downstairs. He knew what the boy was thinking. The only thing worse than
having no help moving your stuff was having your mother move it for you! He
tailed Phil all the way out to a car in the parking lot that had a back
seat and trunk full of boxes and loose odds and ends.

"I'm gonna help you with this stuff," PJ declared, not giving the boy any
chance to say no. "Which box do you want me to take?"

Once again Phil didn't say anything, but he gave PJ another grateful look,
right in the eye this time, and this time with just the trace of a
mischievous smirk. He pointed to a box in the trunk, which PJ confidently
reached for, tugged on--and exclaimed, "Whoa! That's heavy!"

He looked up and instantly saw from Phil's expression, half anxious and
half-hopeful, that the boy was attempting to make friends with him by means
of a little prank, directing him to probably the heaviest of all the
boxes. "Okay," PJ said with a grin. With difficulty, he lifted the box out
of the trunk and rested one end of it on the car bumper. "Books, right?
Gotta be books. You like to read?"

The boy nodded, but flinched a little as if expecting to be teased.

"Me, too!" PJ hastened to reassure him. "Reading's my most favorite
thing--except maybe for breathing and eating," he added with fake straight
face.

The boy smiled. He seemed so happy that he and his new friend shared the
same love of books.

For his part, PJ was happy that the shyness had almost melted away. "So?"
PJ asked, is it Philip or Phil? Which do you like to be called?"

The answer came softly. "Most people call me 'Philip,' but I really like
'Phil' better."

"'Phil' it is!" PJ told him. "I'll need your help with this box, Phil. No
way I'll get it by myself, but 'course you already knew that! I'll take
this end, you take the other. Here we go. . . ."

They negotiated the heavy box of books up to the room, and followed that
with more trips for the lighter things. There was only one other box that
they had to take up together. PJ was delighted to find out that it
contained a computer which Phil proudly told him he'd just recently learned
how to use. "An' Brian has one too! We hope it will help us here at
school." After praising him for "being prepared," PJ tried to get Phil
talking more about himself, and discovered that it was his first time away
from home.

"My mom and dad got divorced last year," Phil confessed. "My dad went here,
so when my mom wanted me out of the way, he said I should come here too."

PJ frowned in puzzlement. "If your mom wants you out of the way, why aren't
you living with your dad?"  "She doesn't want me to live with him, and
she's got custody of me," Phil explained. "I haven't seen my dad in six
months anyway."

"I guess you miss him," PJ said sympathetically.

"I miss him a l-lot," Phil said in a choked-up voice.

The anguished tone of Phil's answer stirred PJ's own terrible feelings of
loss. To quickly change the subject, he asked hopefully, "Do you play any
sports?"

"I was on a swim team at home," Phil told him. "I'm gonna miss that too."

"No, it's okay," PJ exclaimed, relieved that he could cheer the boy up. "We
got a good swim team here at Gordonsville. Our coach is great. I'm on the
team. I'm a flyer and I do freestyle and the IM, too. What stroke do you
do?"

"Backstroke mostly," Phil said. "Some freestyle, too. You really got a
team?"

"Heck, yeah!" PJ held out a fist for the slender boy to tap with his
own. "Phil, you gotta come out for the team. We can really use you. We need
more backstrokers. We have a pretty good one now, but he'll be going to the
Upper School next year. We can be on the team together. I'll have someone
to go to practice with. Man, that will be perfect! Hey! Maybe you can come
out for football, too. Do you like football? You could come to practice
today and sign up. Then we could even do that together."

"I don't know," Phil said doubtfully, looking a bit overwhelmed. "My mother
might not let me. She doesn't like me to play football. She's afraid I'll
get hurt."

PJ nodded in understanding. "I'll talk to her. Maybe I can convince her. We
have really nice coaches. They won't let you get hurt."

Once they'd brought all of Phil's things up to his room, PJ approached
Phil's mother, who this time offered to shake hands in return for all his
helping out. "Peter John Thorndyke the Third, Ma'am," PJ said, putting on
his best phony "polite young man" act. "Philip tells me he's a swimmer. We
have an outstanding swim team here at school. I'm sure he would make an
excellent addition to it. I'm on the team. He and I can go to practice
together."

Brian coughed. He was standing behind both his father and Phil's mother
where neither adult could see him struggling not to laugh at PJ's
tongue-in-cheek pantomime.

"Did you hear that, Philip?" his mother said to him. "That will be nice for
you, Dear."

"We're all participating in football this autumn as well," PJ went on,
imitating the woman's upper-crust, east-coast accent. "My roommate Erik and
I both play. And Brian is signing up, too, aren't you, Brian?"

"This afternoon!" Brian declared, red in the face from an effort not to
snicker.

Phil's mother shook her head. "I don't want you playing football, Philip,"
she told the boy. "It's too dangerous."

"Mom, all the other boys are," Phil protested.

"I can assure you that it's safe, ma'am," PJ told her. "The new
eleven-year-olds all work with a special coach. They concentrate on skill
drills and learning the game. They play in special scrimmages that are just
for them. The coaches would never let them get hurt."

At this, Brian rolled his eyes and clapped both hands over his mouth to
prevent an explosion of giggling.

Ignoring him, PJ continued, "The conditioning program is carefully
supervised as well. It's extremely well designed. It helped my swimming
tremendously last year. It would be greatly beneficial for Philip. He'd
make new friends and it would help him settle in here at school."

"Mom, please!" Phil begged.

"They really do have a terrific program here," Brian's dad told her,
breaking in. "The boys all love it. And the coaching is excellent. I
wouldn't let Brian go out for it if I wasn't sure of that."

"Well. . . ." Phil's mother hesitated. PJ could see that she was
weakening. "Brian and I will take care of him, ma'am," he assured her. "We
won't allow your son to get hurt."

Behind her, Brian nearly lost it. He doubled over, faking a fit of more
coughing.

"Well, I suppose if all these other boys are playing, too . . ." she said.

Phil's face brightened. "Thanks, Mom."

Congratulating himself on his nifty con job, PJ winked at Phil, gave him a
little punch on the shoulder, and said, "You can go to practice with me
today. I'll introduce you to Coach Lewis. He's really nice. You'll like
him. And later this week I'll take you to meet our swim coach. You'll like
him, too, and believe me, he'll be glad to get another backstroker."

While Phil and Brian finished unpacking things and hanging up Phil's
clothes, PJ found shelf space for the books. "You've got some good ones,
Phil," he said, looking at a copy of The Wind in the Willows. "I think you
like the same stuff I do."

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. PJ turned his head, caught sight of Erik,
and called, "Look who's moving in across from us!"

A moment later, Erik burst into the room, grinning hugely. Seeing Brian, he
yelled, "All right!" and gave the sturdy youngster a high-five.

"This is Phil," PJ said, pushing the other boy forward. "He's Brian's
roommate an' he's new. Be nice to him because he's a backstroker and we
need him on the swim team. I convinced him to come out for football, too."

"Hi, Phil," Erik said, shaking the new boy's hand.

"Erik's the water-boy on the football team, Phil," PJ explained, keeping a
straight face. "He'll be bringing out your Gatorade during
practice. Sometimes we let him pick up the stray footballs, too."

Brian nearly choked and fell onto his bed hugging his sides, laughing.

With a saint-like smile, Erik patted Phil on the shoulder. "Don't pay any
attention to PJ," he said, ignoring his roommate. "He gets odd spells like
this when he doesn't take his medicine, and he thinks he's funny. Actually
he's just jealous of us players on the team. The only reason we keep him
around is as a sort of feebleminded mascot. You stick with me during
practice and I'll show you how to play."

From over on the bed, a fresh spasm of laughter burst out of Brian while
Phil looked from Erik to PJ in confusion. "It's okay, Phil," PJ told
him. "Erik and I are just teasing each other. My roommate here is actually
a fairly decent quarterback on his good days."

"And PJ occasionally has been known to catch a pass or two," Erik said,
grinning.

"Didn't I say these guys were fun?" Brian told Phil as he got back up,
still choking back laughter. "We were lucky to be able to grab this room
before someone else got it!" He grinned at the two adults who had been
standing apart, watching the verbal byplay, Brian's father with an amused
expression, Phil's mother with a frown.

The boys, with Erik's added help, resumed the task of putting things
away--in a reasonably neat manner. When Brian and his dad left to have
lunch together at the Inn, Phil's mother looked at her watch and told her
son, "Well, Dear, you appear to be all settled and you certainly have some
nice boys here to go to school with." She picked up her purse, obviously
getting ready to leave. PJ thought Phil looked a bit pale and he was pretty
sure he knew why. He gave Erik a little sign so that when Phil and his
mother went downstairs, PJ and Erik were following behind. Outside the
House, the two roommates watched as Phil's mother administered a quick hug
to her son, got in her car, and drove away, leaving the boy standing alone
on the sidewalk looking completely lost.

"PJ, why don't you and I kinda stay with that kid for awhile," Erik said.

"Yeah," PJ whispered back, "I think we'd better."

They went over to him. "Come on, Phil," PJ said. "We're gonna have
lunch. Why don't you come with us?"

"Afterwards, we'll take you around and show you all the cool places and
good stuff Gordonsville has," Erik told him. He put an arm around the
younger boy's shoulders and steered him towards the Dining Hall.

"Wait 'til you see the Field House and the pool, Phil," PJ added to keep
the conversation going as they walked along. "You're really going to like
it. Boy, it's gonna be nice to have a friend to go to practice with. I bet
we'll have a great season this year!"

"And wait 'til you taste the food in the cafeteria," Erik told him.

"Is it pretty good?" Phil asked innocently.

"Ined . . .incredible," PJ assured him.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Erik said, trying not to laugh.

They showed Phil what the procedure was in the Dining Hall, demonstrated
how to use his meal card, and while they ate, talked cheerfully in an
attempt to keep the youngster distracted. Eventually Phil did join in the
conversation, but PJ thought he seemed subdued and sad, so he tried to get
him to talk more by asking about his swimming.

"Were you in any meets this summer?"

Phil's face brightened a bit. He related how he had competed all through
the outdoor summer season in the eleven and twelve-year-old age group and
taken fifth at the Junior Olympics in his district.

"Wow! That's great!" PJ exclaimed. "And you just turned eleven, I bet. When
was your birthday?"

"I turned eleven in May."

PJ was impressed big time! Phil's size and appearance were
deceptive. Apparently that slender body of his masked a lithe, sinewy
strength. He looked at Erik and explained, "See, he was at the bottom of
his age group. He'd only been eleven for a few months, so he was swimming
against kids over a year older, an' he still got fifth!" Turning back to
Phil, he asked, "What was your time?"

Phil told him and PJ grinned. "Phil," he said, "it's going to be fun having
you on the team this year. You are going to surprise a few people."

The boy smiled at him a little more confidently.

"Hey, let's show him the pool!" Erik said.

They turned in their food trays and walked over to the Field House, where
inside the big foyer, Phil's eyes widened when he saw the lighted trophy
cases. PJ and Erik stood on either side while he peered in at the
awards. "They're nice, Phil," Erik told him, "but you notice there's
nothing in there that's recent."

"Phil. . . ." PJ turned to him. "If we tell you something, can you keep it
a secret?"

The boy looked from PJ to Erik. "I can keep a secret," he assured them
solemnly.

"It's like this" PJ glanced over his shoulder to make certain no one was
around to overhear him. Then he went on in a low voice, "Gordonsville
School hasn't won a sports championship in eight years. Erik and I want to
change that, starting now."

"Maybe you and Brian can help us," Erik told him. "We'll all play football
together. Then Brian and I can keep things going in basketball and
wrestling. You and PJ can tear 'em up in swimming!"

"And we can all play baseball in the spring!" PJ finished for him,
forgetting for at least a few moments his recent misery and fears for the
future.

"I like baseball," Phil said.

"All right!" Erik again put an arm around Phil's shoulders and looked
excitedly at PJ. "This could be great! I can see it now. The four of us, us
two, an' Phil here, an' Brian--The 'Top Floor Gang'! We'll put some new
trophies in those cases. This could be the start of it. Right here!" He
held a fist out. "Together!"

Fired by the magic of Erik's spirit, PJ touched fists with him. "Together!"

"Together!" Phil echoed, caught up as well in Erik's fervor. He brought his
fist down hard on top of the other two.

In that instant, as the three fists made contact, PJ felt some of the
terrible sadness that had become such a part of him lift away. While
looking his roommate straight in the eye, it came to him, as it had so
often before, how much he valued Erik's friendship. More than anything, he
wanted to anticipate the future with the same excitement as his best
friend's, a future without the dark thoughts that even then were trying to
sneak back in.

"The pool's right through these doors, Phil," Erik was saying. "Come
on. Ya' gotta see it." He led the way there, and the three boys stood at
the top of the stands gazing down, Phil, in the middle, gaping in amazement
at the size of the huge eight-lane facility.

"This is where we practice and have our meets," PJ told him.

"It's got all computerized electronic judging and timing," Erik said. He
pointed to the bottom row of bleachers by the starting end. "That's where I
always sit during meets to get PJ's times and splits. Brian and I will get
yours this season, too. I'll teach him how to do it. Now have a look at the
rest of this place."

He and PJ took the boy to the other side of the Field House where they
entered the big arena. Phil stood awestruck at the sight of the enormous
space. "We play basketball here in the winter," Erik said. "They put a
hardwood floor down in the middle."

"And, it's where they have the wrestling meets," PJ added. "Brian will
probably be going out for that."

"Unless I can convince him to play basketball," Erik protested.

"In the spring we played baseball in here until the weather got nice," PJ
continued, "and they do indoor track, too."

"Plus we'll be in here for football when the weather's bad," Erik
mentioned.

"I've never in my life seen anything like this!" Phil whispered in
amazement.

"Yeah, it's nice." Erik waved his hand around. "Don't you think a school
that has a place like this should be winning a few championships?"

Phil looked up at him and nodded.

"That's what we think, too," PJ said.

Back outside, they walked down to the bottom of the broad Field House
steps, where Erik pointed toward the athletic fields. "Come on, Phil," he
said. "Wait 'til you see all this." They showed him the football field
where they'd be practicing that afternoon, and then they walked further
on. "These are soccer and lacrosse fields," PJ told him. They kept going
until they came to the Hill. "And this is where we go sledding and
snowboarding in the winter," he added. "Plus the woods up at the top are
kind of neat. At night, it's a good place to come for stargazing."

"PJ got a star chart from the Planetarium in New York," Erik explained. "He
and I are now experts. We can show you any star you want."

Phil regarded the two boys with awe. "I don't know how to snowboard," he
said, "but I like to go sledding."

"We'll teach you how to snowboard this winter," PJ informed him. "We'll
teach Brian, too. It's fun."

On the way back to campus, Erik made sure they passed the baseball
diamond. "That's where PJ and I played last spring," he told Phil. "Our
team made it to the championship tournament, at least. We got to the second
round!" He stood next to the fence, gazing out over the field, a determined
look on his face. "Next season we go all the way, if we can just get some
pitching. Mine's getting better, so that's gonna help."

"I pitch," Phil said quietly.

"What?" Erik whirled around to stare at him, and PJ, surprised as well,
asked, "Righty or lefty?"

" Phil looked up apprehensively at the two older boys, both of who were
staring at him intently. "I-I . . .  I'm a lefty."

"Yee-ee-0000-wwww!" Erik shouted. He hugged Phil and pounded him on the
back. "You are the answer to our prayers!" He turned excitedly to
PJ. "We'll put him into training when we start wall ball."

"Oh, this is going to be so great," exclaimed PJ. "Coach Lewis is going to
flip!"

Phil was glancing from PJ to Erik in dismay. "Maybe I won't be so good," he
said anxiously. "I've never played for a school team."

"You don't understand, Phil," Erik happily explained. "Anything would be
better than what we got now. The left-hander we had, and some good
right-handers, moved to the Upper School. Trust me, we need you. And don't
worry about not having played on a school team. Neither had we before last
year. You'll be okay. I promise."  He gave the boy a gentle punch on the
arm.

Once they started walking again, Phil asked hesitantly, "PJ? Brian said
. . . he said that you know Jack Canon. Is . . .  is that true?"

"Yes," PJ said carefully. "I know him."

The tone of his answer brought a curious glance from Erik that PJ failed to
notice. Phil continued, "He said . . . he said that Jack came to visit you
last year."

When PJ didn't say anything, Erik gave him another glance and answered,
"Jack came a bunch of times. PJ spent Spring Vacation with him at Fenway
Park. PJ took batting practice with the Red Sox team!"

This revelation had Phil gazing at PJ in awed wonder. "You are so lucky!
Jack Canon is the greatest player in baseball."

PJ nodded. "Yes, he is." He paused, and then softly added, "I guess I was
pretty lucky."

They all went back to the top floor of the House, and since Brian still
wasn't back, PJ and Erik stayed with Phil in his room to help him get his
and Brian's computers set up and connected into both the school network and
Internet. "Check this out, Phil," PJ said after he'd demonstrated how to
how to get on the Gordonsville home screen. "Your first homework
assignments are already posted. They're on your class page. You click here
to get to it, see? And there they are."

"Yeah," Erik called out from over at Brian's desk where he was still
hooking up cables behind the computer. "They don't waste any time at this
place. Assignments, assignments, and more assignments. All the way to
Christmas! Better get used to it."

"Don't worry, Phil," PJ told the boy, who was staring at the lists on the
computer screen, looking a bit overwhelmed. "It's not as bad as it
looks. Me an' Erik will be right across the hall if you get stuck with
anything. I'm used to helping out. I gotta do it for Erik all the time or
he woulda' flunked out long ago."

Erik uttered an unmentionable. He was crouched on the floor, a cable in his
teeth, fishing under Brian's desk for something he'd dropped, clearly in no
mood for joking around.

 PJ began showing Phil how to get in to the different sites his instructors
would be using for supplemental class material, but looked up when Erik
called, "Hey, PJ, neither of these guys will have 'Zork' or the latest
baseball game."

"Oh, you gotta have those," PJ told Phil. "Life here can be seriously dull
without 'em." He dashed across the hall, pulled some optical discs out of
his desk, and brought them back so he could load the contents onto Phil's
hard drive. Erik then did the same for Brian's machine.

They were teaching Phil baseball game strategy when Brian came into the
room with his dad. "You're all set up," Erik called, pointing to the
computer on Brian's desk. A screen saver on the display was showing some of
the spectacular Zork graphics. Erik winked. "I loaded the latest version,
plus that baseball one PJ an' me like."

"Oh, cool!" Brian happily exclaimed. "Thanks, Erik! See, Dad?" He looked up
at his father.  "I told you PJ and Erik were the greatest! Me an' Phil are
so lucky to be across the hall from them!"

"I'd say things have worked out pretty well," his father started to say,
giving Erik a grateful look, but Brian had already dashed across the room
to slap Phil's palm and declare triumphantly, "See? Didn't I tell you?
Didn't I? This is gonna be so . . ."

A tap on his shoulder turned him around. "There's something else," Erik
said with a grin. We're stickin' together. I already told Phil. You, Phil,
PJ, an' me. We're gonna be a crew. The Top Floor Gang. That's us. An' guess
what?" He gave the eleven-year-old a playful punch on the arm. "The Top
Floor Gang is gonna bring some championships home to Gordonsville!"

Brian's eyes had grown wide. His face was lit up with excitement. Thrusting
one fist into the air, he shouted, "Yes! The Top Floor Gang!" He stared at
the other two boys, who vigorously nodded their heads in approval. "That's,
like, awesome! This is gonna be like . . . like . . ." At a loss for words,
he threw his fist up again and yelled, "Who's ready for some football?!"

"We are!" three of the four chorused. All except Phil, that is. PJ could
tell that he was looking a little scared. PJ would have to attend to that.

"Hey, Brian's got it right. It's almost time for football practice. PJ,
let's get these guys over there so they get signed up. He turned to the new
boys. We'll try to get you lockers by us. You need to bring some stuff for
today. Socks, shorts, a tee-shirt that you don't mind getting messed
up. The sneakers you got on will be fine."

While Brian and Phil were scurrying around grabbing their things, PJ nudged
Erik and whispered in his ear: "You and Brian go ahead. We'll catch up. I
need to talk to Phil by himself."

His roommate nodded. "He's nervous?"

"Yeah. Just give us a minute." He turned to Phil, who was holding an armful
of practice clothing, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, "Let's go over
to my room and we can pack both our things in my gym bag." With that, he
guided the boy across the hall and sat him down on the bed next to him.

"It's gonna be okay, Phil. I promise. The coaches are really nice. You'll
like them. I was so nervous for the first practice last year that I almost
couldn't make myself leave the locker room. But Coach Lewis talked to me
and made me feel real comfortable and I had a good time. You will
too. You'll see."

"You were nervous, PJ?" Phil asked.

"Oh man, was I." PJ laughed, pretending to remember, although he was
inventing the whole story. "You better believe it. But once I saw how nice
Coach Lewis was, I was okay. Wait 'til you meet him, Phil, you'll see. And
remember, Erik and I will be right there with you. You or Brian need help,
you come right to us."

"Thanks, PJ," Phil said, so appreciative that he was almost in tears. With
everything stowed in the gym bag, the two of them started downstairs, and
briefly, maybe for only a second or two, PJ felt Phil's arm encircle his
waist. With an affection that came surprisingly easy to him, no doubt
because of Phil's urging, he squeezed the younger boy's lithe body against
his own.

Outside the House, Erik was waiting off to one side, watching Brian's dad
exchange goodbyes with his son. He was saying, "Let me know how you make
out on the team, Brian. And send me your schedule. I'll try to come to some
of your games."

"Dad, you gotta be sure you're here for Homecoming, Brian pleaded. "That's
the Father-Son Dinner."

"I'll be there for that one, Son, don't worry." His father put an arm
around the boy's shoulders and hugged him. "Keep those good grades up
now. "Your mom and I are proud of you." The two shared a last quick hug,
and then Brian stood watching as his father walked away. At the corner of
the House, the man turned to wave; Brian waved back. A moment later, his
dad now out of sight, Brian ran to where his friends were waiting. His eyes
were shining. And on the way to the Field House, he was very quiet.

"Miss him?" Erik asked sympathetically. Brian nodded. "I know," Erik
said. "It's the same with me. Especially the first day or so."

PJ, walking next to them, Phil at his side, watched his roommate throw an
arm over Brian's shoulders. The Top Floor Gang, he mused. Erik's idea was
exactly right. He was so good at things like that. Erik was a leader--the
quarterback--he can do things that I can't. He's got us all fired up. He's
like Jack that way . . .

Jack . . . PJ glanced at his three companions. They're luckier than they
know. Sure, goodbyes were tough. But "Get out, I don't want you around
anymore"--that sucked a lot worse! Still, Jack might remember my birthday
after all. He could still send something. It could just be an
e-mail. There's still time.

Friday. Not until this afternoon had he been seeing any further than his
birthday. But now Erik had him looking all the way to the end of the
football season. If anyone could lead them to a championship, Erik
could. PJ clenched his fists. Erik was his best friend, and "A faithful
friend is a treasure beyond price"! That's what Erik's fortune cookie said
at the Chinese place where Jack had taken them during the spring baseball
season. They'd made the playoffs in baseball, all right. But that wasn't
good enough! My best friend wants a championship!

PJ vowed then and there that whatever he had to do to get Erik a
championship, he would. No matter what!

And afterwards? He couldn't see beyond that. At that Chinese restaurant,
his own fortune slip had been blank.  Chapter Fifty-Three: Two Little
Brothers

At the Field House, PJ and Erik introduced their two new recruits to Coach
Lewis, got them signed in, and arranged it so their lockers were right next
to their own. "Now we're all set," Erik happily declared. "The Top Floor
Gang is together." After they changed into practice clothes, Erik led them
down to the field for warm-ups.

"Hey Phil, you've got a great arm!" PJ commented as the two of them tossed
a football back and forth. "Erik, check this out."

His roommate had been throwing passes to Brian, but at PJ's urging, both of
them came trotting over. PJ waved Phil back further, sent the football to
him in a lazy arc, and then had to react quickly when Phil shot it back in
a flat, tight spiral which smacked into his hands. What followed was an
almost eerie silence, broken only when Brian muttered, "Holy shit!"

Without a word, Erik walked over to PJ, gestured for him to finish warming
up Brian, and took over for Phil.

"What an arm!" PJ whispered as he and Brian moved away. "He's a nice kid
too."

"Yeah," the sturdy dark-haired boy whispered back, "I think I lucked out
and got me a really good roommate myself." Replied PJ, "Me an' Erik lucked
out getting' the both of you across from us."

Once they started passing back and forth to each other, gradually moving
further apart, other boys jogging down from the Field House wanted to join
in, and soon, footballs were flying everywhere. Off to one side, a knot of
eleven-year-olds, also joining the team for the first time, stood around
uncertain of what to do, watching with envy as Brian warmed up with the
veteran players. While this was going on, PJ kept an eye on Erik, who was
still at the end of the field exchanging passes with Phil. When he saw his
roommate finally beckon, he corralled Brain and they ran over to where the
other two stood waiting.

Erik indicated Phil and pointed a finger at him. "He's a natural. He's
nearly as good as I am."

PJ couldn't resist this opportunity. "Oh, come on," he objected with a
straight face. "There can't be another kid in the world that good!"

Phil's face turned bright red, and Brian snickered.

Lips tightened in an effort to stifle laughter at this barb, Erik pretended
to ignore his roommate and concentrated instead on the two younger
boys. "Listen up. All you rookies will be with one of the assistant
coaches. Brian, you make sure he sees Phil throw."  After Brian nodded, he
continued, "PJ and I will be over here with the twelve and thirteens. Come
and find us if you need anything. Let's stay tight."

Not far away, a flurry of activity signaled the arrival of Coach Lewis,
accompanied by his assistants and trailed by boys carrying insulated
coolers of water. After making sure he had the new sign-ups and before
splitting the group into teams, he gathered everyone around him.

"Okay. Get in close. First, 'Hi' to you new guys! You're all gonna have
fun! I promise. Looks like a good turnout. Let's get more tomorrow. Plenty
of boys will be returning to school tomorrow, so talk up the team, guys!
Get as many down here to sign up as you can." He gestured with his
clipboard. "In case you don't know, here's how we work it at
Gordonsville. Ten-year-olds in the Lower School play flag football for
their houses. You eleven, twelve, and thirteens in the Middle School play
on this team, and the Upper School"--just then, someone in the rear of the
group made a rude noise--"and the Upper School," the coach went on
smoothly, "has their own JV and Varsity program . . . and Lester, I see you
back there, and I bet you don't have the balls to run over and tell those
guys what you think of them to their faces." He pointed to the next field
where a group of older boys were milling about, preparing for their own
practice. A ripple of laughter greeted this remark. PJ saw Lester, the
thirteen-year-old starting quarterback and a kid he considered to be a
punk, try to hide behind two of his buddies.

Coach Lewis continued the pep talk. "We don't cut anyone here at
Gordonsville. As long as you come to practice, you are on the team. When I
say we don't cut anyone, I mean exactly that. We have had boys out here in
wheelchairs, and several years ago, a boy with one leg. They all played. If
we have to modify the rules for you, we'll do it. The coaches out here want
two things: we want you to learn to play as well as you can, and we want
you to have fun."

He paused to scan all the young faces looking up at him. "Now, some of you
are going to be better than others. That's natural. Those of you lucky
enough to have good skills will play in our Middle School League games. The
rest of you will substitute, and we will try to get you into the games as
much as we can, depending on how you perform in practice. But . . ." (here
Coach Lewis held up his clipboard again) "I want to emphasize that you will
all get to play in games every week. We divide the subs into two teams,
sometimes three if there are enough of you, and we have regular scrimmage
games along with the League games. Some of you will play in both. We want
you to enjoy yourselves. But don't forget! There's something else we want
too!" Coach Lewis grinned and looked around at them again. "We want--a
championship season for Gordonsville!"

This got everyone cheering. Erik nudged PJ and smiled.

"Okay, enough talk!" the coach shouted. "Let's get started!"

As the assistant coaches separated the boys into practice squads, PJ and
Erik pointed Phil and Brian over to where the eleven-year-olds were
gathering. "Go get 'em, guys," Erik said. "Show 'em that arm, Phil!"

The veteran players stayed with Coach Lewis, who put them into them into
lines for more of the grueling repetitive skill drills they'd been working
on all through their mini-camp. When several players started groaning, he
barked, "You guys had a nice rest this morning. Now get moving. You've got
another week of this. Enjoy it while you can. On Friday and Saturday,
you'll be doing it in helmets!"

Erik, feigning dismay, glanced over to where the rookies were still getting
organized and said ruefully, "Gee, it's enough to make a guy wish we were
still scrubs."

There was some laughter at that, laughter PJ joined in with although it was
more out of loyalty to Erik than because he disliked the long drills. He
understood how the others felt. The drills were tough and exhausting, but
he considered them more of a challenge than as torture. Partly this was due
to his superior strength and stamina, developed by a summer of hard
training. But there was also another factor, one he would never want to
admit to Erik because he knew it would make him look crazy. The truth was,
PJ actually liked measuring himself against the demands of repetitive
exercise. On the football field he could lose himself in the rhythm of
physical effort the same way he did in the weight room or the swimming
pool, driving himself farther and farther against the limits of endurance.

Jack would understand.

Suddenly, that thought intruded itself into his mind.  It was a thought
he'd tried to bury before. He didn't want to think of Jack. He hated Jack!

And yet--

My birthday's in four days . . . I know he knows it . . .

 He'll send something . . . For sure he'll send something . . .

Stop it! PJ told himself. Stop it!  With an almost desperate eagerness he
launched into the lateral step drill Coach Lewis ordered. Step, step. step
. . . this side, that side . . . harder, faster, farther . . .

Switching from drill to drill, moving constantly, PJ sought forgetfulness,
slipping off into his world of total effort, driving himself to never stop,
never hesitate, every move precise and controlled, never succumbing to the
carelessness of fatigue. The demands of his lungs for more air, the pain in
his muscles demanding more rest, these were things long practice enabled
him to push into a locked compartment of his mind where they could be
ignored. There was only the effort of the will . . . the unending challenge
. . . harder, faster, farther . . .

Hours later, when the practice ended, all the boys except the ones slumped
on the grass were hunched over, hands on hips, gasping for breath. PJ was
exhausted too, although not as wiped out as the rest. But all his effort
hadn't succeeded in driving Jack from his thoughts. He was still there,
staring down at PJ as he'd so often done in their workouts together at
Fenway. You push yourself to forget? he was saying. What makes you think
you're the only one? I was a shitty father to my own kid, PJ. Maybe there's
things I wanna forget too.

"Yes, Jack," PJ whispered. "But don't forget my birthday. Please don't."

But Jack wasn't listening. He never really was, PJ thought.

Coach Lewis was calling for everyone to gather around him again, so PJ,
head swimming from the effort he'd put into practice, joined the back of
the group. "You get your helmets on Thursday," the young coach
announced. "Pads and equipment next week. Our first full scrimmage will be
a week from Saturday and the first season game will be on the following
Thursday. Questions? None? Okay, I'll see you for more of this
tomorrow. Study those playbooks! And don't forget to bring in more
recruits!"

While the team started moving wearily back toward the Field House, PJ
waited with Erik for their young friends. "How did it go?" Erik called when
Phil and Brian joined them.

"We had fun!" Brian happily declared. "The coach is cool. We're learning
all kinds of good stuff."

"Did he see you pass?" PJ asked Phil.

The boy nodded. "He liked it. Brian and I are in the backs and ends group
for offense, and in defense Brian is a linebacker and I'm an end. PJ, the
coach is really nice, just like you told me." He looked up
gratefully. "Thanks"

"That's okay," PJ replied. "I'm glad it worked out."

After they got changed, the four of them went to dinner together where they
talked about the practice, and Erik entertained the younger boys with
stories about the previous season. On the way back to the House, PJ
suggested, "Why don't you two come with us after breakfast tomorrow and
we'll show you the weight workout we do. Then from now on we can all do it
together. It'll be better with four of us. We can all push each other."

"You guys do weights?" Phil stared at his two older friends in a way that
reminded PJ of Billy.

"Every day," Erik told him. "You can, too. We'll show you how."

"Some of the stuff I learned from . . . from Jack Canon," PJ said,
hesitating before saying the name. He had almost said "my dad" by mistake.

"That's awesome!" Brian exclaimed. He turned to his roommate. "We'll come,
won't we, Phil?"

Phil nodded. "I've never done anything like that before. But I'll do it if
you show me how."

"We'll show you, Phil," Erik assured him. "It's tough, but it's fun, too."

When they got back to the House, the boys went to their different rooms and
PJ got down a book from Erik's shelf to read, a science fiction novel by
Robert Heinlein called Between Planets. It was one he liked because the
hero was a boy who survived on another planet without his parents. He
remembered, too, that it was one of the books Jack had given them.

He read for a short time until Erik left the room on an errand, and then
got up quickly, taking the opportunity to check his computer for any e-mail
while he was by himself. Half-afraid that there'd be something from Jack,
half-afraid that there might not be, he looked in his Inbox. There was
nothing. The last message had been from Travis several hours earlier. PJ
couldn't help himself: his heart sank in disappointment. Maybe there'd be
something tomorrow. Jack knew when his birthday was. For sure he would send
something, even if it was only a short note.

He went to the Red Sox website and checked the latest scores and
standings. The Sox were hanging on to their one-game lead over the Yankees,
but Jack's batting average was still falling. His lead in the batting
championship was in jeopardy. PJ went back to his book and was about to
immerse himself in it when Erik came back with an announcement:
"Mrs. Williamson sent some cookies." He handed a stack to PJ, holding back
several more for himself. "I already had five." With a happy smile, he bit
into another one and added through a mouthful of crumbs, "Along with a
glass of milk."

"Mm-mm-m," PJ said, his own mouth full of cookie.

After devouring his snack, Erik fell back onto his bed and stretched out
with a groan. "Man, am I tired. I had trouble making it up the
stairs. Coach Lewis must be trying to kill us."

"Mm-ff-mm-fm," PJ said, chewing on another cookie.

"Exactly right." Erik nodded his head. "I couldn't have put it better
myself." With another groan, he dragged himself up off the bed. "I'm gonna
write my dad."

PJ finished off the rest of his cookies, watching enviously as his roommate
sat at the computer and typed away. After he'd gobbled up the last crumb,
he licked his fingers and observed, "These cookies were good. She must've
just baked them."

"Yeah." Erik kept typing without looking up. "I would've gotten more, but
the kids downstairs had already raided her. I was just in time to get the
last of 'em." He finished his e-mail message, clicked the mouse to send it,
and turned to look at PJ. "Want to play some baseball?" The two boys had
become addicted to a new baseball video game Erik had found. PJ liked
playing it even though it reminded him too much of Jack. He got up off the
bed, dragged his desk chair over next to Erik's, and sat down beside
him. They then played a full nine-inning game, another in an ongoing series
they were having. "Oh boy!" Erik happily gloated when he won in the last
inning. "That ties us up. I told you I was gonna come back! Next time we
play in my stadium, too. My guys never lose at home."

"We'll see about that," PJ sarcastically replied. "My bullpen had a bad
day, that's all. Next time I'm pitching the ace."

They both laughed. "This is a fun game," Erik said. He looked thoughtful
for a moment, leaned back, and crossed his arms. "Geez, PJ, I hope the Red
Sox get to the playoffs and go to the Series. That would be so cool. Hey!
They're playing tomorrow night. You wanna watch it? We could make a bowl of
popcorn and have like a last-night-before-school-starts party. It would be
fun! We can see Jack."

"Sure, let's do that," PJ said. He was not at all sure he wanted to see
Jack, but he pretended to be enthusiastic.

 They talked for a while about it. Then Erik yawned. "I guess we better get
some sleep." They put on their pajamas and prepared for bed. PJ put his
nightlight on. Erik checked to be sure the alarm was set. "Let's take Brian
and Phil over to meet Billy after we work out tomorrow morning," PJ said.

"Yeah," Erik agreed. "That'll be fun. I bet Billy likes 'em. They're neat
kids."

"We're lucky to have those two across the hall," PJ said.

Both boys got under their covers and picked up books to read before going
to sleep, PJ, of course, returning to the Heinlein novel. Erik only read
for a short time before turning out his light and drifting off. PJ turned
his reading light off as well, but he stayed awake reading by the glow of
his nightlight. The House was very quiet and he was tired, but he didn't
feel sleepy. He kept thinking about his birthday and whether he would get a
message or a present from Jack. He tried to concentrate on the book. He'd
reached an exciting part where the boy who was the hero was fighting as
part of a guerrilla force on Venus and was about to be reunited with a
Venusian Dragon who was like a father to him.

Suddenly there came a soft knocking on the door. PJ looked up, startled. At
first he thought it might be Mr. Williamson, but the knock came again, a
soft "tap-tap-tap-tap." That wasn't Mr. Williamson! PJ got out of bed,
opened the door, and saw Brian standing in the dim hallway, looking
upset. He was wearing pajama bottoms with no top.

"Hey Brian," PJ said softly, "what's up? Come on in."

"PJ," Brian's voice was trembling. "Phil's in his bed crying under the
covers and I don't know what's wrong with him. He won't talk to me."

"Uh-oh. Okay, hang on a sec." PJ went to Erik's bed and gently shook his
roommate's shoulder. "Erik," he whispered, "Erik, wake up."

Erik's eyes opened wide. He picked his head up in alarm. "PJ!" He looked
around for a moment, confused, and came fully awake. "PJ, are you all
right?"

"I'm okay. It's Phil. Brian says he's in his bed crying."

"Ah, Geez. That poor kid." Erik immediately slid out of his bed. "We gotta
help him." They tiptoed across the hallway, Brian padding after them, and
as they came into the darkened room, PJ could hear the little sounds and
moans of a sobbing child. He went quickly to the bed on the far side. Phil
was curled up with the covers over his head, crying softly as if his heart
was breaking. PJ was sure he had his face buried in his pillow, trying to
stifle the sound, because he'd done it enough times himself to know. He
knelt by the bed. "Phil," he softly called. "Phil, it's PJ."

"Go 'way." The words were muffled, forced out between sobs. "Please go
'way. Just leave me alone."

"I can't," PJ told him. "I'm your friend. I can't go away while you're
crying like this."

He clicked on Phil's reading light while Erik quietly closed the door to
the room to keep the rest of the House from hearing anything.

"Erik's here, too, and Brian. We're all your friends, Phil," PJ assured
him. "We won't leave."

Phil sobbed again. PJ could see his slender shoulders trembling beneath the
bedclothes. He put his hand over one of them and stroked gently. "You miss
your dad, don't you." He saw Phil's head nod, and the boy broke into more
crying.

"I know what that's like," PJ said. He kept stroking Phil's shoulder. "So
does Erik and so does Brian. We all know. And it's okay to cry. We've all
done that too. Last year, when my mom and dad got killed, I cried every
night and had bad dreams sometimes. It was awful."

PJ felt Phil stir. "What did you do?" the boy asked in a muffled little
voice.

PJ gently pulled the blanket off Phil's head and stroked his brown
hair. "Erik helped me," PJ told him. "When I cried at night or woke up from
a nightmare, he sat with me and talked to me until I was better. He still
does, because sometimes I still wake up at night. Erik is my best friend in
the whole world. He takes care of me, just like Brian wants to take care of
you. He's right here, and he wants to help."

Brian knelt down next to PJ. "Everything's gonna be okay, Phil."

"Brian misses his dad, too," PJ said, rubbing Phil's shoulder. "He felt
kinda lonely after his dad left today. Did you hear him talk about it to
Erik?"

Phil nodded.

"It helps a lot if you talk about it with a friend. It can make you feel
better. Erik always talks with me after his dad leaves."

Phil's sobbing had stopped while PJ was rubbing his shoulder. Now he pulled
his red, tear-streaked face from his pillow and looked at Brian and
PJ. "It's just that I haven't seen him in so long."

"I know," Brian said softly. He reached out and took his roommate's hand.

"Where does your dad live?" PJ asked.

"He w-works in At-Atlanta now," Phil hiccupped miserably.

"Hm-m-m." PJ thought for a moment. "You got his e-mail address?"

Phil shook his head.

"But you have his mailing address, right?" PJ said quickly. "You must. Your
mom told you to write him."

Phil nodded. "Over in my desk."

"I've got an idea," PJ told him. "You said your dad went to school here,
right? Then this can't miss. I bet he'd love to hear about your first day
and what you're doing. You're gonna write a letter to him right now. We'll
do it on my computer so we can print it on my laser printer. We'll help
you. Tell him everything. Tell him how much you miss him. Tell him you want
his e-mail address so you can write him all the time. Tell him you want him
to visit! I bet we can get him to come!"

"That's a good idea, PJ," Erik said.

"Come on, Phil." Brian tugged on his roommate's hand.

The boy uncurled himself from beneath the covers and slowly got up. Like
Brian, he was only wearing his pajama bottoms. After they'd walked quietly
across the hall to PJ and Erik's room, Erik closed the door while PJ, who'd
noticed that Phil was shivering, put his own bathrobe around the boy's
shoulders and sat him down in front of the computer. They brought up the
word processing software. "Okay, here we go," PJ told him. "Start with 'Hi
Dad.'"

Phil began to type, with the others making suggestions as the letter
progressed. "Make sure you tell him you're on the football team," Erik
said; "And that your roommate is just the neatest, greatest kid you've ever
met," PJ told him; "Tell him that the two guys across the hall are the
greatest, too," Brian insisted; "Be sure to tell him about the pool and the
swim team," PJ reminded him; "And tell him that the kids say the classes
are tough, but you're not worried 'cause the two guys across the hall are
gonna help you if you get stuck on your homework," Erik added; "Say you
were kinda scared at first, but now you know everything's gonna be okay,"
Brian interjected, leaning against the chair and looking over Phil's
shoulder; "And say that you want his e-mail address so you can send
messages all the time," PJ said wistfully. "That's real important. It's
almost as good as talking to him in person. And ask him to come
visit. That's the most important thing of all. Tell him he's just got to
come!"

PJ turned away for a moment and brushed at his eyes.

Phil stopped typing. "What if he d-doesn't, PJ?" he said, his voice
shaking. "Wha-what if he doesn't answer? What if he doesn't c-come?"

"He-he will," PJ forced the words out past a big lump in his throat. "He
will.  He's your dad." He patted Phil's shoulder. "Ya gotta believe that
anything's possible."

Phil turned to stare up at him. "That's what Jack Canon always says, isn't
it."

"Yeah," PJ said. "That's what he says."

Phil turned back to the computer and kept typing. The final draft of his
letter read like this:

	"Hi dad, I just finished my first day hear at Gordonsville. I was
kind of scared at first, but I think now everything will be ok. My roomate
is a really nice kid named Brian.  I really like him and we are best friens
already. He and I joined the football team.  Brian likes to tackle and the
coach says I have a good arm. The two boys who live across the hall are
really gret also. They are on the football team, to.  We all went to
practice together today.  Their names are Eric and Pj and they are really
neat.  Pj is on the swim team.  He does buterfly, freestyle and the im. He
showed me the pool today, you should see it. It is big. Eric says that with
me in the backstroke and Pj in the fly we could win a champienship. Pj and
Eric and Brian and me are all best friens.

	The only thing is dad, that I miss you a lot. Plese send me your
email address so I can send messages to you all the time about what I am
doing. And plese dad, plese come visit me. I miss you a lot and I would
like to see you.

	I am sending my football scedule.  Maybe you can come to some of
our games.  I would like that a lot.  The most important thing is the last
game. It is homecoming weekend. All the parents come.  We have a father-son
diner then and everyone brings their dad. I will get us tickets. Plese,
plese come for that.  It is very important. I will write you more. Plese
send your email address.  And don't forget the homecoming weekend.  Be sure
to come. Yours truly, Philip.  PS, my email address is on the football
scedule."

"Why did you sign it 'Yours Truly'?" Erik asked.

"I don't know," Phil said. "Isn't that what you always put at the end of
letters?"

"You love your dad, don't you?" PJ asked him.

Phil nodded. "A whole lot."

"He won't know that unless you tell him." PJ reached across to the keyboard
and typed "Love from your son" over the "Yours Truly." He asked, "Why don't
you say that instead? I think he'll like it a lot more."

"Yeah," Erik agreed. Without giving Phil a chance to answer, he reached
over to click the mouse, sending the letter to PJ's laser printer.

"Shouldn't we check my spelling?" Phil wondered. "It's not so good."

"Dads don't care about misspelled words too much," Erik told him. "They're
not English teachers. My dad wouldn't care if I misspelled every word. He
just wants to hear from me. He keeps every one of my letters. I checked
once and I know he does."

They got the letter from the printer and Phil folded it carefully into an
envelope that Erik found for him. Once he'd addressed it in neat
penmanship, Brian ran to their room and got a stamp. "Mail it right now,
Phil," PJ told him. "Don't even wait 'til morning. You'll feel better."

Phil stared at the letter. "PJ," he said, and his voice was filled with
anguish, "PJ, what if he really doesn't care about me anymore?" He looked
up, his eyes brimming with tears. "What if he hates me? Sometimes I think
it was my fault that my mom divorced him. What if he never wants to see me
again?"

Erik leaned close to look at him intently. "Don't say that, Phil," he told
the boy. "I once thought that, too, when my parents divorced. I thought it
was my fault. But it wasn't. It's not true. They did it themselves. It
wasn't your fault."

"Phil, your dad will answer that letter," PJ said. "He just has to. He's
your dad. If he can't tell from that letter that you're the nicest, most
wonderful kid in the world, then . . ." His voice choked up again and he
had to turn away.

Erik looked at him with concern and then said quickly, "Look at it this
way, Phil. Brian, PJ, and me--we've only known you for a day and we think
you're great. We all like you a lot. So does Mr. and Mrs. Williamson. So
does Coach Lewis. We can't all be wrong.  And your dad knows you a lot
better than we do. So he must like you. I'm sure he does. PJ's right. He's
you're dad. Like Jack says, 'Anything's possible!' Ya' gotta believe an'
keep goin'!"

"Come on, Phil," Brian told him. "Let's send that letter. I'll go down with
you. We'll put it right in the box." He put his arm across his roommate's
shoulders and pushed him toward the door. The two boys slipped out into the
dim hallway and padded quickly down the stairs in their bare feet.

Erik looked at PJ. "I think we better stay with them tonight."

"Definitely," PJ agreed. "I don't think Brian was feeling so great
either. You know what, Roomie? I think we just adopted two new little
brothers!"

"I think you're right, Roomie. Let's show 'em how super big brothers
behave." They got pillows and blankets off their beds and carried them
across the hall. When Brian and Phil came back, PJ and Erik were already
getting comfortable on the floor of their room.

"We're camping out in here tonight with you guys," Erik told them. "I think
we could all use a little extra company. Anyway, PJ and I just decided to
adopt you two rascals as little brothers. You guys have any objections?"

"ObJECtions?" Brian shot back, barely able to contain his delight, a huge
grin on his face, an expression mirrored by Phil, whose jaw had dropped and
whose gratitude had apparently rendered him speechless. "Phil an' me can't
imagine anybody else in the world we'd rather have as brothers!"

"Good. And things will be better tomorrow," Erik continued. "It's always
the first night is the worst." He set his alarm clock on the floor by his
blanket.

"If it's okay, I'd like to have one of your desk lights on," PJ said. "I
can't sleep in the dark. I get scared. I have to have a light on."

Phil looked at PJ in astonishment. "For real, PJ? You get scared? I do
sometimes, too," he confessed.

"Yeah, if we don't have a light on, PJ will be convinced there's something
from a Stephen King novel living in the closet," Erik told them. "You don't
want that. He'll wake us all up."

When the younger boys quietly giggled, PJ said, "You guys don't have to
tell everyone about that."

"I won't," Phil said. "I'm the same way too."

"I would never do that, PJ," Brian promised.

The boys climbed into their beds and got quiet. After a minute, Erik
whispered, "PJ, are you okay?"

"I'm all right, Erik," PJ whispered back.

"I'm right here, PJ," Erik reminded him.

"Thanks, Erik," PJ said. "Good night."

"Good night," Erik whispered.

Sometime later, PJ opened his eyes and saw a form kneeling on the floor
next to him. It was Phil. "PJ, can I please be with you for awhile?" the
boy begged. PJ's hushed response was a no-brainer: "Hop in, Little
Brother." He lifted the covers as an invitation for Phil to slip in by his
side, pulled Phil's smaller body tightly against his own, and cuddled his
bare shoulders. "Everything's gonna be okay, Phil," he whispered in his
ear.

Sometime afterwards, they fell soundly to sleep in each other's arms.

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT TWENTY-EIGHT

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

Keep on firing in those comments because we both appreciate them!