Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2015 13:11:28 -0400
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: The Father Contract Installment Thirty

INSTALLMENT THIRTY
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-Six: To PJ, With Love

Mr. Williamson was standing by the open door to his apartment. Next to him
stood Billy with his two sisters, their mother and father right behind
them, the entire family smiling broadly. "Happy Birthday, PJ," Billy
shouted. Beaming, he held out two wrapped presents, along with a big card.

"Billy!" PJ looked around, confused. As he took the things from the boy's
hands, he said "Billy" again, weakly this time. He was shocked, delighted,
and embarrassed too, all at the same time.

"Come on in, PJ!" ordered his young friend impatiently. "We got cake and
ice cream!" Without waiting for an answer, Billy grabbed PJ's arm and
pulled him right into the Williamson's living room, everyone else,
including Erik, Brian, and Phil, following behind in a procession. Suddenly
the lights switched off. On the table magically appeared a huge birthday
cake lit by twelve candles. It had chocolate icing, and written on it in
big white letters was "Happy Birthday PJ," with a football drawn
underneath.

Everyone began to sing "Happy Birthday to you. . .," Erik singing the
loudest of all. Clapping and cheering followed, someone called out, "Make a
wish!," and immediately everyone joined in the "Make a wish!"
incantation. PJ closed his eyes and wished as hard as he could that somehow
Jack would remember his birthday too. He took a deep breath. Holding
Billy's presents to his chest, he leaned forward to blow out the
candles. There was more clapping and cheering. The lights came back on, and
Mrs. Williamson handed PJ a cake cutter. "Put your presents on the table,
Dear," she said. "I'll help you serve." It was pretty clear to him who had
made that special cake!

PJ cut nice big slices for everyone, with an especially big one for
Billy. Next, he and Mrs. Williamson ladled out the ice cream. There was
chocolate, coffee, and vanilla--all PJ's favorites. Everyone started
eating, but Billy was too excited to settle down. "Come on, PJ," he cried,
"open up your presents! I want you to see what I got ya'!"

PJ looked at him fondly. "Billy, you shouldn't have gotten me. . ."

"The heck with that!" Erik interrupted. "Come on, PJ, open 'em up. This was
a conspiracy. He had some help."

When PJ started to unwrap the presents, he began with the bigger of the two
Billy had given him. Billy got up and stood next to him, watching
impatiently over his shoulder. Finally, PJ got the fancy paper off,
revealing a large-scale model kit of a U.S. Navy F-18 Hornet fighter
jet. He stared in delight at the colorful picture of the plane on the
boxtop. "Billy, this is awesome. Thanks!"
 
"Do you like it, PJ?" Billy asked. "I think it's so neat. It's the coolest
one they had!"

"He picked that out of all by himself," Mr. Thatcher told PJ. "And he
bought it with his allowance money."

"Thank you, Billy." PJ looked at his young friend gratefully. "I'm going to
build this in our Hobby Shop. I really appreciate it."

"There's also a card!" Billy reminded him. "I picked that out too!"

PJ opened the envelope. The card was an ordinary one with the usual
birthday greetings.

But inside, Billy had printed in his childish penmanship,

	"TO MY BEST BIG BROTHER IN THE WORLD.
	  HAPPI BIRTHDAY AND MANY MORE.
	  LOVE, BILLY."

PJ stared at it. It was a real card. Not a fake that he'd bought and mailed
to himself. And it was from a real person who looked up to him and cared
about him. Feelings nearly overwhelmed him.

"Do you like it, PJ?" Billy eagerly asked.

PJ reached out and hugged the little boy. "Yeah, I like it, Billy." Getting
the words out was hard because he was so choked-up. "I like it a whole
lot. You're the best little brother anybody ever had!"

"You're the best big brother in the whole world," Billy assured him. "'Cept
maybe for Erik, 'cause he's nice, too."

This made PJ laugh a little and kept him from breaking down completely.

"Take a look at the other present, PJ," Mr. Thatcher urged.

"Yeah, that one's kind of from all of us," Erik told him.

Brian and Phil high-fived each other. "Actually, Phil suggested it," Brian
explained. "He and Billy know a lot about planes."

PJ tore the wrappings off the other present, which he'd already figured was
a book. It turned out to be a collection of great real-life aviation
stories from Flight magazine, one of the premier magazines about
flying. "Oh, nice!" he exclaimed. He opened the pages and was immediately
captivated by a picture and story about the "Flying Wing," one of the Air
Force's famous experimental projects.

"Uh-oh!"  Erik warned. "Quick, somebody, get the book from him. If we're
not careful, he'll start reading and forget all about us! Here, PJ, you
have to open these. You can read the book later." He handed PJ two more
cards.

PJ tore himself away from the book and opened the new cards. The first one
was from Travis. It had been made on Travis' computer and laser-printed,
the front featuring a picture of Travis and Coach Drew holding up a big,
hand-lettered sign that read "Happy Birthday, PJ."

Inside beneath more "Happy Birthday, PJ" greetings, Travis had written,
	"Have a wonderful day, Little Brother! You're the greatest!
	 All the very best from your friend and Big Brother, Travis.
	 PS, check your computer for an email."

	"Travis gave me that to give to you before we left for school, "
Erik said. "Uh . . . the other card's from me. I hope you like it. It's
sorta personal."

PJ opened the second envelope. This card had also been made on Travis'
computer, and it, too, had a picture on the front. It was one taken the
weekend they had all gone to the beach on the Jersey Shore. Erik and PJ
were kneeling together in the sand with their arms around each other,
smiling into the camera.

Inside, Erik had neatly printed,

	"To my best friend, PJ, on his 12th birthday.
	 Thank you for always being there for me, PJ. I will always be
there for you.
	  I hope we get to do all the things we planned this year.
	  It will sure be fun trying to do it together!
	  Happy Birthday and may you have many more.
	  Your friend, Erik."

	PJ looked up into his roommate's eyes. "Thanks, Erik," he said
softly. He held out his palm and Erik slapped it.

"There's one more, PJ." Before everyone could start talking, Brian handed
PJ a card without an envelope. The card was completely homemade, folded out
of heavy paper, and decorated with a drawing of a birthday cake bearing
twelve candles, done in ink. The drawing was artistic and skillfully
executed. Above it, printed in ink strokes as skillfully crafted as the
drawing, was "Happy Birthday!"

Inside was written, in a beautiful flowing script,

	"Thanks PJ, for all the help. Have a great birthday!
	  Your friends, Brian and Phil."

	Enclosed in the card was also a special note folded in a very
complex way.  PJ held it up curiously. "This is Japanese origami," he
declared.

	Phil blushed and nodded shyly.

	Very carefully, PJ unfolded the note. It opened like a
flower. Inside it said,

	"Thank you PJ, for being a special friend.
	  Love, Phil."

	Once again, feelings welled up that PJ had to choke back. He looked
first at Phil, then smiled appreciatively at both younger boys. "Thanks
guys," he said. "This is really nice of you."

"Phil did most of it," Brian said, looking embarrassed. "He did the
drawing. All I did was the words."

PJ shook his head. "The whole thing is nice. Thank you both. Erik and I are
really glad you're living across from us. And I know Billy's glad, too. You
two are just the greatest." Billy nodded his agreement.

"May I see that card, PJ?" Mr. Williamson asked. The housemaster
thoughtfully studied what PJ had handed him. "Phil, this is very good
drawing. Do we have you in art class this semester? We do, don't we? And
Brian, this is beautiful calligraphy. Where did you learn this?"

"Aw, I just fool around with it some," Brian admitted, seeming embarrassed.

"Well, it's very good." Mr. Williamson handed the card around so everyone
could admire it.

Billy's mother, who'd come over to stand next to PJ, now gave him a warm
smile and said, "I think you're very lucky to have such good friends."

"Yes ma'am, I am. He looked up gratefully as she stroked his hair.

"Hey, PJ, you haven't had any cake yet," Billy said. He went and got PJ a
big slice. "See what I'm wearing, PJ?"

The boy was dressed in more of PJ's hand-me-downs: a white shirt and a pair
of slacks. Excepting that the clothes were too big for him, he looked just
like any Gordonsville student going to class, and Billy quite obviously was
wearing them proudly. PJ smiled and gave Billy a soft punch on the
shoulder. "You look great, Billy."

The talk became general, the boys all talking about their first days of
classes and the upcoming football season. "Billy and I are coming to all
your home games." Mr. Thatcher said. "I had to make some arrangements at
work, but we're gonna be there."

"Yes, having the games on Thursday afternoons is not the most convenient
thing," Mr. Williamson noted, "even if they don't start until four. But I
think you'll find it worthwhile. This should be an interesting season."

"We're not going to miss it," Billy's dad assured him.

After some more talk, the party began to break up. PJ thanked everyone for
coming. "This is the first surprise party I've ever had," he told them, "so
I can definitely say it's been the best!"

Billy's mother gave him a parting hug and said, "I'm so glad we got to
share your birthday with you. Please be careful playing that football."

"I will," PJ assured her. "Hey, Billy. Don't forget! Erik, Brian, Phil, and
I will be over to get you right after practice tomorrow."

"Okay." Billy flashed him a happy grin.

"And thank you for the model, Little Brother. I really like it. I'm going
to start on it right away." The young boy beamed up at him, then looked
over at his dad. "Can I give it to him now?"  Mr. Thatcher smiled and
nodded. He turned to PJ. "Billy wants to give you something else very
special. He first asked me to fix it so it was private, just between you
and him, but now he says that he wants the other boys here too because
they're all brothers. Go ahead, Billy."

Reaching down the open neck of his shirt, Billy fished out two thin silver
chains he had around his neck. Taking one off, he handed it to PJ. On the
chain was a small silver medal, which PJ examined closely. He saw an
embossed figure of a man carrying a small boy on his shoulder. "That's
St. Christopher," Mr. Thatcher explained. "He's the patron saint of
travel. Billy wanted you to have his pendant."

"It's to keep you safe, PJ," Billy solemnly declared. "Like for when you
play football. Saint Christopher gives you, like, safe . . . safe . . ."

". . . safe passage," his father finished for him. He gave PJ a warm
smile. "Something you might need on the football field."

Billy added hopefully, "I got me one same as you so we can both wear the
same thing 'cause we're brothers! Is that OK, PJ?"

Brushing at eyes again blurred by tears, PJ slipped on the chain and hugged
Billy very tightly. "You bet it's OK!" His voice nearly broke as he said
the words. After patting the young boy on his back, PJ held him by the
shoulders and stared into his eyes. "I'll wear it all the time, Billy. I
won't ever take it off. Thank you, Little Brother."

The smaller boy smiled happily. "I got mine on all the time too, even when
I take a bath. I knew you'd like it."

After ruffling his son's hair, Billy's dad shook PJ's hand. "This was a lot
of fun. I'm glad we got the chance to do this."

"Thank you for helping set it up," PJ told him gratefully.

The man shook his head. "The person you need to thank is Erik. He arranged
it. The rest of us just helped."

After Billy and his parents had left, PJ turned to the Williamsons. "Thank
you so much for doing this."

Just as Mr. Thatcher had done, Mrs. Williamson smiled at PJ and shook her
head. "We were just Erik's helpers. Erik and Brian and Phil.  They all had
a lot of fun arranging this and keeping it a secret from you." She bent
down to give PJ a hug and a kiss. "Happy Birthday, Dear. I'm glad you
enjoyed it. You know, we all love you very much." PJ hugged her
back. Mrs. Williamson always made him feel warm inside.

Mr. Williamson accompanied the four boys out into the front hall. "Did you
get anything from Jack?" he asked PJ. "I thought I saw some packages on the
table here yesterday."

When PJ hesitated, Erik answered, "You bet he did. Jack sent him some books
and a football."

"And some cool football shirts," Brian added.

"Jack sent you more books?" Mr. Williamson regarded PJ with an intrigued
expression. "Would it be all right if I saw them?"

"Uh . . . okay." PJ tried not to sound reluctant. He wasn't crazy about
having Mr. Williamson inspect the fake presents. What if he noticed
something suspicious? But there seemed no way out of it.

They all went upstairs to PJ's room, where he retrieved the three books
Jack was supposed to have sent, at the same time quickly scanning outside
and inside the covers again to be absolutely sure there was no way of
identifying where they'd been purchased before he handed them to his
housemaster.

As Mr. Williamson checked out each of the titles, he shook his head
approvingly. "You know, PJ," he said, looking up, his eyes twinkling, "the
more I get to know about Jack Canon, the more he amazes me." He stared at
the books in his hands again. "The Secret Garden," he said as if musing. "I
would never have expected that."

Phil spoke up quietly, "It's my favorite book."

"Is it?" Mr. Williamson gave him a fond smile. "Good for you,
Phil. Apparently Mr. Canon likes it, too. And PJ," he said, turning to the
boy, "I think you'll like it as well." He put the books back on the shelf
and examined the cards PJ had placed there, chuckling in amusement at the
two funny ones. Then he read the third card.

"That one's sort of personal," PJ quickly said.

"Of course, PJ. I understand." Carefully, Mr. Williamson placed the card
back on the shelf. Then he put an arm around PJ's shoulders and hugged
him. "I'm happy for you, PJ. I think you're very fortunate. I hope
Mr. Canon knows how lucky he is, too. I'm sure he does."

PJ nodded without saying anything.

Erik eagerly suggested, "Show him the shirts!" So PJ opened the closet and
got out the two football jerseys.

Mr. Williamson held them up admiringly. "These are very nice. I'd say
you've had a very successful birthday." He handed the shirts back to PJ and
added, "I think you should put all the cards you got right up where they
can be seen." He and the other boys helped PJ set the cards from Billy,
Travis, and Erik on the bookshelf alongside the three that were supposed to
be from Jack. "Here's a spot for ours," Brian said. He moved PJ's football
trophy over a little so there was room for the card from him and Phil.

"I hope there's room for one more." The housemaster handed PJ a card that
he took from his shirt pocket. PJ looked at it.

The card was a small one with a plain embossed border. On it, in beautiful
handwriting, it said,

	"To A Wonderful Boy."

Inside was printed,

	"Happy 12th Birthday, PJ.
	 Love, The Williamsons."

	Blinking back another sudden flow of tears, PJ gave Mr. Williamson
a warm hug. He liked Mr. and Mrs. Williamson almost the best of anybody,
and he always felt good when they showed how much they really liked
him. Mr. Williamson patted his back. "Mrs. Williamson and I wanted you to
have that, PJ. You know that we love all you boys, and we sort of think of
you as rather special."

They found a place for the Williamsons' card next to Brian and Phil's. Then
Mr. Williamson wished them all a goodnight before going back
downstairs. When the boys were alone, PJ looked over at the other
three. "Thanks," he said simply. He looked down in embarrassment. "I know
it doesn't sound like much to say just that, but. . ." He looked up
helplessly, trying to find more words. All three boys were smiling at him.

"Hey, PJ," Erik fondly spoke out. "What are friends for?"

"Yeah," Brian said, "and we had a lot of fun setting it up and trying to
surprise you. Half the fun of having friends is doing stuff for them."

"Actually, it was mostly Erik's idea," Phil said.

"But we did a lot of the helping!" Brian protested. He turned to Erik and
asked in a loud whisper, "Are you gonna give it to him now?"
 
"As soon as we're by ourselves," Erik told him.

"Oh, yeah." Brian took his roommate by the arm. "Come on, Phil, it's time
for us to go do some homework or something. Good night, PJ. Thanks for
letting us give you a party. It was a blast!"

"Wait a minute, guys," PJ said. "Don't leave yet. I still haven't thanked
you enough. I just don't . . ."

"It's okay, PJ," Erik interrupted. "They know. That's why they did it."

"Yeah, PJ," Brian said. He also looked embarrassed.  Phil and I, well, we
really like you. An' we know you like us, so . . . well . . . we had a
lotta fun doing this . . .  we thought you'd like it. An' . . .  we kinda
hoped that you and Erik and us two will really have a cool time this
year. So thanks, you know? For all your help, and for being friends, an'
. . . everything."

"Thanks, PJ," Phil told him, looking at him with great seriousness.

"You guys are just the best," Erik called out as the two boys hurried
across the hall to their room.

PJ looked over towards his roommate, but his eyes were downcast because he
was embarrassed by what he wanted to say. Now that they were alone, he knew
it was time to thank his best friend, but he didn't want to sound goofy and
weird. He was afraid his words would be jumbled up. His chest felt
tight. He had a big lump in his throat. He only managed a choked "Thanks,
Erik."

"It was fun, wasn't it," Erik replied, smiling happily.

It was as if a dam had broken. PJ's words came tumbling out! "I've never
had a surprise party," he answered. "I never thought I would have one. Or
even any birthday party. It was so . . . so neat!" He looked Erik squarely
in the eyes. "Oh, Roomie, it was more than neat, it was the best thing ever
an' it was mostly your doing an' I will never, ever, forget what you did
for me today!"

Suddenly, his emotions overcame him. PJ reached for Erik and hugged him in
what started out as a clumsy grabbing around his arms but transformed
itself into a tight, heart-pounding embracing.

After several seconds, they separated and stood facing each other. Tears
which were running down PJ's cheeks were mirrored by tears welling out of
Erik's eyes, something even PJ rarely got to see. This had been a moment of
pure magic, of mutual and unspoken love. Grateful for that release, they
both spontaneously broke into grins.

But Erik's expression quickly turned serious. He wiped his eyes with one
fist, caught his breath, swallowed several times, and stumbled over his
next words. "Look, PJ, I hope you won't get mad at me, but I sorta got you
something myself. I, ah . . ." He stopped and bit his lip. "I guess I'm a
little nervous because I'm not sure you'll like it. I hope you do . . . ."

PJ stared at him, confused by his friend's obvious embarrassment.

"I guess I better just show you what it is," Erik told him. "If you don't
like it, just tell me. It's okay.  I just . . ."

He went to his desk and took out a flat white box.

"Actually," Erik explained, "it's something I got for both of us."

He opened the box. Inside, two gleaming gold chains lay coiled on a bed of
soft cotton. Erik took them out, kept one, and handed the other to PJ. It
felt strangely heavy in his hand. As he peered at it closely, PJ saw that
the chain was made of dozens of tiny box-like links, each exquisitely
shaped, and each mated with its neighbor by interlocking loops. The clasp
of the chain was a special piece in the shape of a serpent.

"These are Bhatt Chains," Erik told him. "They're used in Thailand for
money. They're made of almost pure gold. These two are identical. I've sort
of always wanted one, and I had some money from my grandfather and
. . . and I thought it might be nice if we both had one, since we're such
good friends and all . . .  so I got one for you, too . . . and . . ."

Erik stopped and took a deep breath. "PJ, you're the very best friend I
have in the world. I like Travis and Billy and Brian and Phil just like you
do, but like Mrs. Williamson said, you're special.  And I know that you
believe I'm your best friend, too, because you just showed it. So I got
these for us to wear as kind of a symbol of our friendship. So, I hope you
wear it." He looked over at PJ and waited uncertainly.

PJ locked eyes with Erik's. He lifted his chain, put it around his neck
. . . fastened it . . .  . "You're the best friend I've ever had, Erik," he
whispered. "I'll never take this off. Between you and Billy, I've got two
things to wear to keep me safe. I'll never take either one of them off. But
yours goes past just football."

"I know what ya' mean, Roomie," whispered Eric. He put on his chain. To
seal this bond, and given what both felt was something almost mystical
about the new Bhatts, the two boys resorted to a most appropriate
alternative to a hug: a formal handshake. "Happy Birthday, PJ," Erik told
him with a big smile.

* * *

Later that night, while Erik was reading, PJ checked his e-mail. He felt a
thrill of excitement when he saw that his letterbox signal showed he had
something. He eagerly went to his post-office-box screen! But it was not an
e-mail from Jack. Instead, it as was a message from Travis.

"Hi PJ. Birthday greetings little brother!  I wish I could be there in
person to say it to you, but you know I am thinking of you.  By now Erik
will have given you my card.  Pretty neat, huh!  Erik made a nice one for
you, too.  Erik emailed me last week about his plans for your surprise
party.  I hope it goes well!  I am having fun playing some fall soccer.  It
gives me a nice break from swimming just the way football does for you.
But I am looking forward to the start of the indoor swimming season and I
know you are, too!  My coach wants to call up your coach and fix it so you
and I can go to some age group meets together.  I would really like that
and I hope you would, too.  Can you send me a phone number?  I really miss
you and Erik a lot.  There is not one day here when I don't wish that you
were at school here or I was up there so I could see you.  You're just the
greatest, PJ and I really appreciate your friendship.  I hope you enjoy
your birthday and that Erik and his gang surprise you!  Say hello to Brian
and Phil for me and tell them I look forward to meeting them.  Also, please
say hi to my little brother Billy and tell him to write.  By the way - I
hear that our middle school football team may be really good this year.  I
guess they have some new kids on it that transfered in this year.  They are
actually talking about winning the championship!  That would be a first for
our school!  Anyway, I thought you ought to know.  You play us last this
year according to the schedule and my coach and I are planning to come up
to see the game.  Of course, we will be rooting for you.  All the best from
your big brother.  Miss ya!  Travis."

	PJ read the message over twice.  It always made him feel good to
hear from Travis.

There was nothing from Jack.

The tears that came took him by surprise. To hide them from Erik, he had to
go down the hall to the bathroom where he sat in one of the stalls for
awhile until he regained control of himself. While he waited for the tears
to stop, he fingered his St. Christopher's medal and the new gold chain. He
had such a good friends in Erik and Billy, and Billy's family. And there
was Erik's stepdad Bill, the Williamsons, Travis and his coach, Brian and
Phil . . . so many others who liked him and were good friends, too. Why
should it matter so much about Jack?

But it did.

If Erik could never see Bill again, would anything make up for that? It was
the same for Billy and his dad, or Travis and his coach. Some things could
not be replaced.

When he felt better, PJ washed his face and went back to the room. He
looked at his cards, read Travis' e-mail again, and then worked on his
class assignments. He checked his mail twice more before going to bed. But
the mailbox remained empty.

	PJ dreamed that night about matches. He was wandering in the long
concrete corridors beneath the stands of some unknown stadium. Above him,
faintly, there came the roaring sound of an enormous crowd cheering in the
distance. But PJ knew, without knowing how, that the crowd and the cheering
were part of something beyond his reach. The doors to that world were
closed and no corridor he was in led back out. He felt an overwhelming
sense of loss, which all too soon gave way to his terror of the
dark. Behind him, one by one, the corridor lights were going out. The
darkness was coming for him.

	Fear knotted PJ's stomach. He ran desperately along the corridor
searching for a door. Behind, in the darkness, reaching out towards him,
there were nameless things. PJ could feel them getting closer. Frantically
he opened door after door, searching for Jack's pool. If he could only
reach it! There was safety and peace at the bottom. An end to
everything. He could hide forever down in its depths, beyond the reach of
the darkness and all its terrors.

	But the rooms he kept finding were dark. He couldn't see. In a
panic, he took out his matches. They would dispel the darkness and light
his way to safety! Wild with frenzy, he tried to strike them. He was
vaguely aware that if he did light one, something terrible would happen,
but his fear of the dark was greater. His hands shook as he struck match
after match. They wouldn't light! Then the dark was all around him.

	"No!" PJ cried. "No! No!"

	He tried to strike another match, but the pack fell from his
hands. He felt other hands reaching for his in the dark. "No!" he cried. He
struggled to push them away. "No!"

	"PJ! PJ, wake up!"

PJ looked around wildly. He was sitting up in bed. Erik was beside him
holding his arms. The dim light on his nightstand by his bed glowed
softly. "You're all right, PJ," Erik gently told him. "You were having one
of your dreams. Everything's fine. I'm right here."

"It was the dark," PJ whimpered, still feeling the panic. "I couldn't get
the matches to strike!"

"Ssshhh," Erik whispered. "You're all right now. Your light is right here."

"Jack can't find me in the dark."

"He can find you anywhere," Erik told him. "Jack can do anything."

But he won't come, PJ thought miserably. He won't. Putting his face in his
hands, PJ closed his eyes tightly to keep the tears from starting
again. "I'm sorry, Erik," he told his roommate when he was sure his voice
wouldn't break. "You were all so nice. I didn't think I'd do this
tonight. I'm sorry I woke you."

"You didn't, PJ," Erik assured him. "I was reading under the covers. And
besides, I don't mind you waking me. How many times do I have to tell you?
Look, I'm sure you miss Jack.  That's what's bothering you. Why don't you
do what we did with Phil? Why don't you write him? Right now. Tell him all
about the surprise party we had. I bet you'll feel better."

PJ felt trapped. He was frightened of going back to sleep again where he
was sure the darkness was still waiting for him. But how could he write to
Jack? What could he say? Jack had told him to go away and never come
back. But he had to do something. Erik was waiting for an answer. He
started to get out of bed. "Maybe you're right," he told his friend. He sat
down at his computer. He could always fake writing to Jack. Erik wouldn't
know the difference. He went to his mail screen and tried to think of
something to say. A glance into the mirror over his desk showed that Erik
had turned his light on and was reading. PJ thought for awhile, and started
to type:

"Dear Jack. I know you don't want to hear from me.  You told me to go away
and I did and I haven't sent you anything. But today was my birthday and I
thought that, just maybe, you wouldn't be mad if I sent you just a short
email. I am very, very sorry for making you mad at me.  Please Jack, I did
not mean to.  Please don't hate me.  I know you do not want to be a dad
ever again, and I will never ask you to be.  I promise.  But please, can we
still be friends?  I would like you to be my friend.  I had a nice
birthday.  Erik gave me a surprise party.  All my friends came.  Billy and
his mom and dad and the Williamsons and two boys who live across the
hall. There names are Brian and Phil.  You would like them.  We are all on
the football team together. We had cake and ice cream.  Travis sent me a
special card and Billy gave me a model plane.  Erik gave me a very special
present.  I don't like to write about it.  I would rather show it to you
some time.

We watch your games on TV and we are all rooting for you to get to the
Series.  I am sure you will.  I know you're still in your you know what.
(I know you don't like to talk about it because of the supersticion) I know
you will come out of it.  I just know it. You're the greatest.  I was mad
at you for a while, but I can't stay mad at you.  I believe in you. I
always will.  I know how hard it is to come back. Please don't be mad
because I'm writing you. It helps me to write. I have had a lot of bad
dreams, but I don't have them so much if I write to you. Please Jack, you
can write back, too, if you want. Just once in a while. Please don't stop
being my friend.  I will always be your friend.  Best wishes, PJ."

PJ looked at what he'd written. He remembered the thing he'd told Phil. "If
you don't tell him, he won't know," he whispered to himself. He placed the
cursor just to the left of the words "Best wishes" and replaced them with
one word: "Love."

After reading the note once more, he closed his eyes and sat with his fists
clenched for almost a minute. Finally he took a deep breath, opened his
eyes, and, with a few clicks of the mouse, sent the message to
Jack. "Please, please," he whispered.

He got quietly up from his desk. Erik had turned his light off and gone
back to sleep. PJ stared at his own rumpled bed for awhile, turned, and
instead slipped into bed with his roommate. Erik came half-awake. He moved
over to give PJ more room and protectively put his arm over him. PJ reached
up underneath his own pajama top and felt, laying on his bare chest, both
the new Bhatt chain and St. Christopher's medal. He went to sleep clutching
them, listening to the sound of Erik's breathing, and slept without dreams
the rest of the night.  Chapter Fifty-Seven: Secret Weapons, Secret Playing

Coach Lewis pushed the Middle School team hard in the Saturday morning
practice. The boys worked in helmets and drilled on plays over and over. PJ
kept alternating positions, sometimes playing end, sometimes running or
blocking back. He had to concentrate and keep his wits about him because
each position required different sets of assignments.

The end position was not too bad. He had four pass patterns to learn, all
of which could be crossed with another end if the quarterback wished. His
biggest headache was to keep track of where he should line up. The
Gordonsville offense was built around a basic five-man line with a tight
end and two wide receivers. Depending on the play, the receivers could be
doubled to either side, or split.

The running and blocking assignments for the backfield positions were more
complicated. Coach Lewis used a pro set formation on some plays, and an "I"
formation on others, with an optional shift. PJ thought that the "I' was
easier to learn. Mostly, the fullback blocked and the tailback ran. The pro
set got a bit more complicated because either back might be blocking or
running depending on which way the play was going. The two positions were
almost, but not quite, mirror images of each other. Between the physical
demands of the drills and the mental demands of continually changing
positions, PJ had his hands full.

Erik was busy too: a linebacker on defense, a blocking back or running back
on offense, plus a backup for Lester, the thirteen-year-old starting
quarterback. In that position, he and Lester were both expected to have the
entire playbook memorized, ready for use in calling their own plays, unless
one was sent in from the sideline. More than that, they had to know not
only their own assignments, but the assignments of every other player on
the offense so they could check for proper execution and hold their
teammates accountable. "Leadership! Leadership on the field!" Coach Lewis
was always preaching.

It was tough enough to do this job when everyone was fresh at the beginning
of practice. By the end, when they were all tired, everyone was making
mistakes, including the quarterbacks, but PJ thought Erik was doing a lot
better than Lester. "Your passes are sure easier to catch," he told his
roommate after one completion. "Your buddy keeps throwing behind me."

Erik gave PJ a rueful grin. "He's not my buddy. I don't think he likes me
much."

Once again, Coach Lewis finished things off with fifteen minutes of wind
sprints, and PJ made up his mind to gut out every single one, leading the
team. Afterwards, the young coach brought his exhausted players together in
a half-circle. "Nice job, guys." He gave them an approving nod. "It's
starting to look a lot better out there. You'll be given your pads and
uniforms on Monday. We'll start contact next week. This is where it begins
to get interesting!"

There was some laughter at this.

"Study those playbooks!" the coach warned. "Missed assignments were a big
weakness for us last year. Not this time. If you don't know your
assignments, we'll find someone else who does! The league season starts
next week, but we have a "bye" so we'll practice through it. I'll get the
word on our first opponent and pass it along to you. It's the Perry
School. As you all know, they beat us last year. We want to get them this
time. So get your rest tomorrow and be ready to go in full pads on
Monday. I'll see you then." The meeting broke up, boys started heading for
the locker room, and when Brian and Phil came over to where PJ and Erik
were waiting for them, they all walked to the Field House together.

"That was a tough one today," Erik remarked, wiping sweat off his face.

"You were a lot better than Lester at the end," PJ assured him.

His roommate laughed. "Considering I was almost dead, I thought I did
fairly well."
 
"Phil was good today too," Brian told them.

Phil only blushed and shook his head. "You did the best, Brian. I'm still
learning."

"We've all got more to learn," PJ said. "Erik's worked out some stuff for
us. It's private practice time as soon as we pick up Billy."

"Yeah," Erik told them. "And we need to find a good private spot to do our
practicing. I don't want everybody to know about this yet. There's a few
thirteen-year-olds who aren't too happy about me and PJ."

"Don't they want to win?" PJ exclaimed in frustration. "What's wrong with
them?"

"Who knows?" Erik said with a shrug. "Maybe they resent Coach Lewis. Or
maybe they think we're trying to show them up. Who knows? For now, though,
let's keep this to ourselves. Especially about how good Phil and Brian
are."

"How come?" Brian asked.

PJ gave him a solemn look. "Because I think we're gonna need you guys
before this season's over."

"And some of the older kids are going to resent it," Erik explained. "For
now, we keep you under wraps. We'll practice in secret."

After lunch, the Top Floor Gang took PJ's new football and ran as fast as
they could to Billy's house, sneaking out of the main gate one-by-one to
avoid detection. Billy and his dad were throwing a football around when
they arrived.

"Can we use your backyard for a private practice?" Erik asked. "I promise
we won't mess it up."

Mr. Thatcher ruffled Erik's hair. "Mess it up all you want. That's what
backyards are for. You guys have fun."

"Come on, Billy." PJ grinned at his little friend. "You're gonna learn the
Gordonsville playbook." Billy flashed him a delighted smile in return and
followed excitedly behind as they jogged around the house to the backyard.

Erik ran the practice, taking the lead the way a quarterback was supposed
to do. "I don't know what you're learning in the scrub practices," he told
Phil and Brian, "but Phil, you've got to know the entire playbook so you
can go in an' play at any position, including quarterback. An' Brian,
you've gotta be just like PJ. You've gotta know both the receiver and
running back positions. Billy, you're gonna learn the whole playbook too,
just like Phil. It'll be good experience for you. An' that's not all,
guys." He looked around, staring into their faces. "I've made up four
special plays. They're just for us. They are our secret weapons. We gotta
make 'em perfect!"

Practice started with all four Gordonsville boys teaching Billy the
playbook. It proved to be a lot of fun for Billy and a good review for Phil
and Brian. "Just remember, Billy," Brian instructed, "Gold means right and
Blue means left. If you say, 'Gold is the right stuff to have,' you'll
remember it."

Billy nodded. "So if Erik or Phil tell me, 'Whopper 21 Gold,' it means 'I'
formation, number two back hits the one hole on the right side."

"That's it," Phil told him. "And the number one back will have a blocking
assignment."

"An' if the quarterback says, 'Pancake' instead of 'Whopper,' it means the
pro set," PJ added.

"An' then the back does different things on 'Blue' or 'Gold'," Billy
responded triumphantly.

Erik slapped him on the shoulder. "You've got it!"

They worked through the playbook a number of times until Billy had the
basic ideas. Then they started to switch off positions, PJ and Brian
trading places at running back and receiver, Phil alternating at those
positions, too, and also sharing the job of quarterback. Erik kept
reminding Phil that he must learn all the positions. "I'm not sure which
spot you'll take when we persuade Coach Lewis to put you in," he
said. "You've got to be ready for anything."

By taking turns at being the center, they were able to keep rotating
through the positions in different combinations. Billy made a number of
mistakes, but Erik was patient with him. "Don't worry, Billy," he said
after the little boy had gone the wrong way on a play. "You're doing just
fine for your first day."

"Yeah, Billy," PJ assured him. "You're already doing better right now than
a lot of kids on the team did all last year."

"I'll say," Erik agreed. "I sure hope we're better this season."

"We gotta be!" PJ half-whispered to himself, clenching a fist and looking
down at the ground.
 
When Erik was satisfied with their execution of the basics, he started
teaching the special, secret plays. He brought out a small notebook filled
with diagrams. "Here they are guys. There's the running back
option. That'll be for PJ or Phil, especially Phil since he's got the
arm. No offense, PJ! Then there's a play for PJ or Brian to go out of the
backfield as a receiver. I've also got a quarterback draw play that's for
me, not for Phil 'cause It's too risky. An' there's another quarterback
option play, a triple option. It's one we can use on a sweep."

Brian had a big grin on his face. "That one's gonna be exciting!"

"You bet!" Erik exchanged a fist bump with the younger boy. "Okay, here's
how we signal the plays. Phil, the quarterback always gives a dummy code
phrase before calling a play. Usually something like 'Red River Two' or
something like that. It's to confuse anybody who's trying to steal our
signals." He looked at Billy. "So let's say I want to run a regular sweep
play to the right out of the 'I'. I'd say, 'Red River Two, Whopper 23 Gold,
Whopper 23 Gold, on Three!' That's the one we just finished practicing,
right?"

Billy nodded. He kept his eyes riveted on Erik.

"Okay," Erik said, looking around at all of them. "Now, suppose that,
instead of the regular sweep, I want to run our special quarterback triple
option. Blocking assignments are the same, right? But this time the backs
have to move differently. So, I signal you by using a special code
name--Dawn Rider Seven. I won't use a dummy code, like 'Red
Rider'. Instead, I call the play like this: 'Dawn Rider Seven, Dawn Rider
Seven, Whopper 23 Gold, Whopper 23 Gold, on Three!' Get it?"

He looked around again. "'Dawn Rider Seven' is code for the triple
option. 'Whopper 23 Gold' is code for our 'I' formation sweep. That gives
the linemen their blocking assignments. I give both of them twice so you'll
be sure to pick them up. Okay?"

The boys all nodded.

"What are the other codes?" PJ asked.

"'Dawn Rider Seven' is the quarterback triple option," Erik said. "'Star
Wars Two' is the quarterback draw. 'Tap Dance Six' is the back coming out
to be a receiver, and 'Young Guns Three' is the tailback option play."

Brian grinned. "Cool!" He slapped his roommate on the back. "That's gonna
be you, young gun!" Phil blushed and smiled.

"Let's try them," PJ said eagerly.

They continued to take turns snapping the ball, exchanging positions and
walking through the plays, slowly at first to work out the best ways to
execute them. Then they practiced them faster and faster. Finally, Erik and
Phil took them, Billy included, through the whole playbook again, this time
mixing in the new secret plays with regular ones. Even PJ made some
mistakes at first, but finally they were executing smoothly.

Billy's father came out to observe while they were running through their
last few formations. "Watch me, Dad!" Billy called. He lined up at
tailback, ran out as a receiver after the snap, and Phil laid a beautiful
pass right into his outstretched hands. He scampered across the yard to his
dad and yelled triumphantly, "Touchdown!" With a hearty laugh, his father
picked him up to give him a big hug. "Let's hope it works just like that
when they try it in a game," he said. He grinned at the rest of the
boys. "If you guys are interested, there are cookies inside and the Red Sox
are on TV."

"Practice is over!" Erik yelled. He led the race to the house.

Provisioned with cookies and sodas compliments of Billy's mom, the boys
sprawled on the living room floor in front of the TV to watch the
game. Once again, PJ found it difficult to view Jack on the screen, but he
controlled himself as best he could. Jack was still not playing too well,
but the Red Sox won anyway, and their lead in the Eastern Division climbed
to two games.

"They're still looking good," Mr. Thatcher said.

"Boy, I hope they make it," Erik muttered in a worried tone of voice.

"Jack will get them there," Billy confidently asserted. "You'll see."

Brian got up from the floor. "I wish he was playing better."

"He will," Phil declared. "Don't you think so, PJ?"

"I believe in him," PJ whispered softly.

The boys gathered up plates and glasses and brought them to the
kitchen. "Guys, I have a plan for our practice tomorrow," Erik said. "After
Chapel, we'll come get Billy and then we'll go to the Hill. There's a good
flat spot on the bottom we can use. And afterwards we can do skateboarding
behind the Field House and . . ."

". . . and we can sneak Billy in for lunch," PJ continued excitedly. "It's
easy on Sunday because they hardly ever check."

"Right," Erik went on, nodding, "but I was thinking of something else. If
the Field House is open, we can do our weights."

"Oh yeah!" PJ exclaimed. "We can all . . ." He stopped, checking to be sure
Billy's mother was out of hearing range. Then he whispered, "We can teach
Billy the workout."
 
Billy was listening with mounting excitement. "Weight lifting!" he said
gleefully. "Will you teach me? PJ, that's so . . ."

Erik put a hand over the young boy's mouth and PJ motioned for him to keep
his voice down. "Your mom might not like it," he whispered. "Yeah, we'll
show you."

"You'll like it, Billy," Brian informed him. "It's neat."

"PJ can show you a bunch of stuff he learned from Jack," Phil said.

After Billy agreed to be ready to go the next morning, the four older boys
thanked Billy's mom for the cookies before heading back to School.

"I sure hope we get a chance to use our plays," Erik told them wistfully,
but PJ seemed very certain in his reply. "I bet we will."

That evening, with the F-18 model Billy had given him tucked under his arm,
PJ went to the Hobby Shop. He showed it to the instructor, Mr. Jenkins, who
complimented him on getting such a neat kit to build. "This is one of the
better ones," he told PJ. "This Airfix company takes the time to do their
research and make accurate models. You made a good selection."

"It was a birthday present," PJ explained. "A good friend gave it to me."

"Well, your friend obviously knows what to get." The instructor directed PJ
to a shelf of reference books on the far wall. "You'll find information on
your aircraft in this book." He got one down for PJ. "This'll give you some
idea of what color scheme to use. And this other book over here has good
general information on U.S. Navy markings you should read about. Let me
know if you have trouble finding anything."

When PJ opened the books and began leafing through them, he found all sorts
of interesting things about the plane he was modeling, also a ton of facts
about other planes, too. He kept turning the pages, fascinated. If there
was one subject that unfailingly got his interest, it was aviation. He
could never get enough. He opened his model box and began checking parts
against the pictures and diagrams in the reference books. Then he made
notes on the instruction paper that came with the kit, jotting down the
various colors he'd need. He had so much fun reading and getting
information that he lost track of the time, so he was surprised when
Mr. Jenkins announced it was time to close. "Gee," PJ told him ruefully, "I
thought I'd get something done tonight, but instead I spent my whole time
reading!"

The man laughed. "That's always the way it is! Don't worry. The more
research you do, the better your model will be when you build it. We'll put
your kit in the cupboard here with your name on it and it'll be all ready
for you next time. When you have your colors worked out, why don't you go
over them with me and I'll help you pick out the paints and get you
started."

"Thanks," PJ told him gratefully.

He was one of the last to leave the Hobby Shop. He walked along the
basement corridor of the big classroom building and up the stairs to the
main doors, while behind him, Mr. Jenkins turned out the lights. Outside,
the night was dark. PJ had forgotten how dark the campus could be on a
moonless night. The great lawns were inky floors of blackness, the ancient
shade trees dim spectral forms. Across the way, some lights twinkled in the
dormitories. PJ knew that in the Middle School Quad, his own House waited,
lights shining within its windows. Shelter . . .safety . . . comfort . . .

And yet . . .

Following the sidewalk around the vast spaces in the dark, he felt a
strange apprehension take hold of him. In the daytime, among his friends,
it had been easy to forget the dream of the night before, but now it was
seeping back, forcing past his defenses, mist rising from a black bog of
memory. There was fear, fear of nameless things, terror of abandonment, the
awful despair of loneliness. And the matches . . . matches that wouldn't
strike . . .wouldn't light . . .

It was dark. So dark. PJ kept trying to walk faster. He knew where the
safety was. He just had to get to his House. He'd been feeling so good just
a few minutes before, at work on his model. He tried to hold on to that,
but he was alone, alone in the dark, and the further he went along the
sidewalk, the more fearful he became. Something loomed up at his left. The
Chapel steps. Once he'd sat there, talking with Jack. Shivering, he stopped
and took a seat on a lower step, face buried in his hands. He knew what was
wrong. He was frightened of returning to his room, terrified of going to
sleep. It was all waiting for him there. . . The matches, the darkness, all
the horror of the very worst time in his life.

"Please. Please, please, he whispered to the night.  Please don't start
again."

	"What are you feeling?" he heard the old gray-haired lady ask.

	PJ whimpered softly. He took his hands away from his face and
looked out over the darkened campus. He was so tired of these feelings. "I
wish I felt nothing," he whispered again, his expression wistful and
sad. Then, eyes staring blankly, he chanted in a high, sing-song, childish
voice,

	"Oh, oh, oh,
	 Who knows where I'll go,
 	When my fortune slip is blank,
 	An' I can't go to the bank?
 	Who knows where I'll go,
 	So where will I end up? . . ."

He didn't want to go to his room and fall asleep. The thought frightened
him so much that he just couldn't make himself stand up. The fear fed on
itself. He became frightened of being so frightened. He was shaking
uncontrollably. Someone will see me, he thought frantically. With a
trembling hand, he reached for the gold chain around his neck. Erik!
Where's Erik? He'd also grasped Billy's chain at the same time, and as he
clutched its little medal in his fist, he pleaded, "A safe passage, please?
Could you take me to Erik?" Forcing himself, he got to his feet, swayed,
and almost fell coming off the steps.

"It takes courage to play this game. " Jack's voice was in his head
now. "You have to find the courage within yourself."

"Why did you lie to me, Jack?" PJ whispered. "Why did you say you liked me
and then you didn't?" Step by step, he made himself walk toward the House.

	With an almost physical effort, PJ held the darkness at bay. I'll
find Erik," he whispered to himself. "Erik will help me. An' I can read my
books. I won't go to sleep for a long time. An' I'll look at my e-mail an'
maybe . . ."

	Maybe there'll be something from Jack. PJ visualized Jack reading
his message of the night before and finally deciding to write back. "Just
something," PJ whispered, "an' even if there's nothing I can write some
more. He'd wanna know about Erik's new plays, an' our secret practice."

	By concentrating on what he could tell Jack, which kept other
thoughts out of his head, PJ made it to the House. Once inside, with the
dark shut out behind him, some of his fear receded. A few boys watching TV
in the Common Room called out "Hi, PJ" as he went by. Mounting the stairs,
he touched his neck chains and told himself at every landing, "I'll talk to
Erik. I'll talk to Erik. I'll talk to Erik. Maybe I'll tell him
everything."

	But he never did because Erik was not alone. Voices and sounds of
laughter were coming from the room as PJ approached. Pausing a moment in
the hallway, he took some deep breaths and composed himself before opening
the door.

	Inside, Phil, Brian, and Erik were at Erik's computer playing the
baseball video game. Erik and Phil were seated in front of the screen, Phil
using PJ's desk chair, and Brian was watching over his roommate's shoulder.

"PJ!" Erik exclaimed when he spotted him coming in. "You're just in
time. Help me out! These two guys are killing me!"

For just an instant PJ was disappointed at losing the chance to talk to
Erik by himself. But then, surrounded again by lights, and his friends, he
began to feel safe. With a wry smile at the two eleven-year-olds, he sat
down in the chair Erik relinquished to him, confidently declaring, "Let the
expert take over. Erik's a great shortstop, but he can't hit the broad side
of a barn!"

Brian giggled. "Okay, PJ, we'll see how you do against Phil's pitching. My
roommate's a video maniac. He's great at this!"

That turned out to be true. Even though PJ caught up a little, Phil kept
manipulating the controller with enough skill to maintain the lead, and the
two younger boys ended up winners. It didn't matter to PJ, though, because
the distraction of competing swept troubled thoughts and fears temporarily
from his mind.

"See!" Brian announced to everyone. "Phil's an ace!"

"He sure is," PJ agreed appreciatively. When he gave Phil's shoulder a soft
punch, the boy turned red, lowered his eyes, and said, "I was just lucky a
few times on that one."

"Hey, don't be so modest all the time," interjected Erik. "You've got to
learn to think like a quarterback. Of course you're good! Us quarterbacks
are good at everything!" He reached over, grabbed Phil, wrestling with him
a little, and tickled him until the younger boy laughed happily.

"Okay, okay . . .  you're right. . . . " Phil managed to gasp these few
words between bursts of giggling. He grinned at the others and shouted, "I
am good!"

"Darn right you are!" PJ told him.

"My roommate's the greatest!" Brian proudly asserted. Then he leaned
forward and stared closely at the gold chain glittering on Erik's neck, the
chain which had slipped out during the wrestling. "Is that it?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's it." Erik pulled down his shirt front so Brain could see it
better.

"Wow, that's beautiful!"
 
"Can I see?" Phil leaned over to see the chain, and then looked at
PJ's. "Can I see yours, too, PJ?"

"Sure." PJ pulled out both of his chains.

"Nice . . . " When Phil reached out to touch the gold one, PJ felt the
boy's warm fingers brushing the tiny links.

Brian was also leaning close, examining the silver chain and medal. "That's
the St. Christopher's Billy gave you."

"Uh-huh." PJ explained the meaning of St. Christopher, and lovingly brushed
the tiny medal with a fingertip. "Billy gave me this to keep me safe in
football. I hope the Saint gets me across the goal line lotsa times this
season." He glanced around shyly. "I guess it sounds kinda corny, but I
like to imagine that's a little picture of me carrying Billy on my
shoulders."
 
"PJ has some kinda imagination, don't he?" observed Erik with a fond grin
at his roommate.

Phil was still admiring PJ's gold chain. "This is so nice."

"An' his an' Erik's are exactly the same," added Brian.
 
"They're perfectly matched," Erik told him. "It's to show that PJ and I are
. . ."

". . . best friends," Brian said. He turned to Phil and held out his
palm. Phil slapped it gently, and Brian slapped his back.

Erik put his fist out. "Together." The other boys placed their fists on
his. "Together," they all echoed.

PJ looked around the room where it seemed to him that darkness was again
pressing in from its corners. He didn't want to go to bed yet, and he
sensed that the two younger boys didn't want to either. "Do you guys like
"Flight Simulator"? he asked.

"Oh yeah, that's fun," Brian said. "Have you got it?"

PJ guided him over to the computer on his desk. "Erik got me this for
Christmas last year." He brought up the initial screen.

Phil, right behind them, exclaimed, "That's the latest version, an' you've
got all the neat libraries!"

"Show 'em the Citation," Erik said, coming over. He explained to the
younger boys, "That's the one PJ flew from New York to Gordonsville Airport
all by himself."

Phil's mouth dropped open. "PJ! You know how to fly?"

"Erik's exaggerating," PJ hastily said, blushing. "I wasn't by myself. The
pilot was next to me all the time."

"Now it's you who's being modest, PJ." Erik turned to Phil and Brian. "The
pilot never touched the controls. PJ did it all. He navigated us to the
airport and lined us up with the runway, and he would've done the last part
of the landing too if it hadn't been against the rules. The captain said he
could've done it if he had to. PJ is a real pilot!" he proudly added.

Phil was regarding PJ in awe. "I think planes are the coolest. I wanna be a
pilot someday."

"Let's see how you do with the Citation." PJ waved Phil into his seat.

All four boys had fun with simulated flying for awhile, Phil and PJ taking
turns on the Citation, while Erik and Brian tried landing the Space
Shuttle. "Hey, I did it!" Brian exclaimed at last when he finally made a
successful touchdown. Erik lovingly rumpled his hair and told him, "Nice
one, Brian."

Phil was leaning on PJ's shoulder and suddenly yawned.

"Gee!  Look how late it is," Erik said. "I guess we should be getting to
bed."

PJ felt Phil tense a bit. The young boy pleaded, "Can we play a bit more?"

"What's the matter?" PJ asked gently. "Aren't you tired?"

Phil shrugged and looked uncomfortable. "I'd just rather stay with you guys
longer."

"Have you heard from your dad yet?" Erik asked.

When Phil shook his head, PJ put an arm around him. "You will. I know
it. You'll hear from him soon. He probably only just got the letter
today. You'll see. He'll send something."

Phil nodded sadly. "I sure hope so."

PJ thought he knew what Phil was experiencing, and since he wasn't exactly
relishing the thought of going to bed himself, decided to suggest something
else. "Here's an idea. We'll have like a pretend sleepover. You guys spend
the night over here with us. That way I can stay up a little later, too,
and it would help me a lot if you would. I . . . I sorta had a bad time
last night and I . . . well, I'm kinda afraid to go to sleep tonight. So if
you guys could. . ."

"I'll stay," Brian said. He looked up at Erik. "I'd kinda feel better
myself staying over here." Erik gave him a hug on the shoulders.

"I'll stay with you, PJ," Phil told him. "I'd like that."

"Let's all get ready for bed," Erik said. "Then we'll fly more missions on
the simulator until we feel like sleeping."

While Phil and Brian went across to their room to change, PJ and Erik got
undressed and put on their pajamas. "This was a good idea, PJ," Erik said
when he came back from the bathroom. "I was playing the baseball game with
those two when you came in because they were moping around looking lost
over there."

PJ nodded. "I figured you were letting them win. Man, I hope Phil's dad
writes him or somethin'."

"Yeah," Erik agreed. "I think he will, though. I mean, Phil's such a nice
kid. You'd think he would."

"Exactly," PJ responded sadly. "I know."  "It wasn't just Phil either,"
Erik said. "Brian was kind of down, too. I think there's something going on
in his family."

"Oh, great."
 
"Yeah. Anyway, I'm glad you suggested this and talked 'em into it.

A minute later, Brian and Phil were back, dressed as usual in their pajama
bottoms with no tops. Phil was shivering. "You guys are gonna freeze," Erik
said. He put his bathrobe around Brian, PJ gave his to Phil, and couldn't
help asking, "What happened to your pajama tops?"

"Phil never did find his, and I'm keeping him company," Brian explained.

PJ glanced over at Erik. "I'll take care of it. I'll work it out with
Mrs. Williamson or Billy's mom."

Erik nodded.

They had fun playing Flight Simulator for another hour until Brian was
falling asleep in Erik's lap. Then they all went to bed. Erik took Brian in
with him, while PJ took Phil, just like the last time.

Phil snuggled tightly against him under the covers, facing his new
friend. "PJ," he said very softly. "PJ, you're gonna be with me all season
in swimming, aren't you?"

PJ was no longer sure of anything. He almost whispered, "My fortune slip is
blank." But he held his tongue. Phil didn't need to hear that. "Yes," he
whispered instead. "Right with you."

"And in baseball?"

Baseball, PJ thought. He could see nothing because that was so far in the
future. After closing down Flight Simulator he'd quickly checked his
e-mail. There'd been nothing from Jack. Maybe there never will be
again. An' if that's true . . .

"We'll play baseball together too, won't we, PJ?" Phil whispered, pleading
for the second time.

"Yes," PJ assured him. But as he said it, he felt he'd told his little
brother a big lie!

Phil sighed and seemed to relax. PJ wrapped an arm over his bare back and
Phil wiggled closer. "Thank you, Big Brother," he murmured.

Suddenly, Phil kissed PJ squarely on his mouth. The kiss lasted only
seconds, but Phil's clear, pale-green eyes were wide-open the entire time,
staring longingly at PJ as if he wanted PJ to know that he loved him. There
was electricity in the air. PJ's heart started pounding. Phil then snuggled
even closer. He reached over with both hands and unbuttoned PJ's pajama
shirt all the way down to his belly button. He spread the shirt apart,
stretched one arm out to grab PJ's rear end, and pulled him toward
him. PJ's body was already tingling all over. He was already as hard as he
could feel his little brother was. He kept on watching, willing to let Phil
have his way. Phil kissed him again on his bare chest, licked him on one of
his nipples, settled his face next to his, nestled his hands against PJ's
lap, smirked mischievously, fumbled awkwardly but gently at PJ's pajama
fly, and ducked his head. The only sound in the room was the one PJ began
to make with his heavy breathing, all too quickly becoming a panting, then
a prolonged gasp. Afterwards, Phil closed his eyes, sighed in contentment,
and drifted off to sleep.

 Once PJ's breathing returned to normal, he remained still until he was
sure his young friend was deep in slumber. He was in awe of Phil's display
of affection. He felt like he'd taken part in a secret ritual. It had been
magical, and he intended to repeat it again whenever the opportunity arose.

	As tired as he was, PJ resisted closing his own eyes. The thought
of the darkness still frightened him. But from somewhere came the sound of
a huge crowd roaring, and to PJ it was like the noise of an aircraft's
engine in flight. He was running across a grass field, the sun warm on his
bare skin. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a football spiraling through
the air toward him, a football that floated into his hands when he reached
out to catch it. Who'd thrown it? Erik? Or was it Jack? He wondered, Is my
fortune slip still blank? He grabbed at Billy's St. Christopher's medal.

	Jack. He now felt he was floating, warm and comfortable at the
bottom of Jack's pool. Or was it Erik's? Light was all around him, and the
soft whisper of water was in his ears. He felt a soothing, sliding touch on
his body, a sense of warmth . . . peace. . . . Jack's touch? Phil's?
Erik's?

	Then there was only silence. He drifted into the darkness of sleep,
but a darkness which didn't frighten him anymore. If PJ had any dreams that
night, he couldn't recall them, but had he been able to, they would have
been sweet ones.

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT THIRTY

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