Chapter One

Monica's Notes (Author's Notes): "Enter for your submission a very different 
type of Quantum Leap story, as you journey into the Calavicci zone." Sounds 
like something my main character would say. Doesn't sound like something Sam, 
or even Al, would say though, does it?! Well, that's because Sam and Al aren't 
really my main characters in this one. I mean they're still there and 
everything but not as important. Also, as for Sam, he's still a main character 
. . . just he's not the Sam we all know, since he's sixteen-year-old high 
schooler, the boy old-Sam leaped into in "The Leap Home." (I call young-Sam 
Sam, and old-Sam, Dr. Sam Beckett, Doc. B.) Also, this story is told from the 
perceptive of Al's teenage son, Joey, or, as Sam sometimes calls him, junior . 
. . you'll find out why soon enough. (Al doesn't have any kids, you might ask? 
Well, read Book One, he's married to Kelly with tweleve kids.) 
	Hope you enjoy this! (Some other questions you might are explained by 
Joey, himself.) PLEASE tell me what you think about it!

	Copywrite Summer, 1997 by author. Quantum Leap created by Donald P. 
Bellario and Universal. All disclaimers apply.

		(OR What I Did on My Winter Vacation)

			 "We're the young generation, 
			And we've got something to say." 
	 	           - "The Monkee's Theme Song," Monkees (1966)

Joey's Note: Teacher, you know I did not show up for the last few 
sessions of the Quantum Leap Cadet Program, which is supposed to train 
us early to work at the Project when we all grow up and finish college 
and everything. Well, that's because my pop-- you know, Admiral 
Calavicci-- decided to take me on field experience along with him kinda 
being the sidekick to the sidekick. He talked to you before about it, I 
think. Well, I know you asked me to hand in a report, since I was not in 
class under your supervision. So, here it is! (Actually, I wanted to 
make a video with the new camcorder my folks gave me for Christmas, kind 
of do an expose of the real Project Quantum Leap. But, nobody would allow 
me to bring it anyplace near this complex.) 
	Well, my bro, Tony, watches this sci-fi show, which I think I only 
caught once or twice, but it sort of reminds me of what goes on here, 
although Tony's wife thinks the shows as close to the Project as "Star 
Trek" is to NASA. I decided to start my report like how they start that 
show, (but don't worry, teach, I'll tell you everything I did too.)
	Hope you enjoy it, teach!  Tell me what you think about my 



	Doc B. found himself sitting in a brown chair in a 
family's den in a farmhouse. A table was nearby scattered with 
newspapers and a copy of Life magazine. He examined the newspapers 
and the magazine for the date, November 28, 1969.
	A pitch black window, which, when the sun was out instead of the 
moon, would show an extremely familiar view of fields and the barn. He 
turned around, and looked at his reflection in the window, automatically 
surprised at what he saw. 
	Staring back at him was the image of his father. His fathers face, 
weather beaten, old, and wrinkled from too many years of hard work on 
the farm, looked back at him. He ran his fingers through his father's 
white hair. 
	"Hi, dad!" Doc B said, looking at the reflection.
	"Oh, boy!" a young voice said, peeping into the den before 
beginning to sneak upstairs to his room.


	Doc B turned away from the window, and saw the teenager 
standing in the doorway, some maroon and yellow paint splattered 
over his old blue jeans and gray sweater and in his brown hair.  
Doc B walked into the hallway, and stood at the base of the wooden 
staircase, looking at him.
	The teenager knew his "father" was behind him and turned 
around.  "I'm not grounded am I?" asked the teenager, little Doc B. 
(I'll call him Sam, because that's what I called him when I was there.)   
	Doc B glanced away from Sam, and read his father's watch on his 
wrist. It was nearly midnight. He remembered that his parents had always 
set his curfew at eleven o'clock on weekends (an hour before mine), and 
being almost an hour late was the cause of the teenager's nervousness.   
"Don't worry about it," he told him. "Just go to bed."
	Sam was happy that he was able to go straight upstairs to his room 
without any problems caused by "his father" catching him returning late 
and without dealing with any questions about the paint stains on his 
	My pop walked through the Imaging Chamber door behind Doc B.  
"I would have grounded him," he said. Knowing him, he probably would 
ground anybody.  I think it's from commanding his troops too long in 
the Navy. In my opinion, he must have been the perfect, trouble-free 
teenager when he was my age, and maybe that's why he can't understand 
when I do something wrong.
	Still, it's totally not cool to ground yourself, so I don't 
blame Doc B for not punishing Sam. Apparently, he saw it my way . . . 
and I wasn't even there, yet. "He's only an hour late, Al. I think I 
usually came home on time, so it's really no big deal."  
	"Do you know why he was late?" pop asked. "He was writing graffiti 
all over Bentleyville." 
	Doc B gave him a look, not understanding nor believing what he was 
told. "I really doubt he was doing that." 
	"Oh, yeah, Sam. Did you question the stains on his clothes? Maybe, 
if you did, you would have found out what he did." 
	"What did who do?" I asked, as soon as I walked through the 
door and closed the swinging door of  old Chamber, which was used 
when Sam started leaping, behind me.
	Doc B looked at me curiously, wondering who had just shown up. He 
examined me as I stood uncomfortable in front of him for the first time 
since I was thirteen. "Who's this?" Doc B finally asked.
	My eyes crossed over to the mirror above the fireplace, and were 
more shocked than Doc B probably is every time he sees somebody else 
reflection. At least, he sees something. I didn't see anything. I didn't 
see my looks, such as my dark Italian complexion and features, dark 
eyes, or short, black, curly hair. [My parents and Uncle David say I am 
identical to the way my pop looked when he was my age, (although it's hard to 
believe that my pop was ever around seventeen).] I did not even see my 
orange Nike t-shirt with the bright, glittered blue swish, baggy blue 
jeans, and Lakers cap just hanging there in midair.  Besides not 
seeing myself, I didn't even see my pop, and, judging by his bright 
red suit, he would be very hard to miss. I saw nothing, except Doc B 
and the room. "Hey, pop! Do you know we're invisible?" Thank you, 
Captain Obvious!
	"Yes, I know, kid. Didn't they teach you in the Program that 
nobody can see holograms but Doctor Beckett?" he said. 
	I guess they did, but when you witness something for yourself 
it's totally different from learning it in class.
	"Sam, this is my son, Joey,"  my pop introduced me to Doc B. 
	I put out my hand to shake Doc B's. To my surprise again, my 
hand went straight through his. There's a lot to this hologram stuff 
that I had to get used to. "Cool!"
	"So, you're one of Al's kids? You look like your dad," Doc B 
asked me, surprised to meet any of us. "Are you training to take over 
your dad's job too, someday?"
	"Yeah," I answered simply. "Well, I'm in the cadet program, 
and my pop just decided to take me along with him on this leap."
	"He's one of the best students in the Program," my pop boasted, 
as he stopped chewing on his cigar. I've been in the program, (which is 
only for children of parents who work for the Project and is very 
selective in whom they choose for it), since I started high school 
almost four years ago. But, I would not say I was the brightest 
student in it because my girlfriend, Chrissy, is smarter, although 
she doesn't always act it. 
	"Pop!" I was still curious about what my pop and Doc B were 
talking about before I came in. "Now! Who was doing what?!"
	"I taught you how to do this," my pop said, as he handed the 
handlink over to me. I felt just as excited as the first time my 
father let me drive his car; of course, he was still sitting next 
to me then, because he didn't want anything to happen to either 
his car or me.  
	However, as soon as I held it in my palm and looked down 
at it, all excitement disappeared as confusion set in. "Uh, pop! 
It's broken."
	"Press the blue button," he instructed.
	"Which one?" There are several lighted buttons and the colors 
seemed to shift ever two seconds. My pop leaned over and pressed a 
button directly in the middle, as data began to appear. "Oh!" I said, 
beginning to read what Ziggy was feeding it. "Doc B, it said that when 
you were younger you went over to Bentleyville  to paint cows in the 
Pruitt's field, because you won a basketball game against that team. 
Can't believe that anybody would do that," I said in disbelief. "I 
would never do that. Paint cows! Jeez!" Doc B must have grown up 
totally in nowhere to do something like that. One of my friends who 
just became a cadet is from Wisconsin told me that kids out there push 
cows over just for fun. Sounds more stupid, if you ask me. "Of course, 
I did go over to Paltville last year and spray painted their football 
field, once we won the championship against them." My pop gave me an 
annoyed glance, questioning that if I already told him about this or 
not. "My pop, here, grounded me for a month for that one."
	Doc B smiled at my pop and me, the young Observer. "I don't 
blame you, Al," he said, not believing that Al would ever have any 
kid to ground but glad that he did.
	"Why didn't you ground yourself?" I asked.  "But, I don't blame 
you. I wouldn't have grounded myself, if I was my father when I wrote 
'Paltville stinks' on the field."  
	"Joey!" my pop said disturbed, before he yanked the handlink 
away from me. He read the screen for himself. "Sam, maybe Joey's 
right. The kid's better off without being in trouble as well. He's 
already in enough trouble. Do you know what the date is?"
	"Yeah," Doc B answered. "November 28, 1969." He thought 
about it for a moment, as the date signified a memory for both 
him and me. "November 28, 1969," he repeated slowly.
	The leap out date of what my teacher calls, "The Leap Home." 
Judging by what happened during that leap, my pop's right, little 
Doc B is in a lot of trouble already.