Hurricane Wills Page 9

  “And if I did know, especially if there was two hundred dollars, I would have had to go around and around in circles in my head, wondering what I should do about it.”

  “I can’t believe you had the nerve to sneak in there in the first place. I bet you keep thinking about it so much now that you’ll have to go back and have another look.”

  I did keep thinking about it, too, but I didn’t go back to have another look. I guessed that eventually Wills would give himself away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The day of the tournament was drawing closer. I was growing more and more apprehensive and Wills was becoming more and more erratic. Even Clingon was finding it difficult to keep him under control.

  “Do you want to play in this tournament or not?” he asked him one Wednesday evening, when a practice game had been arranged, and when Wills had bowled over two of our own team in a wild attempt at stealing the ball for himself.

  “Yes, Mr. Columbine,” said Wills.

  “Then play as one of the team and not like a boar let loose in a field of pigs.”

  Wills sniggered. “Ugly looking pigs.”

  “I’m not joking,” growled Clingon. “I won’t allow the antics of one prima donna to ruin the chances of the team. Sit down and think about it. Chris, take over until your brother understands the word ‘discipline.’”

  That will be forever, I thought.

  I tried not to feel guilty about taking Wills’s place. I didn’t look at him because it would have made me feel bad. Clingon kept encouraging me from the side, and I began to feel the exhilaration of competing instead of the inferiority of the weakest link.

  I was getting better, I was definitely getting better, especially when I didn’t have to play at the same time as Wills, like then. I could hear Wills trying to tell Clingon that he understood the word discipline now and that he was ready to go back on, but Clingon ignored him and stuck with me. I even set up the winning points with a series of dribbles followed by a blind pass, which one of our shooters picked up and threw for a superb basket. Clingon congratulated me and the other boys slapped me on the back. I looked over at Wills and read the pain on his face. It should have been his moment, not mine, but he knew he had blown it.

  I went and sat down next to him. “We’d have won by a mile if you had been playing,” I said.

  “I don’t care,” snorted Wills. “If he doesn’t want me in his stupid team, it’s his loss.”

  “Course he wants you,” I said.

  “He’ll have to beg, then, because I’ve got better things to do than watch a load of fairies farting around.”

  “Like what?”

  “Big-boy things, not little-boy things like basketball,” Wills said smugly.

  Just then, Clingon marched over and took Wills aside. Dad arrived to take us home, and we waited while Clingon eyeballed Wills and poked his finger at his chest. We watched Wills nod his head several times, and Clingon finished by putting his arm around Wills’s shoulder. Wills gave Clingon a friendly punch on the arm in return.

  “I think Clingon’s talked Wills around again,” I said to Dad. “He’s amazing the way he can get Wills to do as he’s told.”

  “I wish I knew his secret,” Dad grunted.

  “He’s got basketball as a weapon,” I answered, “and Wills respects him as a coach.”

  “Lucky Clingon,” Dad grunted again. “I wish he’d respect me as a dad.”

  Wills bounded over. “That jerk thinks he can say what he likes to me. He’ll regret it when I don’t turn up for his stupid tournament.”

  For a second Dad looked flabbergasted, then he bellowed, “You’ll regret it when you don’t turn up for his tournament because you’ll have me to answer to. And don’t think I don’t mean it. I’m not having any thirteen-year-old son of mine making threats and using language fit for the gutter. Mr. Columbine has worked hard for you, and I won’t stand by and see you throw it all back in his face. Do you understand?”

  “Why does everyone keep asking me if I understand?” shouted Wills. “I’m not some thicko dicko. I understand, all right? I understand more than you think. I just don’t want to be messed with that’s all. Either they want me on the team or they don’t, I don’t care, but I’m not going to sit on the dunce’s bench just because I crop a couple of fairies.”

  “Your attitude stinks,” Dad bellowed again. “I wouldn’t have you on any team of mine. NO WAY JOSE.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be in any team of yours, loser,” shouted Wills.

  I thought Dad was going to punch him. They stood and glared at each other like they hated each other. I wished Dad would just leave it alone. I guessed that Wills’s fears were eating away at him and that’s why he was being so nasty. The last thing he needed was Dad making him feel even more unwanted.

  I realized too that a little bit of me would have been happy if Wills had messed up. If Wills messed up then I would get to play myself. And I knew all of a sudden that I wanted to play. I wanted more of the congratulations and the slapping on the back. I wanted the spotlight on me. I enjoyed being the center of attention.

  My only chance though, of taking any reasonable part, was if Wills wasn’t there. If someone else dropped out I might get to play, but I knew I wouldn’t play well alongside Wills.

  I hated myself for thinking it.

  Clingon called for everyone to leave the hall because he was closing up. Wills ran ahead of us. Dad wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  I whispered to him, “He’s scared, Dad. Wills is scared he’ll mess up.”

  Dad looked astonished. “Wills, scared?”

  “He told me, Dad.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me?” Dad grumbled.

  “It’s not something you tell your dad, is it?” I replied.

  “What’s there to be scared about? It’s not that important, is it?”

  “It’s important to Wills.”

  Dad headed off after Wills and caught him by the arm. “Hey, Wills,” he said. “Let’s not fight. Come on, I’ll take both of you for pizza before I take you home.”

  “A pizza and dessert?” Wills asked. “We’ve gotta build up our strength for the tournament, haven’t we, Chris?”

  I nodded halfheartedly.

  “A pizza and dessert it is,” grinned Dad.

  “You probably shouldn’t have the dessert though, Dad, should you?” cackled Wills.

  “Wise guy,” Dad growled. But things were all right again. Storm over. That particular storm, at least.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “How’s the story coming ?” Penny asked me the next time I went into the library.

  “Who says I’m writing one?” I replied.

  “I know you are,” Penny laughed, “because you say the same thing every time I ask you. Come on, tell me what you’re writing about.”

  “Three chocolate cookies and I’ll tell you,” I grinned.

  “I’ll expect it word-by-word for three chocolate cookies,” Penny said.

  “It’s called ‘My Brother’ and it’s about what it would be like to live with someone who’s a psycho,” I revealed.

  “Ah,” Penny said. “Taken from real life, eh?”

  “Well, I’ll probably add bits and change bits and exaggerate bits, but mostly I’m writing it from real life.”

  “That’s where a lot of the best stories start,” Penny nodded.

  “It’s got a great beginning,” I said. “Well, I think it’s good. I’ve talked about the psycho being like a hurricane, because that’s just what Wills is like when he’s doing his Acts Dumb and Dumber.”

  “Hurricane Wills,” Penny reflected. “I like it. Go on, then, don’t leave me hanging. How does it start?”

  “I know that bit by heart,” I smiled. “There’s a hurricane smashing through our house. There’s a hurricane smashing, trashing, bashing through our house. CRASH! BANG! WALLOP! The doors are slamming, chairs are falling, cushions flying, feet running, voices shouting, ‘STOP! STOP
! STOP! STOP!’”

  “That’s a great beginning,” applauded Penny. “It really makes you want to read on, which is what all the best stories do.”

  “I’ve written about four pages so far, which isn’t that much because my writing’s big,” I said. “Wills thinks I’m writing love letters because I won’t tell him what it is.”

  “Poor Wills,” said Penny.

  “It’s not meant to be horrible about him, it’s just sort of about what happens,” I said quickly.

  “Well, if the rest of it is as good as the beginning, you stand a great chance of winning the prize.”

  “No chance,” I scoffed. “The thing is that I don’t care about winning. The prizes are lame anyway. I’m just enjoying writing it. It’s like I’m getting things off my chest. It’s like a secret diary,” I said.

  “I shall look forward to reading it when you’ve finished it,” said Penny.

  “You owe me three cookies,” I ordered.

  “Three chocolate cookies coming up, sir,” Penny saluted.

  I went home as soon as I had finished my homework. Mom was in the kitchen cooking our dinner. I gave her a quick hug, then dashed upstairs to change out of my uniform. I opened my bedroom door. The draft from it blew several tiny pieces of white paper up into the air. They settled around my feet. And then I saw. The whole room was covered in tiny pieces of white paper. Hundreds of them. I knew within seconds what it was. MY BROTHER by Chris Jennings. Wills must have found it. Wills must have found it and read it. Across my mirror, one word written in red flashed its angry letters at me. JERK! it said.

  I went cold, as cold as if I had entered a frozen landscape and the pieces of white paper were flakes of snow. I closed the door and the snow rose and fell again. I sat on the bed and wanted to be sick. On a piece of paper by my foot I read the word “jump.” On another by my hand I read “cliff.” My feelings of guilt were overwhelming. Wills wasn’t supposed to see what I had written. It was between me and those pages of white paper. He had torn the paper to shreds. What must he want to do to me?

  Mom called us down for dinner, but I couldn’t eat. Wills was really quiet and wouldn’t look at me. Mom tried to have dinner conversations like, “Have you had a good day?” and “How’s math going?” and “Only two more days till the tournament,” but she gave up when all she got back was a nod or a grunt.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with you two,” she said as she started to clear away the dishes, “but I’d get more response from a pair of armchairs.”

  “I wish I could turn Chris into an armchair,” spat Wills, “then I could sit on him and crush him.”

  “That’s not very nice,” said Mom, looking surprised. “What’s Chris done to upset you?”

  “I hate him, that’s all,” said Wills.

  “Don’t talk like that, Wills,” Mom ordered.

  “He’s the one that’s not nice,” Wills growled. “Mr. Goody-Goody, ha ha.”

  “I’m not really hungry, Mom,” I said quickly. “Can I go and do my homework?”

  Mom shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever’s going on between you two, I wish you wouldn’t bring it to the dinner table.”

  “It’s nothing, Mom,” I muttered. I didn’t want her to worry.

  “It’s not NOTHING!” Wills shouted, slamming his fist down on the table. “He thinks I’m a loony and he wishes I was dead.”

  A shocked silence echoed around the room.

  “I don’t,” I protested. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong if you think I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Wills shouted again.

  “I’m not thinking anything,” I shouted back. “I just want to go and do my homework.”

  “Stop it you two, stop it now!” cried Mom.

  “Don’t blame me,” said Wills. “He started it.”

  “Started what?” Mom demanded.

  “Started writing nasty things about me, started wishing I was dead.”

  “I don’t,” I protested again. “It’s just a story.”

  “Yeah, about me,” sneered Wills. “Don’t deny it.”

  I couldn’t deny it, but it wasn’t meant to do any harm. Wills wasn’t supposed to know anything about it.

  “Makes me sound like an idiot,” Wills spat.

  “That’s enough, Wills,” ordered Mom. “What is it, this story, Chris?”

  “Just something I was writing for a competition. Nothing important.”

  “He just wants to tell the whole world a load of lies about me, that’s all,” said Wills.

  “I wasn’t going to send it in anyway,” I said.

  “Where is the story?” Mom asked.

  I looked at Wills and he stared back at me. “I’ve torn it up,” I said, holding his gaze.

  “Best thing for it,” Wills pronounced.

  “If he’s torn it up, what’s all the fuss about?” Mom looked genuinely puzzled.

  “Doesn’t mean he didn’t write it in the first place,” Wills said. “Doesn’t mean he isn’t still thinking it. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want me to jump off a cliff.”

  “I’ve had enough,” I almost shouted. “I’m going to do my homework.”

  I tore out of the kitchen and up into my bedroom as fast as I could, slamming the bedroom door behind me. Wills was doing my head in going around and around in circles like that. I scrubbed the accusing letters from my mirror, then began to pick up the numberless pieces of paper, screwing them into a ball as I went in the hope of destroying their ability to blame me. Mom came in when I was halfway through. She sat on the bed and said that whatever I had written had really upset Wills.

  “He’s always upsetting me,” I retorted. “Every minute of every day he upsets me. But that doesn’t matter because I’m supposed to be able to cope. Anyway, Wills is exaggerating everything as usual.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to write about,” Mom said quietly.

  “It was the best thing for me,” I argued, “and Wills wasn’t supposed to see it.”

  “Well, the damage is done now,” Mom sighed. “Look, I’m not blaming you, Chris, it’s just a pity Wills had to find it.”

  “Then he should keep out of my room like I keep out of his,” I growled, and bit my tongue right away because I’d been digging up guilty secrets in Wills’s room as well.

  Mom sat for a moment lost in thought, before asking me gently, “What was the competition anyway?”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” I muttered.

  Later on, I heard Wills go into his room. After a few moments, I got up from my bed and knocked on his door.

  “Wills,” I said. No answer.

  “Wills,” I tried again.

  “Don’t want to speak to you.”

  I opened the door and hovered in the doorway. “It’s just a story. I didn’t mean any harm by it. I’m sorry, all right?”

  “It’s about me and how horrible it is living with me,” he snarled.

  “You shouldn’t have gone into my room. You don’t like it if I go into your room,” I said, trying to be patient.

  “There’s nothing to hide in my room,” he said smugly.

  “Isn’t there? What about under your mattress?” I blurted out.

  Wills went very silent. At last, without looking at me, he said, “You’ve been watching too many little-boy films.”

  “There’s an envelope under your mattress and it’s got money in it, lots of it,” I hissed.

  “Is there?” said Wills. “Golly, what I could do with some money.”

  He jumped off the bed, lifted the mattress up as high as he could, and peered underneath.

  “Like I said,” he grinned. “You’ve been watching too many films.”

  “There was an envelope there and you know it,” I said savagely.

  I didn’t wait for him to deny it. There was no point in arguing. The envelope was gone. No knife. No envelope. No story.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I started to
get not-very-nice messages on my cell phone after that. Mostly it was rude names and stupid stuff like that. Those were from Wills. But there were others, more threatening, which came from numbers I didn’t recognize and which told me in graphic detail what would happen to me if I tried to get Wills into trouble. I know they were from Wills’s friends, and that he must have given them my number, but I couldn’t believe he knew what they were writing.

  I wasn’t really scared, but you wouldn’t like it if your cell phone told you you had a message and you kept finding it was something you didn’t want to read, especially if you knew that the person who sent it was having a good laugh thinking about the effect it was having on you. I began to leave my phone switched off, and sometimes I didn’t even take it with me when I went out, because when one of those messages came it put me in a bad mood. That meant that I missed important messages, like when Jack wanted me to meet him at the scrap yard to help him practice soccer skills, because he had a chance of being soccer captain. And when Mom asked me to pick up some chicken for dinner because she had forgotten and didn’t have time, so we ended up eating potatoes and broccoli and carrots with scrambled egg. And when Dad sent me a “What did you think of football last night?” message and got all huffy, because he thought I was mad at him and hadn’t bothered to reply, which I would have done because it was a GREAT game, and Dad supports the team that won.

  When Wills was at home he acted as though nothing had happened, and as though we were all right with each other. I pretended nothing was happening as well, because I thought if I didn’t react, his friends would get bored and stop pestering me. Mom said she was glad that we had made up. She wanted me to enter the story competition with a different story, but I didn’t want to, NO WAY JOSE. I was too upset at seeing MY BROTHER ripped to shreds, and I was secretly determined that one day I would write that story again, for myself.

  It was a Dad weekend the weekend following the story storm. On Saturday morning, Wills announced that he didn’t want to go, that no one could make him go, that he had better things to do, and that if Dad wanted to see him then he should make the effort and come home. Mom tried to persuade him, but he was stubborn, and when Dad arrived to pick us up he was still refusing to go. Dad didn’t make a fuss, and he didn’t try to change Wills’s mind. I was pleased. I was looking forward to my first Wills-free time with Dad. Then Dad went and spoiled it by saying that he had bought a brand new computer with a new game to play on it, and that he couldn’t wait to play against me. Wills jumped up from the couch.