“I’m good at basketball,” he wheedled, “and Clingon thinks I can make the team if I behave myself, and I’m really going to try to behave myself. Really, really going to try.”
He meant it. I knew that. Sometimes Wills is as frustrated by his Acts Dumb and Dumber as we are, and I feel sorry for him then. The trouble is that however much he starts out trying, it never lasts very long, and then the feeling sorry turns to feeling murderous.
It was Dad who gave in. He said he would take us to basketball every Sunday, and on Mom’s Sundays he would pick us up first thing then bring us right back home afterward. That way she would be able to catch up on all the chores, so that she could spend proper time with us in the afternoon. You would think Dad had bought him the biggest ammonite in the world the way Wills danced around him, and hugged him, and wouldn’t let him go. I looked at Mom and Mom looked at me and I said, “I’ll stay and help you, Mom. I don’t think I’ll be any good at basketball.”
“That’s all right, sweetie,” she smiled. “You go with your dad and Wills.”
That wasn’t what she was supposed to say. I was about to argue when Wills started begging me to go, saying that he didn’t want to go on his own because he didn’t know anybody, and they might get at him if he messed up, and that he would behave himself if I went. I knew Dad wouldn’t want to stay with him. Nobody else’s parents stayed, and Dad had only stayed the first time just in case.
“I promise I’ll be good, Chris,” he said, going down on his knees. “Promise, promise, promise. Chris cross my heart and hope to die, kick my head in if I tell a lie.”
“I will too,” I growled. “Only joking, Mom.”
I wondered what I had got myself in to, and why I had gotten myself into it. It’s what happened. I always wound up doing things I didn’t really want to do because of Wills. Like the not-telling-Mom things.
“If you don’t behave, Wills, you know what will happen,” warned Dad. “Mr. Columbine won’t stand for any nonsense and you’ll be out at the first sign.”
“I know, Daddy-waddy, and I’m going to be as good as gold.”
He was, too, when we went the following weekend. As soon as he walked through the doors of the sports hall (not before!) he turned into Mr. Obedient. When Clingon called him over, he went over. When Clingon told him to put on a colored bib, he put it on. When Clingon told him to practice dribbling with the ball, he did it. Even his great gangly legs seemed to stay underneath his own body. Dad couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Why can’t he be like that all the time?” He hovered on the sideline, unsure whether it was safe to leave or not.
“It won’t last,” I muttered, trying to concentrate on my own dribbling and hating every minute of it.
“Well, I’ll be off, then.”
He headed quickly for the door. He looked as though he had been shot in the back when Wills suddenly yelled out, “Bye, Dad!” but he didn’t turn around, just waggled his fingers over his shoulder and disappeared.
Then it was just me and Wills. Groan. I was so uptight in case Wills decided to make me look stupid in front of a whole new load of people, that I made myself look stupid. I was terrible at everything Clingon asked us to do, and I was one of the useless ones he left on the bench when he put the others into two teams.
Wills was one of the best, and he knew it. His height gave him a big advantage and he rattled in basket after basket. Whenever he got too loud or aggressive, or tried to be too clever, Clingon slapped him down with a few sharp words or a dagger-like glare. The amazing thing was that Wills accepted the slapping. Did Clingon realize that this wasn’t the real Wills? I wondered. This Wills even tried to encourage me when, in the last five minutes, I was given a chance to play. Clingon might have thought he had Wills figured out, but he didn’t have me figured out at all. I didn’t want him to give me a chance just because he felt he couldn’t leave me out any longer.
I was so glad to see Dad when he arrived to take us home. Clingon told him again that Wills had great potential if he could just keep control of himself. As for me, he said that I needed to be more confident.
“Get stuck in there, young man, and you’ll do fine. You’re too damn scared of it at the moment.”
I had to blush then, didn’t I, and I wished I was darker skinned because then it wouldn’t show.
“See you next week, boys,” Clingon said, dismissing us.
“He’s such a dude, isn’t he, Dad?” said Wills as we left.
Chapter Seven
Wills wasn’t as good as gold at home. He was more messy than ever now that Dad wasn’t there to yell at him to clear up, and Mom didn’t have the time or energy after a long day’s work and all the cooking and washing and cleaning. When we got in from school before Mom had arrived home, Wills would raid the fridge, plunk himself down in front of the television, volume
