“No ‘hello’ today, then?” Penny sat down next to me. “That’s heavy reading for an eleven-year-old, isn’t it?” she grinned.
I looked at the cover of the book and read: THE SILENT WEAPON: POISONS AND ANTIDOTES IN THE MIDDLE AGES.
“And they say the school curriculum is getting easier,” Penny scoffed. “Not judging by that book, or are you looking for something to use yourself?”
I managed to smile, but I didn’t know if I wanted to talk about what had happened.
“Let me guess,” said Penny. “Someone’s upset you, so you’re looking for a poison that you can put in their drink without their knowing.”
“I wish,” I said.
“I think you need something more up-to-date,” Penny laughed. “Poisons have come a long way since the Middle Ages. Talking about poison, and since there’s no one else around, how about a cup of the library’s best tea?”
“I’d rather have the poison.” I grinned in spite of myself.
“That’s better,” said Penny. “I’ve never seen you looking so glum. Has that brother of yours been upsetting you again? I’ll be after him on my broomstick if he’s not careful.”
“Isn’t it boring in here when nobody comes in? I mean, what’s the point in being a librarian in a library nobody visits?” I was desperate to change the subject but I thought I might be being rude.
“You visit,” said Penny, “and I have my other regulars.”
“Not many,” I continued.
“You’re right.” Penny grimaced. “I wish we could drag people in off the streets so that we could show them what they’re missing. Stuck on shelves, books just gather dust. But when you open them up, the dust falls away and the most wonderful imaginary worlds are waiting there to be explored. Not that I need to tell you that.”
“I’d like to be a writer,” I said. I wondered immediately where that thought had come from, because I hadn’t had it before. And then I felt stupid for saying it, because the chances of someone like me becoming a writer were absolutely ZERO. I’d probably end up in an office like Dad and turn into a bowling pin.
“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be,” Penny said. “As long as you have plenty of imagination, an urge to share the world that’s inside your head, and an ability to bring it all to life with words. It sounds easy put like that, doesn’t it? It’s not of course, and I can’t do it, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t try.”
“My teacher says I’ve got a good imagination.”
“Well, there you are, then, that’s a start.” Penny smiled. “Who knows, one day I might be recommending your books to my readers. Speaking of which, I’ve been keeping this new novel aside for you. It’s being heralded as the book of the year. Tell me what you think.”
I thanked her and stood up to go.
“Talk to someone, Chris, if things are getting too much for you. Don’t bottle it all up.”
“What, tell on my brother? He’d never let me hear the end of it.”
I almost blurted it all out to Penny there and then because she was being so nice to me and because I was dreading going home and seeing Wills. I was dreading seeing Mom too, because of all the guilty secrets that were piling up inside me. I didn’t blurt anything out. If I had started I think I would have gone all blubbery, and I didn’t want Penny to think I was a crybaby. And what could she do? Anyway, Wills was my brother, till death us do part, worst luck.
When I got home, Mom and Wills were sitting on the sofa and Wills was being all butter-wouldn’t-melt lovey-dovey. Mom looked happy like she does when Wills isn’t being a nightmare, so I tried not to be grumpy even though I felt as grumpy as a hungry giant. Wills stayed lovey-dovey all evening and we managed to watch a film on the television without him leaping up and down every five minutes. It made me feel sick though, Wills being like that with Mom—and acting as if he was my best friend. He couldn’t just pretend nothing had happened because I’d seen him and I knew, and no matter how much his friends threatened me it wouldn’t stop me knowing.
I WANTED TO HIT HIM. I wanted to wipe that soppy grin off his face and make him pay for what he’d done, like he was making me pay.
I went up to bed early. Mom followed me.
“Is there anything wrong, Chris?” she said. “You’re very quiet tonight.”
“I’m a bit tired, that’s all, Mom,” I mumbled.
“It’s good to have Wills so calm,” she said brightly. “It makes all the difference. I expect it’s the calm before another storm, but it’s been a nice evening.”
I nodded and said goodnight. But it wouldn’t be a good night—Wills would come in, I was sure of it.
It was two o’clock when he woke me by plunking himself on my bed.
“Are you asleep, Chris?” I heard.
“I was until some great oaf landed on my bed,” I growled.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he said. “They made me do it. Said I was a big wuss if I didn’t do it. Said they wouldn’t be my friends if I didn’t do it.”
“Who needs friends like that?” I said.
“Most people don’t like me,” Wills muttered.
“I’d rather not have any friends than have friends who make me do things I don’t want to,” I replied.
“You don’t understand what it’s like,” said Wills.
He was trying to make me feel sorry for him! He should feel sorry for me! But I did feel sort of sorry for him in a way, because most people
