We went to watch the television when we’d finished. Mom came back and sat down on the couch. Wills tried to nuzzle up to her like a soppy dog, but Mom pulled away and told him to go back to his chair. I almost felt sorry for Wills because he looked as if he’d been punched in the face. He went upstairs to his room and stayed there, and I guessed he was working on his fossils. Mom didn’t even say goodnight to him like she usually does with big hugs and big warnings about staying in bed. She just called, “Sleep tight,” through the closed door. Wills didn’t answer.
I heard Wills’s door open in the middle of the night. The stairs creaked as he crept down them. I thought he was going into the kitchen on his usual midnight-snack hunt, but the noises were different. I was sure I heard the front door click open. I saw the security light go on through my curtains, but it did that quite often because of all the cats that prowled around outside. I got out of bed and peeped through the window. I couldn’t see anything, but there was that clicking noise again, followed by the normal kitchen noises of cupboard doors banging and knives clattering. Wills making himself a sandwich.
Knives. Was the knife still in the trash can? Was that what Wills had been doing?
Soon after that he came back upstairs and into his room. Did he have the knife with him? Where was he going to hide it? What was he going to do with it? I fell asleep with the questions buzzing around and around inside my head, like a fly that can’t get out of a window because it’s closed, but bashes against it endlessly.
Chapter Ten
Clingon announced the team that weekend. I wasn’t on it, surprise, surprise. I was a reserve, but so was nearly everyone else who wasn’t on the actual team. When Wills heard his name called, he went berserk. He galloped right around the outside of the court, whooping and shrieking and hollering like a baboon with a dart in its bottom. Clingon waited until he had come back, then grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulled him forward so that they were eyeball to eyeball, and growled, “Any more nonsense like that, William Jennings, and your brother will play instead of you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Columbine, sir,” said Wills. “Thank you for choosing me for the team.”
“I hope I don’t live to regret it.” Clingon let Wills go. “You may be talented,” he said sharply, “but you’re also a pain in the butt.”
“Yes, sir,” said Wills. “I know.”
Clingon stared hard at Wills as if he thought that Wills might have been mocking him, but he wasn’t sure.
Wills said quickly, “I promise not to let you down, sir.”
Clingon went on to talk about the tournament he had entered us for, how his teams had always done well in the past, and how he had high hopes for us. The tournament was to take place in three weeks’ time, and we would all have a chance to play, even the reserves. I was pleased and alarmed at the same time when he said that. I was sure the good players wouldn’t want me coming in, even if I wasn’t the worst one there, which I don’t think I was. I knew Wills wouldn’t want me coming in, and he said so when Clingon dismissed us for the day.
“I think it’s stupid letting the reserves have a go,” he aimed at me. “If they’re reserves it’s because they’re not good enough, and if they’re not good enough and they play then we’ll lose. Stands to reason.”
“You’re not that much better,” I argued without much conviction. “If the reserves have to be there, it’s only fair they get a chance.”
“Best they stay at home, then.”
“I don’t want to play anyway,” I said. “Especially not if you’re playing. You never pass to me.”
That’s because you’re bad,” said Wills triumphantly.
Dad arrived at that moment, thank goodness. Wills galloped over to him, threw his arms around him in a bear hug, and swung him around in a circle.
“Guess what, Daddy-waddy,” he cried. “There’s this big tournament coming up and I’m on the team and Chris is only a reserve.”
He galloped away, picked up a basketball, ran the length of the court, and dunked it effortlessly into the basket.
“Someone’s excited,” grimaced Dad. “Let’s hope he can contain it. Well done, Chris. Reserve’s good. When you grow a bit you could easily make the team.”
“I’ll get to play,” I said. “Clingon said so.”
“Even better.” Dad smiled. “I’ll have two superstars to watch.”
“Are you going to watch, then?”
“Did you say you’re going to watch me, Dad?” asked Wills, who had had the ball snatched from him by Clingon and been told to go home or else.
“Of course I’ll watch,” said Dad. “As long as you behave.”
“Of course I’ll behave,” snorted Wills.
He didn’t stop talking all the way back to Dad’s—about how many baskets he was going to score, and how he was going to make Dad proud, and how he hoped Mom might come and watch as well and how he hoped Clingon wouldn’t let me play for too long because it wouldn’t be fair to me, because I wasn’t quite up to it even though I had improved (thanks for the compliment!). Dad told him off for saying I wasn’t up to it, but I began to pray I would be ill on the day of the tournament so that I wouldn’t have to play at all, because I would be bound to make a fool of myself and let Dad and Mom down as well as everyone else.
When we got back to the apartment, Wills was like a kangaroo on a trampoline. He bounced from one room to the other, picking things up and throwing them
