“Everyone under the age of fourteen. There’ll be winners in two age groups—nine to eleven and twelve to fourteen.”
“I wouldn’t stand a chance. And I wouldn’t have a clue what to write about.”
I couldn’t believe Penny was even suggesting it.
“You’ve as much chance as anyone else,” she persisted. “You told me yourself that your teacher says you’ve got a good imagination, so finding something to write about shouldn’t be a problem.”
“That’s different,” I argued. “That’s just in our school. This is in the whole country.”
“Take the flyer home with you and think about it,” Penny said, thrusting it at me. “I’ll help you if you decide to give it a try.”
I took it sort of grudgingly but I was intrigued as well, though I didn’t let her see that.
“Anyway,” she said, “why the long face when you came in?”
“Wills played hooky today.”
“Ah, I might have guessed Wills would have something to do with it. It’s not your problem though, is it?” Penny looked hard at me.
“I saw him going off with these two friends of his that are a lot older than him and not very nice.”
“It’s still not your problem, Chris,” she said. “That’s for the school and your parents to sort out.”
I took a deep breath. “He came home with a knife the other day.”
“A knife?”
“One of those fold-up ones. He said that he’d found it and he threw it in the trash can when I was with him, but I think he might have taken it out again,” I explained.
“What would he want a knife for?” Penny asked.
“Probably just because when he finds things he likes to keep them,” I said, unconvinced.
“But you’re worried that he’s got it,” Penny said.
“A bit,” I answered. “When Wills is with these friends he thinks it’s cool to do what they do.”
“Perhaps you ought to tell your parents, then?”
“How can I when I don’t even know if Wills has still got the knife? If he has, I don’t know where it is. I might be stirring things up when there’s nothing to stir up. And I’m sure if he has got it it’s just to go in his collection.”
I was trying so hard to believe it, because then I could push it to the back of my mind and not have to worry about it again.
“Perhaps you could look in his room, just to put your mind at rest,” Penny suggested.
I nodded and wondered if that’s what I should do. Then, if I found the knife I could throw it away.
“If you’re really concerned though, Chris,” said Penny, “then you must tell your parents.”
I nodded again, but I knew I didn’t want to tell Mom because it would worry her too much, and I didn’t want to tell Dad because he would flip out, and there might not be anything for them to worry or get angry over.
When I left, Penny came over and pointed to the flyer sticking out of my backpack.
“Forget about what Wills may or may not be up to if you can,” she said, “and think about that story.”
“I’ll try,” I replied.
It was really quiet when I got home, like there was nobody in. I found Mom in the kitchen turning the pages of a magazine. There was no sign of Wills. Mom didn’t say hello. She looked at me and asked, “Did you know Wills didn’t go into school today?”
I did the blush thing. “He didn’t go the right way, but I wasn’t sure.”
“You should have called me, Chris.”
“I wasn’t sure,” I said again. “Not until I didn’t see him at lunchtime. And then I wasn’t sure, because sometimes he doesn’t have his lunch.”
“Why doesn’t he have his lunch?” Mom fired.
“I don’t know, do I? He just doesn’t.”
“It’s important that I know these things,” said Mom. “If Wills doesn’t eat properly it makes him worse.”
“I can’t look out for him all the time, Mom,” I said angrily. “I’ve got my own life to lead.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’ve been worried sick, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“Where is he now?” I hardly dared ask.
“He’s in his room, refusing to come out because he says I don’t trust him,” Mom sighed.
“What happened?”
“The school called me at work and wanted to know why Wills wasn’t in. I called him on his cell phone to find out where he was, but it was turned off. Wills maintains that he came back here because he didn’t feel well and that he’s been here all day asleep.”
That’s a good one, I thought to myself. “He really expects you to believe that?” I said.
“I don’t believe it,” snorted Mom, “because I came home at lunchtime and he wasn’t here. He said he’d gone out for some fresh air to make himself feel better. He must think I was born yesterday.”
“I did see him with two boys just before school,” I ventured, “but I don’t know if he stayed with them.”
“What boys?” Mom asked.
“These two morons he hangs around with. They’re not very nice.”
I felt that I was betraying Wills, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t keep covering up for him, and anyway Mom needed to know, if she didn’t know already, that Wills was up to no good.
“Do they go to your school?”
“No. And they’re older than Wills. They look about sixteen.”
Mom shot upstairs before I had a chance to stop her, which meant that I was most likely in for a battering from Wills when he next got me on my own. I went up to my own room, closed the door, and threw myself on the bed. I picked up the book I had been reading, but put it down again because I couldn’t concentrate. Then I pulled the flyer from my backpack and studied it.
The National Tell-Us-A-Story Competition. First Prize in each age group: a dictionary, a thesaurus, 20 books of your choice, and publication of your story in a national magazine. Second Prize: a dictionary, a
