When I told Jack about the envelope the next day, he said I should have opened it up the minute I found it.
“Holy cow, Chris,” he exclaimed. “Do you really think it was money?”
“It felt like it,” I said.
“How much money?” he wanted to know.
“How do I know? Fifty dollars. One hundred dollars. Two hundred dollars.”
“Two hundred dollars! As much as that!”
“Maybe. Maybe less, maybe more. I don’t know what two hundred dollars feels like. And it might not have been money at all.”
“Why didn’t you look?” Jack persisted. “I would’ve.”
“Because Wills came home, and anyway I wasn’t sure I wanted to know,” I said.
“It would’ve been better than not knowing,” Jack argued. “All you can do now is to keep going around and around in circles in your head, because you don’t know.”
“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
