“Well, you only just got into those trousers,” guffawed Wills.
Dad took a playful swipe at him, then took Mom by the elbow and steered her out of the house.
“Come on, you two, let’s show them how it’s really done.”
Anyone would think he was playing as well, I thought.
It felt peculiar to be in the back seat of the car next to Wills, with Mom and Dad in the front just like old times, except that Wills didn’t bash me, or lie on me, and Mom and Dad talked to each other like they didn’t know each other very well, which I suppose they didn’t anymore. Wills got a text on his cell phone. He looked at me to see if I was trying to read it. I wasn’t and I turned away, but out of the corner of my eye I could see him texting back with urgent thumbs. Another text came right back and after he had answered it again he snapped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket. He left it to vibrate there and I wondered why he didn’t want to see what the messages were.
When we arrived at the community center, it was packed with boys from other teams, all wearing different colors and slamming and dunking wherever they could find a bit of space. The noise was ear-splitting, but the excitement was catching and the butterflies in my stomach became more like enthusiastic bees. Wills looked startled at first and stood behind me, but then he spotted Clingon and pushed past me to announce himself. Mom and Dad patted me on the back and wished me good luck, before going off for coffee and to find seats in the bleachers.
It was good to have a warm-up before the tournament started. Clingon found a corner of the hall and made us do some drills, then he made us huddle together for a team talk, which ended with us all yelling JUST WATCH US FLY! at the tops of our voices.
We weren’t playing in the first game, so we sat on benches at the side to watch and “scope out the opposition” as Clingon put it. Wills couldn’t stop fidgeting. I didn’t blame him, because all the waiting was turning the bees back into butterflies again. Both the teams in the first game seemed to be too good for us, and I was sure we would be squashed. But Wills turned to me and said loudly that they were a load of donkeys and we could beat them with our boxers around our ankles. Then his cell phone went off. He pulled it out of his sweat pants and read the message. His face went white and he slammed it shut. Then he opened it again and sent a text. When the reply came, Clingon glared at him and told him to turn it off or else. Wills read the message, slammed the phone shut again, and threw it into his bag. He saw me looking at him and stuck his tongue out, but he didn’t go back to watching the game. He was biting his fingernails and his leg was twitching up and down while he stared around the hall.
Suddenly he jumped to his feet, yelling, “I need the bathroom!” and rushed off in the direction of the toilets.
“Don’t be long,” Clingon shouted after him. “We’re on in a minute.”
Wills didn’t reply. He disappeared through a door and a few seconds later the whistle blew for the end of the first game. Clingon told us to jog up and down the court while the other teams drifted off, then called us together for a final team talk.
“Where’d that brother of yours go?” he asked irritably.
“Should I go and see if he’s all right?” I replied.
“Be quick about it.”
I ran across the hall, glancing up to see if Mom and Dad were watching. They waved, not realizing that anything was the matter. I raised my hand, but kept on running through the door Wills had taken, past some stairs and into the gents toilets.
“Wills,” I called, “hurry up, we’re on!”
There was no reply. The doors to two of the stalls were shut. I called again, but there was still no reply. One of the doors opened but the boy who came out wasn’t Wills. I stood impatiently by the other door and hissed, “Wills, stop messing around and come out. You’ve been in there ages.”
There was a loud fart, which convinced me that it was Wills, but when the door eventually opened another boy came out, grinned at me, and said, “Wrong person, buddy,” before loping off back to the gym.
Wills was nowhere to be seen. I checked the disabled toilet next door, because it would have been just like Wills to go in there and pull the handle, and I ran up the stairs, which led to another part of the building that was obviously out of bounds. There was no sign of him. On the way back down the stairs I met T.J., who was one of the other reserves.
“What in the world are you doing, Chris, and where’s Wills?” he shouted. “Clingon’s going nuts out there.”
“I can’t find him!” I cried.
“Typical,” groaned T.J. “Trust your brother to let us down.”
“He was worried about playing,” I said rather lamely.
“We were all worried about him playing,” T.J. snapped. “You’d better get back in there quick, and tell Clingon what’s happened.”
As I went back through the doors, the whistle blew for the start of our game. I made my way around the side of the court and glanced up again at Mom and Dad. They knew something was wrong this time. Dad mouthed, “Where’s Wills?” and I shrugged my shoulders. He spoke to Mom and they both began to scour the gym. As I reached Clingon, who was shouting instructions across the court, I saw Dad get up and make for the doors to the toilets.
“I can’t find him,
