Something flashed past my face, and I screamed. A pigeon landed behind me and fled through the door. I became aware of several more pigeons scrabbling around above me, and saw piles of their droppings on the steps ahead.
Then I heard a different sound. It was like someone sobbing. I took a deep breath and whispered, “Who’s there?”
“Don’t hurt me,” a voice cried back.
“Wills?” I said.
The sobs increased. I climbed to the top of the steps, ducking to avoid the sheets of cobwebs that hung from the rafters.
A huge room opened up before me. The darkness was broken only by patches of light where the roof had caved in. Sinister-looking shapes seemed to move around in the gloom, but I saw that they were only pieces of scrap metal that had been left lying there. The sobs were coming from the other end of the room. I walked slowly towards them, the floorboards creaking and groaning under my feet.
“Wills?” I said.
I moved forward again, until I could make out Wills’s face. He was cowering in a corner, shaking uncontrollably.
“What are you doing, Wills? What’s happened?”
Wills howled now, his whole body heaving. It was frightening. I didn’t know what to do to make him stop. If only I’d had my cell phone with me I could have called Mom or Dad.
“Where’s your cell phone, Wills?” I asked. “Let me call Mom.”
He shook his head miserably. I didn’t understand what that was supposed to mean. And then I remembered that he had thrown it into his gym bag.
“Come on, Wills,” I said. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
At last, he whimpered, “It is that bad. It’s worse than bad.”
“What is? Tell me, Wills.”
“I’m going to go to jail.”
The words leapt around inside my head as I tried to make sense of them.
“What are you talking about?” I spluttered.
“When they find out I was there, they’ll send me to jail.”
“Don’t be silly, Wills. Nobody’s going to send you to jail,” I said.
Why did everything have to be such a drama? I thought.
“They didn’t tell me they were going to do the library. I didn’t want to do it, Chris, but they made me go with them.”
He started to sob again. Suddenly I felt as if my insides were being squeezed tight by an iron fist.
“I hate them,” howled Wills. He shrank back further into the corner. “They might come and get me. I ran away. They said they’d come and get me if I ran away.”
“Your friends?” I whispered.
“They’re not my friends,” he wailed. “I hate them. They threatened that woman with a knife.”
This was no play. This was for real. Even Wills couldn’t make this up. I wanted to laugh and cry and be sick all at the same time. I was losing control. This was my brother talking about my friend. A knife, he said. THE KNIFE. I wanted to run away, to get out of that place, and be at home sitting on the couch with Mom. I wished this was just a bad dream so that I could wake up in the morning and everything would be like it was every day, with Mom clattering away downstairs and hippo snorts coming from Wills’s bedroom.
“They said we were just going to frighten her because she’s a stuck up cow and deserves it. I didn’t know they were going to use a knife. I didn’t know they were going to trash the place.”
I was angry then. I could feel it boiling up inside me like a volcano.
“She isn’t a stuck up cow,” I raged at him. “She’s my friend. What have you done?”
I started to pummel him with my fists.
“Why do you have to ruin everything, EVERYTHING?” I yelled.
I wanted to hurt him so badly. He tried to protect himself with his arms, while he begged me to stop.
Then the hurricane broke through. He yelled at the top of his voice, “LEAVE ME ALONE. IT WASN’T MY FAULT!”
At the same time, he pushed me with all his might, hurling me backward like one of those crash test dummies. I went straight through the rotten floorboards. For a moment there was silence.
Shocked silence.
Then the pain hit me like a blow from a hammer, and Wills’s voice cried hysterically from above, “Chris, are you all right, Chris, oh God, please let him be all right, please don’t let him be dead!”
I lifted my head to speak, but the only sound I could make was a loud moan from deep in my throat. I saw that my right leg was twisted sideways. I knew right away it was broken. I’d seen soccer players with broken legs on the television. I tried to be brave like they were, because the funny thing is that if soccer players are really, really hurt they don’t make a fuss. It’s only when they’re being prima donnas or want to get another player into trouble or want to make the referee point to the penalty spot, that they roll around as if they’re about to die. I didn’t think I was about to die, even if the pain was worse than any pain I had ever felt in my life. But I was scared, and I wanted Mom.
“Chris?”
Wills’s voice was panic-stricken. I heard a low wail and thought it was him, until I realized it had come from my own lips. There was a scuffling sound up above.
“Wills,” I cried, summoning all my strength, “keep away from the hole, Wills! Don’t come near the hole.”
“I thought you were dead,” he howled. “I didn’t mean it, Chris. I didn’t mean any of it.”
“I think I’ve broken my leg, Wills. You need to get help.”
“I can’t go outside,” he said. “They might get me.”
He was terrified, I could hear it in his voice.
“There’s nobody there, Wills.”
“I want to stay here with you. Please don’t make me go.”
I heard him moving around again. I was scared that he might fall through the floor and hurt
