What About Will Page 4

  Might not think

  that’s selfish.

  But I do.

  Mostly because

  I miss her.

  Sometimes I wake

  up at night, sure

  I can hear her singing.

  But then, when I listen

  real hard, all I can hear

  is the wind outside.

  Sometimes I come

  home from school

  and head straight

  to the kitchen,

  where she used to help

  me with my homework.

  But now, when I toss

  my backpack onto

  a chair, there’s no one

  there to ask about my day

  or keep me from sticking

  my fingers into the jar

  of peanut butter.

  Sometimes I unscrew

  the lid from the bottle

  of her shampoo I hid

  in my closet, just to

  remember how earthy

  her hair always smells—

  like rosemary and vanilla.

  But then, when I close

  it up, my room reeks

  again of dirty socks

  and stinky shoes

  and I have to crack

  a window or two.

  Sometimes when I ride

  my bike up the driveway,

  I remember to put it in

  the garage, leaning it on

  the kickstand, safe

  from front-yard thieves

  or wayward cars.

  Other times, like right

  now, I totally don’t care

  and leave it dumped

  sideways on the lawn.

  When I think too hard

  about Mom, I don’t care

  about anything.

  Will Isn’t Here

  So I scoot around

  the house, into the side

  yard, and unlock the door

  with the key we keep

  stashed beneath

  the garden gnome’s butt.

  The air inside hangs

  like a hot blanket.

  Dad makes us keep

  the air conditioner low

  when we’re not home.

  I crank it up now,

  and as I reach

  for the button,

  a wicked stench

  leaks from my armpit.

  Better clean up

  or they might not

  let me inside

  the restaurant.

  First, I try to call Will

  and see if he can give

  us a ride. But it goes

  straight to voice mail.

  Big surprise.

  I go to my room, grab

  some clean clothes, dump

  my uniform in the bathroom

  hamper. Dad wants us to help

  him keep things neat.

  I have to work hard enough

  without picking up after

  the two of you boys.

  That’s true, so why would

  Will toss his dirty stuff on the floor

  right next to the laundry basket?

  I take care of that for him,

  turn the shower to barely

  lukewarm, step under

  the not-quite-cool waterfall.

  Ah! That feels good.

  Good enough to make me

  want to sing. I must’ve caught

  the music bug from my mom.

  I guess I sing

  way too loud

  way too much.

  Tone it down, please,

  Dad always says.

  Will just yells, Shut up!

  But I Won’t Bug Anyone

  Singing here in the shower.

  One of Mom’s favorite songs

  comes to mind, and as I lather

  my hair, I belt out, “I’m still

  standing. Yeah, yeah, yeah . . .”

  A stream of shampoo

  gets into my eyes.

  I’m fighting the sting

  when suddenly

  something crashes,

  really smashes,

  in the house.

  What do I do?

  Is it a burglar?

  Should I yell?

  Be super quiet?

  I’m still soapy when I turn

  off the water, grab a towel,

  and wrap it around me

  before cracking the door

  and peeking out.

  Someone’s in the house,

  for sure. But who?

  And how did they get in?

  I hear feet crunching on

  pieces of whatever fell.

  The noise is coming from . . .

  my room. At least, I think so.

  My heart thumps.

  Too fast.

  Too hard.

  Feels like it might pop

  right out of my chest.

  I slide clothes over

  my sticky skin.

  Nudge the door open.

  Plot my escape.

  Get ready to run.

  On your mark . . .

  get set . . .

  go!

  I Sprint

  Down the hall,

  eyes on the front door.

  But the bottoms

  of my feet are still wet,

  and all of a sudden

  I’m skidding.

  Sliding.

  Slipping.

  Just past my room,

  down I go. “Ow!”

  The word falls out

  of my mouth,

  and now I’m caught.

  Sure enough,

  footsteps slap

  in my direction.

  Dude! You okay?

  “Will! When did you get

  home? And what are you

  doing in my room?”

  His face turns the color

  of a tomato and he starts

  to stutter.

  I—I—I . . .

  And now I remember

  the crashing noise.

  I don’t even stand up,

  just crawl real fast,

  trying to get into my room.

  Will blocks me.

  “What did you break?”

  More sputtering. I—I . . .

  Something goes off

  inside me, sharp

  and hot, like a

  F

  I

  R

  E

  C

  R

  A

  C

  K

  E

  R

  !!!

  I Reverse a Little

  Take aim, bomb straight

  into his legs, knocking

  him backward, but somehow

  he stays on his feet.

  You little . . .

  Will’s a lot bigger than me.

  Thump! Oof! Thwack!

  Ow—again!

  Only, this time my chin

  smacks the floor and I find

  myself facedown, big brother

  straddling my back. “Let. Me. Up.”

  Not till you say you’re sorry.

  The only part of me

  I can move is my head,

  and when I lift it, my eyes

  travel across the hardwood

  boards to the open closet door.

  Just inside is a splash

  of coins, and the
peanut

  butter jar that spilled them

  when it fell off the shelf

  where I keep it, filled

  with my allowance and

  odd-job cash I’ve earned.

  There should be bills, too,

  but I can’t see any of them.

  I force my voice steady.

  “What happened to my money?”

  The pressure on my back

  vanishes as Will jumps up.

  He’s totally busted, so he has

  nothing to say but the truth.

  I borrowed some. I’ll pay

  you back. Don’t worry.

  “But you have your own money.

  Why would you take mine?

  What do you need it for?”

  Something important, okay?

  I want to know more, but

  the look on his face tells me

  I’d better let it drop.

  “When will you pay me back?”

  As soon as I can. I have to go.

  “Dad’s taking us to Steak ’n Shake.

  You’re coming, right?”

  Can’t. Not tonight.

  Just Like That

  He leaves.

  No apology.

  No see you later.

  No asking if I need a ride.

  If he was going to borrow

  money, why didn’t he ask?

  Wait. Was he going to

  straight-up steal it?

  If I didn’t find him there

  in my room, right after

  the peanut butter jar

  crashed, I might never

  have known where

  that money went.

  I’m not sure about

  the change, but I’m positive

  I had about sixty dollars

  in ones, fives, and tens.

  And now it’s all gone.

  Will took it.

  What kind of brother

  does something like that?

  Will’s been super hard

  to get along with for a while.

  But lately there’s something else.

  Something more.

  Something worse.

  Something strange.

  Even after his injury,

  even when he was distant,

  he used to be decent.

  Maybe he wouldn’t talk

  much, but stealing?

  Cheating? Lying?

  No, he did not do

  those things.

  I need to talk to Dad.

  But it’s hard when he’s so busy.

  I need to talk to Mom.

  But she doesn’t have time for me.

  I need to put this family

  back together.

  I can.

  I know it.

  I can fix it.

  I have to.

  But I don’t have

  a clue how.

  I Call Bram

  Tell him to let his mom know

  we’ll need that ride after all.

  Then I text Dad, who’s still

  working his shift:

  Will isn’t here, but Bram’s mom

  can drive us. Meet you at 8:15?

  It’s a few minutes before

  I get his text back:

  Better make it 8:30. If I’m not

  there when you get there, I will be

  shortly. Mouth’s watering already.

  Bram should be here around

  eight. While I wait, I scoop up

  the spilled coins, count as I put

  them back in the jar. Twelve

  dollars, sixty-two cents.

  Guess I’d better keep a total

  so I know if more goes missing.

  I wonder why he needed the money.

  It must’ve been important.

  Besides, what happened to

  his own stash of allowance cash?

  And should I tell Dad?

  I’m Still Thinking That Over

  When Bram thunk-thunks

  the door-knocker thing.

  When I open up, he just stands

  there. He leans forward, squints,

  runs a hand through the blond

  stubble covering his head.

  What’s wrong with your face?

  “What’s wrong with your face?”

  No, dude. I mean it. What

  happened to your face?

  I’m confused. “Um . . . what?”

  He pushes inside,

  sets down his backpack.

  Your jaw is black and blue.

  Did somebody punch you?

  I touch my cheeks. Chin.

  Ouch. Now I remember.

  “No, but Will knocked me

  down. It’s really that bad?”

  Go look in the mirror.

  He follows me to the bathroom.

  I flip on the light, and . . . whoa!

  Spreading right and left

  from the cleft in the middle

  of my chin is a huge bruise.

  “Wow. That’s beautiful, huh?

  Think Dad will notice?”

  Unless he’s mostly blind

  and can’t find his glasses.

  Why did Will do that to you?

  “Your mom’s waiting.

  I’ll tell you in the car.”

  I lock the front door behind

  us and we get in the back seat

  of a sweet little Mustang.

  Someday I want a car like this.

  Or maybe a Ferrari.

  Bram’s mom says hi and

  looks in her rearview mirror.

  Before she can ask, I say,

  “I know. What went down is . . .”

  By the Time

  We get to Steak ’n Shake,

  they know all the details.

  Well, except for

  the details I don’t know.

  That’s messed up, says Bram.

  It’s not my place to say, adds

  his mom, but you really should

  talk to your father about it.

  “I know.” I’m quiet for

  a second. “Do you think

  Will’s in trouble?”

  Sounds like he could be.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Martin.

  I’ll definitely talk to Dad.”

  I will. But when?

  Before, during, or after burgers?

  Not to mention the fries.

  Ooh, and a shake. Maybe Oreo—

  So, we going in or what?

  Bram sounds impatient.

  “Sorry, man. Just call me

  milkshake brain.”

  MB for short?

  We agree that works

  and head inside.

  The hostess says we can

  look for Dad, but I don’t see

  him yet, so Bram and I wait

  in chairs against one

  peach-colored wall.

  I’m glad I’m not waiting

  by myself, or I’d be bored.

  Bram and I talk about baseball

  and whether or not girls

  should be able to play

  on the same teams with guys.

  Bram says no, but I ask,

  “Well, what if a girl really

  could play just as good?”

  He shakes his head. Maybe

  in Little League. Would

  never happen in the majors.

  “Probably not. But I’m

  saying what—”

  The do
or opens. In walks

  Dad. He’s not alone.

  The Lady

  Who’s with him is pretty.

  Not like a movie star.

  Like a real person.

  Natural.

  I don’t think she’s wearing

  makeup, and her hair falls

  to her shoulders in thick

  brown ribbons. Easy, like

  all she has to do is brush it.

  I notice that before Dad

  spots me. When he does,

  he lifts his hand to wave.

  The lady’s hand

  slips out of his,

  drops to her side.

  Wait . . . what?

  Bram pokes me. Who’s that?

  “No clue.”

  She follows Dad over to

  where we’re sitting.

  Hey, boys, says Dad. Good

  to see you again, Bram.

  It’s pretty bright in here,

  so Dad can’t help but see

  the dark bruise on my chin.

  What happened to you?

  Did you get hit by a ball?

  I shake my head. But now

  I don’t want to talk about

  Will. Not in front of a stranger.

  “I tripped and bumped the floor.”

  Bram gives me one of those

  looks that means seriously?

  But he doesn’t say anything.

  You should be more careful,

  says Dad. You don’t want

  to knock out a tooth or something.

  “Right.” I stare at the lady,

  who clears her throat,

  waiting for an introduction.

  Oh! The tips of Dad’s ears turn

  red, and I bet they feel hot.

  This is my friend Lily. Lily, this

  is Trace and his buddy Bram.

  Lily Smiles

  It makes her face

  look really friendly

  and I don’t want it to,

  because she isn’t my friend.

  But she is Dad’s friend.

  What does that even mean?

  So good to meet you, Trace.

  Your father brags about you

  so much I feel like I know you.

  “Interesting. He hasn’t

  even mentioned you.”

  Cold.

  Frosty.

  Like how I feel inside.

  Trace—

  It’s okay, Sebastian. I’m sure

  this came as a huge surprise.

  Let’s get a table. I’m starving.

  Huh. I think I just lost

  my appetite. I’m not

  a big fan of surprises.

  At least, not this kind.

  No One Says Much

  As we’re seated near

  the back of the room.

  Lily and Dad discuss the menu,