What About Will

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What About Will Page 10

by Ellen Hopkins


  Skye and I wait for him

  just outside the door.

  Thanks, Trace. He followed

  me all around the mall.

  “That guy’s a goon.”

  Exactly. A nasty goon.

  “What happened to the friend

  you were supposed to meet?”

  He’s running a little late.

  “He?”

  Kevin. My boyfriend.

  “Boyfriend? But what about

  Will? You said you miss him.”

  I do. I still love him, and probably

  always will. You can’t turn off love

  like the lights. But sometimes

  you have to move on.

  You Can’t Turn Off Love

  I hope that’s true.

  It kind of looks that way

  when Will finally comes outside.

  And it’s awkward.

  He exits the building,

  tense and scowling.

  But when he sees Skye,

  everything softens:

  his shoulders

  his jaw

  his eyes.

  He stands there,

  almost smiling,

  staring at Skye,

  who stands there,

  staring right back.

  Bet ol’ Kevin wouldn’t

  like this one bit.

  Finally, Skye opens her mouth.

  Good to see you, Will.

  Thanks for coming to the rescue.

  Wait. What?

  It wasn’t exactly Will

  who came to the rescue.

  I could say something.

  Will should say something.

  He does. No problem.

  But FYI, Jackson’s bark

  is worse than his bite.

  It’s one of Grandpa’s sayings.

  It means Jackson might be rude,

  but he wouldn’t actually hurt her.

  I’m not sure that’s true, though.

  And neither is Skye.

  Her face flares bright red.

  He was all over me, Will.

  I can’t believe you’re defending

  him. Your little brother understood.

  Trace doesn’t know Jackson

  like I do. He’s a friend.

  You used to have better friends.

  That’s for sure.

  I have to go. Is it okay

  if I give you a hug, Trace?

  “Yeah. It’s cool.”

  See, now, that’s consent.

  Will and I Don’t Talk Much

  On the ride home.

  To break the silence,

  he turns up the radio.

  Super loud.

  Drake booms

  out the open windows.

  At every stop sign,

  every red light,

  people in other cars

  look around, trying

  to find the source

  of the pounding bass.

  I tune it out as best I can,

  consider the last couple

  of hours. What is going

  on with my brother?

  Like, why

  would he make me

  be the one forced

  into playing hero?

  And why

  would he stick

  up for the vampire

  instead of Skye?

  I Thought

  He cared about her.

  He used to.

  I’m positive about that.

  Did he turn off

  love like flipping

  a light switch?

  He’ll get mad

  if I ask. But I’m getting

  used to that.

  So here goes, anyway.

  “Hey, Will?”

  Not sure he heard me.

  I reach out, turn

  down the radio.

  “Do you still love Skye?”

  What? Mean voice. Why?

  “Just wondering.”

  No response.

  “Well, do you?”

  None of your business.

  He didn’t say no.

  And that kind of

  says everything.

  Back to the Routine

  Homework

  Dinner (already accomplished)

  Shower

  TV or a video game

  Bed

  Day done.

  Next morning:

  Breakfast

  Brush teeth

  Off to school

  Looks like Will’s going to stay

  today. When he parks, I remind

  him, “I’ve got practice later.”

  He answers with a grunt.

  That’s the most he’s said

  to me since yesterday.

  B Block today is ace

  because in social studies

  we’re learning about ancient

  Greece, and in ELA we get to

  write our own myth.

  You have to set it in Greece,

  though, instructs Mr. Benton.

  No Percy Jackson in New York City.

  The Research Is Interesting

  In ancient Greece,

  more than 2,500 years ago,

  they had city-states, which

  kind of inspired the states

  here in the good old USA.

  A lot of people were slaves,

  who had to work for free,

  sort of like the African American

  slaves in our country’s past.

  But there were also these

  philosopher guys like Plato

  and Socrates. They were

  all into deep thought

  when there was no internet

  or even books to help them

  figure out stuff, like how

  the universe worked.

  They studied the sky

  and wanted to know

  what it meant when the sun

  or moon seemed to move.

  Were they in motion?

  Or were we?

  Math. Science. Logic.

  They trusted

  in those things.

  They probably didn’t believe

  in the gods and goddesses

  most people worshipped

  back then. According to

  their mythology, each of

  those gods was in charge

  of different things, like war

  or love, death or learning.

  Twelve of them supposedly

  lived in Zeus’s palace, on

  top of Mount Olympus,

  the highest mountain in Greece.

  Writing my myth makes me think.

  If I lived a long, long time

  ago, would I have believed

  Zeus was an all-powerful god?

  Or would I have stared at

  Mount Olympus and decided

  I should climb it, not to see

  what was on top, but to get

  an awesome look at

  the real world below?

  Last Class

  At the end of the day is PE.

  Today, and probably for the rest

  of the year, that happens inside,

  out of the hot Vegas sun.

  We’re moving to music.

  Which, I guess, sounds better

  than dancing, at least to the guys.

  Some of them complain anyway,

  but our teacher just laughs.

  Professional football players />
  do ballet to improve balance

  and flexibility. So it won’t hurt

  you to rock ’n’ roll a little.

  We’re listening to Ms. Kendall’s

  personal playlist, which is a mix

  of oldies and newer alternative rock.

  Suddenly, a familiar voice is singing

  her latest song. It’s like she’s right here.

  Breathing hard from effort

  and surprise, I stop moving.

  Cat’s right behind me.

  What’s wrong?

  “Nothing. Only, that’s my mom.”

  Hearing Her Sing

  Makes me feel proud.

  Makes me feel sad.

  Makes me feel happy.

  Makes me feel lonely.

  After class, we collect

  our backpacks and, time

  to go home, leave the building.

  Cat walks outside with me.

  I didn’t know Serene Etienne

  was your mom. That’s awesome.

  “You know who she is?”

  Who doesn’t?

  “She’s not really that famous.

  Obsidian is kind of a niche band.”

  Niche?

  “Yeah. Not so mainstream.

  A smaller but loyal fan base

  that loves everything they do.”

  My mom is one of those fans.

  She’s even seen them play.

  It’s the first time I’ve heard

  her mention her mother.

  Which makes me wonder.

  “You said that lady who drove

  you the other day was your dad’s

  personal assistant, right? Why

  didn’t your mom just drive you?”

  She’s still in LA.

  “Are you parents divorced?”

  No. But Mom didn’t want to move

  until we find out about my brother.

  She keeps hoping he’ll come home.

  “That must be hard.”

  She nods. I miss them both.

  But Mateo made everyone worry,

  even before he disappeared.

  He got into drugs. Joined a gang.

  Sometimes I wish Mom would let him go.

  I think I can relate.

  Speaking of the devil.

  “Here comes Will.

  See you at practice.”

  Will Doesn’t Wait

  For me to follow him.

  He jumps in his car,

  backs out of his spot,

  and for a second

  I think he’s planning

  to leave without me.

  But then he circles the lot,

  pulls up at the curb,

  motions for me to get in.

  I’m still thinking about Cat

  when we start toward home.

  “Wanna hear something

  cool? My friend Cat knows

  Mom’s music. She said

  her mother loves Obsidian

  and has seen them in concert.”

  Cat? You mean the new girl

  player on your team?

  Since when is she your friend?

  It’s kind of a good question,

  actually. We didn’t know

  each other at all a week ago.

  “I guess since now.”

  I’ve Never Had a Friend

  Like Cat before.

  I mean, yeah, because

  she’s a girl.

  I can’t even call her a buddy.

  I never thought about

  having a girl for a friend.

  Not really sure why except,

  I guess, I never knew

  they could play baseball

  or design robots.

  But even if she couldn’t

  do those things, I’d like Cat.

  She’s smart, funny, real.

  Girls always seemed

  kind of fake, with their

  makeup, glitter, polished nails.

  Maybe I should’ve looked

  harder, deeper, longer.

  Because Catalina Sánchez

  can’t be the only awesome

  girl in the world.

  Right?

  Will Pulls Up

  In front of the house.

  I get out of the car.

  He doesn’t.

  I motion: Open the window.

  “Aren’t you coming in?”

  Nah. I’ve got somewhere to be.

  “What about practice?”

  Something wrong with your bike?

  “No, but—”

  Coolio. See you on the far side.

  Coolio?

  Where did that come from?

  The thought

  barely materializes

  before he takes off.

  Oh well.

  Not exactly a surprise.

  I let myself in,

  change into my uniform,

  grab my cleats, and put

  them in my gym bag.

  Now, where’s my glove?

  Not on my dresser.

  Not in my closet.

  Not on the chair.

  Where did I leave it?

  Oh, yeah.

  In the living room.

  But when I go to find

  it, it’s nowhere in sight.

  I look in the sofa cushions.

  Under the coffee and end tables.

  Beneath Dad’s La-Z-Boy.

  Nope.

  Nope.

  Nope.

  I look in the kitchen.

  In the bathroom.

  In the hall closet.

  Nope.

  Nope.

  Nope.

  The last time I saw it was . . .

  Sunday

  The morning after the game.

  Will was holding it,

  checking out the autograph.

  I run back to his room.

  Look under his bed.

  Dig through his drawers.

  Search his closet.

  No sign of my glove.

  It’s disappeared.

  Dad might yell at me

  for leaving it out,

  but he wouldn’t hide it.

  The last person to touch

  it was Will. He must be

  the one who took it.

  But why?

  He knows I need it to play.

  Thanks to him, I don’t have

  enough money to replace it.

  And even if I did, a new one

  would have to be broken in,

  and it wouldn’t have . . .

  Victor Sánchez’s autograph.

  No Wonder

  He took off so fast.

  I try calling him, but

  of course he doesn’t answer.

  Just you wait, Will.

  Just you wait.

  And now I’m late for practice.

  I decide to go anyway,

  so my coaches don’t think

  I flaked out on them.

  Even if I can’t play our next

  game because I don’t have a glove.

  Just you wait, Will.

  Just you wait.

  I jump on my bike.

  Pedal it like a madman,

  because I am one.

  And not just mad, but furious.

  It seems like I feel that way

  more and more lately.

  All because of my brother.

  They say exercise is good

 
for releasing stress

  and anger. I hope so.

  Will should hope so, too.

  Batting Practice

  Is over.

  Everyone is in the field.

  Trevor is pitching.

  He’s, like, last string,

  but everyone deserves

  the chance to get better.

  I lean my bike against the fence.

  Approach Coach Hal,

  who motions for me to wait.

  So I sit, watching,

  until he comes over.

  What’s up?

  I tell him my glove

  seems to have vanished.

  That I looked all over

  but just couldn’t find it.

  I see. Well, you can’t play

  without one, can you?

  “No, but I didn’t even know

  it was gone until after school.”

  Tell you what. Practice

  with mine for what’s left

  of our time today. But have

  one by Saturday. Deal?

  No-Brainer

  Coach’s glove is too big,

  but I make it work

  for the half hour remaining.

  Afterward, Bram and Cat

  tag-team me.

  Bram: What happened?

  Me: gives information.

  Cat: Are you sure it was Will?

  Me: huge eye roll.

  Bram: You got Victor Sánchez’s

  autograph? How? When?

  Me: gives information.

  Bram stares at Cat.

  Cat: Not my fault he’s my father.

  Bram: Why didn’t you tell me?

  Me: claims forgetfulness.

  Bram stares at me.

  “Sorry, man. I would’ve showed

  you today. But now my glove

  is gone, and so is the autograph.”

  Cat: If it’s useful, I can forge

  Dad’s signature. I’ve done it

  on permission slips.

  Bram and I spit laughter.

  Not just because she’s funny,

  but also because she’s probably

  not even kidding.

  What? Comes in handy.

  Bram changes the subject.

  So, what are you going to do

  about your glove?

  “Guess I’ll have to ask Dad

  to buy me another one.”

  What about Will? Shouldn’t

  he be the one who buys it?

  “If he got rid of my old one,

  yeah, he should. But he won’t.”

  Even if he did, it would be

  with your money, observes Bram.

  What do you mean? Cat asks.

  “Long story.”

 

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