What About Will

by Ellen Hopkins

  These aren’t little rafts.

  They’re big, like thirty-five

  feet long, and they hold

  fifteen people, plus all the gear.

  You sit on these padded

  pontoons, and down

  the river you go.

  There are lots of other

  rivers in lots of different

  places you can raft like this.

  But the Grand Canyon

  is really special.

  And instead of looking

  down into it,

  you’re looking up

  out of it toward the rim.

  The water is beautiful.

  Kind of turquoise and white.

  The rapids are rowdy.

  But there are quiet stretches, too.

  The canyon walls are steep.

  Red and gray and purple layers,

  and locked in them are all kinds of fossils.

  The more we learn

  about the trip, the more

  excited I get. But the more

  I mention it, the more

  Will withdraws.

  I wish he’d get excited, too.

  The Night Before

  Our last Little League game,

  I stay over at Bram’s.

  His mom makes homemade

  pizza, and I’m not talking

  about the frozen kind.

  We watch A League of Their Own

  on TV, to get us in the mood.

  Whole teams of girls playing

  baseball! Bram’s dad says

  it’s a fictional story, but

  the women’s league was real.

  “Can you believe it?” I ask.

  It was only because of the war,

  says Bram. When the soldiers

  came home, they quit playing.

  “I know. And it probably

  wouldn’t happen today,

  because girls can be soldiers,

  too. I guess they can do

  anything boys can, huh?”

  Nah. They couldn’t wrestle

  Jack Swagger, I bet.

  Jack Swagger is a professional

  wrestling superstar, and he’s huge.

  “Okay, maybe not. So, almost anything.”

  I don’t know about all girls.

  Some of them are pretty useless.

  I think about Leah and Sara

  and Star, who seem kind of useless.

  But I don’t really know them.

  Maybe they could play baseball

  if they wanted to. As if they would.

  “Well, Cat isn’t. I kind of hope

  Coach Tom starts her tomorrow.”

  You mean pitching?

  Don’t you want to start?

  “When Cat’s on, she might

  be better than me, and

  we have to win tomorrow

  to get into the playoffs.”

  She’s not better than you.

  Maybe just as good.

  He laughs, but I already

  knew he was kidding.

  I wasn’t kidding, though.

  She might just be better.

  To Beat the Heat

  The game begins at nine a.m.

  We’re all glad about that,

  because it’s pretty warm already.

  Coach Tom starts me,

  and I pitch well until my arm

  starts to get tired.

  Cat takes over then, and

  she pitches like a champ, too.

  It’s zero to zero

  until the last inning.

  Some people call games

  like this “pitchers’ duels.”

  Others call them boring

  because there isn’t a lot

  of action on the field.

  It’s the bottom of the sixth,

  and last, inning. The Pirates are up.

  Cat throws a hard pitch.

  Bram can’t keep it

  in his catcher’s glove.

  It bounces to the backstop,

  and the batter goes to first

  on a passed ball.

  Our whole team groans.

  You can feel the energy shift.

  “Don’t give up!” I yell.

  Here comes the next batter.

  Cat throws a strike.

  A ball.

  Another strike.

  The batter connects

  with the fourth pitch,

  but he doesn’t hit hard.

  It should be an easy out,

  but the third baseman

  bobbles it, then throws

  over the head of our second

  baseman. The ball rolls

  into the outfield.

  The Pirates score.

  And that’s the game.

  Not to mention

  the playoffs.

  Our team finishes

  the year in second place.

  Not bad.

  Just not good enough.

  Hopefully

  Cat and I will be more

  than good enough to ace

  the Great Robotics Challenge,

  which is the following Saturday.

  It won’t be easy.

  Students from all over Nevada

  are traveling to Vegas

  to participate.

  That’s a whole lot of kids.

  Not to mention robots.

  In a way, maybe it’s okay

  that we didn’t make

  the Little League playoffs,

  or we would’ve had to decide

  between that and this.

  It would’ve been impossible

  to show up for both.

  You’d think adults

  could figure out stuff better.

  I guess not all teachers

  are Little League fans.

  Doesn’t matter.

  Not a problem this year.

  Dad Drops Me Off

  In front of the community

  center at 9:45 a.m.

  I’m so, so sorry I can’t stay

  and watch. It’s just—

  “I know. You have to make up

  for those days you took off

  for Will, and for our vacation.”

  Exactly. When did you turn

  into an adult, anyway?

  “Dad, I’m twelve. Don’t rush me.”

  Ha-ha. Okay. Someone will

  take videos, though, right?

  “Pretty sure everyone will.”

  Will promised he’d pick you

  up and keep his phone on.

  Call him as soon as you know

  when you’ll be finished.

  “I will. And I’ll still have to wait.

  But it’s okay. I’m used to it.

  Oh, there’s Ms. Pérez, my science

  teacher, and our group.

  See you on the far side.”

  I Join My Classmates

  And we go inside.

  Ms. Pérez and Mr. Banks,

  our computer science

  teacher, have already

  transported our bots

  and set up an area

  for us to get organized.

  Cat and I walk together,

  dodging nervous kids

  and overwhelmed teachers

  and carts of equipment.

  I didn’t think there’d be

  so many people! says Cat.

  “I did. Remember the YouTube

  videos we watched about

&n
bsp; those other challenges?”

  Yeah, but it’s different

  for real, you know?

  Good point. There’s so much

  to see, your eyes don’t know

  where to focus. A steady buzz of

  talking and hundreds of feet

  slapping fills the huge rooms

  with noise. And there’s

  an energy, almost like

  electricity, bouncing around.

  We get to the designated

  RRCS “corral” and Ms. Pérez

  goes over the schedule.

  Different pairs, with their bots,

  will participate in certain challenges

  during the day, and when

  we’re not competing, we need

  to root for our teammates.

  Cat and I, plus Strike ’Em Out,

  will have two different

  challenges. The first,

  called the Brick Bash,

  requires our bot to grab

  projectiles, toss them

  over a barrier, and knock

  over a Lego wall. Head to

  head with another robot,

  the first to deconstruct

  the wall wins the challenge.

  You take lead on this one,

  Cat tells me. I’ll be better

  at Hit the Bullseye.

  That’s our second challenge,

  which is pretty much like

  throwing baseball strikes,

  only with smaller balls.

  It’s a Great Day

  Not only for Strike ’Em Out,

  who conquers both challenges,

  but also for our entire team.

  Out of all the schools here,

  we finish in a three-way

  tie for first place.

  Go, Rainbow Ridge Charter!

  It’s not like we win money

  or anything, but we do get

  a nice trophy, or we will

  once the event makes two

  more. They didn’t think

  about ties, I guess.

  I called Will about an hour

  before I expected to be finished.

  He didn’t pick up, so I left

  a message in his voice mail

  and as a text. I tried again

  thirty minutes later.

  Same results.

  And now we’re finished.

  Everything is packed up

  and our teachers want

  to go home.

  Will’s not here.

  No text. No call.

  It’s nothing new.

  Not a big surprise.

  Just, I’m not sure what

  I should do.

  Try to call Dad?

  Cat’s still here.

  Standing right next to me.

  Waiting here with me.

  No Will, huh?

  “Nope.”

  Want a ride? Dad says

  we can take you home.

  He and Nicolás are standing

  by the front doors, looking

  a little impatient.

  “Are you sure?”

  Yeah. Come on.

  I get to ride in Victor

  Sánchez’s car! How cool

  is that? Guess I’ll have to

  thank Will for forgetting me.

  As We Follow

  Cat’s dad and brother

  to the parking lot, I ask,

  “Where’s your mom?”

  Back in LA.

  “For good?”

  No. She’s getting the house

  there ready to sell.

  “So, she’s moving to Vegas?”

  That’s the plan, yes.

  “I’m glad.” I am, for Cat.

  “I hope Mateo is okay, too.”

  He’s not. He’ll be in jail

  for a long time, Dad says.

  “Maybe he could join the army

  instead,” I joke, thinking about Mr. C.

  She giggles. I don’t think

  the army would want him.

  “You never know.”

  We hop into the back seat

  of Victor Sánchez’s silver Lexus.

  Unlike Becky the ’Vette’s

  older leather, these seats

  are super soft. I sink down

  into the cushion for the comfy

  ride home. I wish it was longer.

  I still can’t believe I know

  Victor Sánchez, let alone

  that I’m friends with his daughter.

  It’s like sports stars are real

  people, too. And, I guess, rock

  stars, since one is dating Mom.

  “Turn right at the next road,

  then take your second left.”

  I direct him to our house.

  Will’s car is parked in front.

  Will you be okay?

  “Yeah. Looks like my brother

  is here. Thanks for the ride.”

  No problem. You two did well

  today. I’m proud of you both.

  I see a lot of talent in you,

  especially on the baseball field.

  My face super-heats.

  “Thank you!”

  I Kind of Walk on Air

  To the door,

  though I’d rather

  jump up and down.

  I can’t believe Victor Sánchez

  thinks I’ve got talent.

  Wow!

  Can’t wait to tell Dad and

  Grandpa. And maybe brag

  a little to Bram.

  Hey. I can tell Will

  right now.

  He probably won’t care,

  but trying would be

  better than stuffing

  this crazy-good feeling

  inside, where it

  just might explode.

  “Hey, Will!”

  I fling the door open.

  “Guess what!”

  No answer.

  No “Be right there.”

  Not even “Buzz off!”

  No noise at all.

  Usually, there’s music,

  at least.

  Maybe he’s in the kitchen?

  Nope. Empty.

  The bathroom?

  Nope. Door’s wide open.

  “Will?” I knock on

  his bedroom door.

  No answer.

  I open it a crack.

  Hear nothing.

  But when I peek

  around it, I can see

  Will’s Nikes.

  On his feet.

  On his bed.

  He’s asleep.

  At four thirty in

  the afternoon?

  Something isn’t right.

  “Will!”

  He doesn’t even stir.

  I cross the room

  in three long steps,

  and suddenly the vinegar

  taste of fear fills my mouth.

  I Shake My Brother

  Softly at first, then harder.

  He doesn’t open his eyes.

  I can’t wake him.

  His skin is gray.

  He’s barely breathing,

  and there’s a weird

  rattling noise in his chest

  when he tries.

  I notice a pill bottle

  on his nightstand.

  Totally empty.

  What do I do?

  What do I do?

  I grab my phon
e,

  call 911. “Help!

  I think my brother

  took too many pills.

  I think he’s dying!”

  The lady asks me

  some questions.

  I sputter nonanswers.

  She says the ambulance

  is on the way.

  But what if he needs

  help sooner?

  What do I do?

  What do I do?

  Call Dad, for one thing.

  I leave an urgent message.

  I go to the window

  to look for the ambulance,

  notice the lights on in

  the house next door.

  Mr. Cobb!

  I run as fast as my legs

  can go, ring his bell

  over and over.

  “Mr. Cobb! Help!”

  The door opens right away.

  Trace. What is it?

  “Please hurry. Something’s

  wrong with Will. I called

  911 and they’re coming.”

  He doesn’t say a word,

  just dashes behind me.

  I never knew he could

  move so quickly.

  We Leave the Front Door Open

  For the paramedics.

  Rush down the hallway

  to Will’s room.

  He still hasn’t moved.

  “I think it was those.”

  I point to the pill bottle.

  Mr. Cobb ignores that,

  puts an ear to Will’s chest.

  I notice the gurgling noise

  in there has stopped.

  Keep talking to him, Trace.

  Tell him to wake up now.

  Mr. Cobb sticks a couple

  of fingers into Will’s mouth,

  and when he pulls them out,

  some kind of thick liquid

  comes with them.

  “Wake up, Will. I want to tell

  you about Strike ’Em Out.”

  Now Mr. Cobb tilts Will’s head

  backward. Pinches his nose.

  “What are you doing?”

  Rescue breathing.

  That means mouth-to-mouth,

  which means Will isn’t

  breathing on this own.

  I start to cry. I can’t help it.

  But I tell Will about how

  our bot threw ten perfect

  bull’s-eye strikes in a row.

  Mr. Cobb keeps filling

  Will’s lungs with air.

  When I hear voices in

  the front room, I run

  to show them the way.

  “In here! In here!”

  Two EMTs—one guy,

  one girl—take over for

  Mr. Cobb, who leads me

  out of Will’s room.

  Let them work. We don’t