Hurricane Wills

by Sally Grindley

  “Wouldn’t make any difference to Wills’s head,” sniggered Jack. “He’s a nut anyway.”

  “Only I’m allowed to say that,” I said sharply. “Anyway, he’s not a nut. He’s just—Wills, that’s all.”

  “You can say what you like,” said Jack. “I’m glad he’s not my brother.”

  I’d had enough then. I wanted Jack to go away. It was all a joke for him, a bit of entertainment. It wasn’t for me, and it wasn’t for Wills. Mom had told me that Wills was in serious trouble. He might not have been the one to threaten the librarian, but he was an accessory, whatever that was, and he admitted that he had been looking after the knife for his friends. He admitted, too, that he had been shoplifting with them.

  “What’s going to happen to him?” Jack asked.

  “Don’t know,” I said. “I’m tired. I want to go to sleep now.”

  I did know. Mom had told me that the police had cautioned Wills, and that if he got into trouble again he could expect the consequences to be serious. He was going to have to change schools, because our school wouldn’t have him back after what he had done. They said they had done their best for him, but that perhaps it was time for him to make a fresh start somewhere else.

  “Wills will hate that,” I said. “He hates going anywhere where he has to meet new people who don’t know about his Acts Dumb and Dumber.”

  “Don’t call it that,” Mom said sharply. “You’re not to call it that. Anyway, he doesn’t have a lot of choices. And we’ve got you to consider as well.” She began to get tearful “You said yourself that you’re fed up with being relied on and want to do normal boy things. I should have understood more what you were going through. Now it’s time to put you first.”

  That made me really upset. It was like Wills was being sent to a new school because of me, even if he would have had to go anyway. I should have been happy that at least for part of my days I would be living in a hurricane-free zone where no one could lump me together with him. But I couldn’t be happy because I was sad for Wills, even when Mom told me that the school was much smaller, and had teachers who could look after Wills better.

  Wills came to see me every day. At first he was very subdued and I spent the whole time trying to cheer him up. He kept saying sorry, until I wanted to shove a sock in his mouth to stop him. Mom said that he had gone berserk when they told him about changing schools. He said he would rather run away than have to put up with a new load of donkeys. Then he got all clingy and said he would superglue himself to Mom. When he told me they had basketball, and had an enormous swimming pool, and a floodlit soccer field, I said he must be crazy if he didn’t want to go there.

  One afternoon, Wills came bouncing in and leapt on my bed.

  “Careful, you fool!” I yelped. “You nearly broke my other leg.”

  “Sorry, bro,” he said. “Just thought you’d like to know that you’re talking to a genuine brainiac.”

  “Oh, yeah, who says?”

  “I’ve done the tests, haven’t I? You know, like the ones I had to do when I was younger, but these were a lot, lot harder. Those psychologist types made me do them to see if I had a screw loose, but I haven’t. Dad couldn’t believe it,” he guffawed. “You can kiss my feet if you like.”

  “You can kiss my butt,” I flung back. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be stupid.”

  “I could become the president,” he said airily.

  “Pigs might fly,” I snorted.

  “You’ll miss me when you can’t see me every day at school.”

  “Like a hole in the head.”

  Wills went around the ward, chatting loudly to the other patients and nurses and anyone else he could find. He picked up patients’ notes and pretended to be a surgeon about to perform an operation on each one of them in turn, until one of the nurses shooed him away. I pulled the pillow over my head and wanted to die of embarrassment, but I was glad that Wills was happier, even if it was at my expense.

  He came back and bounced on the bed again. “I bet you’re jealous that I’m going to a better school than you?” he asked.

  “Who says it’s better?”

  “Stands to reason if it’s got a floodlit soccer field and a swimming pool and basketball,” he said.

  “I don’t like swimming, and I’m not good at basketball, and the soccer field at our school is OK, plus I won’t be playing sports for a while, plus my friends are there,” I replied.

  “They’re all donkeys at that school,” scoffed Wills. “I don’t know how you’ll put up with them once I’ve gone.”

  “I’ll be all right, thanks for your concern.”

  Wills went all thoughtful, before saying quietly, “I’m scared, bro. What if nobody likes me at the new school? What if they get fed up with me like they did at the old school?”

  I didn’t really know how to answer that, because it was true that all the other kids got fed up with Wills, and you couldn’t blame them.

  “What if I mess up again?” he carried on. “I mean, if I mess up again the police or those psychologist types might say I have to be sent away.”

  “No one’s going to send you away, Wills,” I said, trying to reassure him.

  “But they will if I do like I did before.”

  “You won’t though, will you?” I said. “You won’t be seeing your horrible friends again, and Mom and Dad and your new teachers are going to make sure you don’t get into trouble.”

  “But I can’t help getting into trouble.” His leg was jerking up and down wildly and he was biting his nails.

  “Nobody expects you never to get into trouble again,” I grinned.

  “Don’t they?” He sounded surprised.

  “Course not,” I laughed. “That would take a miracle.”

  “Miracles happen,” Wills retorted snottily. “You just wait and see.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  A miracle hasn’t happened, surprise surprise, but the hurricanes aren’t quite so strong and don’t happen quite so often—though they are still bad enough when they do. I think that what went on that day in the library, and in the scrap yard, frightened Wills so much that warning signals began to sound in his head if he started to lose control. It didn’t stop him trying to knock me off my crutches or calling me Stumpy, but mostly he was nicer to me and even went to fetch things for me, if I couldn’t carry them because of the crutches.

  The best thing is that Wills gets home from school a lot later than me. His new school is further away and they make everyone stay to do their homework. (Why do they call it homework if they do it at school?) Twice a week he stays after homework to play basketball. That means that I can come home from school and be on my own and do what I want without interruption. Sometimes Jack or my other friends (I seem to have more now that Wills isn’t there to annoy them) come back to play on the computer or watch the television. Even Mom gets home before Wills. If I’m already back, I make her a cup of tea and we sit down at the kitchen table with a plate of cookies and talk about how our days have been. I’ve found out so much about Mom’s work that I didn’t know before because there was never a chance to ask, and she’s amazed that I’m thinking about being a writer, even though she knows I like to read and had thought about entering that competition.

  “You’ll have to show me what you write,” she smiled. “I’d like to read it.”

  “Nothing I’ve written has been good enough yet,” I said grimly. “It’s so hard to come up with ideas.”

  “I’m sure if you put your mind to it you’ll get there in the end,” she said. “Let’s see some of that determination I know you’ve got.”

  “It’s better now, isn’t it, Mom?” I said. “It’s like everything’s calmed down a bit.”

  It’s Dad’s job to pick up Wills in the morning because the school is close to where he works. The first two days were a nightmare. Wills didn’t want to go. He refused to get out of bed, then shut himself in the bathroom, then said they would have to make him go naked because he
wasn’t going to get dressed. But his protests didn’t last long, even though I knew from his frequent text messages that he had struggled at first. He said he was in a class of donkeys who hadn’t got a clue how to behave themselves. He said that even I was brighter than most of them (thanks for the compliment), and that even I was better at basketball than most of them (thanks again). He complained about the food as well, saying that it was all that healthy garbage that wusses like.

  Dad brings Wills back home again in the evening. I was amazed that he had agreed to do it, but I guessed he was just trying to do his part like everyone else. I was a bit jealous at first, because it meant that Wills got to see more of Dad than I did, but I couldn’t really complain since I had Mom to myself more often than Wills did.

  Wills has been picked for the school basketball team and he now has games on Saturday afternoons. Dad takes him to those as well and stays to support him. Suddenly, I seem to have so much time and so much space and it’s SO QUIET. I can watch sports on the TV and see every goal and every pass and every touchdown and every run. I can play racing games, and it’s not so bad losing to computer-generated bikes. I can disappear up to my room and do some reading or writing without being disturbed.

  But I still like going to the library. I was so glad that Penny still wanted me to go there, and that she hasn’t lumped me together with Wills because of what has happened.

  “How’s life with less of Wills?” she asked me when I went in there for the first time after Wills had changed schools.

  “Dull,” I chuckled, “but it’s nice to have Mom to myself sometimes. And I’ve got more time for reading, so I’ll need to borrow more books.”

  “You’ll have more time for writing as well,” said Penny.

  “It’s so hard to know what to write about.”

  “If all else fails,” she said, “write about yourself.”

  “That would be the most boring story ever,” I frowned.

  “You’d be surprised,” Penny argued. “Don’t you put yourself down, young man. You leave that to Wills.”

  As soon as I was fit enough again, I began to stay after school to play soccer, since I didn’t have to get home early to keep an eye on Wills. I even go to play at the scrap yard. Everyone wanted me to tell them every gory detail of what had happened there. The door of the building has been boarded up again, but the boys press against it, hoping to be able to peer through and see the hole in the ceiling. It made me feel like a bit of a celebrity, until Jack brought me down to earth with a punch by saying I was a fool to go in there in the first place.

  Some weekends, if Wills doesn’t have a basketball game, he stays at home to spend time with Mom and I go to Dad’s on my own. We sit in his cocoon and shout at the television together, not so loud that there’s a thumping on the ceiling, but loud enough to make us feel that we are there in the crowd at the game. We clean his car together, then go to the park to kick a ball around, and I’m careful not to bowl him over. I haven’t been back to basketball on Sunday mornings. I don’t want to. I’d only gone in the first place because of Wills. There’s no need anymore, and I was never going to be better than average. Besides, I couldn’t bear to see the other boys on the team again. They would lump me together with Wills, I am sure of it, so I would always be blamed for losing the tournament.

  Wills went on a school trip for a week, the first time a school had ever agreed to take him. It was some sort of outward bound thing, and I didn’t envy him at all. The house was so unbelievably quiet that it got to the point where I couldn’t wait to have Wills back. Mom spent the week on pins and needles, waiting for the telephone call that would mean she had to bring him home early.

  The telephone call didn’t come and at the end of the week. Dad went to collect him. When we heard the car drive up, Mom and I rushed to the front door and waved. Wills charged up the path, swung Mom around in a big circle, punched me in the arm, and demanded, “What’s to eat, Mom? I’m starving,” before running into the kitchen and raiding the fridge.

  Dad stood on the front doorstop, beads of sweat pooling on his forehead.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Mom smiled.

  “I would die for one,” puffed Dad.

  Wills had already plunked himself in front of the television, volume LOUD, leaving a trail of empty packets all across Mom’s nice clean kitchen. I sat down next to him.

  “What was it like?” I asked.

  “It was all right,” he said, spraying me with muffin. “There was an assault course that would have made you wet yourself if you had had to go on it, but I was the best. Mom, can we have pizza tonight, please, Momsy-womsy?”

  “As a special treat, yes,” said Mom, “but no Coke.” She gave him a big hug. “It’s good to see you, Wills.”

  “Good to see you too, Mom. Have you missed me?”

  “We’ve all missed you, Wills.”

  “I bet Chrissy-wissy hasn’t.”

  “It’s been great,” I said. “Best time of my life.”

  Wills leapt on top of me. “Take that back,” he growled, “or I’ll tickle you to death.”

  “I take it back, I take it back,” I screamed as he began to tickle me mercilessly.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you,” Dad said then. “Sit still and I’ll show you.”

  We sat still while he delved into his pocket. He pulled out three tickets and waved them in the air.

  “Car racing, tomorrow. Are you coming?”

  “You bet!” we cried.

  “Well done, Wills,” he said. “The first report from your school was really good, so you deserve a reward.”

  I ignored the fact that, even though my reports were always good, I had never had a reward. I was pleased for Wills and I was pleased that for once Dad had kept a promise. Wills began to run around the room, making racing car noises. Mom put her fingers in her ears, and Dad said it was time for him to go. “NYEEEEAHHH, NYEEEAHHH,

  NYEEEAHHH,” went Wills, until Mom yelled at the top of her voice, “STOP IT, WILLIAM, NOW!”

  Wills stopped in his tracks, sat down on the couch, and grinned sheepishly at Mom. “Sorry, Mom,” he said.

  I went upstairs, saying I wanted an early night. I sat down at my desk and pulled out a sheet of paper.

  HURRICANE WILLS, I wrote, BY CHRIS JENNINGS.

  What a great title, I thought. I would use the same beginning as before, if I could remember it. I would write a lot of the same things as before. But the story wouldn’t really be about Wills. NO WAY JOSE. It would be about ME.

  I put the sheet under some other papers and got ready for bed. I would write my story, no matter how long it took, no matter how old I was by the time I finished it. I would write my story.

  YEAH!