Brad pushed back his spiky black hair and grinned at me, a truly evil grin.
I still had the popcorn bowl in my hand. Travis grabbed a handful and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Hi, Can-Can-Can-Craig,” David, a chubby, red-haired boy from my class, said. Frankie and Gus, the other two boys, giggled.
My stomach churned. I suddenly felt cold all over.
“Which-why are you calling me that?” I demanded angrily. (as if I didn’t know.)
“My cousin Pam goes to your old school,” Travis replied. Popcorn kernels dribbled out of his mouth, onto his chin. He grabbed another handful from my bowl.
I shoved the bowl into his hands. “So? What about her?” I asked, trying to sound tough.
Travis chewed for a while. “She told me about you,” he said finally. “She told me all about you, Can-Can-Can-Craig. She said you were always scared of your own shadow.”
I stared at him. I didn’t know what to say.
“She told me you screamed your head off and ran away from a chipmunk last year,” Travis said, snickering.
Yes. That was true. But it was a very big chipmunk.
“That’s a lie,” I said.
“It’s all a big lie!” Amy chimed in. She glared at Travis and his friends. “None of it is true. You’re making it all up because you’re jealous of Craig.”
Brad turned to me. “Is it true?” he demanded. “Is it true that the kids at your old school called you Can-Can-Can-Craig?”
Amy stared at me. The five guys stared at me.
I took a deep breath. “Of course it isn’t true,” I told them. I shook my head. “Why would someone make up such a dumb story? I don’t get it.”
Brad’s evil grin grew wider. His dark eyes gleamed. “Well … we’ll see,” he said softly.
“We’ll see who is telling the truth,” Travis added. He set the empty popcorn bowl on a table. “We brought a little test for you, Craig.”
Uh-oh.
Lightning flashed in the window. I gritted my teeth and waited for the boom of thunder that followed.
“Test?” I asked. I didn’t realize I was backing up, backing away from them. I didn’t realize it until I backed into the living room couch and nearly fell over.
They followed me into the living room. Amy eyed them suspiciously. “What kind of test?” she demanded.
“David has it,” Travis announced. He turned to his friend.
“I kept it dry, under my jacket,” David said. He reached under his jacket—and pulled out a tall glass jar.
“Which-what is it?” I stammered.
David handed the jar to Travis. Travis raised it in front of my face.
And I let out a horrified gasp.
Spiders.
Ugly, black hairy-legged spiders. Dozens of them. Crawling all over each other.
Travis pushed the jar against my nose. The spiders blurred into a wriggling pile of black furry bodies and legs.
Amy grabbed the jar away and inspected it. “Where did you find these?” she snapped at Travis. “In your bed?”
The boys all laughed.
I couldn’t laugh. I felt like choking. Or fainting. I’m scared of bugs—and spiders are my worst nightmare.
“You told us to bring Craig a challenge,” Brad said to Amy. “So, here it is.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the strange, hairy black spiders scrabbling over each other, an endless wrestling match.
Do they bite? I wondered. Do they pinch? Are they poisonous?
“What do I have to do?” I choked out, trying not to sound frightened. But my voice came out tiny and weak.
“It’s simple,” Travis replied. “Just keep your hand in the jar for five minutes.”
Huh?
“No problem!” Amy sneered. “Craig will keep his hand in there all day! He’s not afraid of spiders!”
Amy, please—shut up! I thought.
I stared at the spiders. Then I gazed up at Travis. “Am I allowed to wear gloves?” I asked.
They all burst out laughing. Amy too.
They thought I was joking.
I can’t do this, I realized. I’ll die.
“How much are we betting?” Amy demanded.
“How about a million dollars?” David suggested.
Everyone laughed again.
“I don’t have a million dollars,” Amy replied. “Let’s make a real bet, guys. I can’t wait to take your money.”
“How about thirty dollars?” Brad suggested.
I gazed into the jar. The black spiders climbed and wrestled. were they biting each other?
Amy and I are going to lose thirty dollars, I thought miserably.
No way we can win. There’s no way I can do this.
I tapped her shoulder. I tried to stop her. But she quickly agreed to the bet. “Okay. Thirty dollars. But this is too easy. Why didn’t you think of something hard?”
Amy—please shut up! I thought again. I was gritting my teeth so hard, my jaw ached.
How can I get out of this? I wondered. Should I just run out the front door and never come back?
Should I tell them the truth? That I really am Can-Can-Can-Craig?
No. No way, I decided.
I can’t let Amy down. I can’t let myself down.
If I don’t try this, I’ll be Can-Can-Can-Craig for the rest of my life.
Travis slid open the metal top of the jar. He turned to his friends. “Who has a watch?”
“I do,” Brad replied, holding his wrist close to his face. “I’ll keep time.”
Travis raised the jar to me. “Five minutes,” he said, his expression turning solemn.
I gazed into the jar. “Is that Eastern Standard Time?” I joked.
Travis nodded. “Five minutes in the jar.” The boys clustered tight around me, eager to have a good view.
Amy pushed her way into the middle. She flashed me a thumbs-up.
Brad had his eyes on his watch. “Ready. Set. Go!”
I took a deep breath. My hand was trembling so hard I wasn’t sure I could slide it into the jar.
The glass felt cool against the back of my hand. Shutting my eyes, I plunged my hand down … down into the jar.
I was okay for a few seconds.
But then I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my hand. I opened my eyes and saw spiders crawling over my skin.
A moan escaped my throat. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. I forced a smile to my face to cover it up.
I could feel sweat dripping down my forehead. Could the others see it?
They all had their eyes on my hand in the jar.
Spiders prickled my palm. I felt a few of them drag their hairy, dry bodies over my wrist.
“Thirty seconds,” Brad announced.
It felt like thirty years!
At least a dozen spiders clung to my hand now. My arm began to itch. My chest itched. My whole body prickled and itched.
I kept the smile frozen on my face. But I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.
“One minute,” Brad called out.
“Four minutes to go,” Travis said, leaning his head closer, grinning as he stared into the jar.
I can’t do it, I realized.
Enough.
I can’t take anymore.
I lose. I lose the bet. I lose everything.
Spiders danced over the back of my palm. Sharp legs pinched my wrist. Two of them were scuttling up my arm!
That’s all. Good-bye, I decided.
I jerked my hand up. Raised it quickly to pull it from the jar.
But I couldn’t remove it.
My hand was stuck—stuck inside the jar.
I wriggled my hand. I made a tight fist.
I tried to squeeze it tighter, smaller, so it would slide out of the jar.
But it wouldn’t budge.
My hand was stuck.
“Two minutes,” Brad announced.
“What are you doing?” Travis demanded. “Why are you moving
your hand like that?”
“Are they biting you?” Amy asked.
I nodded. “You-yes. They’re … biting,” I choked out in a hoarse whisper.
“Do you see?” Amy declared to the others. “See how brave Craig is? The spiders are biting him like crazy—and he still keeps his hand in the jar!”
Not if I could help it, I thought bitterly.
I squirmed and struggled to pull my hand out. But it was really stuck.
“Ow!” I let out a cry as a spider bit my thumb.
I’ve GOT to get my hand out! Oh, please—I’ll do anything! Please let me slide my hand out!
“They’re really biting him,” Amy declared. “Is he brave or what?”
Please shut up! I thought, gritting my teeth. Please—just shut up!
My whole body itched and throbbed. I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t breathe.
Spiders inched up and down both sides of my hand and around my wrist.
Another sharp pain, another bite, this time on the back of my wrist.
If only I could pull my hand out, I thought.
I’m going to faint. I’m dizzy. The room is spinning.
This is it. I can’t take the itching. The bites … the bites …
I’m going to pass out.
“Five minutes are up!” Brad called out.
Travis let out a disappointed groan. “Guess you win,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Brad and the three other guys muttered to each other, making disappointed sounds.
Amy shot both hands up over her head and opened her mouth in a cheer of victory. “We win!” she cried. “We win! We win thirty bucks!”
She turned to me. “Okay, Craig. Time is up. You can take your hand out.”
I swallowed. My mouth felt as dry as dust. My heart thudded so hard, I couldn’t speak.
What happens when they find out my hand is stuck in the jar? I wondered.
Will that cancel the bet? Will I have to do it all over again?
“Uh … that’s okay,” I said weakly. “I’ll keep it in a while longer.”
“Huh?” Travis gasped.
They all stared at me, then down at the spiders swarming over my hand.
“Is he crazy?” David muttered.
“You see?” Amy cried, bumping Travis hard, sending him stumbling back. “You see? You think Craig is a wimp? Five minutes isn’t enough time for him. He wants to keep it in for another five! That’s how brave he is!”
“Amy, please—” I croaked.
Why can’t she keep her big mouth shut?
“Pay up, guys,” Amy demanded, holding out her hand. “Come on. Let’s see it. Thirty bucks.”
Her expression changed. “Oh. Wait. Forget the thirty,” she said. “How about double or nothing?”
“Amy, please—” I begged. But my voice came out so weak no one heard me.
“Yeah. Double or nothing,” Travis agreed quickly.
Spiders stampeded over the back of my hand. I felt another bite. My whole hand throbbed with pain.
I’m going to die! I realized. I’m going to die right now in this room!
“Think of something harder next time,” Amy told them. “Think of something scary.” She laughed. “Craig and I don’t like taking your money so easily!”
“Please—” I begged.
“Don’t worry. We won’t go easy on him next time,” Travis promised.
“Don’t worry. Next time, we’ll prove that he’s Can-Can-Can-Craig,” Brad agreed.
Amy opened the front door, and the five guys tromped out into the rain.
Amy closed the door and turned back to me with a pleased grin. “Easy money, huh?”
“Help me …” I gasped. I waved the jar at her. “Help me … get this off.”
She squinted down at the jar. “It’s stuck?”
I nodded.
She grabbed the sides and tugged with both hands. The jar made a loud POP as it finally came off.
“Oh, wow,” I moaned.
“Your hand—it’s kind of red,” Amy said. She made a disgusted face. “Yuck. It’s kind of swollen too. No wonder it got stuck.”
I took several deep breaths. The itching and throbbing just wouldn’t quit.
“That must really hurt,” Amy said fretfully.
“Hey—no big deal,” I replied.
I’ll never be able to use it again, I told myself. I’ll never stop itching. I’ll have nightmares about hairy black spiders crawling all over me for the rest of my life.
I flicked several spiders off my hand, back into the jar.
“You really are brave,” Amy murmured. “That hand is totally gross.”
Thanks a bunch.
“I’ve had worse,” I lied. “I guess I’d better get home. Put some cream on it or something.”
“I guess,” she replied. “It looks really sick.”
I said good-bye and hurried out into the rain. It was pouring, but I didn’t care. The cold raindrops felt soothing on my throbbing, itching hand.
As soon as I got home, I ran into the bathroom. I filled the sink with cold water and soaked my hand until it stopped burning. Then I rubbed every cream I could find in the medicine chest on it.
Finally, it felt a little better, a little more normal.
But I didn’t.
I gazed at the frightened expression on my reflection in the mirror and thought about Travis and Brad and their grinning friends.
What will they have in store for me next? I wondered.
How long can I pretend to be brave?
“I just keep thinking about how you rescued that baby,” Amy said. “That was so awesome!”
“Yeah. Whatever,” I replied.
It was a week later, a clear, cold Saturday night. Amy’s parents were out for the night. So we were hanging out at her house again.
“You probably want to watch more of those scary videos,” Amy said. She wore an oversized black sweater over a blue sweater and kept tugging the sleeves down. “But we can’t. My dad took them back to the rental store.”
“Too bad,” I replied. Secretly, I wanted to jump up and down for joy. I couldn’t take another trip to Killer Daycamp. The sequels were supposed to be even more gross than the first one!
A tap on the window nearly made me jump out of my skin.
Travis and his friends?
No. A pebble or a leaf or something, blown against the glass.
Travis had been hinting all week that he had something really terrifying planned for me. “Double or nothing,” he said, grinning. “And you are going to end up with nothing.”
I begged him to give me a hint.
He only laughed and rubbed his hands together like an evil cartoon villain.
“Do you like Ping-Pong?” Amy asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. I won the Ping-Pong championship at camp last summer.”
Her dark eyes flashed. “Really?”
No. Not really. Actually, my team won the championship. I was the worst player on the team.
“Too bad you don’t have a table,” I said. “I’d give you a few lessons.”
She giggled. “We do have a table.” She grabbed my hand. “Come on. It’s in the basement. Maybe I’ll give you a few lessons. I have a really cool spin serve.”
A spin serve? What’s that? Whenever I served, the ball usually dove right for the net.
I stopped at the top of the basement stairs and Amy clicked on the ceiling light. The stairs were dark and steep.
“Dad built a whole rec room down there,” Amy said. “The only problem is, the dryer steams up the whole basement.”
I grabbed the railing and started down the steps. The wooden stairs creaked under my shoes.
I was halfway down when the light flickered out.
I stopped. And peered down into total blackness.
Amy bumped me from behind. I grabbed the railing to keep from falling the rest of the way.
“That light—it’s always going out,” Amy said. “I think it’
s got a short or something.”
You probably guessed that I’m afraid of the dark.
I’m not afraid of the dark in places that I know really well. I mean, I don’t need a night-light in my bedroom at night.
But I’d never been in Amy’s basement. And standing here on these creaky stairs, unable to see my own sneakers, I started to shake.
“Well? Go on down,” Amy ordered. “Why did you stop?”
I cleared my throat. My hand gripped the rail tightly. “Well … it’s so dark …,” I murmured.
Amy laughed. “You’re not afraid of the dark— are you, Craig?”
I forced a laugh. “Of course not.” My voice cracked.
“Well—keep going,” Amy insisted. She gave my shoulder a gentle push that almost sent me sprawling.
“I’m … will-will-well …,” I stammered. “I’m not afraid of the dark. But—I’m afraid of basements.”
Amy uttered a startled cry. “Huh? Basements? You mean—there really is something you’re afraid of?”
My throat felt tight, blocked. As if I had swallowed a whole walnut. I cleared my throat again. “Yeah. Basements,” I choked out.
“Why?” Amy demanded.
“When I was little …,” I started. Think fast, Craig. Make up something good, something she’ll believe.
“When I was little, my mom brought me down to the basement. She was ironing or cleaning up or something. I don’t remember what she was doing. But I remember everything else so clearly,” I said.
Think fast, Craig. What happened? What scared you?
“What happened?” Amy asked.
Good question.
“Uh … the phone rang upstairs,” I continued. “Mom ran up to answer it. She forgot all about me. She left me down there.”
“How old were you?” Amy asked.
“Uh … I don’t know. I was too young to count,” I replied. “But I couldn’t walk yet, I remember. I could only sit up. And … and …”
And what? Think of something, Craig.
“This is hard for you to talk about,” Amy said softly.
“Uh … yeah,” I replied. “Because these mice came out of their holes. I don’t know. Maybe they were mice. Maybe they were rats. But I was all alone down there. And they came out of their holes and …”
“How awful!” Amy declared. “You must have been terrified. What did they do?”