The Willies | Page 4

ground, and a man-made stone cave. Hugh asked the woman next to him where the panda was. Apparently, she said, it was shy, and didn't want to come out of the cave on cue. One of the handlers had gone in a moment ago to "encourage" it out.
Throngs of media representatives gathered around with their cameras poised. One reporter looked disgusted with this 'human interest' waste of her time, dragging long and hard on a cigarette she hid from view of the crowd, lest she get caught and fined. When her cameraman suddenly pointed toward the cave, she threw her smoke to the ground and stood instantly upright, ready to make comment.
A tiny patch of black fur emerged from the mouth of the cave. Then it disappeared again. The crowd shuffled restlessly. One father at the back yelled, "Come on already!" The panda lurched out of the cave, looking back inside with panda indignation. Flashes went off, children cheered, and reporters started their monologues to their cameras.
"It is cute," said Oswald.
"Should be," said Ted. "Most expensive friggin' panda in the world."
"It's the only panda in the world," said Hugh, wondering what he thought about all this. Before he had a chance to decide, something tore through the air by his head and shot over the crowd. The panda bear exploded all over the onlookers in a rain of fur, blood, and meat. Parents pulled their crying children to the ground, others ran away in random directions.
Oswald screamed as Ted pulled him away. Hugh ran after them. Crouched in the bushes, they tried to figure out what was happening.
Ted held Oswald, calming him down. Hugh glanced at the gift store T-shirt Oswald wore, baby blue with a cartoon panda face in the middle and the name "Yung-Yung" written under it. He tried not to react, but Oswald saw the expression on his face and looked down. There, in the middle of the shirt, clung a furry white piece of Yung-Yung meat.
Oswald screamed again.

Chapter 2
Simon tested his shoes against the fake grass. It lay badly on the hockey rink floor, as he feared it would -- one more thing to take into consideration as he faced his opponent, a guy someone had the ingenuity to nickname "Red" on account of his hair.
Simon felt confident as he adjusted his lacrosse stick in his hands. The referee approached with the ball. Simon and the other runner crouched down to the floor and held their sticks together, staring each other down. Red made a threatening, growling face. It was sudden-death overtime with a score of 15-15, and Red clearly meant business. Simon smirked in response. Tough had nothing to do with it. It was a matter of playing well. And that, Simon knew, was exactly what he did.
The referee placed the ball on their sticks, walked backwards, and blew his whistle. Simon made an aggressive move, then let Red have the ball. Red looked at the ball in the net at the end of his stick, then up at Simon, bewildered. Simon twisted his stick around Red's, parrying like a swordsman. He spun around and showed Red his stick: now he had the ball. Simon ran backwards, towards his team's net, smiling. Red lunged, but Simon blocked, pushed Red away, then showed him his net: empty.
Simon's team-mate Mark ran down the field with the ball Simon had handed off to him during his spin. Runners from the opposing team converged on Mark as he approached the net. He looked around frantically for someone to pass to, knowing he would be attacked before he got anywhere near the crease. Nick raised his stick in a "send it here" gesture. Mark started to hurl the ball to Nick, but before he finished the throw got smashed across the chest with the broad side of a stick. The ball flew high. Nick reached out for the ball, but tipped it further up into the air.
A player from the other team slashed his stick through the air, looking like he'd knock the ball to the ground. But with a small twist, he scooped up the ball and ran full-tilt towards the net on the opposite side of the field.
The crowd cheered. Simon quickly stole a look at them sitting in the stands under the blazing pot lamps. Despite the lights, the air in the arena was cool, and chilled the sweat on his face. His jersey and shorts stuck to him, and his knee throbbed where it bled from a fall in the first quarter. All these sensations occurred in a heartbeat, a heartbeat he savoured.
The few hundred people who'd shown up for this game, early in the season, made a surprising amount of sound, a sound that was calling for Simon's team to lose. From the corner of