As I walk down my apartment building hallway, I still cannot believe I’m going to write the class play.

Me, Kyle Anderson: serious screwup turned sensational scribe.

Yow. Yow. Yow.

I’ll double that. Yow. Yow. Yow. Yow. Yow. Yow.

I’ve never written a play before. But I bet I can do it, even though it’ll be hard work.

Yow. Yow.

I’m up for the challenge.

Yow?

Everyone in class was mega-surprised I volunteered. I could see it in their faces, their pursed lips and popping eyeballs.

Maggie’s expression was the most priceless. She looked like she had swallowed a frog.

I expected her to croak on the spot.

Everyone thinks that all I do is horse around with Brian and Seth. And maybe they are right.

Were right.

No more.

I’ll show them that I’m more than a horrible horse-around goof-off. I’ll show my mom, too.

Besides, writing a play can’t be much harder than writing rhymes, right?

The play was amazing, everyone said.

That boy’s got some brains hidden in his red head.

There’s a voice inside my head telling me that I can do this, too. It says that I can be an ace student. I can be serious and reliable.

And for once, I’m not telling the voice to shut up.

I’m going to write the greatest play ever. I’ll be a whole new Kyle, a Kyle who’s good for something.

I barely notice the smell of curry in the hallway as I turn the doorknob to enter our apartment. It’s quiet in the hall, but when the door swings open, I’m immediately hit by the sounds of my siblings wailing and the TV blaring and an unpleasant stink that reminds me of dirty diapers.

In the kitchen, Mom feeds AJ, although she probably has more food on the floor than in his mouth. The green dots on Mom’s face must be smashed peas. At least I hope that’s what they are.

Leah sits on the floor, banging a wooden spoon against the base of the table.

“Can you keep an eye on AJ?” Mom asks, wiping peas off his face. She lifts him from the high chair and puts him on the floor.

“Sure,” I say.

But I need to get started on writing my play, too.

I have responsibilities.

No more goofing off for me.

I grab a handful of lined paper and a pencil from our junk drawer, scoop up AJ in my other arm, and head to the family room. Marley and Nate watch cartoons. I put AJ on the carpet, and he immediately starts whacking the sofa with a rattle that was lying next to him.

“Keep it down,” says Marley, but AJ keeps banging. I nudge him with my leg so that he’s hitting the fabric of the sofa and not its leg. This way the whacking is not nearly as distracting.

But at least the banging will keep him busy for a while.

I sit on the big recliner. There’s a small writing table next to it. I lay my paper on the table and hold up my pencil, ready to begin writing.

I jot my name on the top of the page, big, like John Hancock big. (John Hancock is famous for signing his name in a gigantic size on the Declaration of Independence. I’ll have to put that in my play. I wonder what rhymes with gigantic?)

I peek at the television only a few times. Mostly, I stare at the paper—the white piece of paper staring back at me. It’s practically daring me to write on it.

My name remains big. The rest of the page remains empty.

I think about everything I know of the American Revolution. George Washington cut down a cherry tree and had wooden teeth. I wonder if he was scared of woodpeckers? Also, there was a tea party. Paul Revere rode a horse to warn people. I think they picked him because no one else owned a horse. Betsy Ross sewed the flag. I wonder how she knew to add fifty stars, one for each state? That must have been a lucky guess because I don’t think they had fifty states yet. I’m pretty sure Alaska and Hawaii came later. Ben Franklin was also involved somehow. He discovered electricity, too. I wonder if he had magic electrical superpowers.

I put down my pencil in frustration. What was I thinking? What do I know about writing a play? What do I really know about the American Revolution?

America revolted. Doing work is revolting.

And I’m stuck.

It’ll take all weekend to write this!

But I made a promise.

I will no longer be an undependable oaf. I’m a new Kyle. If I can’t do this, how can I expect to take care of my brothers and sisters while Mom is working a new job?

I will write the play! Me! Make no mistake—

And I’ll start it after this commercial break.

On the TV, Squiggle Cat gets poked in the eye. I laugh. “Yow, yow, yow!” he hollers.

Sometime later, I’m not sure how much later, Mom sticks her head in the room. She’s still covered in peas and I have to keep from laughing. One is mashed onto the tip of her nose, like a wart. She looks like the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Where’s AJ?” she asks.

“He’s right next to me.”

“Where?” Mom asks.

I look down at the floor. AJ was right next to me.

Uh-oh.

I bolt out of the chair. AJ was here a minute ago. Or maybe it was many minutes ago. He couldn’t have gone far, right? My brother can’t even walk yet. He has to be in the apartment somewhere. Somewhere safe.

“How long has the front door been open like that?” Mom asks.

The front door to our apartment is wide open. Did I close it when I came home today? I can’t remember.

My mind fills with panic. I run out into the hallway, but I don’t see AJ at all. He’s vanished.

At the far end of the hallway a small door is open. It’s the garbage chute door.

Oh no.

I sprint down the hall. “AJ?” I yell out. “Are you there?” When I get to the chute, I poke my head as far as I can inside the metal tube. “AJ? Can you hear me?”

My voice echoes through the metallic passageway. It travels down, down, down to the basement.

No voice bounces back.

The garbage chute opens up into a large, rusty metal container filled with everyone’s trash. AJ could be in the container right now. He could have slid down the shaft and landed in the container.

He could have hit his head. He could be trying to eat a plastic bag.

I don’t want to think what I’m thinking.

I was going to be a new Kyle! A better Kyle! Instead, I’m as good for nothing as I always have been.

I don’t wait for Mom. I fling open the stairway door and dash down the stairs, two at a time, down the three flights all the way to the basement.

I’ve only been in the garbage room once before, when I accidentally threw away Mom’s watch last year. It took some time, but I found that watch and it was only a little dented.

The thought makes me feel worse. What if AJ is a little dented?

As I step off the final stair, the hum of a radiator fills the air. It’s dark, cold, and damp. I’m too worried to be scared, although it’s extremely scary down here, with moisture on the gray concrete slabs and some sort of creaking coming from the vents. I wouldn’t be surprised if rats live down here. It feels like the sort of place rats live. The lights are dim and cobwebs are everywhere. The stale trash stench is overpowering.

“AJ?” I cry out.

Please answer me, please answer me!

I wait for a response.

I don’t get one, except for the slight echo of my voice.

The container is open but taller than me. I need to stand on my tiptoes and hoist myself up on the side of the container to peek in.

I’m scared at what I might find.

But I find nothing.

The container is empty except for the old garbage smell and multicolored dark stains caked into the metal sides: reds, greens, and browns. “AJ?”

Maybe the trash has already been emptied and thrown into a truck. Maybe I just missed it. Right now AJ could be sitting in the rear of a garbage truck, being hauled off to a dump somewhere.

We need to call the trash company. The police. The fire department! I sprint back up the stairs. It’s a lot harder running up stairs than it is running down them, but I don’t have time to take it easy.

By the time I reach our floor, I’m breathing heavily. I plow across the hallway to our apartment. I can’t catch my breath.

I inhale giant whiffs of curry as I pass apartment 3F. I wheeze.

When I push open our apartment door, Mom is in the kitchen with AJ, rocking him in her arms. He looks fine. He coos.

“He was in the bathroom,” Mom says. “Eating soap.”

I have never been more thankful for anything in my life.

Mom glares at me, her eyes angry, but I think she’s too relieved to yell at me just now. I’m sure I’ll be yelled at later.

I mutter an apology and, with my shoulders slumping, lumber to the family room. I stand in the doorway. Marley and Nate are still watching cartoons.

Squiggle Cat gets poked in the eye, but I don’t laugh.

I was supposed to do something else right now, something for school, but I can barely think straight. I’m just glad AJ is fine. Anything else can wait until after I watch this show, or maybe it can wait until the show after that.

I hear my mom’s voice behind me. She’s talking to AJ, not me, using her calm, soothing voice. But her words stick in my stomach and bury themselves in there. “And that’s why I can’t leave you guys alone and take that promotion, honey,” she says, to herself more than him.

I don’t think Mom intended for me to hear that, but I feel like I’m going to be sick.