Unclaimed Treasures Read Free

in long strokes.
    â€œWho?” shrieked Willa, furious. “Who?”
    Nicky stopped sketching and turned to look out the window, past the old apple tree, at the house next door.
    Willa shrugged. “I just thought he was nice.”
    â€œNo sir, you didn’t just think he was nice,” he mimicked her. “You were tongue-tied.”
    â€œIt was the wine,” said Willa fiercely. “And the funeral. My first, after all.” She began to erase the lips on her bedpost and draw new, larger ones.
    Nicky sighed. “All right. A bet, then.” He held his drawing out and looked at it. He rubbed a part of the drawing with a finger. “I will bet all my chores for the week that you think he is your true love. I know just how you look when you think you have found your true love.”
    Willa tried to think of someone else—another possible true love. But they’d only moved to the house a week and a few days ago. The only boy she’d met was Porky Atwater across the street. Porky and his family, who all looked alike. Was it six or seven Porkys she’d met? But Nicholas would never believe that. Porky was only nine and spent most of his time sitting on the curb, sucking Popsicles that made colored trails down his bare chest and into his pants. No, Nicholas would never believe Porky.
    Willa brightened. “Horace,” she said cheerfully. “It’s Horace.”
    â€œHorace,” scoffed Nicky. “It’s not Horace, though you could do much worse. I like Horace. He’s honest, and I like the way he eats apples.”
    Willa frowned. She knew a bet was a bet. There was nothing she would have liked more than for Nicky to lose the bet and have to do her chores—vacuum the living room and her father’s study, and make salads all week. Willa hated vacuuming. All the dust and dirt crept back so that you had to vacuum again. But mostly she hated making salads. All that work cutting up, when it was eaten and mixed together under the teeth anyway. Willa always wished that she could put a head of lettuce, a tomato, a cucumber, two carrots, and a stalk of celery on the table and tell people to eat up. Willa sighed. Their bets, though, Nicky and hers, were always honest. Had always been honest and would always be so.
    Willa shrugged her shoulders. “You’re right. I’ll take out the garbage and water the plants and set the table all week.” Willa made a face. Setting the table was another tiresome task. The dishes and the silverware just got dirty again in a second. There must be a better way, like eating over the stove from the pots.
    â€œWell,” said Nicky, suddenly shy and uneasy. “Well,” he repeated, bewildered because Willa had given up so easily.
    Willa stood up and walked out of the bedroom and down the hallway to set the breakfast table. Nicky scrambled up and hurried after her. She turned her head to one side, listening. Willa could tell he had more to say just by the way he walked.
    â€œAll right, all right,” said Willa, stopping so abruptly that Nicky ran into her. It didn’t hurt. She wasn’t bigger than Nicky, just seven minutes older. And fiercer.
    Nicky smiled at her, then held out his drawing for her to see. Willa, trying to appear disinterested, glanced at it casually. Nicholas had drawn Willa, wrapped around her bedpost, her lips puckered. The bedpost, though, had sprouted an array of arms, all pushing Willa away. Willa couldn’t help smiling.
    â€œThat’s wonderful, Nicky.”
    â€œWilla,” said Nicky softly. “There will be trouble, Willa. And you’ll be sad.”
    â€œSad, bad,” said Willa, turning around again. She walked downstairs briskly, pretending to ignore him. But she couldn’t ignore his message. For as sure as Willa knew she was the fiercer twin, she knew now and had always known that Nicky was wiser.
    Willa lay on the Oriental rug in her father’s