The press didn't find me. The shopkeeper alerted the town newspapers, and they interviewed him, but I'm not a regular in that store—no money burning holes in my pockets, you see—so he had no idea who I was. Plus, I ran home so fast no one saw where I went, and, on top of that, it was getting dark.

The press people did look for me. After all, how far could I have gotten on foot? We heard their cars prowling the neighborhood, and bits of their conversations. Some of them parked their cars, and got out, and knocked on doors, but it did them no good. I decided I didn't want an interview—the tour was tomorrow, why bother?—but mostly, I didn't want to go through what those other kids had gone through: explaining themselves, and having the people watching on their televisions tear them apart for whatever flaws the watchers decided the winners had. My family certainly hadn't been kind to those others. I didn't want that to happen to me, and I know it would have. No one's perfect, and when you aren't the winner in a contest you want to win it puts you in a bad mood ... if you let it.

My family agreed with me about not being interviewed, though a few were for it. My Grandma Georgina said she loved lion-tamers, and then she made motions with her crochet hook like she was cracking a whip, but she came around. We doused the lights and hunkered down. We left the fire burning—had to, for the heat—but no one outside seemed to notice that, or if they did, looking at the state of our house, they didn't let it influence them.

Once we didn't hear them anymore, we entertained ourselves with the Golden Ticket. My Dad thought it would make a dandy bookmark. Everyone wanted to hold it. They passed it around until they'd seen it enough, and then Grandpa Joe took it, and fell asleep holding it across his chest. He'd snore and it would flutter. Later, when they were all asleep, I snuck down from my loft and took back the ticket. I hadn't minded them borrowing it, but they were asleep now, and it was time for it to come back to me. I brought it up to my roost, and lying on my bed, I held it up to the hole in the roof until the top of the ticket underlined the bottom of the factory.

You didn't get very far, I told it, that glittering gem. You came from up there. You're going back there tomorrow. You don't get out much, do you? I brought it down to my middle, and ran my hand over it. The cool thing about you, I told it, is that you already know things about the factory. You've been inside it. Are you going to spill the beans? Tell me any of what you know? The ticket stayed golden, and silent. Silence is golden, you know. After a while, I wondered if the ticket were made of real gold. Was it? I thought I'd try to scratch some off, but then I thought I better not. I might wreck it. If it were real gold, how much would that make the ticket worth? Five hundred dollars? More? Less? If there were only five of them, was it a collector's item? An antique of the future? Maybe, some day, this ticket might be worth thousands. I wondered if Mr. Wonka would let us keep them. Would he? Maybe he'd take them back, and melt them down.

The factory was as dark as ever. It didn't seem possible that that was all going to change tomorrow, but it would. The ticket I still held in my hand shone in the light from the street lamps. It was a promise. I put it under my pillow, and surprising myself, I fell asleep.

My Mum made cabbage soup for breakfast, with a potato she'd found in the back of a cupboard, and she didn't water it down. Eating, and feeling like it was filling me up for a change, I remembered I had forgotten to get my change from the shopkeeper yesterday. I'd forgotten I'd forgotten, until now. My Dad said not to worry; we could stop by the shop on the way to the factory.

We asked the other grandparents if they wanted to come with us, me, my Mum and Dad, and Grandpa Joe, but Grandpa George said Grandma Georgina had told him last night she'd take care of the three of them while we were gone. Grandma Georgina tilted her head and laughed, in that quiet way she has. I gave her a smile. I don't know what she was thinking, but I figured it was something outlandish. Maybe she thought that if she went with us, Mr. Wonka would catch sight of her, fall head-over-heels in love with her, and then he'd be distracted from giving the tour. She smiled back at me, but there was no reading my Grandma Georgina's mind.

My Mum was getting restless. "We'll be back before you know it," she said, and with kisses all around, we left. It was kinda weird, being out with my Mum and Dad, and Grandpa Joe, all at the same time. I couldn't remember another time when that had happened. Willy Wonka truly could make the impossible happen.

We stepped out of our house, and the weather was glorious, like what we were about to do today, whatever the weather might have been. The sun shone and warmed us, and the few white, puffy clouds above billowed like cotton candy. I felt like skipping, but didn't dare. At the shop, my parents went in first, to tell the shopkeeper not to make a fuss when he saw me: we didn't want to be mobbed the rest of the way up the hill. Holding my hand, Grandpa Joe and I waited, reading the headline of the Gazette displayed in the window: Local Boy Buys Last Golden Ticket Bar In Nick Of Time.

I laughed, and squeezed my grandfather's hand. "Do you think the shopkeeper will change the name of his shop to 'Nick Of Time'?" I asked.

Grandpa Joe look puzzled for a minute, but then he smiled. "You're going to get along just fine with Mr. Wonka, Charlie," he said.

My Dad waved and we went in. We didn't need to worry about a fuss. We were the only ones in the shop. Everyone else was up at the factory. It was getting close to ten o'clock. We'd best not be late: the ticket had said 'sharp'.

"I'm sorry—" I started, but the nice shopkeeper cut me off.

"Here is your change, my good man. You forgot it yesterday."

I smiled and took it, and handed it to my mother, who handed it to my father, who handed it back to her.

"And here, my good man—"

I cut him off. "Charlie," I said. "My name is Charlie. Charlie Bucket."

He grinned at me from his kind, ample face, "—is fifty dollars, Charlie Bucket. Remember that man yesterday who said he'd give you fifty dollars and a new bicycle?" I nodded. "Well, I'll give you fifty dollars for all the publicity you'll give my shop. May I put a sign in my window? Golden Ticket found here?"

I didn't see how I could stop him, but I liked that he asked me. "Sure," I said, taking the fifty dollar bill. We needed the money, and he would get publicity. With a look at my Dad, who shook his head, I gave the crisp, new bill to my Mum. You could smell its newness. Grandpa George was right: there was plenty of money out there, and people would give it to you, if you did something that made them want to.

My Mum surprised me, and took the money from me. I was sure she would think it was charity, and she wasn't big on receiving charity—when it came to our family—but my father had no job at all now, and maybe that made a difference. As I watched the bill disappear into her pocket, I had a thought. Maybe, because he was the father of a Golden Ticket winner, and his old company would want the publicity, too, my Dad would get his job back! That would be good! Suddenly, I felt better than ever, and I squeezed my Grandpa's hand again. That would be so grand if that happened! That would be the best!

"Thank you," said my Mum and Dad to the shopkeeper. They were feeling happier, too.

The shopkeeper saw us out, waving to us on his doorstep.

"Aren't you going to come with us?" I asked.

"Nah," he said. "When it's over, you can tell me all about it yourself. Except for people crowding each other, I won't be able to see a thing."

He was right, but I think if I were him I'd have gone anyway, just to see if Willy Wonka was real. But he was old, and maybe he'd seen Willy Wonka before. My Grandpa Joe had. Even if I had seen Mr. Wonka before, I'd still have gone, to see what changes there were, but I wasn't the shopkeeper, and I'd let him be him, and do what he wanted. I nodded.

"Okay," I promised, my lips in a tight line. Promises were serious. "I'll do that."

Are these my characters? They are not. Is this purely for entertainment? It is.
Thanks for reading.
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As it ever is in my stories, direct quotes from the 2005 movie are in italics.