Call the Shots (42 page)

First there was surprise at how small and beautiful the baby is.

Then there was shame for ever thinking this baby was a curse on my life.

Excitement, joy, nervousness, wonder, amazement all followed in quick succession.

And now I’m terrified, because I
would
like to hold my new little sister, but I’m also afraid I might hurt her.

“I don’t know how to hold a baby,” I finally say. “What if . . . I drop her?”

Mom smiles. “You’re not going to drop her, sweetie. Just cradle her in your arms carefully. Like this.” She shows me the proper carrying position, then holds out the small bundle of snow-white blankets to me. “Go on. It’s okay.”

I gingerly take the baby from Mom’s hands, bring her close to my body, and cradle her like a super-rare vinyl-caped Jawa action figure.

Her adorable pinched-up pink face peeks out from under a minuscule pink stocking cap. She’s heavier than I thought she would be. And she smells incredible. Like a fresh blueberry muffin and warm milk.

“She’s beautiful,” I say, suddenly feeling this enormous wave of love for her. “Hello, little Gracie. I’m Sean.”

“So,” Mom asks, “how does it feel being a big brother?”

“It feels good.” I beam at Mom. “Really good.” And then that pang of shame again. “I’m really sorry. About what I said. About the baby being . . . I didn’t mean it.” And of course I realize instantly that this is a lie. “What I mean is, I
thought
I meant it. At the time. But now . . .” I stare down at my new baby sister in my arms. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” I snuffle back tears, wondering what kind of sappy-gas they pump into these hospital rooms to make you feel like you’re constantly on the verge of sobbing.

Mom laughs and snuffles too. “It’s all right, honey. I understand.”

And, okay, I know it sounds corny and all, but holding my little sister, I’m proud that she’s going to be sleeping in my old room. With all my old memories. Making new memories for herself. It feels good to be able to share that with her.

It’s too bad my parents didn’t wait until this moment to ask me to give up my room, because right now, I’d do pretty much anything for this little baby.

“She’s amazing,” I say. “It’s like, I can’t stop smiling at her.”

“I know,” Mom says, dabbing at her nose. “It’s exactly how I felt when you and Cathy were born.”

I start to lightly rock Gracie in my arms. She makes a tiny squeak noise, which causes me to smile even bigger.

“Welcome to the world, Gracie,” I whisper to my brand-new sister. “You’re in for one heck of a ride.”

I
T’S BEEN ALMOST A MONTH
since Gracie was born.

Almost a month since our film totally tanked at TerrorFest. Apparently it was the funniest film they’ve ever screened. Unfortunately for us, though, they only award prizes to actual
scary
movies. And only our “publicity stunt” was terrifying. Well, before he was carted off by the cops.

But even though our movie didn’t do what we’d hoped it would do, Nessa and I are kind of proud of the response our film got. I mean, who couldn’t use a laugh with all the crazy crap going on in the world? And how many films — scary or otherwise — can claim they put a pregnant woman into labor?

Don’t get me wrong. It still totally and royally sucks having to share a room with Cathy. For some reason her snoring has only gotten worse with the approach of summer. Call it allergies. Call it the effects of humidity. Call it whatever the hell you want, she continues to sound like a flock of tortured phlegm-afflicted geese.

And do not even get me started at how pissed off she is that I’ve “somehow managed to trick” Nessa into dating me. Cathy’s taking
that
out on me in a big way.

Some things never change.

Still, the joys of having an adorable little sister far outweigh the pains of having a cranky nine-minutes-older one. Gracie has just started responding to the sound of my voice. Smiling and cooing when I make silly noises or when I quote her lines from
Zonkey!
in my best Rogart voice. She’s a pretty great audience.

And all those months of work on the film haven’t exactly gone to waste: because of the response we got at TerrorFest, we decided to upload parts of our film as weekly webisodes on YouTube. We’ve gotten several thousand views and quite a few comments on the movie so far, which is pretty cool. And since it seems to be so popular, Nessa and me have even been batting around ideas for a spin-off, featuring Nashira and Rogart and their adorable but genetically altered baby, Lazarus.

“Sean-o, your opinion on this, please,” Coop says, hunkered over my laptop, Buttons curled up on his lap. “Should we end this episode with the scene where Rogart gets his arm scratched by one of the humanzees? Or when the zombie horde is trying to bust into the house?”

“The house,” I say, nodding at the screen, where four floppy ape-hands are smacking into the front door over and over like giant hairy oven mitts. Jeez Louise, how did we ever think that scene was scary? “Definitely. It’s funnier. Best to leave them laughing so they’ll want to come back next week.”

“I’ll second that,” Matt says, gesturing with my replica Gladius from the beanbag chair on the floor.

Coop nods. “Consider it done, then.”

Just then the bedroom door bursts open. “You dweeblets just about done? I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“You’re supposed to knock, Cathy,” I remind her for, like, the thousandth time. “When the sock’s on the door? We agreed on that, remember?”

“Yeah, and you’re supposed to pony up twenty-five bucks a month in rent. We agreed on that too,
remember
?”

“
You
agreed on it. When you stole fifty bucks from us!” I cry. “I still have to pay Uncle Doug back all of his money
and
the cost of the amp we busted at the Battle of the Bands. You’ll get your money right after he gets his.
Not.
”

Cathy stalks over to her side of the room and yanks open her closet. “Any person with half a brain knows they should pay their rent before paying their creditors. Otherwise you might come home one day to find you and all your shit
evicted.
”

I’m just about to respond when there’s a loud elongated braying blare — like a giant wheezing clown’s horn — coming from outside.

“What the hell was that?” Coop asks, setting the computer aside.

“I have no idea,” I say.

It sounds again. A whiny fog horn that’s annoyed it’s being made to blow.

Matt hoists himself from the beanbag. “I believe this bears investigating.”

The three of us head out into the hallway. “Later, masturbators,” Cathy calls after us and slams the door. Obviously she lacks our inquisitive natures.

Me, Coop, and Matt make our way downstairs and out the front door.

And there, in our driveway, is a hunormous rickety old RV painted like the Milky Way with the words
HAVE YOU BEEN SAVED? BETTER MAKE IT QUICK! THE END OF THE WORLD IS NIGH!
printed across the top.

“Howdy ho!” Uncle Doug calls from the driver’s seat, wafting a zeppelin-size doobie out the window.

The three of us approach the RV cautiously.

“So,” Uncle Doug calls from his perch, “what do you think?”

“It’s big,” I say.

“Damn straight.” Uncle Doug toasts this sentiment with his joint. “It’s a thirty-foot Class C model. She’s got about fifteen years on her, but she’s not in bad shape. Won her from some disgruntled Holy Roller in a sperm-count contest. Turns out all that bunk about the happy leaf affecting your spermatozoa is all a big myth.” He takes a long drag on his hand cannon.

“Why’d you bring it here?” I ask, glad that Mom and Dad are at the pediatrician with Gracie and aren’t around to see this monstrosity parked in their driveway.

“Why do you think?” Uncle Doug opens his door and climbs down. He gestures at the camper like a game-show hostess. “It’s your new bedroom, Seanie.”

I stare at Uncle Doug. My eyes strain from their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“As syphilis, my friend.” He grins.

“Score,” Coop says. “Your own place, dawg. How dope is that?”

Uncle Doug takes a generous drag on his joint. “I suppose you’ll have to arm-wrestle your sister for it, though. Either way, you guys’ll have your privacy back. Consider it Uncle Doug’s own personal prize package for having the fortitude to finish your film.” He lunges for me and grabs me in a headlock, giving me a skull-bruising noogie. “Of course, this doesn’t excuse you from your carpet-mascot duties, Seanie. I’m still expecting payback for my outlay of cash, my friend.”

“Okay, okay!” I shout.

“What are the magic words?”

“Uncle Doug! Uncle Doug! Uncle Doug!”

“That’s my boy.”

He releases me and I stumble backward, rubbing my scalp.

Uncle Doug nods toward the RV. “Go on. Take a look inside. I’m gonna go bury an elf in your john. I’d do it in the RV, but the commode’s not exactly reliable at the moment.”

Uncle Doug makes his way to the house as Matt, Coop, and me head into the motor home.

“This is spectac,” Coop says when we get inside. “Your own kitchen. Bathroom. And lounge area.” He flops down on the beige couch, props his feet up on the cushions, and laces his fingers behind his head. “You and Nessa are gonna have some good times in here.”

“That’s assuming, of course”— Matt turns the kitchen faucet on and off —“that you can beat your sister in an arm-wrestle.”

“Pfff,” I lip fart. “There isn’t going to be any arm-wrestling. This puppy’s mine.” I take a seat at the steering wheel and pretend I’m driving. “I’m staking my claim.”

“Is that so?”

I whip around to see Cathy, decked out in her Wal-Mart uniform, stepping up into the RV.

“Uncle Doug brought it over for me,” I argue. “So take a hike.”

“Tsk, tsk, little brother,” Cathy says. “Being older than you,
I
should get the best room.” She starts to stroll around, running her fingers over the counters.

“You’re going to get your old room back,” I say. “Isn’t that enough for you?”

Behind Cathy’s back, I can see Coop and Matt whispering conspiratorially. Then Coop readjusts his position on the couch, looking like he can’t quite get comfortable.

Suddenly Cathy’s nose starts to twitch. “Actually. You know what? This place smells like sweaty ass. I bet it was owned by some old skanky bedbug-ridden couple who never washed and sat around naked all the time.” She wipes her fingers on her khakis. “You enjoy your new home, Sean. I think I’ll stick with my nice, clean, uncontaminated, climate-controlled bedroom in the house. Buh-bye.”

And with that, Cathy trots out of the camper.

Matt waves his hand in front of his nose. “Coop, dude, that was grisly. Way to bring out the big guns.”

“Don’t thank me,” Coop says, getting up from the couch and opening a window. “Thank Sally Gregg. God only knows what they put into those bars and shakes, but Helen has banned me from consuming them for a twenty-four-hour period before I see her.”

I look over at Matt and Coop, busting their guts, and feel a swell of emotion rising up in me. A guy couldn’t ask for two more amazing friends.

I clear my throat. “I can’t believe this thing’s really mine. Just think how cool it will look once I put my stuff up on the walls, maybe repaint the outside. I bet we could even set up my Xbox in here.”

“Speaking of summer,” Coop says, leaping over and snagging the passenger seat beside me.

“Who was speaking of summer?” Matt asks. He walks over and perches on the console between me and Coop, his knees straddling the stick shift.

“I was. Just now.” Coop leans back and places his feet up on the dash. “We gotta get planning, dawgs. Summer vacation’s only a few weeks away. Don’t you doinklettes think it might be prudent to start talking potential goals?”

Me and Matt exchange a look.

“Maybe our goal should be to
not
have a goal this summer,” I offer.

“Yeah,” Matt adds. “Leave things to chance for once.”

Coop rolls his eyes. “Booooring. No.” He sits up. “I say we take a page from Nessa’s
Necronomicon.
We’re all going to die someday, right? And there’s no knowing when. So what’s the one thing everyone should experience at least once in their lives?”

I eye Coop warily, expecting his filthy dirty worst. After all, the goals do seem to be getting raunchier and raunchier with each passing year. What does he want us to do now — combine all our recent schemes into some sort of homemade, cell-phone-shot porno, staged in my swinging new rock-and-roll Magic Bus?

But I should have given him more credit. Because Coop’s got that gleam in his eye. The one he used to get back when our goals were simpler. Like collecting a thousand golf balls off the golf course or eating our weight in Funyuns over the course of the summer.

“I think you know what I’m talking about.” Coop smiles wide and spreads his arms even wider, encompassing more than just the RV — encompassing the whole world. “Road trip!”

I come to the end of the Swim the Fly series with a mixture of elation and melancholy. Although I am happy that I’ve been able to finish the series on such a high note, I am also saddened to have to say good-bye to these boys (at least for now).