Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(102)

“I . . . um . . . I don’t know if I . . .” I swallow the thick lump that’s congealed in my throat. A thousand different emotions are careening through me. They’ve been slamming up against one another like a multicar pileup on the freeway ever since I stepped into the room.

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.”





IT’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.”