Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(11)

But I do know one thing.

Whatever it takes, even if I have to sell part of my liver, I will not be sharing a room with my sister.





I’M PEDALING MY BIKE through the wet streets of our neighborhood, flanked by Coop and Matt. Usually we have the ride to school timed out perfectly — so that we step through the doors right at first bell — but I was running late this morning and so we’re having to make up some time.

It’s a cold, miserable morning, and the roads are lined with mounds of old snow that don’t seem to want to melt. I don’t know if it’s the protective coating of car exhaust soot that’s thwarting the natural water cycle or what, but everything looks really dank and depressing.

Or maybe it’s just the mood I’m in.

There was a split second at dinner — right after the baby announcement and before the disturbing realization that our parents are still having sex — when I was actually thinking it might be cool to be an older brother. You know, reading bedtime stories, giving bike-riding lessons, having someone in the house who still believes in Santa Claus.

But anything good that could have possibly come out of it has been smashed on the rocky shores of having to share a bedroom with my stupid sister.

All I can think about now is how there will be less of everything once the baby’s born. Less privacy, less TV time, less crispy beef when we go out for Chinese.

I can’t believe how much I dislike this dumb baby already, and it’s not even here yet.

Which makes me feel like an enormous tool. Because how can you hate a baby? I don’t want to be that guy. The douche bag who’s all mean and nasty to his younger brother or sister.

I’ve got to figure out a way to get enough money so that we can build an extension.

And fast.

You know what they say about desperate times. . . .

“All right,” I say, glancing at Coop. “Tell me more about this movie idea of yours.”

Coop’s sweatshirt-hooded head snaps toward me. “Ha! Knew it! They always come back begging.”

“Sean, you can’t be serious,” Matt says, looking at me like I’ve totally lost it. Which maybe I have.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m just gathering info.” I look at Coop again. “How easy do you think it’d be to sell a movie?”

Coop laughs like I’ve just asked him if he thinks it might be fun to see two smokin’ babes hot-fudge wrestling in a giant bowl of ice cream. “Are you kidding? As long as it’s halfway deece, someone will snatch it up. I mean, have you seen some of the crap-o-latte they trot out? There’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to perpetrate the same kind of fraud and rake in the mega-chips.”

“So, you don’t even want to make a good movie?” Matt snickers. “Well, at least that seems like a realistic goal.”

“You’re obviously missing the point, Matthew,” Coop says. “The idea is to make something that will sell. Quality is secondary. And maybe not even that important.”

“But do you know how to sell it?” I ask. “Once we’ve got the thing made?”

Matt stares at me. “Sean, why are you encouraging him? We killed this idea Saturday night.”

“Yeah, well, my situation has drastically changed since Saturday. I need a whole load of cash, and I need it PDQ.” I look back over at Coop. “How long do you think a movie would take to film? And don’t say more than four months.”

Coop sits up and rides no-handed. “Depends on how fast we can raise the chedda to fund it. Once we’ve got the greenage, it’ll be cake. We just come up with a basic idea — demon possession, coven of warlocks, vampire cats, whatever — dash off a script, and then roll camera. That’s how all these cheap-ass horror films are done. It’ll take a week. Two at the most.”

“Okay, I’m in,” I say. “When can we start?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Matt’s shaking his head like he’s being attacked by hornets. “What’s going on here, Sean? Why do you need money all of a sudden?”

I feel my shoulders tense up. I was hoping I could hold off telling them, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter. They’re going to find out eventually.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“My mother’s having a baby,” I say.

“Is it your dad’s?” Coop asks.

I scowl at him. “Yes, it’s my dad’s, doink.”

“I wasn’t asking about your dad’s doink. And just so you know, if it isn’t his baby, then it wasn’t his doink that was involved.”

“It is his baby, you nerf herder. Why would you even ask that?”

“I don’t know. You said you needed money. I thought maybe your dad took off when he found out your mom got preggers by some other dude.”

“Well, you thought wrong. It’s both my parents’ baby.”

I hop the curb to take the shortcut through Snyder’s Field, pedaling fast to try and put some distance between me and my so-called friends.

“Hey, Sean,” Coop says when he and Matt catch up to me. “You do realize that this means your mom and dad are still grinding the guinea pigs, right?”

“Yeah, thanks for that. I wasn’t traumatized enough the first time it occurred to me.” My wheel skids out on a patch of snow but I keep my balance and ride on.