Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(18)



Dad holds up his hand. “It’s okay, Barbara. I’ve got this one.” He cants his head as he looks at us. “You boys do realize that animals of different species usually can’t reproduce?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, his eyes veering off to the side. “That’s what we were trying to find examples of. Animals that can’t have babies together. Because . . . not everyone knows that.”

“Although,” Dad says, emptying a bag of nuts and bolts onto my rug, “interesting factoid: Certain dissimilar species actually can generate offspring. If they’re closely related. Usually within the same genus and within the same family. Have you ever heard of a zonkey?”

“No,” Matt says.

Dad fits the headboard and one of the slatted sides together. “That would be a cross between a zebra and a donkey. And while they’re very rare in the wild, they have been successfully bred in zoos. In fact, the first zoo to breed one was —”

“That’s fascinating,” I say. “Why are you guys bringing this baby stuff into my room?”

“Mrs. Goldstein gave this to us,” Mom replies, all sprightly. “Wasn’t that nice of her?”

“Yeah, real generous.” I stare at the partially assembled crib, my jaw clenched tight. “I thought you said the baby wasn’t going be born until May.”

“Babies sometimes come early.” Dad continues with the assembly. “We can’t wait until the last minute to make up the room. Besides, it’s going to end up in here eventually, so —”

“But this isn’t a baby’s room,” I argue. “It’s not even safe for a baby. There are swords on the walls.” I motion to my mounted replica samurai swords. “And glass-framed posters that could fall down and kill it.” I point to the Lord of the Rings poster over my bed.

“Aw, sweetie.” Mom forces a smile. “We’re going to have to take all that stuff down, of course. You’ll see. We’re going to paint it powder blue with some fluffy clouds on the ceiling.” There’s a wistful look in her eyes, like she’s picturing the whole thing already finished. “We might even paint a nice big rainbow over there.” She points to the wall where my Death Star clock hangs. “And a flutter of butterflies flying up to the ceiling over there.” Where my World War II figures are displayed. Then she shakes herself out of her reverie. “But we don’t have to do it all right now. I mean”— she glances at Dad —“there’s still some time. Right, Gary?”

Dad shrugs, tightening a nut. “I’m not sure I see the point in postponing the inevitable.”

“Whatever,” I say, catching Matt and Coop’s “yikes” expressions. “Can you guys just please leave now? We’ve got a really tight deadline, and we need to get back to work.”

Dad looks down at the half-erected crib. “Okay, okay. Got it. I can finish putting this together later. But if you want some help with your biology project —”

“No, thanks.” I usher my parents from my bedroom and shut the door behind them.

“Holy crap,” Coop says, staring at the crib. “This is way more desperate than I thought. They’re squeezing you out, dawg. Forget four months. You’re lucky if you have four weeks.”

“It sucks.” I kick the stupid headboard. “I’m completely screwed.”

“No.” Coop points at me. “Not completely. Worst-case scenario you’ll have to share a room with your sister for a few months. But we’re going to do this thing. We’re going to make this movie. And we’re going to sell it. The three of us. Together. Don’t you worry.”

“That’s right,” Matt adds. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Forget it.” I collapse into my Jabba the Hutt beanbag chair. “It’s hopeless. Who are we trying to kid? We don’t know anything about making movies. We don’t have any money. We don’t even have a story, for Kirk’s sake.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, dawg,” Coop says. “Because I just came up with a killer idea. Full of gross-outs, gore, and cheap scares. I even have a title.”

“Oh, really?” I look at him. “And what’s that?”

Coop stares at me and Matt. His eyes dead serious. “We’re going to call it . . . Zonkey!”





“ZONKEY!?” MATT’S EYES scrunch up with skepticism.

“That’s right,” Coop says. “Some crazy zoo-doctor dude who’s in charge of making the zonkeys comes up with this whacked idea to crossbreed human DNA with chimpanzee DNA. But he doesn’t just make a human-monkey baby. No. He develops some kind of human-chimpanzee virus that he can infect people with, making them into these half-man, half-monkey drones that he can control.” The ideas are pouring out of Coop like he’s possessed or something while Matt and I just stare at him, mesmerized. “What this doctor doesn’t count on is the virus mutating and turning people into hairy uncontrollable zombie-monsters with a thirst for human blood. That way we hit all of the hot bases.” Coop counts off on his fingers. “We’ve got technology, we’ve got zombies, we’ve got a potential apocalypse, and we’ve got vampirism. It’s a beautiful thing.” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair, a smug self-satisfied smile on his face. “Tell me that’s not totally genius.”

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