Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(96)

For some reason, this makes me think of Nessa. And that look in her eyes this afternoon. The one I could swear was drawing me in for a kiss right before we got interrupted. I wonder what would have happened if we’d had just a couple seconds longer. Would we have —?

“Hey.” Cathy’s sleepy voice is low and raspy. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” I say impatiently. “I’m awake. Why?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“What are you thinking about?” Cathy asks.

“I don’t know. Nothing. Everything.” Certainly not kissing your best friend. Not pushing Uncle Doug aside and sweeping Nessa into my arms and giving her a finale kiss she wouldn’t soon forget. “Uh, how about you?”

“The baby,” she says. “I keep wondering what it’s going to be like. You know. When it’s finally here.”

“Different. That’s for sure.” I feel kind of guilty for how little I’ve actually thought about this baby. Aside from brooding over how much it sucks that I’ve had to give up my room. And how much worse it sucks that I have to share Cathy’s room. But beyond that, I haven’t really given the actual baby baby much thought at all.

“Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?” she asks.

“A boy, definitely,” I say, surprised at my own answer, given that I haven’t really considered it much before now. But it’s like the answer was there all along. “I don’t know if I can deal with two sisters.”

Cathy laughs, then she’s quiet for a minute. “You think Mom and Dad’ll love it more than us?”

My instinct is to say, “No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” But then it hits me how focused they’ve been on the baby. How they didn’t even know that me and my friends were making a movie until I invited them to the festival, let alone that I’m trying to win enough money for the extension on the house. And how they don’t seem to have a clue just how miserable Cathy has been lately — even more miserable than her usual miserable self.

“They say that the youngest child is usually the most adored,” Cathy continues. “That’s why Mom loves you more than me.”

“Right. Because I’m nine minutes younger. Makes total sense.”

“I can’t think of any other reason,” Cathy says. “I mean, I’m the smart one. And the talented one. And the good-looking one. And the one with all the cool friends.”

“You forgot that you’re also the creepy weird freaky one,” I reply. “Besides, Mom doesn’t love me more than you. I just don’t argue with her as much.”

She laughs again. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

A still silence infuses the room. It lasts so long that I think Cathy might have fallen asleep. I listen for the first signs of snoring, but I can’t hear anything.

“Can I ask you something?” Cathy finally says, startling me a little.

“Sure. I guess. I might not answer, but you can ask.”

“Fair enough.” I hear her shifting on her bed. “Would you . . . ? Would you like me any less if you found out I was gay?”

“Pfff,” I say. “I don’t like you now. How could I like you any less?”

“You know what I mean. As your sister. Would you look at me differently?”

I should have known there was a reason she wanted to get me talking. “Listen,” I say. “If you think lulling me in to some pseudo-cozy brother-and-sister late-night chat is going to get me to say that I’m gay, you’re out of your mind. It’s not going to happen, Cathy. Good night. It was great talking with you.” I huff and pull my covers back on. Fluff up my pillow and drop my head down into it.

“I know you’re not gay, Sean,” Cathy says.

“You do?” I don’t trust this. There’s got to be a catch.

“Yes, little brother. Regrettable as it may be, I now believe you are not of the homosexual persuasion.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why all of a sudden do you think I’m not gay?”

Cathy laughs. “You sound disappointed.”

“No. Just suspicious.”

“Some things have come to my attention lately that lead me to believe that you are not as cool and interesting as I’d hoped you were. Okay? Let’s leave it at that.”

“Well. Good,” I say, snuggling down into bed. “Now maybe you can convince Mom and Dad I’m not gay.”

“Sure,” Cathy offers. “Just as soon as I tell them that I am.”

I sit bolt upright. “Excuse me? Tell them you’re what?”

“Gay. Although, technically,” she explains, “I guess I’d be considered a lesbian.”

Okay, so what the hell am I supposed to say to that? This could easily be another trick. If I start being all sympathetic and understanding, she might crack up and make fun of me for being so gullible — and gay.

“Hell-oooo?” Cathy says. “Did you hear what I just said? I’m trying to tell you something important here, turdlet. I’m confiding in you. Are you just going to sit there and not say anything?”

“No,” I croak out. “I just . . . It’s not . . . I mean, I don’t even know if I should believe you.”