Call the Shots (5 page)

“That’s right.” Dad picks up his knife and fork and begins sawing off a piece of his popover. “We’ve discussed the situation extensively, and the only reasonable solution we could come up with”— he pops the gravy-drenched dough into his mouth and starts chewing —“is that the two of you will have to share Cathy’s bedroom.”

Cathy whips her head in Dad’s direction. “I don’t
think
so.”

“Think again, young lady,” Mom says, with just a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “We’re going to make Sean’s room into the nursery, and that only leaves one place left.”

“Forget it,” I say. “I’ll sleep in the family room.”

“No, you will not.” Dad takes a sip of his shake. “There is only a limited amount of common space in this house. We’re not going to have your games and computer paraphernalia strewn everywhere. I’m sorry, but we’re all going to have to make some sacrifices.”

“Fine, then.” My shoulders slump in defeat. “I’ll share my room with the baby.”

“Aw, sweetheart.” Mom gives me a sympathetic look. “That’s just not going to work. You wouldn’t get any sleep.”

“I don’t care. I’d rather not sleep than share a room with
her.
”

“This is not up for debate,” Dad says. “The decision’s been made. We knew you two weren’t going to be happy about it, but that’s life. I shared a bedroom with three of my brothers growing up. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“Lucky?” Cathy huffs. “Right. I’m so sure. Why can’t we just get rid of all the stupid pets? Then we’d have more money and we could move to a bigger house.”

My stomach drops, but I don’t say anything. Cathy’ll just rail into me. Instead, I give Bronson a little consoling cuddle with my feet.

“We’re not getting rid of the animals, Cathy.” Mom stares at her in disbelief. “Honestly. The amount of money we would save casting out our little furry friends here”— Mom scoops up one of the kittens and works his paws like he’s a marionette —“wouldn’t even come close to offsetting the cost of a new home.”

“Whatever.” Cathy turns away so she doesn’t have to look at the adorable kitty puppet.

“What about building an extension?” I say. “To add another room. That’d be cheaper than buying a brand-new house.”

“We already looked into it.” Dad pulls the napkin from his collar. “It’s still too much. It would cost twenty to thirty thousand dollars. And that’s
if
a contractor could stay on budget. I’m sorry, but this is our only option.”

“And who knows?” Mom adds. “You might even enjoy it after a while. I mean, you shared my womb, right? Now you’ll share a room.” She laughs like this is the funniest thing in the world. “Who knows, maybe this is the thing that brings you two closer together.”

“What about Uncle Doug?” I say, the tightness in my chest getting even tighter. “He’s rich. Maybe he can lend us the money to build an extension.”

“Your uncle Doug is not rich,” Mom says. “He’s got some money, yes, but he’s got his . . . habits, and he needs all the money he makes to live on. I don’t understand why you kids are trying to turn this into something bad. This is very exciting news. Sure, we’re all going to have to pitch in a little, but this is a miracle from God we’re talking about here. Dr. Halpern said I’m the first patient he’s ever had get pregnant after having her tubes tied. We should be celebrating. This baby obviously wants to be born into our family. There’s going to be another Hance in this world.” Mom grabs her empty shake glass and hoists it in the air. “Let’s have a toast. To the baby.”

Dad is the first to pick up his glass. I raise mine because you can’t
not
toast to a baby. And Cathy is the last one to lift her untouched shake, hefting it like it weighs a thousand pounds.

My sister and I glare at each other across the table. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so angry before. And believe me, I’ve seen her
royally
pissed. I’m not sure if it’s directed at me or if it’s just an overall loathing of the world in general.

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.

“No offense.” Matt stifles a laugh. “But your mom and dad are like the
last
people I want to think about doing the nasty.”

“So let’s
not
think about it,” I snap.

“I know, but you kind of have to, right?” Coop says. “I mean, you’re mom’s got the bun in the oven as proof positive they’re doing the grumble rumble.”

“I’m serious, dude,” I warn.

“Oh, come on,” Coop cajoles. “Tell me you’re not wondering how they do it. I bet it’s not missionary. Because your dad’s got that bloated physics-teacher belly going on. Which would just get in the way. Unless he’s got, like, a blue whale schlong.”

“Can you stop?” I say. “We’re talking about how we’re going to film this movie.”

“Actually,” Matt corrects, “we’re talking about your parents having sex. Which is infinitely more interesting.”

“It’s not like we get off on it, Sean,” Coop reassures me. “It’s more of a let’s-go-look-at-the-bearded-lady type thing.”

“Or flipping through
Ripley’s Believe It or Not!
” Matt adds.

Coop reaches over and swats my arm. “Be honest now. You can’t tell us you’re not just a little bit curious?”

“Yes, I can. I
can
tell you that.” My voice flutters as we ride over the uneven frozen dirt of the field that backs this lane of houses. “I
am
telling you. I’m not the least bit curious.”

“Oh, I just had a thought.” Coop waggles his eyebrows. “What if your parents are into doing really freaky stuff? Like the Rhode Island Rabbit’s Foot. Or the Delaware Deep Dish.”

“Or the North Dakota Meat Balloon.” Matt sputters with laughter.

“Enough,” I say, covering one ear with one hand because I can’t ride no-handed when I’m not on flat pavement. “You can shut your pie traps right now.”

“All right, all right, fine. Jeez.” Coop shifts gears on his bike as we get to the end of the field and turn onto Market Road. “So what if your mom likes to dress up like a mime and eat canned peach slices from your dad’s hairy belly folds? Doesn’t concern us, does it, Matt?”

“No, of course not.” Matt’s laughing so hard his bike’s zigzagging through the street like he’s drunk. “They could be riding each other around the bedroom like wild naked ponies for all we care.”

“Go to hell.” I stand and pedal hard to try and get away from them, but Coop and Matt have no trouble keeping pace. Finally, I just give up and sit back on my bike seat. “You guys are total dicks, you know that?”

“Aw, don’t pout, Sean-o,” Coop says. “We’re just bustin’ your chops a little. Did you actually expect us to let something like that just slide on by?”

“Yeah, if you had any class, you would,” I say.

He grins and thrusts his hand out for me to shake. “Hi, Cooper Redmond. Nice to meet you.”

I swat his hand away, but it’s hard to keep a straight face. Coop’s a d-bag, but he’s a funny d-bag, which makes it really difficult to stay pissed at him.

“Okay,” Matt says. “If you don’t need the money for the baby, what do you need it for?”

“Right. Like I’m going to tell you. You assbaskets will just make fun of me.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, dawg,” Coop says. “There’s a very good possibility of that happening. But once we get it out of our system, you know we’ll have your back.”

I let out a long weary sigh because I know he’s right. You couldn’t ask for two more loyal friends. “I need the money to build an extension on my house, okay?”

“What?” Matt asks. “Why?”

“Because. My parents can’t afford to do it. And if I don’t come up with the money”— I shake my head, still unable to believe this —“I’m going to have to share a bedroom with Cathy.”

Coop grabs his chest like he’s been speared by an arrow.
“Daaamn!”
he howls. “Are you twisting me? Bunking with Count Skankula? That’s egregious, dude.”

“Tell me about it.” I check my cell and see that — even with the shortcut — we are still in serious danger of missing first bell.

“Do you have to move in with her right away?” Matt asks.