The Nest

  “I’m sure. And so are you. You’ve already made your choice, Steven. You can have your proper baby—or no baby at all. Which do you think is better for your family? It’s not even a choice! A choice requires a bit of thought, a bit of a tussle. You didn’t need to think about this at all. It’s something or nothing. But we do need to give you the new baby before the old one dies.”

  I thought of all the agony Mom and Dad would endure if the baby died. I couldn’t bear it, knowing I might have stopped it. Then I clenched my teeth, reminded myself I was only dreaming.

  “None of this matters,” I murmured.

  The queen’s head angled in surprise. “Doesn’t matter?”

  “This is just a dream. Just my mind.”

  “It’s all right, Steven,” she said. “I know this must be very difficult for you.” She stroked me with her antennae, and I somehow felt forgiven. “Anyone would struggle with this. Would you like some help, knowing if this is real?”

  I nodded.

  “Of course you would. All right, then.”

  Very quickly she darted toward me and bit me. I cried out as the twin points of her mandibles pierced the back of my hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she said gently, “but now you’ll know.”

  I cradled my hand, and the pain swelled to fill me up, then turned to blackness—and for the first time in a long time, I felt that things were going to be all right.

  On the back of my right hand, in the morning’s light, were two small red welts.

  AT BREAKFAST I SAID TO DAD, “I FEEL SORT of bad about getting rid of the nest.”

  He looked up from buttering his toast. “You’re kidding me.”

  After I’d woken up and seen the welts, I’d been scared I’d have an allergic reaction. But then I’d realized this was a bite, not a sting. No venom. I’d looked all over my bed for something with pointy edges I might have hit my hand on. Nothing. I knew how those marks had been made, but I couldn’t tell Mom and Dad. They’d say there were lots of explanations for those marks. A spider or some other bug that had bitten me in the night. Knocking my hand on something without even noticing. I knew what they’d think.

  But the queen had given me proof, just like she’d promised. My dreams were real. The nest was real. The baby they were making inside was real. But the exterminator was coming in two days, and what if the wasps couldn’t finish the baby in time?

  “I just started wondering if it was wrong,” I said to Dad, trying to sound calm. “I mean, interfering with nature. They spent a long time making the nest and laying their eggs. And it’s not like they’re just pests. They pollinate flowers and plants.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “They’re an important part of the ecosystem.”

  “Has Vanessa been telling you all this?”

  “No! Well, she told us some stuff about wasps, but she’s not saying we should keep the nest. I just . . . don’t like the idea of killing so many of them, I guess. Just because of me.”

  Dad sighed and looked across the kitchen at Mom, who was busy with the coffeemaker. “Are you hearing this?”

  “You’re allergic, Steve,” she said.

  “I’ve got the EpiPen now. And I promise I won’t freak out if they fly around me. Honestly, I’m not as scared of them anymore.”

  “That’s great,” Mom said, “but I still think it’s a good idea.”

  “I’ve booked the guy; he’s coming Friday,” Dad said.

  “I can cancel, if you want. What’s the name of the company? I’ll call.”

  Dad looked at me carefully, and I knew I’d gone too far, had sounded too urgent.

  “Let’s just leave it, okay?” Dad said. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  After lunch Mom left for the hospital with the baby to meet the surgical team. Vanessa was over. I couldn’t do it while Mom was home, but now I disappeared upstairs to search Mom and Dad’s bedroom. There was an old green desk where they kept all their bills and other boring stuff, and I figured they might have written down the name of the exterminator.

  There were tons of bits of paper, mostly stuff about the baby and doctors, and scribbled notes with times and addresses and phone numbers, but I couldn’t find anything that looked like an exterminator. In one of the deep drawers I found a copy of the yellow pages, and when I lifted it out, I saw the knife.

  Just the sight of it scared me. Its weird curve. But I couldn’t stop myself from closing my fingers around the handle and feeling how good the grip was. The urge to stroke the blade, to feel its sharpness, was almost overwhelming. It could cut so much, so deep.

  I took a breath and put it back into the drawer. I opened the yellow pages to “Pest Control.” There was page after page, and none of the entries were circled or anything. It would take so long to call all of them. . . .

  “Steven!”

  It was Nicole’s voice from downstairs.

  “Where are you?” she shouted.

  I slammed the yellow pages back into the drawer.

  “Up here!”

  “Phone call for you!”

  The phone hadn’t rung.

  “Steven!”

  “Yeah, okay, I’m coming!”

  Nicole was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, holding out the receiver of her toy phone.

  Vanessa grinned. “I think it’s Mr. Nobody.”

  “He wants to talk to you,” Nicole said.

  I wasn’t in the mood. “You talk to him, Nicole.”

  “He said he needs to talk to you.”

  This had never happened before. This was not part of the game. I didn’t need any more weird stuff in my life. My weird little broken baby and my weird dreams and weird wasps. I didn’t need a weirdo sister on top of it.

  “Just shut up about Mr. Nobody, Nicole, all right! Nobody cares about Mr. Nobody.”

  She actually giggled. “That’s funny,” she said. “You just said ‘Nobody cares about Mr. Nobody.’ That means—”

  “Shut up, Nicole!”

  My little sister didn’t say “Shut up” back. She just kept looking at me with her big brown eyes, holding out the plastic phone.

  “Hey, Steven,” Vanessa said. “Come on.” She nodded toward the phone, urging me to just take it.

  My feet didn’t feel like they were touching the steps as I walked down. The phone was warm from Nicole’s hand. I put it to my ear and felt angry and foolish at the same time. Silence.

  “There’s no one there,” I said.

  “You have to say hello,” Nicole said solemnly. “Manners, Steven!”

  It was just a stupid game, and I hadn’t spent much time playing with Nicole lately, and I suddenly felt bad barking at her. “Oh, okay. Hello, Mr. Nobody. This is Steven.” I looked at Nicole, and she seemed to want me to keep going. “How nice of you to call, Mr. Nobody. Yep, I’m very well, thanks. How are you?”

  “Worried about you,” said a voice in my ear.

  It sounded like a piece of metal being held against a grindstone, shrill and raspy at the same time. It was like no human voice I’d ever heard. The phone was welded to my hand—I couldn’t drop it. I swallowed wrong and started coughing.

  “You’ll need the knife,” the voice said.

  This time I jerked the phone away from my head. “What is this!” I shouted. “This is a stupid game, Nicole!”

  “I told you,” said Nicole, taking the phone from me and hanging up.

  “Everything okay?” Vanessa asked. “Steve?”

  I walked quickly to the bathroom and locked the door. I swayed in front of the toilet, trying to breathe, feeling my throat tighten and tighten, and finally I hunched over and retched, but nothing came up. I retched a second and third time, spitting to clear the acid taste in my mouth.

  Vanessa was knocking on the door. “You okay?”

  Under the hot water I scrubbed and scrubbed my hands. I wanted to get the phone off me. Afterward I tried to pat them dry and not rub them with a to
wel, because that just chafed my skin, and if my mom saw my chafed hands, she would say something and be worried and look at Dad. I found some lotion in the medicine cabinet and slathered it on.

  When I came out, Vanessa said, “You look kind of wrecked.”

  “Just an upset stomach. I get it sometimes. I’m fine. Don’t tell Mom and Dad.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Vanessa, if you tell them, I’ll tell Dad you told me more about the wasps. And he’ll fire you.”

  She looked really hurt and shook her head, like she didn’t understand why I was behaving like this.

  “Fine. If you’re sure,” she said.

  “I’m sure.”

  Later that afternoon Mom came back from the hospital, and she was smiling.

  “They say he’s doing much better,” she said. “Much stronger now. They’ve scheduled him for Saturday morning.”

  All through dinner Dad and Mom and Nicole were happy, and I was keeping a smile glued to my face. I felt like my head was going to explode off my shoulders. I had no idea what to think anymore. I’d heard voices on a toy telephone. The baby was getting stronger, not weaker like the queen had told me. She’d said he would never be well enough for surgery. Either she was lying or the doctors were. But I couldn’t tell Mom and Dad any of this, because if I did, they’d take me right down to Emergency and I’d be admitted and pumped full of drugs, and then I wouldn’t be able to do anything about the baby.

  I felt shattered and all in pieces.

  Nicole still liked me to help tuck her in, so after Mom and Dad said good night, it was my turn.

  “Hey,” I whispered, kneeling beside her bed, “how long have you been talking to Mr. Nobody?”

  She frowned. “Not so long. You heard him, right?”

  “He really talks to you?” I said. “Like I’m talking to you right now?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s not pretend?”

  Scornfully she said, “I know what pretend is.”

  “Okay.” I felt a little better. Either my sister was crazy too or neither of us were.

  “What does Mr. Nobody tell you?”

  “Mostly just stuff like, ‘Be safe. Watch out for the wasps. Take care of your little brother. Make sure your big brother is all right.’”

  I blinked. “Really?”

  “Mm-hmm. So, are you all right?”

  I almost laughed. “I guess so. Who is he?”

  Nicole shrugged.

  “Can you call him?”

  She shook her head. “I tried. He only calls me.”

  “But the phone never rings.”

  “I hear it.”

  “No one else does.”

  Nicole didn’t seem bothered by this. “It’s a special ring. You guys just aren’t listening.”

  “Does he talk about the wasps?”

  “He says they can really hurt the baby. But you’ll take care of him.”

  She snuggled down deeper into her bed. “Tuck me in now.”

  I pulled the blankets up around her shoulders and chin.

  “My nest,” she said happily.

  IN THE NEST IT WAS VERY DARK, AND THE smell hit me at once—a barnyard stench, chicken droppings and pig manure. And I was aware of the baby above me, crowding against the walls. I didn’t want to look.

  “Ah, there you are,” said the queen. “It’s so exciting. He’s almost ready. Look!”

  Reluctantly I looked. Somehow the baby had turned in its nest and was upside down, bum near the ceiling and its bald head closest to me. The moment I saw its face, the chicken coop smell disappeared and a beautiful fragrance filled the nest: Theo’s head after his bath, a smell so intense, you wanted to kiss that head again and again.

  “You’re doing something,” I said to the queen. “Changing the smells. Something to do with pheromones.”

  “Pheromones! That’s a big word. Well done. Who’s been telling you about pheromones?”

  “Vanessa.” Immediately I regretted saying her name. I didn’t like the wasps knowing about people in my life.

  “She’s a clever one. But we all produce pheromones. How do you know they’re not your own? Triggered by the baby, telling you to love him and care for him.”

  Such a perfect head and nose he had, and full molded lips. And already such long beautiful eyelashes.

  “You seem agitated, Steven,” the queen said. She touched my face. “Tell me your troubles.”

  “I got a phone call.”

  “I’m not at all surprised,” she replied calmly. “I expected him sooner.”

  “You know who he is?”

  “He’s one of many. He’s nothing and darkness. He’s a troublemaker who doesn’t like our work.”

  “He said—”

  “He’s a liar. And he’s not your friend, Steven. He’s your nightmare. He’s a lingerer who stands and watches at the foot of children’s beds.”

  A quick flare of terror went through my body. “Maybe, yes . . .”

  “Absolutely. Anything else troubling you?”

  “He’s much better,” I told the queen.

  “Sorry? Who?”

  “Our baby. Theo.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “He’s scheduled for surgery on Saturday. He’s strong enough!”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter one way or another.”

  I shook my head. “But you said he was going to die before then!”

  “We can’t know everything, Steven.”

  I looked around the nest, at the beautiful baby on the stalk. I looked at my feet, thought about Theo in his crib, getting healthier.

  I said, “I’ve changed my mind, then.”

  The queen was silent, regarding me with her huge compound eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “When I said yes—I take it back.”

  She just watched me.

  “I made a mistake,” I told her.

  “Once you say yes, you can’t say no.”

  “Well, it was just a mistake.”

  She sounded exasperated. “Once you say yes, you can’t say no!”

  “Who says?”

  “That’s just the way it is.”

  “Who makes these rules?”

  “Ha! Not me!”

  “Who, then?”

  The queen twitched her antennae irritably.

  “Who?” I demanded.

  “You’re shouting.”

  “You lied to me! You said the baby would die and this would be the only way we could have the baby!”

  “You’re shouting again, Steven. You’re upset. Deep breaths, come on, just like Dr. Brown taught you. A big balloon in your tummy. Fill that balloon up.”

  “The baby might not die!”

  “We’re quibbling,” said the queen. “Let’s say the baby survives this operation, which frankly is a big ‘if,’ if you want my expert and honest opinion. Now, say he survives. So what?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His defective heart is just the beginning. Tip of the iceberg. Life is going to be very difficult for him. There will be suffering for him and for the whole family. You think it’ll be fun having a freaky little brother in your house? This is the truth I’m telling you. Maybe you won’t like your freaky little brother. Maybe your friends won’t. Maybe they won’t come over.”

  My friends didn’t come over much anyway. I didn’t have a ton of friends.

  “It might not walk. It might not talk. It might not be able to feed itself. It might not think properly. It might never know how to go to the toilet. You’ll be cleaning up its pee and poo your whole life.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “Oh, forgive me, you do?”

  “No. No one does. We have to—”

  “Wait and see, oh I know. Wait and see. What’s the point? When you can have everything fixed right now? Who would turn down a gift like that? Are you the Grinch or something?”

  At that moment the baby opened its eyes and looked at me. The look was
so frank and clear, it was impossible not to gaze back.

  “Perfect, isn’t he?” said the queen.

  “Is he?” I asked, slightly dazed by the baby’s beauty.

  “Of course. What would be the point otherwise? Why go to all this trouble?”

  “No one’s perfect,” I said, but I wasn’t certain anymore.

  “Oh ho!” The queen’s antennae twitched, and the whiskers around her face glittered as they caught the light. “That’s where you’re wrong. That’s the old way of thinking. I’ve been at this a long time, and some of my babies have really made a difference. Leaders and visionaries who have done remarkable things. At the risk of sounding boastful, I’d say some of my babies have gone on to change the world. But this one is my best yet. My masterpiece, I think. And that’s what we’re offering you. This perfect baby.”

  “But what about ours?” I asked.

  “Oh, I see. You think we’re heartless?”

  She was turning restlessly from side to side, and I caught a glimpse of her abdomen and at the very end of it, the stinger, the sharpest and thinnest of thorns. At the tip welled a small drop of venom.

  “You think we’re cruel and heartless? But who wouldn’t want a perfectly healthy child? And a very, very clever one, I might add! The IQ of this one here is going to be off the charts! A baby who won’t get sick. And won’t be anxious. And won’t feel lonely and depressed. Someone who’s fearless! And courageous! Someone who can make the world a better place! That’s what we’re giving you. It’s Christmas come early! It’s what every parent wants. It’s what everyone wants. Just look at him. Steven, you’re not even looking at him!”

  “I don’t want to look at him!”

  “How can you say that?” she asked with such genuine sorrow that I felt ashamed. “You’ve heard him cry. You’ve seen his eyelashes. He has you inside him.”

  With a sick shock I remembered how the queen had stung me and taken some of my DNA for the new baby. I looked up at his eyes, so calm and serene. All my thoughts started to fray and spark, like the burning end of a fuse.

  “Are you saying you don’t want him to be born?” the queen asked. “He’s your own brother. He wants to be born.”

  “Let him be born!” I shouted above the noise inside my head. “But why does Theo have to get replaced? It’s not fair! Just give this one to someone else! They can both live!”