The Nest by Kenneth Oppel Read Free Book Online Page B

to care about that!”
    â€œWe do care—” Mom began.
    â€œSo just stay inside until we take care of it,” Dad said. “You don’t climb a ladder!”
    â€œWhat if one gets into the house?” I demanded. “What if I get stung that way? What if the baby gets stung?”
    They didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but Dad’s eyes were still fierce.
    â€œYou could’ve fallen,” Mom said. “You could’ve really, really hurt yourself. . . .”
    â€œWe’ll take care of the nest,” Dad said.
    Mom came toward me and tried to hug me, but I shrugged her off.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Steven?” she asked softly. “Tell us what’s up.”
    I turned away from her because I could feel my throat aching, and I didn’t want to cry. I looked at the wall, at the print with its brushed silver metal frame. I felt all the words welling up inside me, and I didn’t want them inside me anymore.
    I told Mom and Dad about my dreams. All the conversations with the angels who’d turned out to be wasps. I sat on the kitchen chair and stared at the floor, partly so I could concentrate and not forget anything, partly because I was afraid to see my parents’ faces. I told them how the queen had said she was going to replace our baby with a new one growing in the nest, a healthy baby, and how I didn’t think the dream was real, not really, butI was sick of hearing from her, and I just wanted them all gone.
    Neither of them interrupted me, and when I finally looked up, I wished I hadn’t. Dad’s chest was moving in and out slowly and deeply. Mom was crying, tears running down her cheeks, and then her face crumpled and she was sobbing. Dad went and put his arms around her and whispered something into her ear.
    â€œIt’s too much,” she said. “I can’t . . .”
    I sat rigidly, wishing I hadn’t told them at all, wishing I could take it back.
    Mom wiped her eyes and reached for me, and this time I let her hug me, just so I didn’t have to see her face. “I know this has been a really hard time. I’m so sorry if we haven’t been around much for you.”
    â€œIt’s okay. It’s not your fault or anything.”
    â€œDo you want to talk to Dr. Brown again?” Dad asked.
    I chewed at my lip. Quietly I said, “What if it’s true?”
    â€œYou’ve always had pretty intense dreams,” Dad said.
    â€œI know, but—Vanessa said those wasps weren’t normal.”
    â€œWell, that may be,” said Dad, and he sounded like he was getting angry again, “but that doesn’t mean a thing, Steven. I’m going to have a word with her, if she’s encouraged any of this—”
    â€œShe hasn’t!” I said. “Don’t be mad at her.”
    I didn’t want to talk anymore, because I saw the fear in their eyes, and that made me afraid. Someone told me once that if you worried you were crazy, it meant you couldn’t be crazy. Because crazy people apparently had no idea they were crazy; they thought it was normal, walking around nakedand yodeling. As I’d told my dreams aloud, I knew how insane they sounded—but I also remembered everything from those dreams, and they seemed so real.
    Dad took a breath and tried to sound casual. “Maybe you should talk about this with Dr. Brown.”
    â€œYou think I’m crazy again,” I said, and this time I was crying.
    Mom squeezed me hard. “You were never crazy. You were anxious, like a lot of people, like a lot of kids, and you’re also imaginative and sensitive. And wonderful.” She kissed the top of my head. “So wonderful.”
    I felt tired suddenly, in her arms. “I’ll go talk to Dr. Brown,” I sighed. “But I want you guys to get rid of the nest.”

D R . B ROWN HAD ALWAYS LOOKED A little unstable to me. It was his eyebrows. They were