Dan Versus Nature by Don Calame Page A

room. “Volunteer.”
    I shake my head. “No way.”
    “Three,” Ms. Drizzler calls out. “I’m not kidding about the harsher grade. I’ll take two points off for every missed care or mishandled event. Four . . .”
    “Do it for Hank,” Charlie says under his breath. “We can foist the baby on him. It’s the perfect I-never-want-to-be-a-parent tool. Go on! Before she assigns it to someone else.”
    “Aaaaaand, fi —”
    I fire my hand into the air, instantly regretting it.
    “Mr. Weekes.” Ms. Drizzler smiles. “Excellent. Thank you. Now come on up here and collect your new son and your ID bracelet.”
    Charlie gives me a thumbs-up.
    I stand and trudge to the front of the room, my head bowed, my eyes on the floor. I can’t believe this. Why did I listen to him? This is going to make our trip so much more miserable than it was already going to be.
    I grab the handle of the baby carrier and take the plastic ID bracelet, which will track how well I’ve looked after the doll.
    “Take good care of Baby Robbie!” Erin calls out.
    The class cracks up again.
    I glance over at her. Her eyes are wide and moist, like she’s just given up her only kid for adoption.
    I force a smile and croak out a muted “I will.”
    I turn back to Charlie, who’s rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain.
    My heart sinks as I suddenly realize that I’ve just told my first lie to Erin.
    I will not be taking good care of Baby Robbie.
    Because Charlie intends to destroy this child.

“Baby-Real-A-Lot, Baby-Real-A-Lot,” a child’s soprano lilts as a girl cradles a tiny plastic infant in her arms. “He cries. He coos. He pees. He poos. Feed him. Cuddle him. Change him when he’s wet. Baby-Real-A-Lot, as real as real can get!”
    Out of nowhere, the girl hurls the baby across the room, its head banging against the door and exploding in a shower of plastic shards.
    Jesus!
    I bolt up in bed, my eyes flying open. The room is a Vaseline smear, mostly dark still. A slash of light coming from . . . somewhere.
    Tap, tap, tap.
    I turn my groggy head toward the sound.
    “Time to get up.”
    What?
    “Come on, guys.” Hank’s loud whisper comes from the hazy glow by the door. “We’ve got to grab some breakfast and get going. I’ve got doughnuts and coffee downstairs.”
    My mind starts to chug awake, like a train pushing away from the station. Oh, that’s right. It’s the first day of my birthday punishment — I mean, present.
    “What time is it?” I croak.
    “Four fifteen,” Hank says. “Our shuttle’ll be here in twenty. So, chop-chop. And remember, no electronics. I’m bringing my cell phone but only for emergencies.”
    “Yeah, OK,” I say. “Be right there.”
    “Your mom’s still asleep,” Hank says. “So keep it down.”
    I roll over and click on my bedside lamp, the blast of light stinging my sleep-crusted eyes. I haul my legs around and place my feet on the floor. The room tilts a little. It feels like I’ve been clubbed over the head.
    I yawn and rub the back of my cramped-up neck. God, I’m so tired. I would gladly give my
Sandman
box set for another ten minutes of sleep.
    I reach for my dad’s old watch and strap it on above the Baby-Real-A-Lot ID bracelet. The band on the watch is getting worn, floppy. I’m going to have to replace it soon.
    “Wake up,” I say to the mass curled up in the forest-green sleeping bag on my floor.
    Charlie pokes his head out from inside the bag. “I never went to sleep.” The low light from his iPad casts a blue glow on his smudged glasses. “I’ve been reading every survival book I could download:
No Doctor, No Problem: The Survivor’s Guide to Wounds and Infection;
The Ultimate SAS Survival Handbook;
The U.S. Army Survival Manual;
and a dozen others.”
    “Why’d you bother? Between the guide and Hank, we’ll be well taken care of.”
    “You can never be too prepared, Daniel. Speaking of which, I’m wondering if we might have time to swing by the