I stood in line at the grocery store with my mother, trying to ignore Simon as he pawed through the carnival-bright offerings on the candy rack. Suzette, the check-stand girl who sometimes babysat for us on Friday nights, ran the items across the scanner.
         "What great news, Mrs. Waverly," Suzette said. "You must be so excited!"
         Simon finally settled on a chocolate bar and he held it up to our mom, his eyes eager. Watching my older brother, his ten-year-old body twice my size but his mind still years behind, I felt something between pity and disgust.
         My mother took the candy bar with one hand and absent-mindedly slid it onto the belt. Her other hand held mine.
         "I know," she responded. "We're thrilled! After trying for so long this time, we'd begun to wonder. But now that we're into the second trimester, the doctor has given us the all-clear."
         When she smiled, I could feel the happiness running straight down her arm and into my hand. My eyes darted up to look at her, turning away from Simon, away from the candy.
         "So, when is the new arrival due?" Suzette asked.
         "Six months, in March."
         My eyes narrowed and I felt a sick tightening across my gut as her hand dropped away from mine and fluttered to her belly.
         Simon was pretending to shoot passerbys with his fingers, oblivious to the fact that our world was shifting, tilting out of our control. Only I seemed to realize that change was bearing down on us once again.

         On the drive home, I sat in silence as the buildings of our little town presented themselves through the car window, one-by-one. By the time my mom had signaled, turning off the highway and onto Thistledown Road, Simon was asleep in the backseat. Smears of chocolate stained the corners of his mouth.
         I looked over at her then, launching my offensive. "What's the new arrival?" I asked, all innocence.
         She glanced at me, her face tightening behind her rose-lipped smile. "Nothing to worry about, sweetie."
         "I know what 'second trimester' means, mom."
         Her eyebrows lifted. "Well, Jack," she said, her voice even. "Isn't that something."
         The teachers always crow to my parents about how bright I am--precocious, they say--and while I'm pretty sure my mom is proud that I'm way smarter than all the other six-year-olds, I know that it makes her uneasy, too.
         Her hands readjusted on the wheel, settling at what dad calls "ten and two." She squared her shoulders and put on a bright smile. "Okay. Your dad and I were going to wait to tell the two of you, but I guess you've found us out. You and Simon are going to have a new baby brother!"
         I did not answer, instead turning to look out the window as Thistledown Road sped by in a blur of green.
         "It's nothing to be worried about," my mother repeated. "It's going to be great!"
         But I knew better.

         The softball fell from its high arc, lodging in my glove with a satisfying thud.
         Dad called out encouragement from across the yard, striding over with a wide grin on his face. But the smile looked false to me, stretched and forced.
         "Great catch, buddy!"
         I just shrugged.
         Dad clapped his hand to my shoulder. "Come on, let's grab some shade and have a talk, man to man."
         I could see what was coming, but I let my dad lead me over to the bench under the wide oak tree anyway. Simon was sitting there, sprawled in the grass. I averted my gaze, scooting to the far end of the bench.
         Dad flopped down next to me. A breeze lifted the leaves on the trees, snatching a few of them away. I watched them skip across the yard, crimson against the fading green.
         "So, partner. Mom tells me that you're not sure how you feel about the baby."
         I wrinkled my nose and looked away.
         "Look, Jack. I'm not going to sing you a song about how nothing's going to change when your baby brother arrives. Of course things will change, but that doesn't mean all those changes will be bad."
         Simon had gone still across the bench and I watched as dad turned to him now. "That's right, Simon," he said slowly. "Mom and I are having another baby. You'll have a new brother."
         Simon didn't move and he did not look at dad. Instead his eyes shot straight to me. They were filled with an emotion that looked like fear. But with Simon, you never knew.
         Dad had once explained to me, gently, that Simon had experienced a "set-back" not long after I was born. It wasn't as though Simon was stupid, exactly. It was just that his ten-year-old body didn't seem to house a ten-year-old mind. The kids at school called him retarded when the teachers weren't around, but my parents hated that word. They preferred to think of him as "slow." Dad would always say that "it was just as though God had hit the reset button." The first time I heard that, it made me smile, secretly and to myself.
         God hadn't had a thing to do with it.
         Now, though, Simon was looking at me with an expression on his face that seemed so present, so aware. My eyes slid away. Sometimes, every once in awhile, thinking about Simon made me feel a little bit guilty. But only a little.
         Dad's hand was resting on Simon's shoulder now. "This will be a great chance for you two get a little closer," he said. "To shoulder some more responsibility. Mom and I will be busy when the baby comes and we'll need you guys to help us out around the house more, to look after one another." Dad looked at me meaningfully. "Okay, Jack?"
         I watched the wind blow the dead leaves away and did not respond.

         My mother's belly had grown huge, bloated, as though she was sick. But she didn't act sick. I watched her move around the house, humming as she folded laundry, stirred soup, picked up my discarded toys without a word. I began to feel that I was becoming invisible to her, that her whole world had shrunk to the thing inside her stomach. I started leaving my dirty clothes lying on the floor, refused to make my bed, stopped flushing the toilet.
         But my mother just smiled. "Oh, Jack," she would say.
         Dad took me aside, gave me a talking to. But it didn't feel like his heart was in it. I saw what was happening, saw my parents' attention sliding away, shifting sideways. Simon didn't seem to mind, or perhaps he didn't notice. Though I could tell that they no longer really saw him anymore, it was all the same to poor, stupid Simon.
         As time went on, I found myself watching my mother's stomach all the time. Every once in awhile it would move--the thing inside her would slither across her belly, like a snake in the water.
         Christmas came and went, a holiday usually devoted to finding the best and newest toys for me seemed now to revolve around big stretchy shirts and pants for my mother, baby bibs and booties, rattles. Simon and I both got books and sweaters. "Big kid presents," dad called them. But I knew better. Simon just sat there in his new sweater, surrounded by torn wrapping paper, watching me with that same, anxious look on his broad face.
         At the end of February my mother had a big group of loud lady friends over to the house. They laughed and ate cake and there were a lot of presents, none of which were for me. A few weeks later, the final bomb was dropped.
         "Buddy," dad said. "The new arrival will be here soon. Mom and I need for you and Simon to share the bigger room so that we can set up yours for the baby."
         I felt my heart drop right out of my chest and my breathing started to come fast and shallow.
         "Come on, little man. Hold it together now. This is going to be great. You and Simon will be roommates, just like grownups. You'll be role models for your baby brother."
         I refused to listen to any of this. I heard only the roar of the blood in my ears, only the sound of a vast energy inside me, whispering what I should do.

         Finally, in March, my parents rushed out of the house in the middle of the night. I woke up to hushed, urgent voices, the phone ringing, Suzette banging through the door as my parents swept out.
         I pulled the covers over my head and ignored Suzette when she came in to whisper what was happening. She sounded excited, happy.
         Simon and I got to visit the baby in the hospital the next day. It was red and pinched-looking, not like a human at all. Its face scrunched up and smoothed out, over and over again. Its limbs flailed helplessly. It looked like it couldn't see. My mother let Simon hold it, but I wouldn't go near.
         Once they brought the baby home, things got as bad as I had imagined they would. It did nothing but cry and suck at my mother's breast. Screaming all night, it kept my parents awake, and during the day they moved through the house like zombies.
         There were no more Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes for breakfast, no more sandwiches with the crusts cut off in my lunch, no more catch in the yard with dad. At night, in the room that we shared, I lay awake and listened to Simon snore.
         Spring turned to summer and, though I waited, no one suggested that I join Little League. Trips to the park now involved my mother pushing the baby in a stroller while I played alone on the swings. The only person who took Simon and me for ice cream anymore was Suzette.
         The baby was getting big enough now to be interesting. It strung sounds together in nonsensical babble, made fists with its little hands, followed you with its eyes. Everyone seemed to find it fascinating, but I just thought it was creepy.