Free Whatever Lola Wants by George Szanto Page A

Strong made them stop shouting. She wasn’t on his side but she did say clearly, “Be mature, fourth graders are mature.” No cats or rats in his mother’s lab.
    A year ago, he’d made himself get brave about the insects. He had hated crawly spiders and their sticky webs, old webs filled with dry, dead bugs and new webs perfectly shaped, the huge spider in the middle. He hated sow beetles and ants and all those little bugs you could feel creeping up your bare back and into your hair, those and the slimers, worms and slugs with their goober trails. But bugs were what his mother worked with. All over the place in big cages in her lab. She thought they were great. And Johnnie admired his mother. So he had taught himself to like the bugs. Well, not really like, just get along with. The beetles were kind of okay, and the bees he’d actually come to think were nearly all okay. He could handle them now, let them crawl over his fingers and hands. His mistake had been to brag about this to his friend Alan.
    Alan’s eyes went wide. “On your hands?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œLiar!” Alan shivered.
    Johnnie wasn’t insulted. The bees liked him, he knew this. And he could control them. “I’ll show you.” He swore Alan to secrecy about what he’d see.
    Next afternoon they took a bus down to CochPharm, ambled past the secretary—“Hi, Johnnie!” “Hi, Miss Judy!”—along the white corridor to the elevator and down to his mother’s lab. If she was there he’d ask her to help. She’d let him play with two or three bees, some of the ones not in sterile caging. If she wasn’t there, so much the better. He’d get a dozen out, show Alan this was the real thing. Johnnie didn’t lie. Not usually and really not now.
    The lab was empty, not even his mother’s assistant around. Great.
    â€œIt’s cold here,” said Alan.
    Johnnie led Alan past the centipede caging, the termite nests, the earwigs. To the big bee enclosure. Hundreds. Buzzing. Crawling on the wires. They looked longer and thinner than three weeks ago. They must’ve grown.
    Alan said, “Wow!” and looked impressed.
    Johnnie felt an instant of doubt. He didn’t want to mess up some experiment here. He’d take just a few bees for only a couple of minutes, then put them back. Only Alan would know but he’d sworn he’d never tell. Johnnie rolled up his sleeve, unlatched the mesh door, slowly reached his hand in, his arm to his elbow. He brushed the side of the cage with the edge of his palm and a dozen bees fell into the cup of his hand. He brought his arm out, and closed the door. He was careful like he should be. The bees buzzed. A couple flew a little and fell back into his hand.
    Alan stared, kept away from the hand, said, “Gee, Johnnie, be careful.”
    â€œIt’s easy. Here.” He reached his arm toward Alan. Alan jumped back, stepped away. Johnnie followed, slowly. Now Alan knew Johnnie wasn’t a liar. Alan was scared. Johnnie walked faster. Alan was running! Johnnie followed—
    From the corridor just outside, footsteps, two people, and he heard his mother: “You rotten louse! You goddamn louse!” And his father: “Stop it! Stop it now!” And his mother: “How can you get it on with that thing?! How?” And his father: “Beth, for pitysake—” And his mother: “She’s a shit-crawling roach!”
    Alan stared at the door. Johnnie’s feet wouldn’t move. Who was a roach? He could barely see the bee enclosure across the lab, it was that far away. The lab door opened. He stuck his hand and all the bees into his pants’ pocket.
    Beth spotted them. He could see she was upset. She shouted, “What’re you doing here?”
    Then Johnnie screamed. And again, again. And again; he drooped to the ground, clutching his thigh and groin.
    Beth rushed to him.