Diamonds in the Sky by Ed. Mike Brotherton

cared. I think some part of me wanted to fall, wanted my parents to understand how much they had hurt me.

    Dad found me sitting on a little level spot. I don’t remember stopping.

    He crouched beside me. “Honey, I’m sorry. I thought you’d like the toy.”

    “Yeah. If I was six.” I wouldn’t look at him.

    “I know how much you wanted a teddy, but we can’t afford one.” He sighed and inched closer. “You don’t think I’d disappoint my little girl if I had a choice, do you?”

    Of course I did. And I didn’t, at the same time. I’d pretty much run myself out so I just shrugged.

    We didn’t say much else, but I let him fly me home with the jetpack.

    I don’t know if this makes sense to you. How you can want something so much, you make yourself sick. And when it looks like you’re going to get it, then to have it yanked away — no, not yanked away, for it to have never existed… Do you understand that?

    * * *

    The same way I tried to tear down the nesting house, I canceled all my searches for teddy bear spider news and tubes. But the yearning came back. If anything, stronger than before. And it occurred to me that I could earn the money and buy the teddy bear spider egg myself.

    So at night after my folks had gone to bed, I pretended I was an adult — which is not as hard as you think — and did small Mechanical Turk jobs for people. Nothing shocking, just sorting data for a few cents at a time. The whole time I kept thinking about how much money we could sell its weavings for and how I’d make all this money back just from those. I pictured riding my teddy down the cliffs and how we’d cling to the side like it was nothing.

    At the tail end of winter, the planet’s tilt made the sun pass behind the rings on its journey to the top edge. For some reason, this transit never seems as bad as when it drops under. I suppose it’s because you know spring is coming.

    Now, I’ll tell you, I didn’t have much hope when Top Day came. My parents seemed to opt for a neutral gift rather than risking another outburst. They gave me a whole NOD, which, considering my allowance was 5 pence was an amazing display of largess. I thanked them and immediately tucked it away with my other savings.

    But we were well into summer before my account hit the magical 75 NOD.

    My hands started shaking and sweat greased them so I could hardly hold anything. It took three tries to remember where I’d saved that old ad. I called it up and fired a message off to the breeder, suddenly sure the address was no good, or he’d stopped selling them or the price had risen or any number of things.

    Fellow didn’t write to me until the next day. Another one of those neo-Luddites that limited their online time. His message was terse, as most of them are.

    “Eggs available. Sex not guaranteed. Send delivery address with payment.” And then his bank number for the deposit.

    I almost squeed myself, filling all that in and counting the days before the egg would get here.

    * * *

    I was out tidying the nesting house when Dad bellowed my name — my whole name too — so I knew I’d done something wrong. I ran to the house but stopped before I was all the way in the door.

    Sitting on the small wood coffee table was a white parcel. Even from the door, I could see my name on it.

    I’d never seen my dad angry before. Irritated, maybe. Disappointed, yes. But not angry. Not furious. His face was red and blotchy. There was a vein in the middle of his forehead I’d never seen before. It was a little purple snake of rage living under his skin.

    “Jaiden. What is this?”

    I wasn’t even all the way in the house but I stopped moving. I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Trying again, my voice squeaked into being. “It’s my teddy egg.”

    Dad pointed at the box. “Didn’t your mother and I say you couldn’t have a teddy bear spider?”

    “You said we couldn’t afford to buy one. I bought it on my own.”

    Dad’s