Slipping his copy of the apartment key back into his pocket, Mac entered furtively, peering around the living room for traces of his brother. At last satisfied that he had beaten Terrence home, he closed the door behind him and hurried to his room. There it was: the book Bloo had asked for; he'd forgotten to take it with him that morning. He grabbed it, shoved it roughly into his bag, and rushed back to the door. He had to leave before –
Too late. The door swung open to admit Terrence, who was putting away his unneeded key, attached to a belt loop of his jeans by a ballchain. Mac backed up, uncertain of just what his brother was planning on doing to him today. If only he had gotten here a couple of minutes sooner! He waited for the abuse to start, hoping Terrence would just make it quick so he could get to Foster's and start having fun as soon as possible.
But Terrence didn't call him a name, didn't lunge to grab him. He lingered in the doorway, eyeing Mac, who momentarily lacked the wits to step out of the way. It struck Mac that something was odd. Terrence was missing both his backpack and his glasses, and his expression was strange – not pissed-off, or even smug, but more...Mac had a flashback to several years ago, at their last apartment, when Terrence had stumbled home having being beaten and robbed of his bookbag by neighborhood thugs after leaving school. That incident had been the last straw that had caused Mom to move them to this nicer neighborhood, even though it was more expensive. In any case Terrence now had that same subdued, frightened look he had had that day all those years ago, only this time he seemed unharmed physically.
Terrence broke the staring match first. Emitting a strange sort of choking noise he lurched around Mac and fled to his room, not quite closing the door all the way behind himself. Mac stood staring after him in disbelief. After a few moments he turned and put his hand on the doorknob, making to leave. But he hesitated, looking over his shoulder. Something, he thought, really serious must have happened. He chewed his bottom lip in indecisiveness. If he went in there to see what was wrong he'd probably be hit with a piece of flying furniture...and besides, who cared about dumb old Terrence anyway? Mac steeled himself and walked out, locking the door behind him.
But in less than a minute he was back.
"Terrence?" Mac called softly, pushing on the door of his brother's room. It swung open slowly. Terrence was crumpled on his bed on the other side of the room, making snuffling noises into the disarrayed sheets. "Um...Terrence?" Mac repeated, edging further into the Forbidden Zone. "Are you okay?"
The red plaid heap shifted slightly. "Geddout," it mumbled thickly.
Mac swallowed and stepped up to the bed. "Terrence, did...did something happen?" he pressed.
Terrence moved his left arm a little, uncovering one watery eye. "What the hell do you care?" he asked crossly. He wanted to jump up and yell and fling the little creep out of his room but he hadn't the strength to do any of it. He felt like a deflated pool toy: a discarded, empty thing.
Mac shrugged a little, his eyes wandering. "Well, uhm, I dunno...I just care, is all," he hedged, still not sure just why he had felt the need to come in here in the first place. Still trying to guess the answer to the riddle of Terrence's behavior, he came up with a possible solution. "Did...did you lose your glasses?" he asked gingerly. Perhaps Terrence feared Mom's wrath for breaking or losing his new glasses? It seemed a stretch though, Terrence busted stuff around the apartment all the time and never batted an eye.
Terrence snuffled wetly and rubbed the heel of his hand beneath the exposed eye, which narrowed in annoyance. "No," he replied, unable to come up with anything appropriately rude to say to his dorky little brother who had come into his room uninvited and started asking personal questions.
Mac switched tactics. "Then what's wrong?" he asked bluntly.
Terrence peered at his brother for another moment or two then slowly sat up, swiping his nose with his sleeve. He kept his red eyes locked on Mac, waiting for the other to start mocking him for this moment of weakness. Mac just stood there, looking at him curiously. Finally Terrence took a deep breath. "Ya wanna know what's wrong?" he asked, and Mac nodded mutely in reply. "I'm stupid, that's what."
Mac stared at him. "What – "
"You heard what I said," Terrence snapped back. "I'm stupid. There, I said it again. Happy now? You should be." He folded his arms and glowered petulantly at the far wall.
But Mac wasn't happy. "...Terrence?"
At that Terrence seized the front of Mac's shirt and hauled him in close. "I'm stupid, okay?" he screamed in his brother's face, a burst of emotion giving him sudden energy. "Just like you and your little blue brainfart always said. Why are you still in here?" Terrence shoved his little brother away and Mac collapsed backwards.
Mac was horrified. This was wrong. "But Terrence!" he protested, still sprawled on the floor. "I don't...You're not...That isn't – "
"Shut the hell up!" yelled Terrence, waving a fist. "You were right, okay? You were right! Now get out!" He leapt forward to stomp on Mac, who rolled away just in time and bolted out the door.
Good. Terrence clomped across the room and slammed the door. Let the little snotrag run off and tell Bloo what had happened, and have a good laugh. He didn't care. He plopped back onto the bed. He didn't care.
But Mac hadn't left the apartment. Dropping his backpack onto the floor, he stood looking thoughtfully at the kitchen telephone for a full minute before picking it up and dialing a number.
"Thank you for calling Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, where the best ideas are never forgotten, this is Frankie, how can I help you?"
"Frankie?" said Mac into the phone. "This is Mac."
"Oh hi, Mac," replied Frankie, who sounded a little harried as always, but friendly enough. "Aren't you coming over?"
"I...I can't today," said Mac reluctantly. "There's um...I have a...a family sort of thing."
Mac could practically hear Frankie frown in concern over the phone. "Oh," she said, "well, that's okay. You know you can miss a day here and there; it's not like its an Adopt-A-Friend Day. Is everything all right there?"
"Yeah...Tell Bloo I'm sorry, I'll bring him the book he wanted tomorrow, okay?"
"Sure Mac, I'll tell him. Well, bye."
"Bye." Mac replaced the cordless in the wall-mounted receiver and took his backpack to the couch to start his homework.
He could have gone to Foster's. There was no real reason for him to stay here. But he had a nagging feeling that he ought to stay, that it would be selfish of him to run off and leave. He'd barely started in on his vocabulary list when Mom came home, unexpectedly early.
She forewent all greetings. "Mac, is your brother home?"
"Um...yeah, he's – "
"Terrence!" Mom shouted down the hallway, setting her purse down on the kitchen table. "Terrence, I want to speak to you, now!"
Mac didn't think Terrence would respond until at least the second summons, as was his trademark, but instead he came out at once, clearly expecting this. The young teen slouched in the kitchen entrance, his hands jammed into his pockets, his eyes lowered.
Mom exhaled loudly. "Terrence, what on Earth has gotten into you?" she implored. "Your vice principal called me again today and said that you've been stealing other kids' homework! And you skipped a class! I want an explanation right now."
Mac sat very still on the couch. Mom always asked him to go to his room when she "talked" with Terrence; she must be really upset this time to forget.
When Terrence didn't respond right away Mom spoke again: "And where are your glasses? You should be wearing them all the time."
Terrence shrugged. "I left 'em in my locker," he muttered.
Mom huffed and pulled out a kitchen chair. "Honestly, where is your head, Terrence?" She sat heavily. "I had to beg Mr. Samir to let me have tomorrow morning off so I could go to a meeting at your school; he wasn't very happy, we're backed up on paper work at the office."
Terrence said nothing.
Mom rubbed her cheek. "Did you turn in someone else's paper?" she asked.
"No."
Mom looked at her eldest, lapsing into a thoughtful silence for a moment. "Is that what you were up so late last night working on?" When Terrence gave her a puzzled look she shrugged. "I heard you typing," she confided.
Terrence stepped up to the table. "It isn't fair!" he cried. "Mr. George told Mrs. Healey I copied the essay but that's stupid! I did it last night! He said I was a liar!"
Mom stiffened in her chair. "He called you a liar?" she repeated. "What else did he say?"
Terrence scowled, trying to keep from tearing up again as he recalled the conversation. "He said...um...he said...I was an idiot," he offered meekly.
"I see," said Mom. Her lips, pressed tightly together, were nearly white.
"Mom, Mr. George is evil," Terrence went on, a tad desperately. "He's mean to everyone and all the kids hate him. Last week he called Linda a slut in front of everybody because she was wearing eyeliner." Terrence couldn't believe that when it happened. Linda was a goth, not a slut.
Mom's expression darkened. "Really," she said.
"And," Terrence went on, encouraged, "the week before that he made Tad write 'I am a waste of air' on the board fifty times and he made Kyle stand in the wastebasket for an entire period once."
Mom put her palms flat on the table and pushed herself out of her chair. "I see," she said. "Terrence, did you save that essay on your computer?"
"Er...yeah."
"Print out another one for me." She took the kitchen phone off of its receiver. "I have to make a few calls." She walked down the hallway and into her bedroom with the phone, closing the door behind her.
Terrence watched her go uncertainly, then walked slowly to the couch and sat on the end opposite where Mac was.
"Do you really have a teacher like that?" Mac asked in a serious tone.
Terrence stretched his arms over the back of the couch and hmphed. "Pukeface, just you wait," he replied in a long-suffering tone. "Elementary school is a freakin' paradise compared to middle school. Take it from me, enjoy yourself now while you still can."
"Thanks for the tip."
The boys sat in silence a moment.
"Hey Terrence?"
"What."
Mac shifted a bit on the couch, not really sure how to word what he wanted to ask. "Is...How...I mean... Is your sight really bad? Without your glasses?"
Terrence thought of the poster in the Vision center, of the lines on his shirt, and of the hours he spent yesterday in a library of all places. He became painfully aware of how different Mac, sitting so close, appeared now from how he had looked at the dinner table last night, and felt a pang of vulnerability. "Yeah, I guess so," he admitted.
Mac nodded, feeling bad for the other's handicap, and realizing that he could never know just what that was like unless it happened to him someday too. "Are you going to do your homework every day now?" he asked.
Terrence hadn't thought that far ahead. Oh sure being able to read something because he wanted to was fine and good, but the idea of sitting up late every night reading and writing about History and Spanish didn't exactly appeal to him. "I dunno," he replied vaguely.
"There's no sense in only doing homework every once in a while," Mac pointed out. "I do my homework every day. That's what you're supposed to do, you know."
Terrence rolled his eyes at being lectured by his eight-year-old kid brother. "But it bites!" he retorted.
Mac shot him a patronizing look. "Well suck it up and deal with it! Everyone else has to do their homework every day, what makes you so special?"
"Hey! Look you little geekbait – "
"No, you look," returned Mac, "I'm tired of watching you goof off every night while I have to do my homework instead of watching TV, or playing video games! It isn't fair!"
Terrence scowled at him. "The hell it isn't fair!" he argued. "You've got it made! You're Mom's little golden boy, always pulling in A's and crap!"
"That's because I always do my homework every day. Nobody said it was fun."
Another silence.
"So are you going to do your homework or not?" Mac spoke up.
Terrence scuffed his shoes on the carpet. "I left all my stuff at school," was the mumbled reply.
Mac's first thought was to blurt "That was stupid" but he held his tongue. "Well," he said after a moment, "maybe tomorrow we can do our homework together." He cringed after he said it, where had that come from? Then he figured it out: since Bloo had left he missed having company while he did his homework. Besides, no matter how many times Terrence acted like a jerk, Mac harbored a deep-seated wish that one day he could have a real big brother like other kids did, one who looked out for him and did stuff with him. Mom always stood by her conviction that one day her boys would be friends, and she told Mac that often. Mac couldn't help hoping it was true. He waited for Terrence to tell him it was a sucky idea.
But Terrence didn't. He just shrugged and said, "Whatever." He clicked on the TV and Mac went back to his homework. There was a couple of hours of rare peace in the apartment.
"Hey there he is."
"Oh yeah, I see him!"
"Let's ask him."
"Well, okay, I guess."
Terrence heard the voices coming closer, creeping up behind him as he walked to second period. He just knew he was about to be cruelly mocked over and over by his schoolmates until he lost it and ran screaming after them threatening to smash their stupid heads in. He clenched his jaw, turtled his head between his shoulders and resolutely kept walking, trying to ignore them.
But a cluster of three eighth-graders ran around him and blocked his path, jogging backwards as Terrence didn't stop moving forward.
"Hey Terrence," said one. "Is it true about Mr. George?"
"Is what true?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
"That your mom got him fired."
At that Terrence came to a dead halt. "What?" he demanded.
One of the other boys nodded. "The principal called my house last night and I told my mom about how Mr. George called me names in class last semester and she told the principal – "
"The principal called our house last night too," said the third boy, who turned out to be Peter from Terrence's own History class.
"And ours," said the first boy. "I heard your mom was on the warpath about how Mr. George treats you like crap in class all the time and she called the Principal and he started calling a bunch of other parents – "
" – And now they have loads of evidence against the old bastard," chimed in Peter. "He's been suspended from his job and he might never come back."
Terrence peered at Peter through his glasses. "...Are you...How do you know?" he asked.
Peter shrugged. "My mom works in the office," he said.
"Dude," said the second boy, "your mom kicks ass!"
The bell rang and the boys scattered. Mystified, Terrence hurried to Chemistry class, where he turned in the hurriedly-scribbled homework he had done before first period (after begging the janitor to let him into the gym locker room for his stuff).
By lunchtime everyone knew the story (and several fanciful variations thereof) of how Terrence's mom had complained about Mr. George and got him suspended. He didn't think he'd ever gotten so much positive attention in his whole life, and he would have enjoyed it a lot more if he wasn't so intent on getting his Geometry homework done. Still, it was pretty nice, and he was even given a brownie by Linda (who was so obviously a goth and not a slut).
In History class they had a substitute, who told funny jokes, and was nice.
Mac came back unusually early that afternoon from Foster's, and when Mom came home later to see her two boys cohabitating quietly in the living room each doing their homework, she nearly wept.