Terrence had never felt so rotten.
He lay on his back on his bed, staring up at the blurred texture of the ceiling, his glasses on the nighttable. He'd been lying there for about an hour already, and felt like he could stay there for the rest of his life. He knew in his heart that he had flunked out.
How would he tell Mom? How would she look at him then, when she found out that her slacker son had finally, after so many close calls, had to repeat a year of school? He was supposed to go to high school next year. High school. He was going to be a high-schooler, going to hang out with cool kids, maybe join the football team or something. It didn't matter what he did as long as he was in high school. But he had failed.
The front door of the apartment opened and closed, and a moment later Mac was standing in the entrance of Terrence's room holding a brown paper bag. The younger boy's face fell when he saw Terrence's forlorn expression, the last shred of hope he had clung to fading. "No, Terrence..." he groaned.
Terrence kept staring at the ceiling. "What do you want," he said dully.
Mac came in and approached the bed. "Terrence, I'm sorry," he said hollowly. "I...was at Foster's..."
"So why didn't you stay there?"
Mac shrugged and didn't answer. He opened the paper bag and pulled out some candy bars he'd bought on the way home with his pocket money. "Here," Mac said, holding them out awkwardly.
Terrence turned his eyes to look without moving his head; then he slowly sat up and sighed. "Gimme those," he grunted, taking the offering. He unwrapped a chocolate bar with almonds and started in on it. "God, it sucks to be me," he grumbled around the candy.
"Are you sure you failed?" asked Mac, dropping the empty bag and sitting on the bed.
Terrence chewed. He reached around and pulled a crumpled, sealed envelope out of his back jeans pocket and handed it to Mac. He swallowed. "I'm supposed to give that to Mom. I'm the only kid I know who got one."
Mac turned the envelope over in his hands. "It isn't fair that Mom has to be the first one to know about something like this. Shouldn't you know first? It's your grade."
Terrence shrugged and crammed the rest of the bar into his mouth. "Well, you know, kidsch aren't schuposched to know anything," he replied, mouth full.
Mac stared at the envelope for a few moments; then he turned it over and ripped it open.
Terrence choked on an almond. "Christ, Mac, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded.
Mac handed the open envelope back to his surprised brother. "There," he said. "I'll tell her I did it. You might as well read it now as long as it's already open," he added when Terrence just blinked at it.
Tossing the empty candy bar wrapper on the cluttered floor, Terrence took the envelope and pulled a sheet of paper from it, unfolding it slowly. He looked at it; then got his glasses from the table, put them on, and looked at it again.
Mac watched him.
Terrence exhaled loudly and dropped the paper. "I'm royally screwed," he moaned.
Mac sighed. So it was official.
"All right, look, don't freak out," he said. "I'll...I'll tell her it's my fault you couldn't study."
Terrence snorted. "Yeah?" he said. "What're you going to tell her? That I was babysitting Blooeykins for you while you were sick instead of doing my homework? Look," he interrupted Mac before he could reply, "forget it. You know what, it doesn't matter, I woulda flunked anyway."
"But maybe – "
"Nah," Terrence interrupted again, grabbing another candy bar. "There's no way I would have made it no matter what. It was just too late."
"You can go to summer school," blurted Mac.
Terrence heaved a sigh, unwrapping the candy bar. "Not if Mom kills me first," he reasoned.
Mac swallowed. "Terrence," he said slowly, "I'll take the fall for you. I really will."
Terrence froze, the candy bar halfway to his mouth. "What?" he said. "Why?"
"Because...because you're my brother."
They looked at each other. There was a long silence.
Suddenly Terrence slammed the hand holding the candy bar down on his knee. "That's the biggest load of crap I ever heard!" he yelled. "Where'd you pick that garbage up, an after-school special?"
Mac scowled. "All right, all right," he snapped.
Terrence dropped the candy bar on the bed, clasped his hands together against the side of his face, and batted his eyes. "Oh, Terrence!" he squealed in a mockery of Mac's voice. "Youh're mah big brother! Ah luhve yew!"
Mac stared at him with mixed feelings. "Knock it off!" he yelled.
But the other wasn't done. "But Terrence!" he went on, now putting his hands on either side of his face and bugging out his eyes. "We're having a special moment! Ah need yew to know how much Ah cayre!" And he reached around, grabbed a pillow, and whallopped Mac in the face with it.
"Hey!" Mac protested, pulling his backpack off and holding it out to fend off the following blows. "Quiddit!"
"How can Ah quit when Ah luhve you so much?" Whap! Whap!
Mac was laughing. "Knock it off, Terrence!"
"What's all this?"
The boys froze and looked up, Terrence with his pillow held high, ready to bring it down again and try to get around the shielding backpack. Mom was standing in the doorway, surprised and amused. They hadn't heard her come home.
"Nothing," they chorused quickly in unison.
Mom smiled fondly at the unfamiliar scene as Terrence dropped the pillow and Mac lowered his backpack. "Well then," she said, "seeing as we finished up early at work today, I'm in the mood for a celebratory pizza. Who's with me?"
Mom sat on a bench and relaxed. They'd been coming to this family-style pizza parlor ever since they'd moved into their current apartment – in fact they'd gone here that very night, to celebrate "moving up in the world," as Mom had called it. Now they usually came here only for special occasions.
After devouring the majority of a large pizza between them, the boys had headed off in separate directions to mess around the game room. Chewing on the single piece of pizza she'd taken for herself, Mom watched Terrence in a back corner of the room, duking it out with what appeared to be an uncooperative pinball machine. It saddened her that he had his father's unfortunate temper, and that he was so detached and moody. As a small boy he'd been shy and affectionate, and adorably protective of Mac. She always smiled when she recalled how he'd always keep one hand clamped on the side of Mac's stroller, and proudly proclaim "That's my baby brother," whenever a stranger paused to say hello. That all ended when Terrence was seven, when he developed an unfortunate habit of hitting and pushing Mac to get attention. Mom blamed the messy divorce for the change in Terrence, on whom the constant fighting had been especially hard. He had always been a sensitive boy.
Mac, fortunately, had no recollection of those days, having been barely two when Dad had moved out. And then he had created Bloo when he was three and a half. Mom supposed that had been good for Mac but the friendship between the little boy and his imaginary friend upset nine-year-old Terrence, who frequently came crying to Mom how the other two were always ganging up on him. Aware that Terrence was instigating the fights by bullying Mac and Bloo, Mom wound up never really punishing anybody, which she realized later might not have been the best course of action.
Mom spotted Mac standing on a stepstool playing at a video game in the other back corner of the game room, and she pondered painfully on what loners both of her children were. Neither had any close friends; no children ever came over to play, nor did either visit classmates after school. Mac had only had Bloo, and Terrence had lost his friends when they moved and never seemed to make any new ones. She wished they could be better friends with one another – that was what they needed – but she feared that the age difference might be too much. Mac hadn't exactly been expected, and unfortunately his birth came at a difficult time, as that was roughly when the arguments with Dad had started. Still, thought Mom, the two boys hadn't been fighting as much these past few weeks...She still held hope.
"Mom?"
Mom turned to see Terrence standing beside the bench to her left, looking solemn.
"Do you need more quarters, honey?" she asked, reaching for her purse, but Terrence shook his head.
"Can I talk to you?"
"You can always talk to me."
Terrence sat down beside his mother on the bench, and rubbed his knees with the palms of his hands uneasily. Mom touched him comfortingly on the shoulder. "What's the matter, Terrence?" she said softly.
Terrence removed his glasses and held them in his lap, staring at them. Mom loved how he looked in them; they made him seem more serious and she thought they softened that perpetual teen scowl a bit. She waited patiently for him to tell her what was on his mind.
At last he spoke. "Mom," he fumbled, "I um, I really like my glasses," he said, looking like he thought what he was saying was stupid.
Mom smiled and ruffled his hair. "I'm glad you do, sweetheart," she told him fondly.
Terrence looked up suddenly. "But it was too late," he said morosely.
"Too late for what?"
Her son pulled a crumpled, opened envelope from his back jeans pocket and handed it to her. Curiously, she pulled out the letter and read it. She was silent.
Terrence stared down at the glasses in his hands again. "I guess you wanna kill me now," he mumbled, the scowl back.
Mom put the letter carefully back into the envelope. "Terrence," she said, "I know you were trying. You did your best." She smiled at him, and touched his shoulder again to get his attention. "Honey, I'm proud of you. It will be all right."
"But I wanted to go to high school!" Terrence sputtered, leaning back on the bench and looking at her, still scowling. "I'm tired of being such a loser all the time."
"Terrence, if I hear you call yourself a loser one more time, I really am going to kill you," Mom said sternly, shaking the envelope at him. "Losers are people who don't even try. You did try." She sighed. "I'm sorry, maybe if I had taken you to the optometrist earlier...Never mind," she said. "You might be able to make these credits up in summer school. Do you really want to go to high school next year?"
"Yeah..."
"What?"
"Yes," Terrence corrected himself, a tad surly.
"How much."
Terrence shrugged.
Mom tutted. "How much?"
"Um...a lot?"
"How much?"
"A lot."
"Good." Mom put the envelope into her purse. "Because you're going to have to work 'a lot' if you want to make it. But I have a feeling that if you do, things will be just fine." She arched an eyebrow at her son, who was looking at her curiously. "And I know you can do it," she said simply.
Terrence sat for a moment, then he put his glasses back on. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, okay."
"Okay. Now go get your brother. It's time to go home."