"Uh, Bloo? What are you doing? You know you shouldn't be out here."
Bloo steadfastedly ignored Wilt and made his way slowly down the porch steps and onto the front lawn of Foster's. Wilt followed the small blue friend uncertainly.
"Bloo?" he repeated. "Bloo? Can you hear me? You should be inside. Don't you know its Adopt-A-Thought Saturday?"
Bloo knew. He kept going. Wilt came to a stop, feeling that Bloo didn't want to be disturbed. Wilt did hate bothering other people when they didn't want to be. Finally, he reluctantly went back to the snack table to go back to tidying up. But he kept his eye on Bloo.
Bloo meandered his way slowly between the legs of friends and parents alike, a determined look on his face. At last he spotted a likely candidate and made a beeline.
"Hello," said the little boy shyly, looking around at the blue friend who had suddenly appeared beside him.
"Hello," said Bloo, trying to sound friendly, and not doing the best job.
The boy paused. "I'm Paul," he said. "My daddy brought me here to find a friend." He smiled brightly at his own words. "Do you need a friend?"
Bloo looked wearily at him. Paul was a very cute boy, perhaps about five years in age. Probably very nice.
"Do you have any brothers?" Bloo asked abruptly, ignoring the boy's question.
"No," said Paul. "I don't have any brothers or sis – "
"Good," Bloo interrupted bitterly. "I hate brothers."
"I wish I had a brother," replied Paul, a tad defensively.
"No you don't," Bloo snapped back. "Brothers are nothing but trouble! You never know when your so-called best friend is going to trade you in for his own brother! So watch out," he said spookily, moving closer to Paul and looking around suspiciously. "This place could be filled with brothers!"
Paul blinked in confusion for a moment, then giggled happily. "You're funny," he told Bloo, taking his hand. "What's your name?"
"Huh?" Bloo snapped himself out of his reverie. "Oh. I'm...Blooregard Q. Kazoo." Paul giggled some more at the name. "Just Bloo," he added.
"Do you want to come home with me?"
Bloo stood there, petrified, unsure of how to answer.
When Mac had stormed home the previous afternoon Bloo had been hurt at first, and felt guilty. Not for what he did to Terrence but because what he had done had clearly upset Mac. But a few hours later his sadness turned to jealousy. He was supposed to be Mac's best friend. Bloo! Not stupid Terrence. Bloo was Mac's imaginary friend, Mac had created him to be his buddy. Terrence was just...Terrence, and Mac was defending him? It was a sign of the Apocalypse! No...worse...it was a sign of...
Bloo had resisted the idea for hours but it had finally struck him:
Mac didn't want him anymore.
Overcome with emotion at this revelation, Bloo had let his feelings manifest themselves into stubborn anger. If Mac didn't want him any more, then why should he hang around at Foster's any longer? It was time to move on.
And so here it was, Adopt-A-Thought Saturday, and Bloo was out on the lawn, being "interviewed" by a prospective adopter.
And he was filled with regret.
"Hey, you don't want him."
Both Bloo and Paul looked around curiously at the voice. Mac was approaching, and he had a red, cube-shaped imaginary friend in tow.
"Here, this is a much better friend," said Mac, speaking to Paul. "My big brother made him."
Paul smiled; he thought the cube looked kind of funny. "Hi," he said.
The red friend smiled back. "Hello," he replied.
"What's your name?"
"Me Red."
"I'm Paul."
Mac touched Bloo on the shoulder. "Hey," he whispered, "that was a close one. We'd better get you back inside before – " But Bloo flinched away.
"I don't want to go back inside," the blue friend said petulantly, moving away from his creator.
Mac frowned and followed him. "What? Bloo..."
Bloo spun around. "And where's your new best friend Terrence, hm?" he demanded irritably, shoving a fingerlike appendage in Mac's face. "You guys gonna go pick out a china pattern later or what?" He turned away again and stood there with his arms crossed.
"Bloo..." Mac sighed and looked at the ground. "Bloo, I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday, but what you did...it was mean."
Bloo paused, allowing his frown to soften; then he caught himself and scowled full-force. "But it's Terrence," he argued, facing Mac once again.
Mac looked Bloo in the eye. "Bloo," he said gently, "I think I probably created you to help me hate Terrence. But...I don't want to hate him anymore. Maybe you can't learn to do that too, and maybe that's my fault, for creating you that way. I'm sorry."
Bloo uncrossed his arms and lost his scowl, baffled. "I don't get it," he admitted.
Mac nodded and put an arm around Bloo. "That's okay," he said. "I guess...you don't have to like Terrence, just...understand that I do. He's my brother. But you're still my best friend," he added after a moment.
Bloo paused again. "You mean it?" he pressed glumly.
Mac removed his arm and punched Bloo in the shoulder. "That's the other reason I made you, isn't it?" he smiled.
Bloo had to smile back. "Yeah," he said. "And to help you get into trouble. Hey, there's some now!" he shouted, pointing to Mr. Herriman, who had just hopped stiffly out of the house carrying a large glass vase filled with roses. "Come on, Mac, let's go bug old Fuzzbutt!"
"Hey!" laughed Mac, hurrying to keep up with Bloo, who was darting through the crowd so fast several people tumbled over. "Wait up!"
Grumbling, Terrence reached under his bed and hauled out a pile of trash, trying to stuff it into a big lawn bag in one motion. He'd already filled three bags with almost three years' worth of accumulated garbage, and it looked like he was going to need a lot more before he was done. But he had to clean the whole room, that was his punishment for failing his classes. He was grounded pretty much for the whole summer, too, barring trips to summer school, which he had to go sign up for on Monday.
Tying off the bag, Terrence sat on the floor and rolled the bag like a bowling ball towards the others. This was turning out to be a heck of a lot more work than he had bargained for, and he considered sneaking past Mom to the kitchen for a soda.
He spotted the corner of a book dislodged by the removal of that last handful of trash peeking out from beneath his bed, and he picked it up idly. It was Beverly Cleary's Dear Mr. Henshaw. He hadn't seen it since they moved in and had forgotten all about it. He remembered liking it quite a bit.
Terrence decided to take a break and he lay back on his bed, idly flipping through the book. It seemed too young for him now. Maybe Mac would like it, he thought to himself.
There was a knock on the semi-open door and Mom, smiling, poked her head in. "How are you doing?" she asked, eyeing the four full bags of garbage. "I hope there isn't much more than that?" she asked optimistically.
"Sorry Mom, I haven't even touched the closet yet."
Mom sighed resignedly, then stepped over one of the bags to walk to the bed. "Well, I have to say, this is the first time I've seen the floor in here in ages," she remarked, sitting on the bed. She smiled at the book in Terrence's hands. It made her feel good to see her son reading. "What's that?" she asked.
Terrence shrugged. "Just a book," he said. He closed it and set it on the nightstand. "Mom, do you think I'm smart?" he asked suddenly.
Mom hesitated, then smiled again. "Of course, honey," she said, then put on a grave face. "But you need to be careful."
Terrence frowned at her. "Careful about what?"
Mom nodded towards the book. "Well, you've been reading an awful lot lately," she said sagely. "You know what that does."
"Um...no. What?"
Mom leaned in conspiratorially. "If you read too much," she hissed, "your brain will explode."
Terrence blinked at her. "Mom!" he blurted, rolling his eyes.
"It will!" Mom sat back with a dead-serious look on her face. "And then it will leak out of your nose!"
Terrence refused to laugh. "Mom, that's not funny," he told her.
Mom pretended to pout. "It's not?"
"Nope."
At once she was tickling him. "Not at all?" she said innocently.
Terrence was very ticklish, and he squealed with laughter. "No!" he shrieked stubbornly, of course prompting even more tickling.
"I dunno, I thought it was pretty funny, myself."
Terrence tried to push her off. "All right, all right!" he managed to gasp. "You're a comic genius! Now stop already!"
Grinning, Mom relented. "Do you want some lunch?" she asked.
Terrence snuffled and lay back, instantly regaining his cool. "Nah," he said. "I can clean some more."
Mom nodded and stood up to leave. When she reached the door she turned to smile again at her son. "You're doing a good job, Terrence," she told him. She didn't mean the room.
"Yeah," said Terrence. "Thanks, Mom."
End