Chapter Three
"Terrence? What's wrong with your arm?"
Terrence looked at his mother across the dinner table and frowned in confusion a split-second before realizing that he had been rubbing his right arm. It had felt rather like he'd been lifting small cars after messing with the cello that first day, but now after his first full class and practice afterwards it felt a bit more like he'd been gnawed on by one of those Extremeasaur things. Chess had warned him repeatedly to relax and quit gripping the bow so hard - he guessed he'd better start listening to the teacher. "Oh," Terrence said quickly, "um. Nothing. I...bumped it."
"Well is it bruised? You really look like you're in pain. Is it swollen? Let me see."
Terrence jerked away. "It's fine, Mom," he argued, reaching for his glass of milk with his left hand.
Mac came in then from the bathroom and took his seat. He looked a little subdued and was silent. Mom noticed at once. "Is something wrong, honey?" she prompted him.
"No," Mac said quietly, dumping one spoonful of corn onto his plate and picking at it.
Mom frowned. "Aren't you hungry?"
"Not really."
Terrence, glad to have the attention off of him before Mom got too suspicious, ate his dinner as quickly as he could and fled to his room to start his homework.
He'd felt weird in his first Music class today. The other kids, although he wasn't really familiar with any of them, all seemed to know enough about him to know that he wasn't exactly the type to play an instrument in school, and he felt their eyes on him all class. The string section - himself and three violins - sat in front, and he felt like he was being stabbed in the back by dozens of suspicious eyes. He wasn't too happy about having to face front and occupy both hands and not subdue everyone with vicious glares while at the same time trying to remember the lesson about fingering in the textbook Chess had given him the day before. After class he had sat in one of the practice rooms and played scales until he thought little black notes would tumble out of his ears. And as he sat in his room tonight trying to do his History assignment he couldn't get those stupid scales out of his head. He knew he probably wasn't pressing the strings right or holding his arms right or even holding the bow right and he found himself wishing the cello was there so he could get it correct before tomorrow's class.
But the cello wasn't there and besides, he had other homework to worry about. He pouted at his History textbook. Stupid History. Too much stuff happened in the world, how was he supposed to remember it all? Then he looked down at his other books, piled on the floor. He had assignments in all of his classes, and a test this Friday - in every single class. Stupid, stupid summer school.
After he managed to complete all of his assignments he picked up the yellow electric guitar that leaned against the wall beside his bed and sat far into the night, fingering the neck idly, his mind repeating scales over and over again.
The next week, on Wednesday, Mom let herself into Terrence's room without knocking after dinner. From the look on her face he knew at once that he was in big trouble.
Mom shut the door behind herself so Mac wouldn't overhear anything she had to say. "Terrence," she said dangerously, "what have you been doing?"
Terrence swallowed hard and dropped his pen onto his open Math book. His brain grabbed the handiest noncommittal response it could find: "What?"
Mom stood over him like a dam about to break. "You've been beating Mac again," she stated in a strained voice.
Terrence stared. He knew that Mom was well aware that he picked on Mac but he also knew that she wasn't aware of how much, because he had carefully taught Mac to keep his big mouth shut. In recent years, she had only caught him really pounding the kid once, last summer, and he knew that she was under the impression that that sort of thing wasn't a common occurrence. Terrence knew better than to inflict obvious injuries, and he was always careful not to touch Mac's face with much other than saliva. He simply knew better.
But what was most surprising about the accusation was that the noogie he had given Mac after his first day of summer school literally was the last time he had harassed the kid. His attention, taken by classwork and music lessons, simply could not be stretched any farther. He shook his head at Mom in confusion, unable to come up with a reply.
"Don't give me that blank look," Mom said, eyes narrowed. "Really, Terrence. He's just a kid, can't you leave him alone?"
"But Mom..."
"Terrence he's covered with bruises, I saw them this morning! And you, with your arm so sore you can barely lift it sometimes?"
That one time last summer when Mom had caught Terrence beating Mac up, he wound up with a strained muscle in his shoulder from trying to yank Mac out of sight when Mom had entered the room unexpectedly. It had hurt for a week. Terrence couldn't believe it; Mom thought that his arm was sore from beating up Mac. Whom he hadn't even touched! "Mom!" he repeated, louder this time.
"I don't know what to do with you boys sometimes," Mom went on furiously. "What do I have to do? Hire a babysitter?"
Oh, hell no! "No!" Terrence blurted.
"Then watch yourself." Mom paused thoughtfully. "Maybe you should stop studying at the Library. You always still seem to have a lot of work to do when you get home, you may as well do it all here and I'd like to know where you are at all times."
Terror clenched Terrence's heart, and it surprised him that he was so anguished at the thought of quitting his Music class. "No, Mom!" he cried. "Please!"
Mom looked at him, interested that she seemed to have inadvertently found a bargaining chip. She knew it was quite possible that her son was lying to her, that he was doing something other than studying in those two hours after his last class, but perhaps this could work to her advantage. "Then leave your brother alone," she told him, "or I will call home every day after your last class to make sure you're here."
Terrence swallowed hard. "Oh...Okay," he replied, unable to see any way out of this. It was definitely weird to promise to stop beating Mac up when he'd already done so but he wasn't taking any chances.
"All right then," said Mom shortly, and she left the room.
Terrence came to a conclusion that night while lying in bed: Mac had finally come up with a way to get him back after all those years. Obviously he had figured out that Terrence needed those two hours after school for whatever reason, and had told Mom that Terrence was beating him up so the older boy would get in trouble. The bruises? Probably from roughhousing with Bloo. And whether or not Terrence actually punished Mac for it the little brat could tell Mom that he was still bothering him and get him in more trouble. Tattling on Mom when he wasn't even doing anything. It was a perfect plan. He wished he'd thought of it.
The thirteen-year-old tried desperately to decide what to do. Bribery? Mac would just milk him for all he was worth; he'd be a slave to his little brother before the summer was out. Threats? He could threaten to tell Mom about Foster's once and for all. That could work. Unless Mac one-upped him. And to be fair Mac had a lot of material to work with.
In the end Terrence decided he'd better just play it one hundred percent safe and stay completely out of Mac's way, at least until summer school was over. At that point, of course, it just may turn into open season on little brothers.
Avoiding Mac wound up being harder than Terrence initially thought. It seemed the kid was practically following him around while they were both home, acting like he wanted to talk to him or something. Terrence knew Mac was just trying to piss him off, trying to goad him into losing his temper and lashing out, which would only get the older boy in trouble. He couldn't afford that. So he made a point of leaving a room whenever Mac entered it wherever possible and completely ignoring him the rest of the time. After about a week of that, Mac seemed to give up, and stopped approaching him. Terrence figured he was in the clear. But he was about to get a nasty shock.