Chapter Five
After Frankie drove them home, Mac and Terrence waited in the kitchen for Mom to return from work. Although she was initially both angry about Terrence missing her phone call and shocked to see both the boys' injuries (especially Terrence's, of course), she took the explanation of Mac winning the "fight" well. As Terrence predicted, she, like Frankie, made comments about being glad Mac had learned to stand up for himself and that Terrence should think twice about harassing his little brother from then on; she also lifted Terrence's extended restriction, again allowing him to "study at the Library" after class. In fact, she added that he could stay a bit later if he wanted, which cheered him quite a bit. However, there was just the slightest hint in Mom's voice and expression that nagged at both of the boys, and they debated afterwords on whether or not she had really bought the story. In fact, the topic of the fictional fight was brought up a number of times in the future and discussed privately between the brothers, and they never could figure out if Mom had been humoring them. For her part Mom, if she suspected anything, revealed nothing on the subject until the end of her days. The only other person besides the boys who knew the truth, Eduardo, somehow managed to sense from Mac that he was never to speak of that day to anyone. And so he never did.
When Music class let out the next day Terrence started to head to one of the practice rooms, but was stopped by Chess.
The teacher nodded at the purple bruise on the boy's face (the swelling had disappeared), which had been stared at all day by the other kids but never questioned. No one had had the courage to ask what had happened. No one but Chess, apparently.
"What'd you get into yesterday?" he queried after all the other students had dispersed. His tone was deeply suspicious.
Terrence blinked at him, confused. "I uh...got into a fight with my brother," he said.
"Your brother? He a big kid? He pick on you?"
Terrence couldn't suppress a feeling of irony. "Um, well...not really," he hedged. "But I - "
"You sure it wasn't someone else?" Chess went on, looking Terrence in the eye. "You can tell me, Terrence. Was it your father?"
The boy blinked at him again, not grasping the situation. "My dad lives in New York," he said blankly. Actually, his dad lived on Long Island, which is in New York State, so it was true even though saying New York usually implied New York City. Saying New York instead of Long Island was usually easier though since most of the people who asked him were classmates who didn't necessarily know where Long Island was.
Mollified, Chess backed off. "All right," he said. "Had me worried there. I understand getting into a fight with your brother. Got three of 'em myself. But there's just no excuse for a man to be hitting his kids." He put a hand on Terrence's shoulder. "Well," he said, shifting to a different subject, "I'm really glad you're back with us. You're sure you can stay, now, until the end of the course?"
"Yeah. Yeah I'm sure."
"Good." Chess squeezed the boy's shoulder. "Because I don't want to even ask you what I want to ask you unless you're sure you can ride this out."
"Ask me what?"
Chess guided Terrence, carrying the cello and bow, back to his chair in the main classroom, and motioned for him to sit. He did so, while the teacher spun another chair around and sat in it backwards. He pointed at the cello. "Play something," he said. When Terrence didn't move he amended, "Shoot me some scales. Your choice."
Terrence was confused but he did what he was told, selecting major scales at random.
"With vibrato."
Terrence added vibrato.
"Now gimme a flying staccato."
Terrence attempted a clumsy flying staccato, and Chess laughed. "Well that was pretty good," the teacher encouraged him. "I just asked for one for the heck of it." He looked at Terrence seriously. "You're a natural, kid, you know that?"
Terrence peered suspiciously back at the teacher. "Yeah and so's every other kid who's come through here," the boy countered, not buying any of it.
"Terrence," replied Chess, folding his arms across the chair's back, "do you even know what a 'natural' is?"
This sounded suspiciously like a dig at his intelligence, and Terrence, who had lifted his right arm to tackle the failed flying staccato again, dropped it again in annoyance. "Why?" he snapped. "There gonna be a test?"
Chess scuffed the heel of one shoe on the floor. "I'm not making fun of you," he said, knowing by now how sensitive the boy could be. He went on before he could be interrupted. "A natural is someone who is just naturally good at something. They have an edge, a proficiency. They might have to work just as hard as everyone else but they have the potential to not just be good, but be the best. Terrence, I am telling you, I think you are a natural musician."
Terrence hesitated, and looked away, not used to hearing he was good at something.
"You're always so down on yourself - and everyone else, while you're at it," Chess went on. "But, honestly: you only first picked up a cello four weeks ago and you're doing fantastic. And it's not just your ability to read music - which is exemplary, by the way - but you're already beginning to develop technique. I can see it."
Terrence scowled and waved his bow a bit in annoyance. "Come on," he argued. "I'm scraping a big stick with a little stick, here. A million years ago, a caveman did it and made fire."
Chess laughed loudly, then stopped as Terrence got up to put the cello away. "All right, son, relax," he said, jumping up and putting a hand on Terrence's shoulder. "I said I'm not making fun of you. I laughed because it was a funny joke. I don't know why you think you're so incapable of doing anything extraordinary. Sit down."
Terrence sat back down reluctantly. Chess turned his own chair around and sat as well.
"Listen to me," said Chess seriously, trying to get Terrence to look at him (he didn't). "This summer course is basically populated with kids who need extra credit. They might like music okay but that's not what they're here for. Now, my regular students, during the school year, that's what they're here for. They love music and they love to play and I can see it. Teaching the summer students and teaching the regular students are two different experiences for me, and I gotta tell you, you're sticking out in this class like a snowman on the beach."
Terrence looked at him curiously.
"Okay, look, about the concert," Chess finally started getting around to what he wanted to ask Terrence in the first place. "Your family's coming, right? Your mom? Your brother?"
Terrence coughed. "Um, I think my mom's gotta work," he lied quickly. No way was he going to even tell her about it.
Chess looked disappointed. "That's too bad," he said. "Because, well...Usually I only have the kids play one piece, the one we've been practicing all month. But I was hoping we could do another...I was gonna ask you, what do you think about soloing?"
"Soloing...what, you want me to get up in front of a bunch of strangers and play all alone?" Terrence was affronted by the very idea. "What are you picking on me for?" he wanted to know.
Chess suppressed a smile; the kid sure was paranoid. He liked him, though, he had personality. "Because you're good and I want to show you off to everyone." Chess grinned broadly and puffed out his chest with false bravado. "Because I want them all to say, why, that Seymour Chesline, he sure is a magnificent teacher if he could mold an ordinary teenaged boy into a budding virtuoso after only six weeks!"
Terrence, as could be expected, had only really picked up on one part of that statement. "Your name is Seymour?" he shouted. "Like the nerdy guy in that movie with the big talking plant?"
Chess rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Look, you want a solo or not?" he asked the boy. "There are quite a few good pieces with cello solos in them."
"Wait...so I wouldn't be playing alone?"
"Just with your backup band."
"You mean...I'd just be like...the lead guitar?" Terrence went on thoughtfully.
Chess nodded. "That's about it."
"And everyone else would have more music to practice because of me?"
Now Chess feigned disapproval. "You a slavedriver or something?" he asked, amused.
"Nah. I just wanna make sure I'm not working harder than anyone else."
Chess had to laugh at him. "So what do you think? Wanna go on a one-night tour?"
That was a bargain Terrence could make. Especially since Mom wouldn't be there to see it. "Sure, Seymour," he replied, giving the cello a spin. "Me and my axe'll knock 'em dead. But I want two hot chicks waiting for me in my trailer. Oh yeah, and pizza."
Chess laughed again.