Chapter Two
"So. How was your date?"
Terrence lifted his face from the bathroom sink and glared myopically over his shoulder at Mac, who stood grinning in the doorway behind him. "It wasn't a date, you little dork," the older boy snapped, reaching for a towel to dry his face.
Mac pulled a tube off of the counter and read the label. His grin got wider. "Then why are you finally using that acne wash Mom got you a million years ago?" he taunted, and jumped out of the way when Terrence made a swipe at him. "You like that girl," the younger boy went on, dodging a couple more grabs. "She is your girlfriend!"
Terrence paused in his attack long enough to put his glasses back on; then he threw the towel, hitting Mac in the face with it. Mac dropped the tube and Terrence snatched it up.
"If you ever," snarled Terrence as Mac lifted the towel off of his face, jamming the cap of the tube against Mac's nose, "call her my girlfriend again, I will personally force feed you this entire tube! Got it?"
"Sure Terrence." Mac pulled the wooden stepstool into position in front of the sink so he could brush his teeth. He was taking a major risk, but somehow he felt he needed to really test the waters. He watched Terrence carefully in the mirror, waiting for him to make a move to punish him for his insubordination. He squirted toothpaste on his brush and started brushing.
Terrence hesitated. Something nagged at the thirteen-year-old, telling him to slam Mac's face into the faucet and ram his toothbrush down his throat, but the teen had more important things to do. Tossing the tube of cleanser back onto the counter he slunk out of the bathroom. He didn't see Mac's relieved smile.
Terrence shut himself into his room and parked himself in front of his computer. He needed to find a piece to play for the audition, and fast. Three weeks was a respectable chunk of time, but he didn't want to wind up rushed. After all, this was his summer vacation, and he fully intended to get some relaxation out of it.
The Tillman brochure had listed some websites where music could be printed for free, and Mom had suggested he go that route. But Terrence wasn't so keen on it. That's what everyone would be doing, and he didn't exactly want to be the fifteenth kid in a row to play "The Girl From Ipanema" for the judges. How lame would that be? His own brilliant idea was to figure out how to play some Green Day or Killers on a cello but the problem with that was he had to show sheet music for it. And he didn't think guitar sheet music would cut it.
In the end he just wound up installing Alice and slicing up Card Guards with the Vorpal Blade for a couple of hours. It took his mind off of music auditions nicely.
"So have you picked a piece for your audition yet?"
Terrence had been expecting this question for a week, but he still wasn't prepared to deal with it. "Still narrowing it down," he lied into his milk, not looking at his mother.
Mom opened her mouth to remind Terrence that he only had two weeks to go before the audition but she stopped herself and went back to eating her peas in silence. She didn't want to put pressure on the boy, but she was worried. Miraculously, remarkably, her oldest son had finally shown an aptitude for something and it took all of her willpower to keep from riding him every minute to make sure he took advantage of this wonderful opportunity he had been afforded. She knew what a procrastinator he could be and it would be beyond a crying shame if this audition fell through just because he didn't apply himself.
Mac felt much the same way, but he was currently thinking more of how Terrence tended to lash out when goaded. So he changed the subject. "What do you want for your birthday?" he asked.
Terrence, who was slumped over his plate, shrugged and pushed peas into clumps beside his pork chop. "I dunno."
"Is there something special you'd like to do?" Mom added.
Mac mouthed "I dunno" to Mom, as that's what they both fully expected the other boy to say, but instead the teen paused. "Will I be grounded?" Terrence asked, looking up at his mother curiously.
"On your birthday? Of course not."
A raised eyebrow. "Can I go out?"
Mom looked at him. "By yourself?" she asked softly.
Terrence shrugged and didn't reply.
"Well." Mom thought about it. "If you want to...But I'd like you to have dinner with your loving family at least."
At that comment Mac batted his eyes at Terrence, who made a face at him. "Okay," Terrence told Mom.
"With cake."
"Fine."
"And candles."
"Okay..."
"And balloons."
Terrence looked at her.
"And we get to sing."
Terrence rolled his eyes. "Don't forget the cowboys and pony rides," he remarked sarcastically.
Mom widened her eyes at him. "That reminds me; I forgot to book the clown that makes the balloon animals," she said.
"And the trampoline!" added Mac.
"And the face painter," nodded Mom.
Terrence grunted and poked at his porkchop with his fork. "Well, I've decided what I want for my birthday," he said.
Mom and Mac stopped giggling at each other long enough to look at him. "What's that?" Mom asked.
"A restraining order against my crazy family," replied the teen. "How many colors that come in?"
Mom and Mac giggled harder.