Chapter One
He wasn't really sure what he had expected; perhaps it was this, a mere repeat of yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. Ad nauseam. But something different would have been nice. Was it too much to ask, for something a little different?
Terrence stood before the bathroom mirror in his boxers, the steam from his shower having completely dissipated already, as he had been standing there staring at himself for about fifteen minutes. Today he was fourteen. What did that mean? He remembered the significance of several past birthdays: ten meant finally being in the double digits, eleven meant almost a teenager, twelve meant officially a teenager, thirteen meant more officially a teenager because everyone knew that twelve-year-olds who think that they're real teenagers are deluding themselves. But what was fourteen? Two more years until he could drive. Four more years before he was a legal adult.
In a dazzling feat of adolescent logic, four years went from seeming like way too long to have to wait for anything to far too short a time to prepare for adulthood - all in the span of about .63 seconds. Terrence put his palms on the sink and leaned forward to squint at his reflection (his glasses still sat on the counter). Four years to define the rest of his life. It wasn't enough time.
He was barely shaken out of his contemplation by a thump on the door and a voice raised in protest: "Terrence! You've been in there a year! I gotta go, already!" The locked doorknob jiggled. Terrence sighed and slumped, just a little, and slid on his glasses. And took a better look at himself.
That stupid acne stuff Mom had bought him wasn't doing a very good job. With his shirt off he was reminded of the spots on his shoulders and - he twisted to look - his back. And he had to wear swimtrunks in front of girl, like this? Worse, two girls, if Fae stuck around. And...their dad. Terrence felt a bit faint.
THUD THUD. "Oh my God, Terrence!" yelled Mac in desperation. "You look stunning already! Let me in or there's gonna be a flood! Ter - "
Terrence opened the door in mid-pound and Mac stopped hopping up and down long enough to dart around the older boy's legs, give him a shove into the hallway from behind, and slam the door. Terrence slunk into his room, shutting the door behind himself, and continued his self-scrutiny in the small square mirror mounted on the wall beside his closet. His ears were too big. His hair was too short. His nose was too small. And he was way too skinny. If he'd realized that he was berating his appearance the same way every normal teenager did he would have actually felt better, knowing that he was, in fact, a normal teenager. Because he sure as hell didn't feel normal.
Terrence put on the jeans and t-shirt he had picked out the day before - they were clean, but not new, he didn't want to appear showy - pulled on socks and stepped into some sneakers, and grabbed up the duffel bag he had prepared. Inside were his swimtrunks, some beat-up old jeans and sneakers, and a horrid mustard-yellow t-shirt Mom had bought him earlier that year that he refused to wear. It would do for whatever clothes-destroying activities Reese had planned. Shouldering the bag, he ventured into the living room.
Mom sat in the armchair, reading the newspaper. She looked up and smiled at him, and he automatically smiled back, though wanly. He was so glad he'd refused breakfast now; he didn't think his insides were going to settle down ever again. Mom held out her arms and Terrence walked to her, dropping the bag, and let her put her hands on his sides.
"Well, have fun today," she told him cheerfully, glancing briefly at the duffel bag. Of course she wondered what her son's plans were but she wouldn't pry. She turned down one cuff of Terrence's t-shirt which had folded itself and smoothed it.
Terrence, who had developed a sudden desire to be hugged, just nodded.
"And be back by four, okay?"
Terrence nodded again.
Mom looked at him. "Happy Birthday," she said.
After a quick glance to make sure Mac was still in the bathroom Terrence put his arms around Mom. "Thanks," he said into her shoulder.
Mom caught on. She pulled Terrence down to sit on an arm of the chair and hugged him tightly. She didn't ask him if anything was wrong, or if he was okay. She planted her lips on the side of his head and kissed him with an exaggerated "Mwah!" which made the boy grin as he pulled away.
"Bye," said Terrence, and, reshouldering the duffel bag, he left.
Only moments after he had begun walking down the hall Mac burst out of the front door and charged after him. "Hey, wait up Terrence," called the younger boy.
Terrence took that as a cue to keep right on walking, at a tad faster clip. He didn't reply as he banged the stairwell door and hurried down to the lobby.
Mac, who hadn't really expected Terrence to wait up, pulled up alongside his brother. "Hey," he said, "where are you going today?" He eyed the duffel bag with more curiosity than suspicion, and his tone had been innocent enough; but Terrence, who hated being interrogated, clutched the bag closer and walked even faster. "None of your business," he returned, not looking at the other.
Mac was used to the rudeness and took no offense, especially considering that this was damn considerate of Terrence anyways. So as they reached the street he just went on: "I'm going to Foster's. We're having a picnic. Can you stop by for a little while?"
At that Terrence came to a dead halt and glowered menacingly down at his little brother. "What?"
Mac stopped too. "Do you want to come to the Foster's picnic?" he asked, still not fazed by his brother's attitude. "I told Frankie that it's your birthday and that you like coconut cream pie..." He trailed off meaningfully.
Terrence all but gaped at him. Finally he composed himself enough to reply. "Okay, first of all," Terrence began, irritated, "I only like Grandma's coconut cream pie. And second...why do you keep trying to get me to go to that freakshow with you? I'm never going back there!"
"But - "
"Hey, I've been in there," Terrence went on, making a disgusted face. "I've never seen so many weirdos in one house. And I got lost in there for hours one day when I was trying to watch your stupid Bloo for you! What kind of a sicko builds a house like that anyways?"
At that Mac bristled. "Madame Foster is not a sicko," he said evenly. "And she built that house so imaginary friends who had lost their homes could have a place to live and be happy!"
"Who cares about stupid imaginary friends?" Terrence scoffed. "There's too many of 'em anyways. When kids stop needing 'em they should just go back into their heads or something. Or maybe just explode," he added with a sneer. "At least that would be cool."
Mac, all intents of chumming up to his big brother gone, stood on the sidewalk seething. "You don't know anything about imaginary friends!" he shouted, ignoring a couple of people walking by giving them a concerned look. "You didn't even want yours, you just made him up to do something you couldn't and then when he wouldn't do it, you just left him there! Good thing he was adopted by a nice little boy and won't ever have to see you again!"
Terrence, scowling, took a second or two to figure out that Mac was referring to Red, whom he hadn't given a second thought to since the teen had fled the Foster's grounds pursued by a hundred or so angry imaginary bee friends. "Red was -" he started to say, but Mac interrupted him.
"Red was nice! Not like you! You're a jerk!" His hands balled into fists at his sides, Mac glared at his big brother a second more before running down the sidewalk in the direction of Foster's.
Terrence watched him go, rather indifferently. The plain truth was he just couldn't see what the big deal was with imaginary friends anyways. Terrence was one of those many people who saw imaginary friends as useless, trivial wastes of space, mere things rather than beings with feelings, or even thoughts of their own. He had grown up around Bloo, but he had never really thought of Bloo as an individual, but rather as an extension of Mac's imagination and nothing more. Lots of people see imaginary friends this way, and while it's a little true, it isn't the whole truth. But Terrence, like so many others, never felt that he was missing anything.
Terrence shrugged to himself, shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder, and continued walking. He also headed in the direction of Foster's, as Reese's address indicated that she lived in the immediate area. But he walked fairly slowly so as to not catch up to Mac.