Chapter Three
"You sure you've got everything, honey?" Mom hovered over Terrence as he slid a binder full of lined paper into his new backpack.
"Mom, I'm fine," he grumped. "It's just high school. Why don't you go see if Mac needs his nose wiped or something?" He zipped the backpack and, shouldering it, headed for the front door. Mom followed him.
"I know...I know you're fine," she said, heading him off before he could escape. He stood patiently enough while she fussed with his necklace, pulling it out of his t-shirt's collar and making sure the clasp was in the back. "I'm just so proud for you."
"Yeah." Mom had been the most excited person in the apartment when the Tillman acceptance letter had come.
"Now Terrence," Mom went on a bit more firmly as her son stepped around her and opened the front door. "Try to, you know...behave yourself."
He glanced over his shoulder at her.
"Just...could you...maybe...not get into a fight...please? On your first day?" Mom sighed heavily, greatly disliking the fact that she even had to make such a plea, but Terrence did have a history of getting into at least two major fistfights the first day of school. What she didn't realize was that these fights were necessary to Terrence's elevated position in the schoolyard pecking order - being the best at fighting had always been all he had; he knew Mom would never understand that and had stopped trying to explain it to her years ago.
"Sure Mom," Terrence replied quickly, and escaped.
It so happened that Mom's biggest concern was Terrence's as well, although he had different motives. If he had wound up going to the regular high school, he would have had to establish his dominance, yes, but at Tillman...at Tillman it was going to be different. If he was lucky kids going there would already know and fear him enough to give him an edge but there was a very good chance that would not be the case, and it would be like sixth grade all over again. That was when his family had moved here.
Terrence had gotten into the biggest fight of his life on his very first day at his new elementary school and it had shaped his whole social life. Tired of the way he had always been picked on in the past Terrence had tracked down the toughest kid in school - Nolan - and had aggressively picked a fight with him at lunchtime. It had taken three teachers, the vice principal, and the janitor to break them apart, but the undisputed winner was Terrence, who wasn't half as injured as Nolan. From then on Terrence had been the ringleader of nearly all violent or disruptive/destructive incidents at the elementary school and, later, Ferndale Middle School. Mac still heard horror stories whispered in the halls of his school about his infamous brother.
Terrence wasn't exactly happy about having to relive that kind of violence at Tillman but he was prepared to do what he had to. He refused to again go through being the loser he was before they had moved to this town.
As he started down the sidewalk Terrence heard Mac (who was starting fourth grade today) shouting a goodbye to their mother and pounding down the stairwell. Terrence expected the little dork to start pestering him, maybe try to make him worry about going into high school but Mac just silently passed him by and turned left at the corner. They hadn't been on speaking terms since the older boy's birthday (which had otherwise been fair) and Terrence suspected the little old lady of telling Mac what a jerk he was. And all over stupid imaginary friends. Terrence still didn't get it.
The entire walk to Tillman was spent in formulating a game plan for the day. Terrence wasn't concerned with his classes; he could care less where his locker was or where the bathrooms were or if he would get lost on his way to English. In his mind there was one objective: make it to the top of the heap. No matter who he had to step on to get there. Terrence, believe it or not, was rather practical when it came to matters of peer dominance: he realized that climbing the power ladder in high school would not be the same as it had been in the past. Sixth grade had been a no-brainer; he was already in the oldest group in the school. Middle school was only two grades and he was able to rely on his own ruthlessness to dominate kids one year older than him. But Tillman spanned six years; sure he'd be older than the seventh- and eighth-graders but even he knew he probably couldn't take on the toughest twelfth-grader (even if he was a drama major or whatever sissy thing). It was possible but simply not worth the risk. After careful deliberation he decided to set his scopes on tenth grade. Unless the guy was freaky big, Terrence would aim for finding and beating up the toughest kid in the tenth grade and go from there.
His path thus carved, Terrence hurried on to school. There was no time to waste.
The day started with ninth-grade Algebra. Something about having to tackle Algebra first thing in the morning struck Terrence as enormously unfair, but of course there was nothing to do but suck it up. The textbook was an intimidating robin's-egg-blue thing, which weighed more than any textbook Terrence had ever had to schlep around in middle school. The next class, English, looked easy enough, but the assigned book seemed suspiciously dull. Then there was Biology, which, if it didn't turn out to assign too much homework, promised to be relatively interesting.
Terrence was far too busy during these classes to tackle the snoopwork necessary to ferreting out his targets so when lunch rolled around he was all set to get to work. But just as he was approaching a small knot of what he hoped were tenth-graders he was intercepted by an emerald-green-haired Reese. Two other girls accompanied her - one wore all black and looked very grim and the other wore dingy ill-fitting boy's clothes and looked completely apathetic. Terrence was mildly surprised at Reese's choice in companions. He greeted her and waited for her to introduce the two girls but she didn't and they didn't seem to care at all.
"Come eat with us," Reese said.
"Oh," replied Terrence vaguely. "I'm um, not eating today."
"Did you forget your lunch? You can have some of mine."
"No, I...I'm just not hungry."
"Yes you are," Reese replied, latching onto his arm and hauling him to a table.
Somehow Terrence found himself unable to escape as Reese talked his ear off about her classes and her teachers and then demanded he share his own experiences. It turned out that Reese (and Fae) was in all advance classes, which was why he hadn't seen either of them all morning. When the bell rang all too soon Terrence, cursing himself, made his way to Spanish, which was dull beyond belief. Then he headed for the Music department.
Music, as could be expected, was a double class, but to his dismay Terrence learned that a portion of it was to be devoted to bookwork. He hadn't known that in addition to playing music they would have to learn about it too. Bummer. But for the first day there would be neither.
There were multiple halls so each of the grades could practice with only their own peers, and Terrence filed into the ninth-grade hall, found his assigned seat, and looked around. He wasn't in the least surprised to discover that he was last chair in the cello section, but he didn't appreciate it when he heard:
"Get used to that chair, summer-school reject! You'll be there for four years!"
"Reject!" parroted a second voice.
It was Fae, of course, sitting in first chair - and she'd brought Adagio.
"Hey!" yelled Terrence, jumping to his feet. "You can't have an imaginary friend at school!"
"Can so," Fae replied coolly, eying him. "There's no rule against it."
Terrence glowered. "Says you," he snapped, and shouted down to Chess, who had just walked in: "Chess! Hey Chess! Fae can't have her stupid bird in here can she?"
"Of course she can," said Chess, putting his attache case on the desk in the corner. "Imaginary friends are always allowed in schools. Even universities allow them."
"But that's stupid!" yelled Terrence angrily. "That ugly bird'll crap on the sheet music!"
The class roared with laughter but Chess didn't look amused. "Take your seat, Terrence," he said, and Terrence sulkily obeyed. While Chess took roll the boy went back to looking about the hall and spotted Bill Slocomb, second chair in the violin section. Ferndale Middle School's band didn't have a string section; he must have picked up the violin after he'd moved. Bill caught him staring at him and stared back; Terrence, rather than look away, leered meaningfully at the smaller boy, smugly thinking about how Bill - and countless others - would soon be under his thumb. It was only a matter of time.
Everyone had come to class minus instruments today, as per the instructions that came with the acceptance letters. Those students who already owned an instrument would bring them the next day while the others, like Terrence, would have a school-owned instrument assigned for the year. Terrence wasn't about to ask Mom to buy him something that could cost hundreds of dollars if not more, even well used. He'd just have to go ghetto. It didn't bother him.
Although he had to wonder if Fae was going to bring her electric cello to class and if so, if he could get hold of it for a few minutes.
"As you may or may not know," Chess started off the class, "There are four music instructors here at Tillman. I handle seventh to tenth grades. Seventh and eighth grades are the smallest and they are combined, so I teach two different classes every day; you all are second. When you get here every day you will study Music History with Mrs. Schubert." He indicated a middle-aged woman sitting at a desk to the side of the podium and she waved to the class. "The second half of class you'll spend with me, rehearsing. So I'll be back in about an hour, the greenies are waiting on me." He left.
Mrs. Schubert spent her hour distributing textbooks and explaining the theory and practice of Music History. Most of the students, Terrence included, did little hide their boredom - Mrs. Schubert however took this in stride. Obviously she was used to it.
But the class perked right back up when Chess returned and Mrs. Schubert went to bore the seventh- and eighth-graders.
"Music majors are very busy folks," Chess told the class, leaning backwards on the front of the podium. "Not only at Tillman but everywhere - those of you who go on to major in music at universities will see that. Everyone wants a piece of you if you're a music major. Animation and film students want music for their films. Theatre and dance majors want music for their shows. Voice majors want musical accompaniment for their performances. Even art majors want live music for their art shows. You will be very popular here, especially after you've got a few years under your belt. Upperclassmen music majors are more in demand around here than napkins at a barbeque. Those of you in your first year at Tillman will find out the hard way that sometimes you just gotta say no, or your grades in your other classes will suffer. So be careful."
Terrence groaned. Great. Now he'd never get his homework done. He'd just have to say no to everybody then. He didn't want to play goofy music for some kid's sloppy cartoon anyways.
Chess talked for a while, answering questions; then handed over the rest of the hour for the music students to use to get to know each other better. Terrence found that the students preferred mingling only with others who played the same instruments as themselves, so he resigned himself to doing the same. The other ninth-grade cellists besides himself and Fae were a girl named Bea in second chair, and a boy named Ferd...in third. Ferd found this rather funny, as did Bea. Fae and Terrence both thought it was pretty corny, but neither said so.
As Fae had been at Tillman the longest (she was the only one who was not new this year) she spent the remainder of class telling the other three about what to expect from their fellow music students. "The flutes are the meanest," she said, referring to people by the instruments they played. "They don't like anyone to play louder than them. The French horns are the snootiest because they think they have the hardest instrument - they so don't. The percussions are actually kinda snootier I think but they hate being snubbed so they try to be nice. The violins - " here both Adagio and Fae made disgusted faces - "well, get used to the violins. You'll have to practice with them a lot. But they're always smug because they get wild solos. They're always saying: Violins are wild, cellos are mild. They're such idiots."
Terrence pretended to listen to Fae prate on but when class time was up he bolted for the door. Technically school wasn't over - there was a free 40-minute period at the end of the day that was "recommended" for studying, making use of the Library, that sort of thing - but Terrence was hoping he could still track down his elusive prey before the rest of the students went home. (Besides, he thought it was rather stupid that Gym, which should have occupied that slot, was not a required elective. Served the school right if he flaked.)
After dropping all of his stuff off at his locker (he preferred to scout unencumbered) Terrence slunk around the perimeter of the school grounds, knowing that's where a lot of rebel-type kids would be lurking. They'd know what direction to point him in. But after a minute or so of walking Terrence got the undeniable feeling that he was being watched, and keenly. A glance over his shoulder and he spotted a very large, well-muscled older kid tailing him several yards behind. Terrence tried walking nonchalantly in a different direction but the big kid dogged him, making no attempt to disguise his watchful glare.
This was a bad sign.
Terrence slipped around another corner and bolted for another building but the big kid broke into a run as well and it was clear that Terrence was outmatched in the speed department. He zigged and zagged around buildings and the occasional tree as he attempted to flee the school grounds but he was grabbed from behind and spun around roughly.
"You're Terrence Vaughn, right?" asked the kid, who wasn't even winded.
Terrence blinked back at him. The kid was tall, and broad-shouldered - definitely lifted weights - and clean-cut. Most likely a twelfth-grader, by his size. Kinda looked like the all-American quarterback and would have cast the picture of a nice guy if he wasn't dangling a skinny ninth-grader by his shirt a good foot above the ground.
"Well?" prompted the kid, lifting an eyebrow expectantly.
"So what if I am?" Terrence spat, trying not to struggle. He glanced around anxiously to see how many other kids were witnessing this but they were alone.
"So, I've been tipped off that a new kid matching your description and named Terrence Vaughn likes to be the top bully in his school," the kid replied, lowering Terrence to the ground but not releasing his shirt.
"So?"
The kid paused. "So," he said at length, "I don't like bullies."
That took Terrence by surprise. "And what the hell do you call yourself, then?" he demanded, finally starting to struggle to free himself. "You just assaulted me! I can get you detention!"
The kid seemed amused. "I call myself Todd," he replied. "And like I said, I don't like bullies. Bullies are sad, sorry little people who never learned to play well with others. They're not tough, and they're not cool, and they're not respected, and if I ever hear that you've been pushing other kids around in my school..." Todd bent to put his face in Terrence's face. "Well, I guess I'll just have to get you removed from my school."
Terrence stared back up at Todd in horrified confusion. "You gonna get me expelled or hospitalized?" he gasped.
Todd grinned back. "I'm a double major. I know how to multitask," he said meaningfully. He released Terrence then, but laid a heavy hand on the fourteen-year-old's shoulder before he could step away. "Take my advice," Todd said then, looking thoughtful. "Lording it over other people might make you feel superior for a little while but it doesn't do you any good in the long run if nobody likes you. Don't waste your time. And don't make me tell you again." With that Todd walked away, and Terrence, miraculously unscathed, scurried off to retrieve his stuff from his locker before running home.
Well, at least Mom would be happy.