Part III
Chapter Four

Mac, tired from his first day in fourth grade, didn't stay long at Foster's and came home earlier than normal. En route to his room he glanced into Terrence's, the door of which was open, to spot his older brother laying on his back on the floor with his legs up on his bed, distractedly fingering his guitar, which wasn't plugged in. Unable to refrain himself, Mac leaned in the doorway and asked, "So how's high school?" The pale-faced, glassy-eyed stare he got in response prompted Mac to drop his backpack in the hallway and walk into the room. "Don't be dramatic," said Mac, sitting on the bed. "I really want to know what high school's like."

After pausing to decide whether or not to even answer Terrence gave in and let out a loud sigh. "It really sucks," he said. "Worse than middle school."

Mac raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said nothing was worse than middle school," he challenged.

Terrence groaned. "Hell hath many levels," he stated, covering his face with his hands. He took his hands away and scowled up at Mac. "What'd you do today, make macaroni necklaces and play with glitter?"

Mac, unoffended, grinned. "Yep," he said. "What'd you get Mom for her birthday?" Wanting to change the subject before Terrence insulted him Mac went on: "So what happened today? Couldn't get anyone to give you their lunch money?" At Terrence's sudden look of guilt Mac leaned forward with interest. "Oh my God," he said quickly. "Someone took your lunch money didn't they?"

Terrence gripped the neck of his guitar very tightly. "No!" he blurted, too quickly, as Mac grinned wider and scooted out of grabbing range.

"You couldn't make top dog, could you? I knew it! You don't have a scratch on you! You chickened out!" Though he knew it was petty of him, Mac was ecstatic. He had hoped that the high school hierarchy would prove too much for his older brother and now it looked as if he may have been right.

Terrence also knew that Mac not only was expecting this but also was happy about it, and his anger quickly gave way to resignation. Maybe it was just as well. Maybe it was time to give up trying to always be in control of everything. Maybe that would be easier.

When rather than jumping up to throttle him Terrence merely slumped back and stared at the ceiling, Mac lost his jovial attitude. "Terrence?" he asked in concern. "Um...you okay?"

"...No."

"Jeez, Terrence." Mac sat next to the older boy's legs so that he was looking directly down into the other's face. "Life goes on, you know."

Terrence, not making eye contact, pouted but didn't reply.

"I mean," Mac continued, gesturing grandly, "there are other things in life than knocking heads. There's...I dunno...hanging out and making friends. Maybe you should try it." He gently kicked Terrence's leg when there was still no response. "Who knows, you might like being nice."

When Mac paused and Terrence's reaction was to continue to lie there staring vacantly at the ceiling, Mac rolled his eyes. "So, what, is this your new thing? This is that angst stuff Frankie's always talking about, isn't it? You're gonna lie on the floor of your room, clutching your guitar and staring at nothing?"

At last Terrence said something. It was: "Okay."

Another pause. Finally Mac exploded with, "I just don't get you! You're a jerk, then you do something nice, then you're a jerk again; you're happy one minute then all...angsty the next! Am I gonna be like this when I'm a teenager?"

Terrence heaved a deep sigh. "You're never going to have the same problems I do," he assured his brother.

Mac raised an eyebrow. "And what problems are those?" he demanded. "You're fast, you're strong, you've suddenly developed this amazing musical talent that Mom won't stop raving about...What problems could you possibly have?"

At that Terrence broke his staring match with the ceiling to gaze at Mac with some surprise. "You're kidding," he said flatly.

"No," replied Mac.

Terrence narrowed his eyes. "Now you're making fun of me," he said angrily.

"No I'm not! I don't even know what you're talking about!"

"Knock it off!" yelled Terrence, propping himself up on his elbows. "Look, it sucks to be the dumb kid, okay? But at least I made sure I was always the Dumb Kid In Charge! If I don't have the respect of all the other kids at school, I got nothing! And now...now I'm just the Dumb Kid again. High school is gonna suck." With that Terrence flopped backwards and again gazed upwards morosely. "You are never going to have the same problems I do, trust me."

Mac stared down at his brother, a little hurt. He didn't know Terrence was still bothered by that; he'd assumed the whole glasses thing had made him feel better about his intelligence. He sighed. "Okay," he said, "so you're not the brightest crayon in the box." It was blunt, but honest, and Terrence, unfazed, didn't even glance at him. "It's not everything, you know. To be smart, I mean. Everyone thinks I'm smart, well, it gets pretty annoying sometimes. People are always making me think for them, because they're lazy." He smirked. "Bloo does it all the time. You know," Mac went on thoughtfully after a moment of silence, "Mr. Herriman said something cool one time. 'Idiocy is an illusion created by the absence of tact.' That means that people who talk or act without thinking are the ones who look stupid, even if they're smart."

Mac hesitated, waiting for some acknowledgement. After a moment Terrence stirred and sighed, removing his glasses with one hand and rubbing at his eyes with the other. "That rabbit should take his own advice," he said slowly. "He's very rude."

Mac smiled. "You're right, he really doesn't think before he insults people."

"But that doesn't help me," Terrence went on glumly. "Taking a vow of silence wouldn't help my grades."

Mac's smile turned into a frown as he considered that. Then he brightened. "Okay," he said, "so, there's this butcher, right, and he wears a size eight shoe, been married ten years and has three kids, ages six, seven and nine. What does he weigh?"

Terrence stared at Mac without bothering to put his glasses back on. "Jesus, Mac!" he swore loudly, shocked. "You little shit! I tell you how stupid I am and you give me a freaking math problem? Are you sadistic?"

"No, no, no!" exclaimed Mac, waving his hands frantically before him. "Listen carefully: This butcher, he wears a size eight shoe, been married ten years and has three kids, ages six, seven and nine. What does he weigh?"

A death glare. "I dunno. Meat," Terrence snapped sarcastically.

Mac grinned. "Right," he said smugly.

Terrence slid his glasses on then. "What?"

"That's right. Meat. But you hadn't heard that one before, had you?"

"Like I pay attention to math problems anyways - no, I hadn't."

"It's not a math problem. It's a logic test. Madame Foster gave it to me one time. I struggled with it for a week before I broke down and begged for the answer. I thought it was a math problem and I was trying to think it through. That's why I couldn't answer it. I was thinking too much. But you answered it in a second."

"I was being sarcastic," the teen argued. "You rattled off a bunch of numbers and I tuned them out. I heard 'butcher' and 'what does he weigh' and I was just trying to get you to leave me the hell alone."

Mac laughed and jumped off of the bed. "Okay," he said, heading for the door, "I'll leave you alone. Have fun with your angst, and tell Eddie Vedder I said hi." He left and disappeared into his own room, shutting the door behind him.

Terrence lay there on his back, thinking, not noticing when the sun fell to the horizon and the light coming through the vertical blinds waned and left the room draped in long shadows. He thought about going back to being the stupidest kid in his school, the one that made everyone else feel superior every time he was called on in class, the one who suffered the most from curves. He thought about Todd's statement that having respect was worth nothing if you had no friends. He thought about Mr. Herriman's misplaced advice, that it didn't matter how much intelligence or lack thereof you possessed of if you were constantly making an ass of yourself. And he thought about Mac's claim that sometimes one could be too smart for their own good. It was a lot of thinking for him, and he was taken by surprise when he woke up to find Mom standing over him, smiling.

"I see high school wore you out."

Blinking groggily, Terrence rolled over and sat up, pushing the guitar aside. "Oh, I...guess so."

"You're not the only one. Mac's still asleep in his room." Mom bent to ruffle his hair as he took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Her eyes searched his face. "No trouble today?" she asked gently, and Terrence knew at once what she meant. No fights.

"No," he said.

The answer pleased her; she straightened up and gazed down at him with pleasure, unmistakable even in the dim light. "That's good," she said, and turned. "I brought things for sandwiches, come on into the kitchen when you're hungry, okay?" And she stepped out of the room, flipping on the light switch as she passed it. She lingered in the hall, and turned back in his direction. "You know," she said, "I knew you'd make the right decision today. I really did." Another smile, and she left.

Had he really made the right decision? Terrence wondered as he went to wash up in the bathroom. Or had it been made for him? Did it matter who made a good decision, as long as it got made at all?

In the end, Terrence gave up trying to figure out these paradoxes and settled himself with the knowledge that at least for now, Mom was happy, Mac was leaving him alone, and life went on.