"What on earth were you thinking?" The door slammed shut behind the thunderous footsteps, strong enough to press indentations in the wood. The young girl knew exactly what her actions would lead to, but she lacked the weakness to care. "You weren't," her mother said, catching up to her retreating daughter. "You never do."

"I'm going upstairs."

"Get back here," her mother interjected. "Now, tell me exactly what possessed you to do this." Her arms crossed in silent thought. "Or who, if my suspicions are correct."

Hannah's face turned red. "It's not his fault, Mom, neither one of them had anything to do with this!" As hurt as she was by Angus' false confession, she'd never blame him for her actions. Though the idea was tempting sometimes.

"Like I'm supposed to believe this was your idea?" he mother scoffed. "You have a whole future ahead of you, you wouldn't risk it all by behaving like some sort of-devil, or-problem child!" Hannah removed her school bag and tossed it on the closest armchair, and watched it collapse to the floor.

"My future?" Hannah asked pointing at herself, slowly turning her finger around. "Or yours?" Her opponent opened her mouth ready to talk, but she was stopped short. "I didn't ask for any of this. School, Uni, none of these have anything to do with what I want to do!"

"What do you want to do?" The two stared at each other in silent combat, each hoping to intimidate the other one. "Be a black sheep living in the slums? Or were you hoping to live off me when you're thirty? Or-"

"Shut up!" Hannah yelled, hands clenched in fists. "I've told you a million times, you never listen to me! Being an artist doesn't mean living on the streets scrimping for every last penny. Being an artist isn't an excuse for living off your parents because you're in a slump. Being an artist means expressing yourself in any way you want, not because you can't do what's considered intelligent to the world. But because that's what you're passionate about! Maybe you like to draw, and even if you're not good at it, it's what you love! Who cares if you can't graph a triangle? Who wants to anyway?" Hannah took a breath before continuing, her mother glowering harshly. "School is great for those who want to pursue topics that need it, like a doctor. You're holding people's lives in your hands, of course you need medical training! Or a teacher, you know, most people need a high level of education to get that job. But me..." An exhale and two bleary eyes later, she spoke. "...Mom, that's not for me. School has done nothing for me since it taught me how to read and write, and that's the truth. I can't sit there wasting my time, fulfilling milestones that you set for me. I have ambitions. And you're getting in the way."

Hannah turned on her heel to resume her journey to her bedroom upstairs when she was forcefully pulled back down. Her arm was completely entrapped within her mother's fingers. "I'm getting in the way?" she seethed. "You're getting in the way of yourself, with the way you've been carryin' on!"

"Let go!" The grip only tightened.

"Spending all your time with those heathen boys down the road has made a mess of you. Your grades are slipping, you're acting up, you're showing disrespect to your elders," she added at Hannah's desperate tries to escape. Her arm was beginning to hurt. "This is not how I raised you, and not at all how God wants you to behave."

Hannah ceased to struggle. She straightened her back and looked her mother dead in the eyes. "Leave God out of this. It's not His fault I acted the way I do, and those "heathen" boys had nothing to do with it either. Not even Angus," she said as she rolled her eyes. "Besides." Her voice dropped to a mutter. "It's not His fault you've been acting out either." With a rough shove Hannah was released, catching her balance on the banister.

"I have done nothing but help you."

"Oh, grabbing me and pushing me is helping me?"

"I was the one who encouraged you not to give up your studies. I was the one who taught you manners and how to be courteous to those around you. I was the one who moved you to a better location so you could get the most out of your life! What thanks have I ever gotten?" Not a sound was uttered more from the enraged woman. Hannah wiped a hand over her eye before her cheek could get wet.

"I know-you're trying," she choked out. ""I know you want what's best for me. But-this isn't what's best for me. I didn't ask to go to private school, I didn't ask to be raised like a perfect little girl. I'm not perfect. You may have taught me that success is built upon a life of intelligence, but you're not the only one I learned from. Malcolm taught me how to take responsibility for something I've done. And to that I say, yes, I acted badly in class, and maybe I shouldn't have. No, I haven't been trying my best in school but that's only 'cause they're not giving me much to take out of it." Another pause to wipe the other eye.  "And-and Angus has taught me how to stick up for myself. And to that I say, it's time for me to decide my own future. It's time I started my life instead of simply playing out yours. It's time I quit school." Hannah finally took a few steps up the stairs when she turned around again. Her mother attempted at maintaining a straight and stern face, but couldn't help her quivering bottom lip. A minute passed. "Thank you," Hannah stated calmly, and continued up the stairs.

Angus took a long drag from his cigarette. Well, they were his dad's, but he would never find out, right? A couple hours ago he saw kids walking down the street out his window, all on their way homes from school. He didn't miss it at all. Only one thing in the entire building would he regret not seeing, and she was his reason he didn't attend in the first place. Of course he'd much prefer the black eye excuse. Maybe he could pass it off as getting in a fistfight, and winning. But he remembered Johnny still attended school, and would kick his ass if the story ever reached him. Oh well, still better than going to school.

His scalp jumped when his bedroom door swung open. His cigarette sat burning in his hand and he was ready to throw it out when he saw his brother stepping into view. "Christ, Mal, I thought you were Mum," he sighed putting a hand to his chest. The bedroom door closed behind him and Malcolm came closer.

"Does she know you're smokin' up here?" Angus gave Malcolm a look to which he shrugged in reply. "Where the hell'd you even get those anyway?"

"Not important." Malcolm nodded knowing exactly where he got them. Angus made room on the bed for him. "What d'ya' want?"

"You haven't come down all day, Mum's gettin' worried." Angus took another drag. "Depressed?"

"No," he answered.

"Angry?"

"Always," he smiled. Malcolm smiled as well.

"Confused?" A sigh. "What about?"

"About why pizza comes in square boxes when the damn food is round," Angus answered dryly. "Is that all?"

"Hannah's jus' got in a fight with her mum," Malcolm explained causing Angus to frown. "Jus' got off the phone with her, she sounded pretty upset."

"Well, I would be too livin' with someone who hated me."

"She doesn't hate Hannah, Ang, just us," Malcolm said.

"Hmmm..." Angus flopped back on his bed, head hitting the pillows.

"Besides, I thought we were 'not so bad'," Malcolm inquired.

"We were, but God know what that woman thinks. God knows what any woman thinks, right, Mally?"

"Speaking of women..." A pillow was slammed over Malcolm's head. "Come on, you know you have to settle things with her. Look. I don't know what happened in the school after everyone left. Maybe I'd prefer not to know. But avoidin' it's doin' no good to ya', is it? I think she might even have a few things to say to you."

"What could she possibly have to tell me?" Angus scoffed. "That we have some homework in maths class?"

"You should be expectin' to hear from her soon, ya' know. She told me she's workin' up the courage to tell you, an' you ought to listen."

"Mal, tell her I'm takin' some time away, did you tell her that?" Angus asked as he sat up. "I need some time alone to myself, I'll call her back when I get the chance."

"Angus, you're bein'-"

"I'll talk to her, Mal, jus' give me a minute." Sixty seconds ticked by on Angus' clock on the wall.

"You uh-still in..." Malcolm moved his head side to side deciding how to ask. "Still in..."

"Still in, what, Mal?"

"Still in-love with her? I mean, you don't sound like it-"

"What am I supposed to sound like? A panting dog?" Malcolm shoved Angus over and stood from the bed.

"No! I jus' thought...if you're feelin' iffy, that maybe it was just a crush after all. That-"

"That you were right?" Angus interrupted. "That I was wrong in my feelin's an' I should forget I ever met her?"

"Damn it, Ang, that ain't what I said!" Angus pouted and continued puffing. Malcolm watched the smoke gradually float upwards and embrace the ceiling before dissipating. He touched the spot where he had been sitting on the bed, to which Angus glared at, then shrugged. Malcolm reclaimed his spot. "Still thinkin' then?"

"Nothin' to think," Angus replied. "'M not confused, jus' need some space. She needs it too."

"You know what she needs? She needs to talk to you, Angus. I'd tell you myself but she insists on it." Angus cracked a half smile. "She needs to get on with it if she's gettin' her 'easy way'," Malcolm added under his breath.

"Easy way?"

"You know her way of doin' things, ya' know. Or...maybe you need remindin'?" Another stillness wafted through the room, the front door slamming shut downstairs. Angus refused to answer his brother's probing questions. Malcolm nodded in acceptance. "Hey." Angus looked up at the nudge on his shoulder. "I won't tell Dad, ya' know, or Mum you were smokin' in yer room."

"If?" Angus asked knowingly.

"If you give me one." Angus reached into his pocket pulling out the stolen pack.

"You can have two if ya' get out of my room." Two cigarettes were exchanged through tiny fingers and hidden in a pocket. The pack was returned to Angus' pants' pocket. After all the driving around and hospital visits he hadn't found the time to change out of his dress shirt. His bowtie had been removed a few hours before and thrown on the floor along with his shoes and socks. Malcolm however had gotten a few hours worth of sleep and allowed time to change his clothes after a shower.

"Boys?" A voice called from downstairs. It was stern and rigid; one that hasn't had the best day. "Come down here."

"You use your mind powers on me instead, Mal?" Angus asked with an air of annoyance. Both boys stood up from the bed and followed the voice they knew all too well.

"Would either of you two care to tell me why I've found numerous flower petals all over the backseat of my car?" Mr. Young questioned his boys. Mrs. Young had begun setting the table and suggested he ask their sons when she didn't know the answer. "Looks like it's been used as some sort of brothel in there!"

"Ask Angus, Dad, I've been sittin' in the driver's seat all night," Malcolm stated. When his brother gave him the evil eye he only grinned. Mr. Young placed a few papers on the kitchen counter and rubbed his temple.

"Angus? What the hell did you do the other night with that girl of yours?"

"William!" Mrs. Young scolded. "Language!"

"What, Maggie, he's fourteen! You think he's never heard it before?" her husband questioned. Mrs. Young put away the extra forks she got out.

"You're not supposed to be the one he's hearing it from. School is bad enough, don't you think?"

"I'm willin' to drop out," Angus interjected. "if it means my language is like that of a model bloke." Malcolm punched his shoulder, something he missed doing whenever Angus said something odd. Angus however, didn't miss it as much. "Hey, piss off!"

"Angus, you know you're still too young, and besides, why throw all that good education away?" Mrs. Young said. "And droppin' out of school isn't gonna wash your mouth out, you're already too involved."

"What good education?" Angus asked. "My guitar is the only thing keepin' me up, an' I don't even have it yet!"

"What you need is a part time job," Mr. Young said. "Save up money after school so you can get one of your own."

"And stop borrowin' mine," Malcolm agreed.

"Oh goodie," Angus sighed sitting down at his place at the table. "I'll start work right away, it'll only take me a lifetime."

"Your brother got himself a job, an' he's doin' pretty well at it," Mr. Young said, gesturing at Malcolm. "Course he's got incentive that if he does a decent job he might make delivery boy."

"Dad!" Malcolm whined. "This wasn't my first pick, but it was the only one with pay on the spot. I'm quittin' though, soon as my band kicks off."

"My band can't kick off when the founder himself don't have a guitar to play!" Angus grumbled to himself. "A broken banjo won't get me a gig at the cheapest pub in town. Mum? Care to lend a few dollars?" Mrs. Young smiled but never answered.

"Anyways, Angus," began Mr. Young as he took a seat next to his son. "on the night of the big cotillion, what happened in the backseat of my car that resulted in flower petals coating the seat and floor?" Malcolm snorted to himself, glad that the attention was off of him and his new job. "Clone yourself?"

"Dad, quiet! That's not what happened at all! I gave her flowers an' we lost them in the back, that's all." The brothers shared a glance, both sworn to secrecy of how Angus got himself hurt after their night of dancing. "I haven't even seen her since."

"That's a way to put it, Ang," Malcolm snickered. Angus reached a hand out to smack him but stopped short when he caught his mother raising an eyebrow at him. Instead he grabbed a napkin and clenched it in his fist.

"So as long as I'm not a grandfather at fifty eight." Everyone around the table exchanged looks.

"Uh, Dad? You are a grandfather?" Malcolm said, raising his voice as a reminder. A pot of potatoes was passed in his direction.

""Not by my youngest, I'm not."

"You're a real geezer, aren't ya', Pops?" Angus sniggered to himself earning a sour glare from his father. A finger pointed at him and his smile vanished.

"Watch it. Someday you'll be as old as I am with a wife an' kids of your own, maybe eight of 'em. At least one of them'll start a family, an' you'll be in the same boat."

"Better get that job started, Pops," Malcolm laughed at his brother, continuing to pass food around the table.

"You too, Malcolm." Malcolm's smile disappeared as well. "Oh well, no time for that now, the food's goin' cold. Whatcha say her name was again? Susan?"

"It's not Susan, Dad," Angus mumbled, twirling his fork in his dinner.

"Sally?" No reply. "Sophie? Sassafrass? What was it?"

"Her name's Susan all right, but she ain't the girl Ang wants," Malcolm grinned. Angus looked up at him, glaring daggers. Being on the other side of the table proved difficult to hurt him now, but he was gonna get it later. A swift kick under the table would do the job for now. "Ow!"

"You okay?" Mrs. Young asked. Malcolm frowned.

"Yeah. Bit my tongue."

"Another girl, Angus? How many do you expect you'll have?" Mr. Young asked. Mrs. Young looked back and forth between her husband and son, having an idea for who the girl was, and hoping she was right.

"There's no other girl, we're jus' friends, there's nothin' to talk about."

"That's not what you told me the other night," Malcolm said casually taking a sip from his water cup.

"Shut up!"

"Angus, I will not tolerate rudeness at the dinner table, and Malcolm, you know not to tease your brother. I've told you both a million times," Mrs. Young reminded. "Now, Angus, you took your friend Hannah to that dance, didn't you?" A few seconds went by before Angus finally nodded. Mr. Young frowned.

"Who the heck is Hannah?"

"You're a bit behind, dear, Hannah is the girl Angus likes."

"Then who's Susan?"

"The girl he used to like," Malcolm answered.

"But wasn't he gonna take Susan to that dance?" his father asked.

"That was before he started liking Hannah," Malcolm said. "He changed his mind last week about Susan real quick."

"I thought Hannah was the one that came over to study every day."

"She is."

"You fell in love with your tutor?" Mr. Young asked.

"I'm not in love with her!" Malcolm narrowed his eyes.

"Why am I not surprised?" Mr. Young asked, ignoring his son's defensive comment.

"How is she, Angus, have you heard from her at all?" his mother asked softly.

"I have," Malcolm said cutting Angus off. "She's been in a fight with her mum, though she didn't tell me why."

"That's too bad, maybe Angus, you ought to go visit her tomorrow, since you're stayin' home."

"She's not gonna be home till school's out anyway," Angus mumbled.

"Are you ever gonna tell her how you feel?"

"I do not have feelin's for her!" he yelled, shutting everyone else in the room up. "I never have an' I never will, an' Mal if you open up that big mouth of yours I swear to God-"

"Angus!" his mother scolded.

"Jus' drop it!" The boy stood up from his chair and hurried his way to his bedroom, where the door was slammed harshly. Flopping back down on his bed he pulled out another cigarette from the pack and lit it up. Finally getting tired of smelling his dress shirt he pulled it off and tossed it on a chair, on top of a growing pile of clothes. He got up and searched his dresser for another one but each one he owned had succumbed to the pile. Sighing, he threw his pants in the same pile and slipped on his sweat pants. His weight fell on the bed again. Thinking things over was not working, and he didn't want to waste his time anymore. Simply dropping any potential feelings he might harbor would save him a lot of trouble in the long run, and would keep his hassling family off his back. His heart ached at the thought of ditching Hannah, but he'd get over it. He was sure of it.

Wasn't he?