Problem Children

Chapter Sixteen

"Don't you ever knock, Ang?"

"Answer my question."

"I have my right to keep my mouth shut, don't I?"

"Answer my damn question!"

"No, there's nothing going on!" Malcolm shouted at Angus. "There is nothing between us, so you can untie the knot in your panties and get the hell out of my room!" Malcolm stood from his bed and tossed his magazine on his dresser before walking toward Angus, forcing him out. Angus put either hand on the door frames and held his ground.

"What's with all the sneakin' around then, huh? Keepin' everything a secret from me Mal!" The older boy scoffed and shook his head. "Why can't you jus' tell me?"

"'Cause it's not my news to tell! If anyone ought to tell you, it should be Hannah herself." Angus dropped his frown. "And there's no sneakin' around, so calm the fuck down."

Angus was gently pushed out of the room and the door was closed on him. Angus stuck his foot out and caught it just in time. With all the strength his tiny form held, the door was slowly pried open, his face appearing on the other side with a wild look. Malcolm held his back to the door to push it closed, but was surely losing the battle. "Don't you know Mal?" the younger boy asked, baring his teeth. "I'm never calm."

"It'd be great if you started." Malcolm gave up with one last shove and in his brother waltzed; a hidden look of pride washing his features. The bed sunk as one boy gave it company while the other leaned against the dresser to complete his look of satisfaction. A sighing breath fogged the room. "You can go now, Ang. You won."

"Naw, I ain't finished with you just yet," the boy said sauntering toward him. Malcolm glanced at the ceiling with a futile hope of a breakneck solitude. "What's up your boxers, Mal? Why'd you get so defensive?"

"Why'd you get so confrontational?"

"Perhaps I have a reason to be." The older boy laughed humorlessly and lay back, head hitting the pillow.

"I'd love to hear it."

"You tell me. You're the one-"

"I'm not doin' anything!" Angus frowned, taking a few steps toward the bed. His hands grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him up while Malcolm resisted familial arrest. "Let go, you arse!"

Angus was pushed to the ground before seizing Malcolm's ankle and pulling him down with him. Pushes and shoves were exchanged to the point of disinterest, and they continued their fight with whatever they found around the small room. The pillow Angus took wasn't a match to the soccer cleat Malcolm had.

Malcolm had Angus cornered, whacking the pillow shielding the younger boy's face. Sitting there like a duck wasn't what Angus had planned so he jabbed his foot out attempting a few kicks in Malcolm's direction. One kick to the arm sent Malcolm away, and the cleat flew into the lamp on his dresser. Both boys watched the lamp fall and shatter, then gave each other a look. Mrs. Young was up there in a second.

"What on Earth are you boys doing?" She gasped as she saw blue shards on the floor, the shoe laying against the wall, freshly thrown. Mrs. Young gave her sons a hard glare. "This better have been an accident."

"It's Angus' fault!"

"You smacked me over the head with a shoe!" Angus gave Malcolm a swift kick inciting him to make another lunge. The woman pulled her sons apart, standing them up a good distance away from the other.

"You boys are way too old to be acting like this!" she yelled. "Are you really such children that I need to keep you from fighting? Do I need to call a baby sitter?" No answer. "Do I? Next time I see or hear you fighting, especially breaking things, I won't hesitate to call someone to look after you." Angus looked away from his mother, her hand still holding his arm. "Angus, look at me. You're fourteen! You know better."