I was pretty alarmed to hear screams coming from my basement a few days ago. My brother was the only one down there, and he’s usually pretty…

I was pretty alarmed to hear screams coming from my basement a few days ago. My brother was the only one down there, and he’s usually pretty reserved. Owing to my surprise, I went and investigated, only to find him berating the computer. Apparently, he had spent an hour doing TurboTax, only to find out it charges forty dollars at the end of the process. It’s tax season, and with it the season of broken pencils, paper-strewn tables, and receipt hunting. Tomorrow, in fact, is Tax Day. If you haven’t sent in your returns by then – uh-oh. Tax day is an opportunity for teens like me, who don’t have to do a thing, to rejoice in the carefree world that is youthdom. It’s also a chance for my parents to dust off their calculators and perform some arithmetic. Maybe I should be worrying about future responsibility, but instead I think I’ll enjoy the present lack thereof.

– Will