I Hate Everything About Me
by infamouslastwords

Chapter Eight

The next morning I woke up just as Soda was pulling on his uniform to head out to work—worn blue jeans, a light blue shirt with the DX insignia stitched on, above his name. The hat was askew on his head, falling off as he bent down to slip on black shoes; I don’t know if he ever picked it up or just left it. I couldn’t see that well with my squinting eyes. Dim lights shined through an opening in the pleats of the curtains, and the warmness of the sheets over my bare chest made my arms reach over my head, spine stretching. I circled fingers underneath the pillow, yawning silently and watching Soda as my eyes adjusted.

When he turned his eyes immediately found mine, and I felt as though I’d been caught doing something wrong. It last, as long as we were looking at each other, but then Soda left the room. A silent, creeping realization washed over my legs—I kicked them over the side of the bed before it could get to me.

I sat up rubbing my eyes, before slipping from the mattress top. Running fingers through my half-greased hair to bring stray bangs from my eyes, I pulled on some clothes, left the room and walked into the kitchen.

Darry was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked in. Almost immediately I bristled, remembering our shouting match last night. I ducked into the fridge before realizing that Steve was in the kitchen as well, a folded newspaper in his hand. There was silence before someone took a breath. I drank milk right out of the carton, listening.

“Right.” It was Steve. “Superman wanted me to—woah.” I turned to face him, and his face suddenly screwed up. “What the hell happened to you?”

Soda walked in from the hallway, lips slightly parted as he turned, brushing past me to rummage through the fridge. Great. My least favorite people in the same room, and now insults. It burst out of my mouth before I could hold it in.

“Shut the fuck up, Steve.”

Thinking straight to talking, cigarette burn eyes all over—this must be what it was like to be Two-Bit when he’s been around Dallas too long.

“What the hell, you little brat?”

Darry held him back with one arm, standing up. I only saw Steve’s whiplash smirk before Darry threw me out the front door, landing me on the porch. His finger in my face made my eyes cross. I was still holding the milk.

“Wait in the car for Sodapop.”

Rolling my eyes and turning away, Darry had to grab my shoulder and flip me back, front and center.

“Wait in the car.” He reached inside, hand returning to thrust my jacket and backpack into my chest. “You already made him late.”

“Okay, alright.” I shook Darry off, reaching the driveway by the time the front door had closed. Impatiently, I downed the rest of the milk and kicked the tires of Soda’s car. It was a tuff, faded cherry red hardtop; a seventeenth birthday present chipped in to pay for by Darry, Steve, and even Soda himself. I was surprised that Darry had most of the money to chip in—it seemed like he pulled it out from under a floorboard where it had been waiting there, like in all of those mystery novels, left from the 30s when people didn’t trust banks. Anyway, the car was used and had needed a lot of motor work, but luckily old Steve had been feeling pretty nice that week. Soda was good with cars, but he wasn’t that good. Steve had to help with the more difficult jobs at work, too.

“Didn’t even get a shower…” I muttered to myself. At least my clothes were clean.
I turned when the front door opened, flipping on my jacket and throwing my backpack into the passenger’s seat. From across the roof of the car I watched Soda dig through his pockets, walking, until he found his keys at the car door.

“’Morning, Soda.”

He squinted at me like there was too much sun in the sky before unlocking the door and swinging inside. I sighed and swung in after.

The key slipped into the ignition and the battery stalled before the engine roared, and Soda threw it in reverse.

Like I wasn’t even there.

We turned onto North St. Louis from the driveway.

“How’d you sleep last night?”

Soda’s hands didn’t even tense on the steering wheel. Slow. Stop. Crawl. Turn. Speed. We were running late—I’d miss the bell at school. He’d have twenty minutes missing from his time card. The insistently growing acceleration made my heart jump beats. I knew because I could hear it in the air, feel it choking me in my throat.

“Got a lot to do at work?”

The Chevy trailing us was riding the bumper. We were already going fifteen above the limit.

“A lot of change to calculate?”

Soda’s eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror.

“Smokes to count?”

Twenty over the limit. Jump. Jump. Jump.

“Gum to chew?”

He took the curb at sixty, missing the path. We skidded into the lot, brakes stopping on a dime, perfect. The Chevy whizzed past on the road behind us, and we were thrown against the seatbelts across our chests. Soda slammed the steering wheel with the heels of his hands, cussing.

“Goddamn you, Pony. Why now? Why d’you gotta get an attitude now?”

I adjusted the seatbelt so it stopped suffocating me. My heart slowed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking—”

He gave me a look that made me shut up real fast. Then he looked away, out the side window, deflated. He moved the gear into drive.

“Just pull your shit together by tonight.”

I decided to play dumb, breathing deeply, silently.

“What’s happening tonight?”

Soda sighed again, accelerating to the speed limit.

“You should probably get a shower, too.”

I turned to him. “What happens tonight?”

He fumbled for a cigarette, reaching into his jeans pocket and pulling out his carton. The lighter snapped in the air, fizzling.

“Chrissakes,” he bit. “Someone from the damn Department of Welfare is visitin’.” He blew smoke out of thin lips, pursed and tight. He flipped the turn signal on shakily. “They called last night.”

The back of my head hit the headrest. “Are you bein’ serious?”

He almost laughed. “Does it look like I’m jokin’?”

I let a slow hiss of a sigh escape my lips. “Shit.”

Soda held out the cigarette for me to take. I looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” he tried. He stared back at me, eyes everything but apologetic.

“Whatever.” I took the cigarette and breathed in a good, long drag. “No one ever tells me ‘bout anything, anymore.”

We pulled into the school parking lot, and Soda killed the engine. No one was around, but I felt some magnetism telling me to stay in my seat. The bell had already rang, probably a good ten or fifteen minutes ago. I was just about ready to open the car door when Soda turned to me.

“Pony …” I looked at my hands in my lap, weed loose between my dry lips. “Don’t run—well, just … Just come home tonight, alright? By seven.”

I was quiet, still as Soda looked around, then leaned over and pecked me on the edge of the mouth.

“There’s a lot more than Darry’s sanity hangin’ in the balance, y’dig?”

Fed up with Soda’s act of softness and sincerity, I pushed open the door and threw my backpack over my shoulder, walking off without a backwards glance.

-xXx-

Locker number five hundred and three had its slated door open, and was hiding the rusty red side-burned face of the goofy greaser I knew so well. Walking up to him past a group of sophomores, I reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

His head poked out, goofy grin pulling apart his lips when he saw it was me.

“Hey, Pony. Nice hair.”

I punched him on the shoulder. “Got any grease, wiseass?”

He covered his mouth with mock surprise, adjusting his backpack over his shoulder.

“Ponyboy! I’m surprised at you—you can do much better than ‘wiseass’.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I wasn’t thinking that well, anyway. “Grease?” I held out my hand, palm-up.

Two-Bit slapped it, like I was asking for a high-five. Then, amid a bark of laughter, he ran his hand through his hair and held it out to me, mimicking mine.

“Here ya go.”

I really wasn’t in the mood to mess around, but I grinned and bared it for Two-Bit’s sake. Passing a brief smile, I pushed his hand away playfully.

“C’mon, Two-Bit,” I whined, bending around to look in his locker, rummaging through papers and books with cracked spines. “I know you got some in here, as much as you stain anything you lean against…”

People were starting to leave the hall, anticipating the bell. Two-Bit pushed me aside, closing his locker with the look of a hurt housewife on his face.

“You’re definitely not gettin’ any now, wiseass.”
I ran my fingers through my hair.

“Please, Two-Bit?” He looked at me, and I had to frown, not able to smile any more. “I ain’t been havin’ the best day, man.”

Sighing, Two-Bit gave me a smile of pity. He handed me a black comb with a single row of teeth from his back pocket, along with a tin can stamped with a logo on the lid from his backpack.

“Don’t use all of it, y’hear?”

But I was already walking back toward the bathroom, upstream of the bell-driven masses.

-xXx-

The second floor bathroom at school was empty, echoing with the sounds of splashing water as I scrubbed at my face, ran soap through my hair, spluttering. The roller towel dispenser next to the sink was covered with droplets of water and hand prints as I groped for the towel. Irritated, I reached back and flipped out my switch, yanking it real quick across the material. It shredded in one clean cut with this ripping sound, and I could cover my soaked head with the clean, if scratchy, fabric. I didn’t look at myself; instead, I heaved myself onto ledge from the cutout of a window to my right, and lit up another smoke with the towel slung around my shoulders.

My wet hair gave me chills, the window leaking outside air, so much that I had to slip my jacket back on. January was almost over—it was the twenty-third already. There was a month left until Mom and Dad’s death anniversary. That’s a morbid thing to have, huh? A death anniversary.

A bird flew across the sky. I watched it until it flew out of view, my cigarette burning the tips of my fingers. I dropped it real quick, watched it fizzle against the cement and die out. My hair was as dry as it was going to get, so I decided to run my finger under cold water and get ready.

The pomade smelled like identity, gliding in my hair thick and comforting. I didn’t really realize it until now, but being out in public without grease in my hair made me feel pretty uptight. Like I was pretending to be something I wasn’t. The notion seemed familiar, but I couldn’t exactly place why.

I cleaned up the edges of the tin container and wiped excess grease off the comb’s teeth, holding them tightly in my palm before opening the door.

“Hey, woah.”

I looked to the side of the bathroom door and found a yellow-haired sophomore or junior looking back at me, golden eyes surprised.

“Oh, sorry.”

A small smile came easily to lips, eyes mischievous, before the owner was walking past me into the bathroom.

“It’s alright, man.”

Two-Bit was leaning against his locker when I walked back down the hall, waiting there like the bell hadn’t rang five minutes ago. I handed the comb and container back to him, placed them in a rough palm.

“Hey,” he started hesitantly, “Wanna get outta here?”

I had already missed my first class; there was a good chance I’d skip second period to hang out in a study hall. Going somewhere with Two-Bit sounded a whole lot better than trudging through the rest of the day at school.

So I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

He snapped his fingers on his right hand, slipped the stuff back into his backpack, and we started walking down the hall.

“We’re blowin’ this pop stand, Pony.”

-xXx-

The Dairy Queen was empty when we pulled up in Two-Bit’s car; they didn’t have Pepsi so I ordered a Coke. Two-Bit did too, but he wasn’t drinking it. I think he felt a little obligated to order something, since he was sitting at the table and all. Plus, the cashier had been eyeing us like all the other cashiers and owners of stores did when any greaser walked in.

“So why the crummy day, kid?”

I watched a couple cars go by on the street, chewing on my straw between gulps.

“Honest?”

“What other way are you?”

I stared at him. I didn’t want to lie to Two-Bit; I mean, I really didn’t want to lie to Two-Bit. “There’s a … uh, social worker, you know, comin’ tonight, to our house.”

He adjusted his hand around his Coke, whistling. “No shit, huh?”

I nodded, realizing I was nervous already. What if they had to do a full examination, and saw the bruises? What if I couldn’t keep my trap shut, and they asked me exactly the right questions? I knew, in a way, that what me and Soda were doing broke all kinds of laws, both of man and nature, since the day we started, but I’d never realized before that it could put Darry’s guardianship rights on the line, if we were discovered.

“So, whaddya gotta do? Is it like a cop they send to your house or somethin’?”

“Kinda,” I said around the straw. “Basically, it’s an interrogation. Like all those spy shows on television.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Only the interrogator is your aunt or someone. You gotta get the house all clean before they visit, so you don’t even recognize your own room. And you gotta be all nice to ‘em, even though they haven’t seen you since you were in diapers and you don’t even remember ‘em anyway. Like that kinda relationship.”

Two-Bit chuckled, eyes sparkling darkly. “My aunt’s like that, man.”

“Yeah, see? An’ then they start askin’ all these stupid questions, like how you’re doin’ in school, if you’re datin’ anyone. I figured by the third visit they were just tryin’ to make friends with you, you know, so when they asked the real personal questions you couldn’t get offended or nothin’. That’s the interrogation part of it.” I took a sip of my Coke, getting that sound from it when there’s no more pop, the gurgling against the ice.

“Sounds like you know what’s up, Ponyboy,” he told me, readjusting in his seat, stretching his legs out underneath the table. “So why’re you nervous about them visitin’?”

I shrugged. “I’m always worried I’m goin’ to get dragged to a boy’s home, Two-Bit.”

He pushed his drink to me across the table, standing up to take my empty one to the trash. When he sat back down, he put his hands behind his head.

“I mean, there’s always a chance I might. Darry barely got me an’ Soda, when all of it first happened.”

He gave me a look, something I was probably reading too much into. It made me ask, “How about we change the subject, yeah? I need a smoke with all this talk, and I ate up my last one at school.”

“Alright.” Two-Bit grinned, real sly. “Then tell me about this lady Soc you’re seein’.”

I almost choked on the gulp of pop I’d just taken. The carbonation burned in my throat, making me cough for a good fifteen seconds straight.

“W-What?”

Rubbing his right sideburn, Two-Bit just kept grinning at me.

“I know you know what I’m talkin’ about.” He leaned close over the table. “Really need to find a better place than under the bleachers, kid. Everyone knows that’s the number one spot for all things happening in secrecy.”

I hit my chest once, giving a final clearing of my throat. “Glory, Two-Bit. Give me a heart attack, why don’tcha.”

“Tell me, Pony.”

I ran my hand over my cheek. “Geesh. She’s—” I lowered my voice, eyes straying to the cashier—“Cherry, you know. The redhead from that night we almost got jumped for walkin’ her and her friend Marcia home.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I remember now.” He looked over my shoulder, eyes raking through the past as if it were hanging in the air. “Marcia, she was one crazy broad, wasn’t she?”

I smiled sideways. “Yeah, I always wondered why you didn’t ever call her. Seemed like you two got along alright.”

Two-Bit wrinkled his mouth, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. “Naw, man. She was a nice girl and all, but I wouldn’ta been able to date her. Too much work, hiding from everyone.” He motioned with his hands in the air, random patterns. “Sooner or later people would find out. And that’d just be a whole lotta trouble I don’t want.”

It was true. There were a lot of people to worry about, finding out. Frankly, I was surprised Two-Bit wasn’t acting strange because he knew about me and Cherry. Like I said, some things are not natural; like a greaser with a Soc.

“Same with if we were to date, too,” Two-Bit continued. “I know she’d be pulling a guilt-trip on me every time I could’ve spent time with her and didn’. She’d expect too much that I wouldn’t be able to give, bein’ who I am while she’s who she is. I got too much of a life for that kinda catch-up shit, Pony.”

I couldn’t help but feel some sort of offense in my stomach, a pang of something, but I had to smile. “Good thing I don’t got a life, then, huh?”

He reached over the table and ruffled my hair, good-naturedly. “Aw, kid, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure she’s a pretty groovy chick, Cherry.”

“She is,” I said, softly, but Two-bit was already walking back to the car. He looked over his shoulder at me.

“Well, c’mon. We’re gonna go visit Johnny; I ain’t seen him yet.”

-xXx-

The nurse who escorted us to Johnny’s room had a pinched face and looked at us glancingly with a permanent disdain. We wouldn’t have needed an escort if they hadn’t been moving Johnny’s room every thirty minutes … or, maybe, if I didn’t have so much grease in my hair.

Two-Bit nudged me halfway down the hall, white coats whizzing past.

“Crack a smile, kid; y’look about ready to jump someone.

I grimaced. “Reflex with hospitals, sorry.”

“Shouldn’t you two be in school?” We were at the door to Johnny’s room. The nurse shrugged, eyeing Two-Bit then me. “Well, you, at least.”

Two-Bit sighed. “Look, lady. You should probably just let us into our friend’s room, all right?”

Her hand was on the handle of the door.

“There’s been another one’a you guys in here, off and on anymore.” Her face wrinkled. “Gets real mouthy if you talk to him for too long.”

“Is he here now?” I asked. She squinted, thinking about it.

“He ran outta here early Monday morning, knockin’ things over; made a lot of work for the janitors, he did.”

I started to think she might not get to talk to a lot of people, the way she was stalling us like a worn out motor on a car.

“But …?”

“But, he did visit last night as your sick friend was sleeping. They’re doin’ some kind of operation in a while, so he said he’d be back before then.

“So he’s not here now,” Two-Bit said, irritated. I could tell he was about to lift her right up out of the way of the door.

“Wait, what operation?”

She looked at me, pinched, and shrugged. “I’m not the doctor.”

Right as Two-Bit was about to reach for her, she swung open the door and stepped back.

“Anyway, he’s not here right now.”

Johnny was asleep in bed. Two-Bit walked in first, pulling off his jacket.

“Who? The doctor?”

“No, the blond hood.” I opened my mouth to tell her off, but she yanked me to the side and bent low, toward me. Boy, she was annoying, but did she ever have a pair.

“Now, it ain’t none’a my business, but I just thought I’d let you know.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and continued, voice low. “I’ve been looking after your sick friend on and off with nurse Melissa, and every time that blond comes in to visit him the door gets closed. And it ain’t in a normal way, neither.” Her finger bent toward a small slat of glass next to the door—Two-Bit was sitting in a chair by Johnny’s bed. “So last night, when I was passin’ by on my way to Mr. Wilkins in room 1115, I caught sight’a them through this little window, here.” Suddenly, her mouth clamped shut and she shook her head. I gave her a funny look.

“So …?”

A doctor passed, and she gave a shaky smile, avoiding eyes.

“They were … kissing,” she hissed.

My stomach turned sour. My fingers felt cold and numb—I realized I hadn’t been breathing, that my heart had stopped for a second.

“Wha … What?”

“I know; I didn’t believe it myself at first. But there they were, eyes closed and everything.” Her tone was gossipy. “They must’ve been at it for a good while, because I was so stunned I was just kind of stuck in place, right here.”

Without thinking I grabbed her arm, dragged her into the hallway around the corner. With her pressed up against the wall, I flipped out my switch and held it up in front of her face.

“Listen to me, lady. If you squeak even just a little about this to anyone, I swear.”

Her eyes almost popped out of her head; for being so chatty, she sure could shut up good.

“Have you told anyone besides me?”

Eyes wide and shiny, she shook her head. I pushed the blade closer to her nose, and she struggled against me, whimpering.

“Will you tell anyone beside me?”

She shook her head again, murmuring, “Oh god, oh god ….”

I let her go and flipped the blade back into its casing, slipping it into my back pocket in one slick movement. Like a deer she stayed against the wall, quivering.

“Go on, get out of here,” I snapped.

Horrified, she spit at my feet; “Hood,” she bit, before slipping away. I stayed there, a little stunned, before raking fingers through my hair and heading back to the main hall.

Two-Bit had managed to wake Johnny up, back in the room. Shaky, I managed a grimacing smile as I stood inside the doorway. Johnny smiled back, eyes dark, and I felt sick, the Coke threatening to crawl back up my throat.

“… Oh, was she? Really?”

Two-Bit and Johnny were laughing. With a goofy grin, the former turned around to face me.

“Pony, tell Johnny about that broad, the nurse.”

I opened my mouth. Bad idea.

“I’m gonna use the toilet real quick,” I said before taking off. In the dark, in the bathroom, I lost it.

By the time I was finished, a cold sweat was across my forehead, trickling down my spine. Though this wasn’t the same place I had been in with Soda early Monday morning, the same schematics applied. I picked myself up, knees like jell-o, and felt for the light switch. Finding myself face-to-face with a mirror in the light, I felt like getting sick all over again.

Glory, Dallas and Johnny. Jesus motherfucking Christ. I couldn’t stop the repulsion, how sick and dirty it made me feel. Dallas and Johnny … Jesus motherfucking Christ. It was wrong.

My eyes hovered on the mirror, fixated on a fleck of vomit on the side of my mouth. I turned on the faucet, water ice cold, and drowned myself in it—skin, mouth, nose, eyes, ears. It ran down the front of my chest, wetting the collar of my shirt. Rivulets, tiny rivers of it twisted down the arms of my jacket, cloistering and clammy. I drank some, choked on it, stung my eyes with it. When I realized I’d never be able to kill myself this way, I turned off the faucet and pressed my forehead on the flat counter space next to the sweeping bowl of the sink, arms spreading out until my knuckles grazed the backsplash.

“Fuck …” I groaned, voice grating out of me like some tired old machine. I could not even begin to say how … wrong this was. I mean, I wasn’t raised real religious or anything, none of us were—but I knew how society was. I knew how our neighborhood was. You just do not do that, it ain’t natural. Not only was it not natural, it just was not … right.

When I came back to the room, I could tell Johnny knew something was up. Can you blame me, though? I couldn’t look at him without hearing that nurses’ voice in my head, telling me what she saw. Every time Dallas had been put up on a pedestal by Johnny, every time I had seen them together; all of it made sense in a way that made me sick. How long had they been like this? I didn’t want to think about it.

Two-Bit acted pretty oblivious to everything—then again, he didn’t know, and it wasn’t like I was going to tell anyone anytime soon. He was flirting with a nurse, good old Two-Bit; the nurse that looked after Johnny on-and-off. Melissa.

“Miss Melissa,” he crooned, grinning at her when she giggled, running his fingers over the hem of her skirt, “Miss Melissa, it should be illegal to look as good as you do.”

She was real pretty—chestnut hair, angled eyes. How had Johnny not … oh, right.

We stay in the hospital most of the day, playing cards and talking, letting Johnny take a few naps. I think Two-Bit was aiming to take Johnny’s mind off of being in the hospital—the guy probably knew how serious this thing was. I wondered how he was going to pay for it all, if he was even going to be alive to pay for it. He seemed alright—my concern for Johnny’s well-being was skewed by my phobia of him. I just never thought that …

Two-Bit suggested we should leave around six fifteen, just enough time to get home for the welfare officer. We said goodbye to Johnny; he looked about ready to doze off. Two-Bit smirked at me as we walked out the front doors of the hospital, flashing the palm of his hand.

“Check it out,” he said—seven numbers were written in blue ink against his skin. I squinted; there was hardly anymore light in the sky.

“Two-Bit, that nurse was at least twenty-five.”

He shrugged. “Oh, well. I’d look twenty-five, too, if I were.”

I shook my head, walking around the back end of Two-Bit’s car before hopping in the passenger’s side. Plans were already starting to align in my brain; I could feel the wire wrapping around my neck. Like I knew, just knew that I couldn’t go home. I could not. Every worst scenario spun around in my head, and driving in silence with Two-Bit down deserted roads didn’t help settle me much. First, I’m told of this visit the day of; second, I find out about Johnny and Dallas; and now I was freaking myself out. My hands started to shake; I hadn’t had a smoke since this morning. I could tell.

“Two-Bit …” I started, hand poised above the latch that opened the door. “Two-Bit, pull over.”

He looked at me. “What’s wrong?” The car started to slow. “You’ve been lookin’ a little queasy all day—are y’gonna be sick?”

I shook my head, ready to jump out the side of a car at forty miles per hour. “Just pull over!”

He did. I was out of the car and took off running into the forest by the side of the road, vaulting over the beat-up guard rail, pine needles and leaf edges brushing over my cheeks.

“Oi! Hey, Pony!” I heard Two-Bit shout after me, the echo of his car door slamming reverberating over the sound of my labored breathing, my feet flying through underbrush. I ran without knowing where I was running, running with the intention of never turning back.

“Pony, c’mon!”

My legs were already rusting—I had been smoking too much, and not practicing enough. Zero to sixty was not a good way to get back into training. But, Two-Bit wasn’t really a problem—I knew I could still outrun anyone out of the boys. Well—

I felt arms wrap around my waist, the ground of a small clearing tumbling in front of me like a marble inside of sealed palms. The dirt of the forest floor smeared against the side of my head. I groaned.

“You should really try out for track, Two-Bit.”

He didn’t laugh.

“What’s wrong with you? Y’don’t just go runnin’ off in the dark like that, man! What’s wrong, Pony?”

I was a little surprised by his vehemence.

“N-Nothing.”

“Like hell it’s nothing. Look, if you don’t wanna talk about it just say you don’t wanna talk about it. But don’t go askin’ me to pull over, and pull that crap, alright?”

He moved off of me, and I sat up straight with his help, brushing twigs off of my jeans. I sighed, and he tried to catch his breath.

“Alright. I don’t wanna talk about it, then.”

Sighing, Two-Bit swept his hand over the floor of the forest, picking up a dead leaf and ripping it along its veins.

“Glory, Pony. I can only hope my little sister don’t turn out half as skittish as you are. You’re a fuckin’ rabbit, you know that?” He looked up at me, smiling cheekily. I laughed softly, and he joined after, loud.“I’m gonna have a hard time catchin’ her if she gets it in her head to run off with some guy.”

Suddenly sobered, he pointed a finger in my face.

“Don’t you be that guy,” he warned me. “It’d be hard to catch her, but harder to catch both of ya.”

Good old Two-Bit. I had forgotten about the majority of my nerves, cooling down in the heavy night air, breathing in the forest smell. If anyone could take your mind off of things, it was him.

“Your sister’s not really enough in the looks department to do anyhtin’ like that, Two-Bit.”

His finger poked my face, eyebrow rising. I held up my hands in front of my chest.

“Okay, okay. I won’t run of with your sister.”

We stayed in the silence of the night for a while, listening to wind howl through trees, far-away cars rush past on the road I knew we’d eventually return to. The sky through the roof of leaves was swirling with white clouds, fog-like against a midnight blue. I breathed in, out … Next to me, Two-Bit look at his hands.

“Ready to get back in the car?”

I shrugged my shoulders close to my ears, curling my knees to my chest comfortably.

“No.”

Two-Bit chuckled, dragging himself up, standing.

“I’d better lock the doors good, then.”

We walked back through rough tree trunks and soft foliage. Everything in my body was telling me in unison, all at once, to stop walking, to go back to the little clearing and anchor myself to a tree. That or run, run and never look back. My bones were jumping to do it, and you can bet I was making my palms bleed, how much I was digging my nails into them.

We climbed back in the car, and true to his word, Two-Bit immediately reached over me and locked my door. I had to sit on my hands to avoid unlocking it, the whole way to my house. I wanted to ask him why he was doing this, any of it; why he had spent the whole day with me and Johnny in the hospital, why he’d taken so many precautions to get me home. I wanted to ask but I was too occupied with my own thoughts to focus on anything else.

“Hey, don’t sweat it about the welfare officer, Pony.” We were sitting in the car in the driveway; Two-Bit put his hand on my shoulder, brushing dirt off the side of my face before he handed me a cigarette between his fingers. “I’m sure it’ll be fine; over with before you even know it started.” He winked, and I couldn’t bring myself to say anything against him. I just smiled smally, held the weed between my lips and stepped out of his car.

“Thanks, Two-Bit.”

I patted the hood, walking around to the front door walkway from the passenger’s side. From the open window, Two-Bit nodded gently, knowing.

“No problemo, Pony.”

The rumble of his car died away in the distance, replaced with the empty sounds of the neighborhood. I pulled a lighter out of my pocket and lit up the cigarette Two-Bit had given me, leaning against the side paneling of the house. The night was ink in front of my eyes, lone streetlights like stars decorating a sky, opening my eyes to a world behind the curtain. Smoke twirled under my nose, and I could help but cough a little. I really should cut back on these things …

The door opened quietly, and Soda slipped through the small slat of allowed space. He closed the door before looking around in the dark, hopping the railing of the porch to land in front of me.

“How long’ve you been out here?” he asked, voice hushed. I took a drag, blowing smoke from my nose.

“Not long.”

In the dimness I saw his face contort, giving me a livid look.

“Well, I’m glad you could find the time in your busy schedule to join us, Princess.” He shook his head. “You’re not there when I come to pick you up from school, I have to listen to Darry angst about you bein’ late for four hours straight, and you put all of our necks on the fuckin’ line by not even bein’ here when the welfare officer shows.” He took a step closer to me, left palm on his hip. “Where the hell have you been, huh?”

Arms crossed, I flicked some ashes off to the side.

“The hospital.”

His eyes bored into mine, breath making small clouds in the cold night air.

“Just waiting for a fuckin’ bus, are you? Look, kid;” He took my shoulder in his grip, within arm’s length. I saw that he didn’t have hardly any grease in his hair, that his shirt had a collar, and his jeans weren’t the beat up pair he liked the best. Yeah—the officer was definitely here. “I dunno if you’re aware of not, but we can get taken away from Darry quicker than you can blink. Ev-ry-thin’, every single thing we do is always bein’ measured and picked over by these government people. And they decide our lives for us, Pony.” I held smoke in my lungs, throat, mouth. “I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d need reminded of that.”

I sighed. “Jesus, Soda. You’re sounding more like Darry every day.”

He stared at me. “Finish that damn weed and get your ass inside kid.”

I would’ve laughed if he were kidding, doing that imitation. But he wasn’t kidding, so I blew a stream of smoke into his face. He grabbed my wrist quickly, pulled me to him, and stole the air in my lungs by putting his mouth over mine and inhaling. I felt the vacuum in my chest, throat—I gasped, coughing as Soda withdrew, dropping Two-Bit’s cigarette from between my fingers. Slowly, Soda blew smoke from his nose, then stepped on the cigarette butt.

“Oh, look,” he mused. “All gone. Guess you can come inside, now.”

I bit my tongue and watched as he walked back up the porch steps, returning back into the light of inside. My feet followed in his footsteps, trudging.

I took a deep breath of biting cold air before pushing open the door.

Inside, Soda was on the sofa next to an uptight Darry, who looked at me, angry, eyes blazing momentarily. He did look a little relieved, at least—I knew that wasn’t going to last.

Hand straying on the doorknob behind me, I cleared my throat.

“Track practice ran a little long; sorry about being late.”

The welfare officer was a woman, surprisingly. There had been multiple visits, but all the ones before had been male. She looked about just as stern, though, or maybe not—she had one of those faces like a mask. Her hair was pulled back, freshly pressed dress suit, shiny shoes. In her hands was a clipboard, pen poised at the ready. She flipped a few papers over before looking toward me, eyes black.

“You’re Ponyboy Michael, yes?”

I tucked my hand into my back pocket. “Yeah … s ma’am.”

She wrote something on her board. Soda watched her, smiling slightly as he turned to me and mouthed ‘sports’. I shook my head, not understanding.

“Well, c’mon. You can take your coat off, Pony,” Darry told me, his voice somewhat strained to be nice and calm at the same time. I knew I was grounded already—Soda had to’ve come by the school to pick me to come home empty-handed. I knew I was going to get it later.

“Oh, yeah,” I muttered, letting go of the arm of my back pack and pushing it into the corner before shedding the sweatshirt. I walked over to the couch, and perched myself on the arm of it next to Soda.

“All I’d like to do is walk through the house, and ask you three some individual questions. Now that Ponyboy is here,” she gave me a measured gaze, eyes lingering on my hair, “I can start.”

We followed her through the house like a pack of sheep. She went from the living room to the kitchen, laundry room to Darry’s room; me and Soda’s room went next. It was a typical routine, visually assessing the area before going back and opening a few drawers, prodding a few things. I half-expected her to get on her knees and check under the beds, but I guess that crossed some line somewhere in all the Legalese. She frowned at the couple of empty cartons of cigarettes Soda and I had lying around, wrote a few things down, but didn’t uncover anything substantial. Thank god Soda could hide things better than a squirrel hides the acorns.

She was just about to walk out when the nightstand caught her eye. My stomach clenched as she reached for the drawer. From the foot of the bed, Soda’s eyes suddenly grew wide.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” he asked. Her hand stopped from where it was pulling back the drawer, and she turned to face him.

“Yes?”

He fumbled for his words, looking worried and hurried. “When … When are you going to question us?”

I was standing under the doorway. Soda motioned to me. The color must’ve drained from my face as soon as I understood what he was trying to do. Inconspicuously, I wiggled over the nightstand and reached for the drawer handle.

“In a moment, Sodapop.”

He almost shot forward and grabbed her shoulders to make her stop from turning back around.

“Wait—How’re you going to question us?”

Silent and sly, I reached in to the drawer—the lubricant bottle. Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Darry was behind me … how was I supposed to do this? Either way, I wasn’t hankering to explain to either one why this was where it was.

“Well, I was going to question each of you individually.”

My fingers grazed the lid of the bottle, taking them in their grasp carefully. It made the slightest sound, shifting the way it did, but to me it sounded like a train crashing into the side of a building. Damn these tight jeans—the pants pockets for sure wouldn’t be able to conceal the bottle. What could I do? Darry wouldn’t let me leave—he was practically breathing down my neck. I could not move, lest it bring attention to me. I had to think fast.

“The results tend to be more truthful, that way.”

Like we shared the same brain, Soda looked at me and knew immediately what I planned to do. He coughed, loudly, and I used the sound cover to swipe the bottle, drop it behind the nightstand like some long-lost pen or pencil.

“Excuse you.”

Soda looked relieved. My knees almost gave out.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Behind me, Darry put a hand on my shoulder, large and threatening.

“Well, if you’re finished in here …”

The welfare officer nodded stiffly. “I’ll just need to see the master bedroom.”

Without pausing, my oldest brother responded, “Of course. Please, follow me.”

I turned around. Darry had on a face-made-of-stone mask, but in his eyes I could see his hesitancy. Darry hadn’t set foot in Mom and Dad’s room since the day of the funeral. As far as he knew, neither Soda or I had, either.

Our group started to congregate before Soda spoke up, still at the foot of the bed.

“No one …” he stopped, as the welfare officer turned. I watched from beyond the doorway. “No one ever goes in there.”

The woman folded her hands, clipboard tucked under her arm.

“It is part of the process to check every room, no matter if it isn’t being used.”

Her heel lifted, but Soda opened his mouth again.

“I—can’t let you. I can’t let you go in there.”

Darry stepped in. “Sodapop, it’s all right.” He turned to the woman. “Really, it’s all right. We understand that it’s necessary for your report.”

Soda stepped forward. He put a hand on my shoulder, and it sent a feeling through me that I couldn’t explain.

“Darry. We can’t … She can’t go in their room.”

In the middle of my brothers, I could only watch the woman’s blank stare.

“It’s their room, Darry,” Soda said, gently forceful. “I know you don’t want her to go in there.”

The room and connected hallway went silent. Soda’s hand grasped my shoulder tightly, insistent … trying to tell me something. Asking for support, body weight imposing.

I looked at Darry. His blue-green eyes gave away everything. To admit this weakness, in front of the woman grading him on his validity to parent his two younger brothers, was out of the question. He probably wouldn’t even admit it in front of Soda or I, despite our already knowing.

“Don’t let her, Darry.” His voice was almost pleading, knuckles white on my shoulder. I bit my tongue to avoiding crying out.

“Please, Darry,” I murmured; I wasn’t sure if I talked out of pity or out of pain. Darry’s eyes flashed to mine, surprised for a moment. Finally, I saw Darry let go.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply, looking at the officer, and to my ears it was law. The woman took it the same way; lips pursed, pen scratching pointedly across her clipboard, she let go too.

“I’ll continue to the next part of this examination.”

Soda’s hand let up on my shoulder; I heard his body sigh in relief.

“Darrel, I’ll inquire you first.”

We divided—Darry went into his room with the woman, closed the door behind them, and left me and Soda in the doorway of our room. Alone, Soda turned me around and immediately took me in his arms. My ear to his chest, I could hear his heart beating. His arms were weak around my shoulders, body heat warm. I lost myself in his feeling for a second, before I realized what I was doing and pushed away. My ass landed on the mattress, and Soda’s back hit the open door.

We stared from across the yard of space separating us. Soda lifted himself from the door, walking toward me, eyes intent. He bent, legs between my knees, and brought me to the bed, mouth on mine. The kiss was edgy, slow but short. I opened my eyes to find myself looking at the ceiling, back flat against the mattress. Soda was standing by the door again, hand over his mouth. He paced out of the room like that, palm to lips, right as the door to Darry’s room opened and the welfare officer walked out.

Heart racing, I lifted myself up, sitting, legs over the side of the bed.

“Ponyboy, are you ready?”

I nodded, licking my lips. She walked calmly into the threshold of the room, closing the door behind her.

Suddenly, it was so quiet I could hear the ringing in my ears.

“All right, Ponyboy,” she said, adjusting her skirt as she sat in the armchair next to the bookcase. “All the questions I’m about to ask you are for the evaluation of your well-being in this household, as well as your brother Darrel’s qualifications to be a guardian.”

I turned around on the bed, crossing my legs underneath me and trying not to taste Soda in my saliva. It was like the truth was right there, ready to fall off my tongue.

“It is pertinent that all your answers are truthful. Don’t worry about the ramifications of what you say;” She looked evenly at me, black eyes beetle-like, “All that matters is the truth, Ponyboy.”

Swallowing, I nodded. “I understand.”

“I’m glad. Now, how have you been handling your parents’ deaths?”

Slowly, I straightened my shoulders. Appearances are everything with these people. Tell them what they want to hear, and you’re scot-free—same with teachers, same with doctors, same with friends.

“I’ve been doing better, now that more time has gone by,” I admitted, which was the truth. The grieving process, you know. I just left out the part where Soda had stunted that process.

“And what about your brothers? How do you think they’re handling it?”

Darry; avoiding everything. Soda; foggy memories of how it started, but now we’re screwing like bunnies. That’s how they’re handling it, lady.

“I think they’re doing better, too, ma’am.”

She nodded, crossing her legs and writing on her clipboard papers.

“Okay. How has it been, living with Darry as your guardian?”

I bit my cheek. “He really tries his hardest to provide for me and Soda.” It was like I was an actor, reading the lines over and over again. “He does a good job.”

More writing. She paused before opening her mouth, something that made me worried. When she finally spoke she asked me right to my eyes, right into the pit in my stomach that knew, no matter what, that I was lying, and that was not something I wanted to be doing.

“Ponyboy,” she began, “Have your brothers ever abused you in any way? Physically, mentally, or sexually?”

My eyes burned from focusing so calmly on hers. To make a lie convincing, you have to hold eye contact. To make a lie convincing, you have to look convincing. To make a lie convincing … you have to have a basis of truth.

Slowly, I pushed stray bangs back from my eyes. “No,” I told her.

“Not by Darrel?” she tried. I shook my head once.

“Not by Darry.”

“Not by Sodapop?”

I leaned back on the palms of my hands. An open body meant an honest person.

“Sodapop’s never laid a hand on me,” I said easily, and for a second, I even believed myself.

A/N: Sorry this took so long—I’ve had to go back and re-work some chapters, as well as juggle homework and all that nonsense. Did you catch the bathroom cameo? :)