Teasing Fate |The Outsiders|

13. Talk Of The Town

"SHUT UP, DICKHEAD."

***

I left the house feeling weird. Not like a sick kind of weird, but the kind of weird you feel when you walk into a friend's house and his mom is still giving him the third degree about the dirty clothes in his room. At least I was able to detangle the web of rumours spinning in Will Rodgers -- old man Curtis had officially taken off. And by the looks of it, he didn't plan on coming home any time soon.

I didn't say anything when I left, just looked back to her and swung the door open when she nodded. Girls like Marley, they aren't used to this kinda thing. Maybe she knows how to bandage a few broken fingers or cook a decent meal, but she isn't used to her folks screaming at each other, or one coming home in the early hours of the morning drunk and looking for a fight. It was the same thing with Angela when Dad got hauled off. Sure, she cried some but tried her damnedest to hide it from me. I knew better than to overstay my welcome, especially when Mr. C knew I was here. If he was already heading outta town, no reason he couldn't just shoot me dead in the living room. To be honest, I'm surprised she made it that long without crying, throwing something, or both. I was plenty surprised to see Mr. C never hit her, either.

The wind had finally died down some and the clouds had pushed back from the sun. Gravel crunched under my feet as I walked with my textbook tucked under my arm, making me look like the kind of loser you'd expect to get jumped in this neighbourhood. I wasn't worried about getting jumped, though, I'm walking the same way I did a couple weeks ago, the day Dad sent me and Andy to keep an eye on the Dingo.

I knew Darry ended up ditching his buddies for a spot on the football team, a cheerleader, and not getting jumped every time he stepped outside, Dally had bitched about it for an hour when I got outta reform. I just didn't expect him to get a ride in a red mustang -- the car we were supposed to be looking for. Something about the whole thing just made my stomach twist and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The wind had died down a bit, but it still whistled past my ears, worming dread and doubt further into my skull. The streets are too quiet for a Saturday, even if half the neighbourhood is meeting up with their PO's or heading down to the courthouse to finalize their divorce and figure out who keeps the kids.

Tulsa is too quiet as I imagine how Mr. C coulda fucked up bad enough for his wife to kick him out -- that woman hasn't even kicked Dally outta her house yet. I think about the blue chevy he was driving, and why it was heading to Pawnee, of all places. My feet keep stepping on gravel, my thumb keeps knocking against the back of my book. Christ almighty, to think all this started because I can't remember a few things about atoms.

Yeah, feeling weird was one way to describe it. I managed to convince myself I didn't give a shit about Marley -- or any of her gang -- by the time I reached the corner. That I only stuck around that long because she wouldn't be able to tutor me if her old man put her in the hospital. Or an early grave.

I spit the taste of copper out of my mouth and onto the pavement as my tongue moved to inspect the new scar I had bitten through my lip. I had a habit of chewing on my lip, a quiet way to distract myself from whatever was going on inside my mind. At the same time, my hand had tightened around my textbook tight enough for my fingers to ache when I finally uncurled them. The Curtis house was barely visible past the multiple unkept lawns and slanting houses that separated them from the end of the street.

You could go back. Say you didn't feel like heading home -- you wouldn't be lying.

Mr. R wasn't bluffing about calling my folks. Dad wasn't bluffing about dragging me outta bed at eight o'clock and telling me all the ways to look and act "responsible", either. Really, it was just kind of ironic. The same guy giving me a lecture on being a responsible young man is the same guy who coulda spent the last five years with his family instead of in a cell if he was a little more responsible when it came to recognizing an undercover cop. But I didn't say it out loud -- especially when he was dragging the razor down my jaw and telling all about the first time he shaved.