A Boy Named Pony - A Sequel to East West Sunset

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Ponyboy

Betty Anne looked real nice -- that was my first thought when I picked her up from her dad's house. She looked, somehow, even nicer in the dim light of the high school gymnasium, glancing around self-consciously at other couples orbiting across the shiny wood panels and the groups of kids chatting around the perimeter. The dandelion yellow looked real nice on her. It almost made me forget about the bitter Oklahoma winter outside.

Bryon had followed me in, and he orbited me and Betty Anne somewhat awkwardly, like a wayward bodyguard.

"The band's not very good," Betty Anne commented, nodding at the forlorn assemblage of a few teenagers attempting to do Engelbert Humperdinck justice.

I winced as the lead singer warbled out a questionable high note. "Yeah, you can say that again."

She laughed at the bemused look on my face, which made me crack a smile. I still felt all muddled up and strange inside, but being with her mellowed the sour feeling a little.

"Did Bryon not bring anyone?"

I shook my head. "He's still too bitter in the girls department," I explained. 

"Oh?" she asked and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't ask."

"Oh."

"Well, this is a dance, so I suppose we ought to dance, then," I suggested. "I know the band ain't much but we'll have to make do."

"I should warn you I'm not a good dancer!" Betty Anne chuckled, but she took the arm I offered her regardless.

The band began to play "The Last Waltz" by Humperdinck as we made our way to the center of the floor. My palms were sweating a little too much, so much so that I thought she'd recoil when our fingers interlocked. But she didn't. My heart skipped more than a couple beats when I placed my other hand on her waist.

Betty Anne really isn't a good dancer, I thought to myself in amusement. I had to guide her through every step, and she shuffled her feet self-consciously.

She hummed along to the song almost absentmindedly. I noticed she was looking everywhere but at my face as we swayed back and forth.

"You aren't afraid of me, are you?" I teased. "You can look at me, you know."

"It's kind of awkward for me!" she protested. 

"Aw, there's no need to be shy." I bent down my head so our foreheads were almost touching.

In response, she blushed furiously and stared even more pointedly over my shoulder. I noticed, with some amount of satisfaction, that she was biting her lip hard. It sort of made me want to kiss her but that wouldn't be gentlemanly with so many people watching.

"Now how are you suppose to see where we're going?" she said in a surprisingly level voice.

I straightened up again, grinning. I spotted Bryon watching us, an almost nauseated look on his face. He shook his head slowly back and forth and mimed throwing up; I rolled my eyes at him. 

"This is an awfully sad song to play at a school dance," Betty Anne said, almost to herself.

I glanced down at her. "What do you mean? It sounds romantic to me."

"It's all over now, nothing left to say, just my tears and the orchestra playing? That's really sad!" she exclaimed.

"You're missing the part about the two lonely people together," I sighed. "That's practically the whole point of the song."

"It's called 'The Last  Waltz,' Pony."

"Pshh." I was growing tired of the conversation and wished the band would play something a bit livelier. "You up for another dance?"

We danced for two more songs before Betty Anne mentioned that she was thirsty, so I left her sitting on the bleachers and left in search of some punch. The gym was packed; everyone who had been loitering in the parking lot had made their way inside by then. I had lost sight of Bryon.

The punch was on a folding table at the front of the gym, near the stage. It shone a lurid pink in the dim lighting, and people milled around the bowl, refilling their glasses. I had to fairly elbow my way through to secure a glass.

"Excuse me," I said. "Pardon me, there. Thanks."

"No problem, man," a guy replied, while at the same time I thought I heard the greaser next to him say something that sounded like "The Shepherd brothers?"

My heartbeat immediately kicked into overdrive. 

I strained to catch the rest of the conversation, but the greaser had already begun to move away. Frustrated, I licked my lips, which had suddenly gone dry, and turned back to the punch bowl.

I wondered if I had heard him right. Had he really said something about the Shepherd brothers, or was it just my overactive paranoia playing tricks on me again? I tried to swallow my nerves as I poured myself a glass of punch, along with one for Betty Anne.

"Here," I muttered, handing her the glass a second later. She accepted it from me eagerly and gulped down half of it in one go.

"Thanks, Pony, that hit the spot," she sighed. "I didn't realise dancing made me so thirsty!"

"Well, once you finish that, wanna get back out there?" The band had begun playing a new song by the Rolling Stones, and I was itching to dance to it. That, and I needed to distract myself from the gut-wrenching anxiety that had filled me at the mere thought of the Shepherd brothers.

"Sure, why not? I guess the only way I'll get to be a better dancer is through practice." She jumped to her feet, swallowing the last of her punch.

"You go on ahead. I'll be down as soon as I finish this punch," I promised.

She bobbed her head and started to make her way down the bleachers, while I tilted my glass up to finish chugging my punch.

"Hey, Bryon! Excuse me," I heard her say.

I glanced down and saw that Bryon was trying to get up the stairs on the bleachers, too. He smiled cordially at Betty Anne, but when he looked up at me, his eyes were glittering with urgency.

Immediately, my heart dropped, and I wished I hadn't drunk the punch so fast. I felt a little sick to my stomach.

Slowly, almost as if I were moving through honey, I placed my glass on the bleacher in front of me as Bryon reached me. He was panting a little bit.

"Ponyboy," he said in a low voice. "I don't know what shit you're into right now. But Tim and Curly Shepherd are outside, and they're asking for you."

I closed my eyes. Of course they were. Great fucking timing.

"How do you know?" 

"Bobby Ellis told me. They accosted him when he was coming in."

"I see."

"The hell they want you for?"

"I have no idea." In truth, I had an inkling - probably for a robbery of some kind, or to chew me out for not participating in any holdups for the last week or so - but I couldn't say that to Bryon. 

"You want me to call Darry."

"No." My voice was firm. "Just let me deal with it, okay?"

"Pony, the Shepherds are dangerous. You can't deal with them on your own."

"Bryon, I'm not an idiot," I snapped, more harshly than I meant to. Bryon immediately drew back frowned. "But just let me see what they want before you go and make a rumble out of this."

"All I'm saying is -"

I began descending the bleacher stairs. "Bryon, you call Darry and you're dead. I mean it."

"Just, if you're sure about this ... " Bryon still sounded like he disagreed with me, but he didn't make a move to stop me.

"I am. And one more thing." I turned to look at him at the bottom of the stairs. "Try to keep Betty Anne occupied. I don't want her getting into this."

Bryon held my stare for a long moment.

"Right," he said at last. "You got it, Pony."