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The winter months flashed before my eyes. I returned to school with Ponyboy in February where the two of us spent weeks playing catch up with our school work. Soda dropped out the week following our return to school. He started working full-time at the DX, helping fix cars, man the register, and work the gas pumps. He wanted to contribute to the bills that were beginning to pile up, trying to alleviate some of the stress Darry had acquired over the weeks. The boys started coming around again after the court ruling, and before I knew it, it was almost just like it was before.
I started trying to be a mother to Soda, Pony, and Darry, doing my best to cook dinner and do the dishes, along with the laundry. Even when I was dead on my feet after my shift at the diner, I was in the kitchen whipping something up for dinner. Darry had taken over baking the chocolate cakes, taking one thing off of my plate after I put salt in it instead of sugar one night. Two-Bit spat it out and looked at me as if I'd sold his prized switchblade.
A few days after our court date, Ponyboy started having more vivid nightmares. He would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, often with tears pouring out of his closed eyes and thrashing around like something was out to get him. He wouldn't be able to go back to sleep unless either Soda or I held him. His nightmares were never that bad before Mom and Dad died, but I suppose the trauma of losing your parents to a horrid trainwreck would put images in your head that you couldn't shake even in your sleep.
Every night I worked, Bob sat at the counter and helped me with homework. He'd show up after school let out and left just before the diner closed. He'd eat, sometimes a burger with fries, other times he'd order pancakes and bacon stating that breakfast tastes better later in the day. He always got a chocolate milkshake with no whipped cream, knowing that I made the best shakes out of the waitstaff.
I placed the last of the cups in their regular spot as the other two waitresses swept and mopped the floor, complaining at the fact. Mickey pokes his head around the corner after closing out the register and counting the cash. "You girls about ready?" He questions, sticking the money in the bag he'd brought with him.
"I just have to wipe down the milkshake machine and then we'll be squared away over here," I tell him as I dunk the rag in the bucket of water. I wiped down the milkshake machine, making sure no trace of ice cream or chocolate syrup was found on the chrome blades before dumping the bucket and wringing out the rag.
By the time I was changed out of my uniform and had my purse in my hand, the other two waitresses had finished cleaning the main floor and waiting with Mickey. The four of us walk outside, Mickey locking up the doors with the keys in his hand.
