Graceful Hands (Ponyboy Curtis Fanfiction)

Chapter Four

Ponyboy's P.O.V.

I felt sorry for Ellis after seeing the embarrassed look on her face once she dropped to the ground. She seemed a little less nervous than at the festival, though.

"Ponyboy!" I heard someone shout. My head snapped up, my eyes landing directly on my now angered history teacher. "Are you getting the notes at all? You been goggling at whatever the heck is outside that window this whole time. Pay attention!"

Like Ellis had before, my face grew red. I felt the eyes of my peers on me and there was a ripple of snickers amongst the rows. I began to write the date for the notes rapidly when I felt something hit the back of my head. I whirled around to see a couple of socs, adorned in their tacky sweater vests.

They laugh softly to each other, crumbling up paper. I looked down at my feet, a paper ball was quite close. Upon that I came to the assumption that they had thrown that at my head. They look back at me, preparing to throw another but realized I was watching.

"Pay attention, Ponybooooy," one of them hissed condescendingly, then nudged his buddy with his elbow. I kicked the paper ball back towards them, focusing back on my notes.

"White trash," I heard someone whisper. My stomach dropped at that remark, inferring that it was made about me. I turned around slowly, trying to figure out who in my row or the next could've said that. There was a chuckle from someone and I pinpointed someone in the row next to me, one desk away from being next to me.

I shot him the dirtiest look I could muster, trying to capture all my hatred in the expressions of my eyes. He put up his middle finger and rolled his eyes at me.

"Oh don't bother, he's not worth a single breath," a hushed female voice assured him. The comment stung, but hey this happened almost every day. It wasn't all socs, just the really preppy ones and the ones who had frequent fistfights with the outfit I belonged to. Sometimes other greasers were rude, but not as bad. They had no room to call me white trash because they were lower than I; the epitome of a hoodlum.

In other cases, the middle class people were quick to be judgmental, too. For sure, though, I was more popular among the greaser kind.

During lunch I told Johnny about the occurrences from history class. "Aw don't take it to heart, Pony. They're scum for treatin' you like that. Putting you down doesn't make them any better," he comforted me.

I could handle harshness, but all the time messed with my head, it made me question my worth. I wanted to get good grades, especially since Darry and Soda worked hard to keep me in school, but it was hard to keep up the motivation. School became more of a job; it was just going through the motions. There was no desire behind it, I just did it to get it done. I still got good grades, I just didn't care as much as I used to.

"Two-Bit should be here any minute with Dally. Dally brought us some good burgers," Johnny told me. Shortly after Johnny got the words out of his mouth, Two-Bit came around the corner with Dally strutting behind him.

"Hey guys, what's going on?" Two-Bit greeted cheerily.

"Some socs are giving Pony a hard time," Johnny answered sourly. Dally sat down next to Two-Bit.

"Should I kick their sorry asses?" Dally asked, pulling the burgers out of the bag. I shook my head.

"It's alright, it happens. Don't get into any trouble," I warned. Dally laughed, his stone cold eyes lighting up.

"Too late, man," he said, his laughter dying down with his words. "Here have a burger." He then proceeded to hand us each a burger from his bag. "I also got some fries we can share."