Helpless

Envy

Steve POV:

"We made dinner," Soda announced to a tired looking Darry.

"And it's edible," I chimed in.

The oldest Curtis gave us a wry smile, but he looked awfully tired. "How's Pony?"

Soda nodded toward their bedroom. "Out cold. He fell asleep before we even made it home."

"That's probably good," he muttered, scooping up what remained of the chicken and potatoes we'd made. "How'd y'all get so many dishes?" he eyed the piled sink.

"Hey, cooking's harder than it looks," I laughed.

"Steve couldn't peel potatoes," Soda smacked my arm.

Darry rolled his eyes and grinned at both of us. Things felt almost normal, and that was good; I worried that everyone and everything would change abruptly with Pony sick, adding to the sense of loss we already felt with the deaths of Dallas and Johnny. I missed them; especially when we all hung out. Our group felt incomplete without them. I kept expecting Johnny to slink in from down the street, kept expecting the door to slam shut as Dally moseyed in. There were only five of us now, and Pony sorta stuck out, him being so much younger than the rest of us, with no Johnny to bridge the age gap.

Soda never even saw an age gap, I thought with a touch of bitterness, although I knew I shouldn't feel any resentment toward my best friend's kid brother right now. But he always had bothered me a little, and I couldn't just turn off the mild spite I felt. Not so much spite: envy. Envy because he had Soda's support unconditionally. When he had his nightmares, Soda got up. When he ran away, Soda looked for him. When he was sick, Soda stayed with him. If Pony had killed been the one to kill Bob, even if he hadn't had a motive, Soda would have poured all his money into a lawyer and stood right behind him in the courtroom. What had Pony ever done to deserve someone like that?

What had I done not to? There was no one like Soda waiting at home for me.

And there was more too: I could never be like Soda. If my kid brother was having nightmares I'd yell for him to keep his door shut, not go and calm him down. But my best friend would, as he had in the past, and when the chemo treatments really kicked in and Pony began falling apart at the seams I knew Soda would be there to stitch him back together.

"Wanna play cards?" Soda asked me.

"Sure," I said easily.

"Don't turn the radio on," Darry warned us. "Let Pony sleep."

There we went again. Sure, I thought, let him sleep forever.

The second I realized what my thought implied I wanted to punch myself: I am, without a doubt, one of the most horrible people I know. How could I THINK that about a kid, any kid, yet alone someone I cared about. Because I did care about him, if only because he was such an important part of my best friend's life, and to lose him meant losing Soda.

"I'll deal," Soda flashed me a sly grin, undoubtedly cooking up ways to cheat.

But I was lost in thought as realization really hit: losing Pony meant losing Soda, and losing them both meant losing Darry. Leaving me and Two- Bit.

I oughta make some new friends, I thought, trying to console myself, because I suddenly realized that Pony was dragging us all down with him.

He always was a brat, I thought, hating myself more than ever. And I've always been an asshole.