de facto 〖 ponyboy curtis 〗

seven.

Jo-Lynn

"Who was that?" Terry asks, nodding in the direction of the boy who was now walking away, towards his home, Jo assumed.

"Oh, just some guy from my English class."

Diana spoke next, a teasing grin on her lips. "What's he doin' over here? Ain't it dangerously close to where we stay?"

"Where y'all stay, I'm only a ten-minute walk from the park."

"Still."

"He gave me this for class, that's all. I don't even remember his name."

"Property of: Ponyboy Curtis," Diana read, opening the front cover of the dark book she'd swiftly taken from Jo-Lynn's hands. "What is that, a nickname?"

"I don't know, I told you I barely know the guy."

"Yeah, if you say so."

Jo snatched the book back and gripped it tightly; it wasn't like anyone was going to grab it from her again, but she wanted to make sure they weren't able to. "I do. Now I'm going home."

"He was pretty cute for a white boy," Diana teased, "If you don't take him, I might."

"Yeah, whatever." Jo rolled her eyes and looked toward the house that they were coming up on quickly. She didn't wanna talk about this anymore, she didn't want her worlds colliding, knowing she'd never hear the end of it if they caught her crushing on a white boy. "Bye," she quickly says, giving them a wave and heading inside.

"Later, Jo," the two said at once.

Jo-Lynn hurried to her room to avoid being bothered by her mother or Calvin and closed the door. Her mother always complained about locked doors but Jo didn't want either of them barging in on her and assuming and/or interrogating.

Starting with Volume I, she spent the rest of the day engrossed in the poems of Whitman. Somehow, she'd never read these. She spent hours reading library books in her room full of poems from every country, every century, even of other languages—poetry was her favorite, she had no idea how Ponyboy had guessed it.

She skipped dinner, not that she was very hungry anyway, and stayed in her room. Everybody thought she was sleeping.

She noticed how there were markings in some of the margins. Words, symbols, highlights. She couldn't decipher them all but it wasn't a bother because it let her know that, whether they were positive or negative, he was just as interested in the stories being told as she was.

At Volume II, Jo-Lynn stopped. It was almost ten o'clock and she went to the living room to see if anyone else was awake. Her mother was asleep on the couch and brother nowhere (in his room, she figured). Jo took some time to clean up the kitchen and straighten up in the living room. By the time she was done, the front of the house was sparkling and she still had energy to spare.

"Jo, whatcha doin' up?"

"Nothin', just gettin' everything cleaned up, Momma."

Her mother didn't move while talking, even kept her eyes closed. Obviously, the woman had been exhausted. "That's sweet of you, baby, but I could've did all that tomorrow."

"Well, now you can rest tomorrow." Jo unfolds the colorful, knitted quilt from the side of the couch and drapes it over her mom, placing a kiss on her forehead. The siblings joked about their mom being lazy but she worked a lot. Their dad passed a while back and ever since then, she'd worked two jobs until it was enough to afford everything they had. At thirty-seven years old, she was still putting everything she had into her work so that her kids could have it even the slightest bit better than everybody thought they would.

Everything that the girl has become is because of her mom and Jo was appreciative of her mom every day and that was why she tried to be responsible. "You know how much I love you?"

A chuckle left the girl's throat as she sat on the arm of the couch. "So much that you work all day to give me what I need."

"So much that I don't regret it."

Jo-Lynn wanted so much to be strong like her mom. "I love you too." She stood up from her place and walked back towards her brother's room, "Get some rest momma."

She opened her brother's door and he'd been sleeping soundly as well. She walked in and shook him urgently just to wake him up and when he got up, she took his pillow and hit him with it. He'd done it to her a few days ago and she swore to do it back just to upset him.

"You're too old for this," he mumbled, laying back down and taking the pillow from her hands.

"So are you." As she walked out, he threw the pillow at the back of her head and she threw it right back to where it hit him in the face. "I hate you, you know that?"

"Love you too."