Golden Days // The Outsiders

Chapter Three:

"Ponyboy. Hey, Ponyboy!" In the middle of the hallway at school, I turned around and there was the man who helped me to realize that I have to tell this story, yelling my name.
"Hey, Mr. Syme," I said as lifeless as ever.
"You feeling okay?" He asked. That was a question I've gotten countless times in the past six months.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, that's all, I replied.
I don't know how I could possibly be tired when all I do is sleep, including in class. I'm sure that's exactly what Mr. Syme was thinking.
"All right, so how's that essay been coming? It's taking you an awful long time to finish it, isn't it?" He asked.
He gave me a look like he knows I haven't been writing my essay, but I have. It's all I work on anymore. He really thinks that I haven't been writing it, I'm not surprised at all to be honest.
"Yeah, it is. But, I work on it nonstop. There is just a lot to tell in it," I said.
I needed him to believe me, I can't fail his class. Darry will kill me.
"Okay, but I'm going to need it soon. Preferably in the next month or so, you dig?" He said.
Can I finish it in a month? That means that I'm going to have to work on it way more than I already do.
"Yeah, okay. I'll finish it. I will," I said.
My brothers have already lost all faith in me, I can't have him lose faith in me, too.
He gave me a small smile, "I got ya. See you in class later, he said.
I nodded and he walked off.

I walked to my locker and opened it. I grabbed my notebook that I have been writing my essay in. I closed my locker and turned around to start making my way to my first period class. But, right as I turned around, I bumped into someone and dropped everything that I was holding. I noticed that my notebook opened on the ground on a page where I talked about a church that I lived in for a week with a good friend of mine. Sounds crazy, because it is.
"Oh, I'm so sor-" I started to say, and then I realized who I had bumped into.
Cherry Valance. Cherry the Soc. I haven"t seen that red-headed broad in months.

She stood there in front of me with her stuck-up friends. Cherry looked at me and then looked at the ground and saw my notebook. I think she read a little bit of it and knew what I was writing about. Maybe she even saw her name in it. She looked shocked, her friends just looked disgusted. Wonderful.
Let me just tell you a bit about the Socs. They're the rich kids that live on the west side of Tulsa. See, I'm a Greaser. I live on the north side of Tulsa, along with the other greasers and hoods. The Socs and the Greasers have never really gotten along. We just don't dig each other. Us Greasers are more on the poorer side. Not all of us are necessarily poor, but compared to the Socs, we're basically worth nothing. The only way I really know how to describe the Socs is they're known for their corvairs and mustangs. Their madras and flasks. They're the jetset; just your average rich kids who's rich parents give them whatever they want. But, just because they have everything they want, does not always mean that good things are always going on at home. I know that all too well. Just as the red-headed cheerleader, Cherry Valance, once told me, believe it or not, things are rough all over. I didn't really believe her when she told me that, but I now know that she was right. Things are rough all over. I know it's kind of hard to believe that me, a Greaser, talked to a popular Soc like Cherry. There was even once a time where I actually considered her a friend.

"Seriously grease? What, are you stalking us or something? Get a life, hood, and while you're at it, why don't you go wash all that grease out of your hair?!" One of Cherry's stuck-up friends said straight to my face.
I'm not going to lie, that kind of hurt. But, I'm used to it by now.
Her friends all laughed and started walking away. Cherry stood there in front of me, with the same shock on her face.
"Come on, Cherry. Let's get away from that greasy creep." Her friend said, as if she had anything else to say about me.
"Yeah, okay," Cherry replied.
Cherry started walking with her "friends," and looked back at me.
I looked at her, and she turned around and walked with them.
I hate to even call those girls her friends. I know if they found out that she used to hang around some with me and my friends, they would all turn their backs on her in a second.
You see? That's the difference between Greasers and Socs. Yeah, they may be dressed nicer than us, but we're all people. Just people. The only difference that I can see between us is feeling.
Socs are fake, they hide their feelings. That's why they would turn their backs on each other in a second for something as little as hanging around with a Greaser. I can't imagine ever turning my back on my friends for something as stupid as that.

I got through all of my classes, and now was sixth period. Mr. Syme's class.
I walked into his class and sat down in my seat.
I really did not want him to talk to me, so I put my head down on the desk.
"No heads on the desk, please face me," I heard Mr. Syme say.
Of course, he was talking to me without actually talking to me.
--
I managed to survive his class, I thought as the bell rang.
Everyone including me got up, and started to walk out of his class.
"Don't forget to do your homework tonight, it's for a grade!" Mr. Syme lightly yelled over the chatter of kids walking out of the classroom and into the hallway.
"Hey Ponyboy, can I see you for a second?" I heard him say as I was walking out of his classroom.
Crap.
"Uh, yeah, sure," I said hesitantly.
I sure did not want to see him, but I was not about to argue with a teacher.
I turned around slowly and he motioned me over to his desk, and I knew he was probably about to drill me about the essay that he obviously thinks I have not been writing.
I walked over to his desk and he looked at me, very seriously.
I sighed, "Look, Mr. Syme, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I already told you that I have been working on the essay. I can show you, I said as I put my binder down on a desk and began to shuffle through my things to find my notebook.
"Ponyboy, this isn't about the essay. I believe that you've been writing it. Don't sweat it, he said.
Not about the essay?
"Oh," I paused, "Then what's the problem?" I asked.
I knew it probably was going to be about me sleeping in class or something. At this point, who knows what he wants to talk to me about.
"It's about you," He said.
"Me?" I asked.
"Yes, you. There is obviously something really wrong here," He replied.
Wow, that hurt.
"What I mean by that, is you haven't really been yourself lately. I called your brother Darrel to talk about your grades, and he explained to me why you have been slacking off so much," He said.
What a pleasant surprise.
"Ponyboy, I want you to know that if you ever need anyone to talk to about anything, you can always come to me. Or our school counselor. Whoever you're comfortable talking to. I want you to remember that," He said.
Great. My teacher wants to be my therapist.
"Thanks Mr. Syme, but I don't need anyone to talk to. I'm fine," I said hesitantly.
That was a lie. I'm not fine at all.
"Are you though? Ponyboy, it's okay to admit that you need help," He said, seeing clearly through my lies.
Help. I do need that. But I was not about to agree that I needed it. But deep down, I knew I did.
"Yes, I'm fine. Why don't you just shut your trap and get out of my business?" I snapped.
Mr. Syme looked down and sighed.
I started to feel hot tears boiling in my eyes.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just- I gotta go," I said as I picked up my things and ran out of his classroom.

I ran down the hallway and into the boys' bathroom. I ran into one of the stalls and locked the door. I leaned against the wall and just started crying. I couldn't hold back. Hot tears falling from my eyes and sliding down my cheeks. After I had calmed down some, I wiped my face with some toilet paper. I walked out of bathroom, and then down the hall and out of the school.

I'm okay, I'm fine. Everything is okay. I told myself.
Pure lies.
I lie to myself all the time, but I never believe me.