Begin [Ponyboy Curtis]

Stories

POSSIBLE TRIGGERS: Toxic Family Dynamic, Car Wreck

Playlist: Buttercup - Jack Stauber

Ponyboy and I ended up leaning against the car alone, as Evie and Two-bit's girlfriend Kathy joined us for lunch. Two-bit and Steve were jumping around the parking lot entertaining the girls. They giggled as the boys made fools of themselves.

"When do you want to work on the writing project?" Ponyboy unzipped his jacket and tossed it over his shoulders.

I looked away from the amateur gymnastics show, "Have you started?"

"I haven't even thought about the project," he admitted, making a funny face.

I giggled, "we could start on it tonight. I don't have work."

"Savvy," He nodded and glanced at me, "um...do you have a thing for my brother?"

"Sodapop? No..." I squinted at him for a moment, "doesn't he have a girlfriend?"

"Well, I mean, that's why I was asking. He flirts with everyone and never mentions that he's got a girlfriend. Not because he's trashy, I don't think he knows he does it."

"No," I repeated, " I mean he's nice and all, I just don't really go for guys older than me... or coworkers."

"That's probably smart, I'll keep that in mind when I get a job next year."

"You're not old enough?"

"Nah," he shook his head, "I'm 14, I skipped a grade."

"Oh! I didn't even notice. Some places will hire at 14, restaurants mostly."

"I know, Darry won't let me though. He says he doesn't trust places willing to hire so young. I think it's just an excuse to make me focus on my school work," He shrugged, "So do you want to meet at my place or yours?"

I started to suggest my place, with dad and Stacey leaving all the time, then I remembered their hospital visit, "My dad's girlfriend had to go to the ER last night so they're resting today. Your place would probably be better."

"Oh, is she okay?" He looked concerned.

I shrugged, "Dad didn't seem like he wanted to talk about it."

"Oh, well, I don't think Darry will care but Soda and him both work late tonight so there won't be anyone to watch us. Will your dad care that you're at a boy's house?"

"It's for homework," I waved my glass at him, " I don't think my dad will argue with that."

"Okay, I'll meet you at your locker at the end of the day then?"

"Sounds good, do you care if I run home to drop off my extra stuff before we go to your place?"

He shrugged, "I don't have anywhere better to be."

I think the Principal informed the rest of the teachers not to try to send me to the office for my jeans. I got a couple of offhand comments, but no one else kicked me out of class. Once the day was finally over I rushed to my locker to meet with Ponyboy.

"Cool Skateboard. Why's it so tiny?" Pony asked as I pulled it out of my locker.

"It's a mini-cruiser, I have a regular one too. You ride?"

"No," he shook his head and laughed, "I've got the balance of a baby deer."

I giggled along and shoved my books into my backpack.

The school wasn't far from my house, and time flies when you're having fun. Our usual small talk melted away into deeper discussion once I brought up I had read the Great Gatsby at my old school. Ponyboy's awkward exterior broke into a boy who loved books. I hate to say I judged him by his cover, but I never thought we'd be conversing about story themes and characters.

Once we got closer to my house I noticed my dad was sitting on the porch with a cigarette in his hand.

He waved to me, causing the smoke above his hand to wiggle into the air.

"Haven't you gone to bed?" I asked as we walked up the steps.

"I wanted to leave Stacey alone. Is this Randy?" He asked, squinting his bloodshot eyes.

"Nuh-uh, this is Ponyboy. We have an English project together. I just wanted to drop off my other homework before I went over there."

"I'll take it in," he held out his hand, "the doors kind of loud."

I paused for a moment, wondering how bad Stacey really was, then chewed on my lip as I dug through my backpack. I gave him everything but my English notebook and writing supplies, "thanks. I'll see you later tonight."

He nodded, "Alright, you two be safe." He warned and sat my books next to him, going back to sucking on his cancer stick.

Ponyboy and I left the house in silence. We didn't say anything until we were well away from my dad.

"Your dad looks kind of..." Ponyboy trailed off.

"Yeah," I replied before he could finish, "he doesn't always look like that. It's just been a busy couple of weeks."

"Oh..." He trailed off.

I got nervous he would shut off again so I nudged his arm, "would you do it?" I asked, "throw a bunch of parties just for some girl?"

"Oh no." He shook his head, "I like Gatsby, but how wasteful of a life would that be?"

I giggled and nodded, "I get that. Daisy's husband is an asshole though. I understand her infatuation for Gatsby. I liked Gatsby more than her husband."

"All of them are assholes," He added.

We walked up to a little white house with a chain-link fence and a green porch swing. The fence was rusted and bending in at certain spots, and the grass in the yard was torn up. It looked lived in and played on. Not like Randy's car, an image stuck in time. Or the new white furniture that we weren't allowed to eat on. The Curtis house looked like a home.

Ponyboy let me in, the sun falling off my back gave me a small shiver before I adjusted to the cool house. The TV played a cartoon jingle and I spotted two guys in the corner of the living room.

"Hey guys," Ponyboy waved at them.

"Hey, Pony," the tan one with greased hair glanced back at us. His eyes stopped on me for a moment before he turned back to the TV.

The other guy nodded, "What's good?" he looked over and smirked at me, "who's your friend?"

"This is Dorthy, she's a friend from school. We have some homework to do," Ponyboy turned back to me, "That's Johnny and Dally. " He pointed to each of his friends. "They hang out here sometimes."

I smiled at them, and Ponyboy walked me to the kitchen where we set up at the table and he grabbed us some drinks.

"I like reading a lot," he complained, "I'm just not too good at writing."

I smiled at him, "I like writing, I just don't like writing for other people."

"Isn't that the whole point?" his eyebrows knitted together.

"Doesn't have to be."

He considered it while popping the tops off our cokes.

"So what do we even write about?"

I ran my finger over the dent in his kitchen table, "pick something real and make it fiction."

"I don't think Mr. Symes wants a story about my parent's car wreck turned into a dragon attack," he chuckled darkly.

I shook my head, trying not to laugh, "no, I don't peg him to be into magic. You can write realistic fiction. It doesn't have to be about dragons and wizards."

He nodded leaning back, "I never really dug stories about magic. I like real ones more." I watched his features grow serious as he thought about his story. The yellow kitchen light distorted the green in his eyes. He looked back over at me and smiled, "what?"

I shook my head and changed the subject, "what's with the greasers and socs?"

"Oh," he sighed, "where do I even begin?"