DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!
A/N: I originally posted this over the summer, but I recently decided it was pretty weak and needed revising. The plot will be the same, though, dealing with the cousin Steve had in the book coming to visit. I set this story the summer before the novel begins. It may/may not be written from different POV's; I haven't decided yet. For now, it'll be told from Pony's perspective. Please read and review, but remember that flames will be used to set off firecrackers.
It was a typical day in June. School let out a couple of weeks ago. I was in the living room, home alone and bored out of my mind. Nothing was on TV except soap operas and I wasn't really in the mood to read. I wished there was a breeze or that it would suddenly start raining. It was scorching in the house on account of we can't afford an air conditioner; we just have to keep the windows open all the time. It doesn't help much. I haven't been able to leave the house for a few days because I twisted my ankle and Darry doesn't want me to walk on it. I wish I could lie in bed all day with the ceiling fan on, but Darry says I can't 'cause it'll run up the electric bill. He did promise me this morning he'd pick up a couple of boxes of Popsicles or a gallon of ice cream on his way home from work, though.
I glanced out the window and saw the mailman walking away from our mailbox. I decided to go get the mail; it had to be cooler outside than it was in the house. Barefoot, I limped to the mailbox. I collected the heap of mail, then sat down on the porch steps to look through it: a sale flyer from the grocery store, a letter from the state for Darry, the phone bill, an offer to join one of those mail-order record clubs, and an issue of National Geographic. I was about to start reading that when I noticed another envelope. 'Steve Randle, c/o the Curtis Brothers' read the handwriting on the front, which definitely belonged to a girl; it was postmarked Kansas and there was no name over the return address.
Why was a girl writing to Steve from Kansas? I thought about some of the bull sessions I'd overheard and wondered if Steve had gotten her "in trouble," like the overly-cheerful narrator said in this movie I had to watch in health class. I really wanted to rip open the envelope and find out who Steve's mystery woman was. I told myself I shouldn't; it's rude to read other people's mail. But Steve always acts like I'm a tagalong kid, so temptation started to get the better of me. I'd just slid a finger under the flap to rip the envelope when a quiet voice got my attention.
"Hey, Ponyboy."
I looked up and saw my best friend Johnny standing on our walk.
"Hey, Johnny," I greeted happily. I hadn't seen him since the day I got hurt. "You doin' all right?"
He shrugged, his eyes not quite meeting mine. He looked about as tired and hot as I felt. I moved the mail so Johnny could sit down on the steps. He did, then glanced at the envelope I was still holding. I quickly put it aside, not wanting him to know the letter was Steve's.
"Your ankle okay?" Johnny asked.
"I think so. I mean, it don't hurt as much," I said.
Johnny nodded. He pushed his sweaty bangs off his forehead.
"You wanna go inside?" I asked.
Johnny shrugged again. "Sure."
I gathered up all the mail and opened the screen door. Johnny followed me. He kicked off his sneakers at the front door while I dropped the mail on the kitchen table, everything except the National Geographic and Steve's letter. I don't know why I was hanging onto that thing, knowing how interested I was in opening it.
We walked down the short hallway and I pushed open the door to mine and Soda's room. The first thing I did was turn on the ceiling fan; surely it couldn't hurt to run it 'til Darry and Soda got home. Johnny kinda sighed with relief and flopped onto the floor. I set the magazine and letter on the nightstand and dug a pack of cards out of my desk. I sat Indian-style across from Johnny and dealt us each a hand. It was too warm to bet with cigarettes, like we usually did, so I pulled a jar of pennies from under my side of the bed.
We started playing poker. It wasn't long before Johnny was winning. I wasn't surprised; he was the best player in the gang. Him being so quiet meant he had a great poker face. He seemed like a different person when he played too, calmer and more confident.
"Whatcha got, Ponyboy?" he asked.
"Four sevens and a ten," I said, laying my hand on the carpet.
Johnny fanned out his cards. "Full house. Goodbye, my friend."
For some reason, as I handed him twenty cents, the thought of opening the letter struck me again.
"Let's finish our game in the living room," I suggested.
"Okay," agreed Johnny, gathering up the cards and putting the seventy-five cents he'd won in his pocket.
I turned off the ceiling fan. I wondered why I didn't hear any racket coming from the living room when I did. I checked the time on the alarm clock. 5:30. Darry and Soda had to be home by now...
Johnny and I walked out into the living room. Darry was stretched across on the couch, lying on his back with a wet washcloth draped across his forehead. Soda and Steve were in the kitchen, scraping ice off the inside of the freezer and sucking on the chips they collected.
"Darry?" I said quietly. He looked like he was asleep.
Darry kind of moaned in response.
"Soda, what's the matter with Darry?" I asked.
"I think the heat got to him a little," Soda explained.
The coolness I'd felt from being in our room with the fan on suddenly faded. I started to sweat. "Hey, Soda, can you get me and Johnny some of those ice chips?"
"Sure thing."
A couple minutes later, Soda came out of the kitchen. He gave a handful of ice to me and one to Johnny. I stuffed all of mine in my mouth at once. Soda handed Darry a glass with some ice scrapings in the bottom.
"Here. Maybe these'll make ya feel better." he said.
"I hope so, little buddy." Darry held the glass, but didn't take anything out of it. "Ugh, I feel pregnant," he groaned, rubbing his belly.
"Who gotcha in trouble, Darry?" asked Steve.
If Darry hadn't been so worn out and feeling sick, I bet he probably would've knocked Steve through the wall.
"Did you remember to get the Popsicles?" I wanted to know.
"If he did, ya think we'd be eatin' these?" Steve said rudely.
"It was just a question," I said.
"Yeah, a dumb one."
"Knock it off," Darry ordered. "I don't feel good and this ain't helpin'."
"But, Darry, you promised us a box," I said.
"No, I didn't. I said I'd try to get some," said Darry. "I would've on my way home, but I worked all day and it was almost a hundred degrees. I got so dizzy I almost wrecked the truck."
"I'm sorry." I felt bad for not realizing that.
Soda came out of the kitchen, looking through the mail. Now was my chance.
"Hey, Steve?" I said.
"What?" he replied irritably through another mouthful of ice.
"You got a letter today." I told him.
I walked to our room to get it. I handed it to him. He frowned at it. After a minute or two, he opened the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper inside. He unfolded it. I watched his hazel eyes going back and forth as he read. He suddenly swore loudly and dropped the letter on the floor. He paced across the living room. I made sure he wasn't looking before I picked it up.
'Dear Steve,' the letter read. 'I'm not really sure if you remember me...' Glory, that didn't sound good at all. 'My name is Glenda Dorothy Kostecki and I'm your cousin. I apologize for not visiting since junior high. Dad got laid off for a while and money was pretty tight. Now he's working for the electric company. Mom got a job too; she's a secretary at my old junior high. Anyway, between help from them and what I saved waitressing part-time, I got enough money together to visit you and the gang for a few days. I'll be coming in on Friday the 21st and leaving late Sunday night or early Monday morning. The bus should drop me off around 2:00. I can't wait to see everyone. Love from your cousin, Glenda.'
"Calm down!" I heard Soda telling Steve. "What's the matter with you?"
"My cousin's comin' to visit this weekend!" he shouted.
"You mean the one who was sweet on Dally?" Soda asked.
I definitely remembered Glenda now. Her last visit, she followed Dallas around like a puppy, giggling at just about everything he said and complimenting him a lot. I was in fifth grade then and wondered why she acted so funny around him. Soda explained to me that she wanted Dally to be her boyfriend and I thought it was gross.
"She's comin' the same night we race those guys from Brumley!" Steve's voice jerked me back to the present.
"We could take her with us," Soda suggested. "It'd be fun."
Steve appeared to settle down; Soda was good at calming people (animals too, come to think of it).
"I guess so," he mumbled, not sounding too wild about the idea.
My thoughts traveled back to Glenda. I wondered what she looked like now and whether she still had her old feelings for Dallas. If she did, it could turn out to be a pretty interesting weekend.