cancer

chapter one
meeting the gang

Teary-eyed, I made my way out of the train, suitcase limp in hand. My hands were trembling slightly, my skin was two shades paler, and my usually bright eyes were swollen and red from crying through the entire journey. My lips were pressed together as my eyes skimmed through the masses of people. My eyes finally landed on him. He was striding towards me, a powerful nature visible, compared to all the other people around me. Darrel Curtis.

His sepia colored locks were greased backwards, a look that only made him fiercer. His ripped muscles showed faintly through his cheap, black t-shirt, and old, worn jeans covered his legs. His eyes were on me, and I met his gaze slowly, unsure of what to do.

When he approached me, Darry immediately embraced me. "Come here, you," he whispered softly in my ear. All I could do was hold back a sob as I wrapped my thin arms around his bulky waist. "I missed you, Danielle." His voice was full of heartfelt sincerity—something I hadn't heard in a while.

"I missed you, Uncle Darrel." Even though Darrel was my cousin, I had always thought of him as a father-figure, even when we were younger. I adopted the name 'Uncle' instead.

Darry rubbed my back lovingly, as a mother would do to its newborn. He traced imaginary circles on my spine, and then patted my back. "I heard about what happened… with your father." He actually seemed to be a bit nervous when he spoke.

"Yeah…" I tried to sound as if though I was indifferent, but on the inside, I was breaking.

"Let's go," he said quickly, yet kindly, as he entwined his fingers with mine. It brought a sense of comfort and warmth. He picked up my suitcase with his other hand, and raised his eyebrow. "What is in here? Bricks?"

I weakly smiled at his effort of a joke, and then mumbled embarrassedly, "Books."

"Books?" Darrel looked surprised as he stopped walking to stare at me. "Do you mean books and clothing, or all books?"

I felt my cheeks heating up right there. It had seemed like a right idea when I done it, but now it seemed stupid. "All books."

He resumed his walk, though his paces were so long I almost had to run to keep up. "Care to explain why?" He didn't seem angry or annoyed, just curious.

"I thought the clothes brought back too many memories," I said quietly. "And from what I remember, Ponyboy was always the smallest when I was visited, so I thought I could borrow his clothes."

Darry nodded, "Well lucky for you, Ponyboy's a bit of a book-maniac, so you probably could do a trade. Books for clothes." He chuckled, a deep sound. "That boy wouldn't stop reading if his life depended on it."

Soon we reached Darrel's old pick-up, certainly not a luxurious car, but it was perfect in the sense. He loaded my suitcase, and unlocked the doors, and I got into the passenger seat. Darry started to drive, and kept his eyes firmly planted on the road, "So… about the doctors?"

I knew he would be asking, but I didn't think it would be so early. "Yeah… they just did a diagnosis and sent me the results a couple days before the accident. I've got leukemia."

Darry sucked in a harsh breath, the strain in his jaw noticeable as his tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Damn, babycakes, so they have you on treatment?"

I shook my head sadly. "Apparently I'm lucky enough to be living with you, Dar. Everything my parents had gone down the drain—which wasn't much—so there's no money for medical units."

"God, Dan, that's horrible," Darry said softly, and I tried not to make it known that I was annoyed with the sympathy and pity so obviously laden in his eyes.

I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the passing blur of trees. I felt the car stop and Darry readily announce, "We're here." I peered out of the window to see a run-down, one story house. It was small and included an unmanageable lawn, but it felt more like a home to me than anything.

"Thanks Darry," I said sincerely, keeping my eyes on the dashboard. "You don't know how much I appreciate you doing this for me. I just want you to know it's not an obligation or anything—"

"Danielle," Darry interrupted quickly, "Just stop talking."
I laughed, a soft sound that echoed through the car. He smiled at me, obviously pleased he had succeeded in keeping me in a better mood. I met Darry at the other side and followed him as he walked up to the door. He didn't even take out a key or knock, simply pushing the door open. His voice was loud, "Guys! I'm home."

Two vaguely familiar boys walked out of a room, supposedly the kitchen, and stared at me quizzically. One was mildly attractive, with dark, greasy burnt umber hair and matching, dark eyes. I could tell that it was Ponyboy, just from the confused twist of his lips.

The other—Sodapop—was extremely attractive, with brown-black hair that was barely greased and a lean, muscled body.

I hadn't seen either of those boys in ten years, and I swallowed as they analyzed me.

"Guys," Darry said quietly, "this is Danielle Logans. Remember?"

Ponyboy only nodded, and I assumed he was quiet. Sodapop grinned, "Well you certainly changed since the last time I saw you." His voice was chirpy, excited. I couldn't help but smile as well.

"Why are you here?" Ponyboy asked, and a silence overwhelmed us. Darrel obviously hadn't told them about the incident, so I decided not to tell as well.

"I'll explain later," Darrel said. I realized my lip was trembling.

Darry led me into the kitchen, his hand still clutching my small suitcase. "Ponyboy, man, you're going to love Danny. Her entire suitcase is full of books."

I saw something change in Ponyboy's eyes as he glanced at me, "Really?"

"Yeah," I said quietly, avoiding his gaze for reasons unknown to me. "I… I just really like books, is all."

Sodapop laughed. "Guess it runs in the family. So, how old are you, Miss Danielle?"

"Sixteen," I mumbled, memorizing the fine details of the messy kitchen. It was small yet comfortable, but felt like it wasn't sufficient for three grown boys.

"I am too!" Sodapop said over excitedly, grinning like a hyena. "This is great … but Pony's only 14…"

"Hey…" Ponyboy muttered dejectedly, staring at the ground.

"Aw, it's okay," Sodapop said sweetly, ruffling Ponyboy's dark hair affectionately, "You know I love you."

Ponyboy smiled hesitantly, and then raised his dark eyes to meet my own. An awkward silence began, but Darrel quickly changed that. "So, Dan, you want some chocolate cake or something? You look starved."

"No thanks Darry," I answered softly, brushing the dark locks away from my face.

The only sounds heard was the rattling of the utensils as Darry started to wash the dishes, Sodapop and Ponyboy looking at me silently. The door suddenly burst open, causing my head to snap in that direction. A round of teenage boys with the exception of one girl walked into the house—loud, smirking, and somewhat crazy. I watched quietly as the house erupted into laughter, chit-chat, and the dull play of the television.

"Come on, Danny," Sodapop said, grabbing my wrist slightly. He looked down in shock, and swallowed as he saw the blue veins of my thin arm. "I'll introduce you to the gang." I said nothing as he pulled me forward, causing the loud ruckus to stop for a moment. "Guys, this is my cousin, Danielle, who's going to be staying with us for a while."

"Hey!" It was a loud chirp, coming from the guy in the corner. He was holding a beer bottle in one hand, his lanky figure covered by a red, Mickey Mouse t-shirt. His sideburns made him look slightly rough, yet playful. His hair was greased backwards and his grin was lopsided. "You're pretty cute Danielle," he said with a mischievous smirk, glancing at the reddening Sodapop.

I didn't even smile as I stared at him, only observing him. Still impassive, the guy smirked goofily at me in response. I held back a disgusted cringe. "I'm Two-Bit, by the way," he said, getting up, stumbling quite a bit. "The short one over there,"—he pointed to a tanned teenager sitting in the opposite corner—"is Johnny. The one all the way over there,"—he then drew his finger to an older looking teenager with a rough, angular face and a girl hanging on his arm—"is Dally and his girl Sylvia. The hooligan over there"—he lastly pointed to a boy in a dirty, white wife-beater and an arrangement of tattoos on his muscular arm—"is Steve."

I felt myself getting nervous. I wasn't good with people, and I certainly didn't feel well enough to talk to another four guys. I sat down on the couch next to Johnny, since it was the only seat available. I felt my body tense as Sylvia connected her eyes with me, looking me up and down. She grimaced then, "Why are you here anyway?" Her luxurious blonde hair was pin straight as it hung over her shoulders, making her look incredibly attractive. She was wearing a scandalously short miniskirt and probably Dally's leather jacket.

"Sylvia," Darry warned, surprising me, as he walked into the room. I didn't hear him come in. He offered another piece of chocolate cake to me, which I politely refused. "She's staying with us for a while… is that a problem?"

"Whatever," she muttered, obviously afraid of Darrel. I would have been too; the muscles were nearly bulging out of his thin t-shirt. Sylvia turned back to Dallas, smiling at him seductively, before planting a small kiss on his jaw. She continued doing these ministrations, and I looked away from the act, finally catching eyes with the silent Dally. He was looking at me, almost questionably, a thoughtful expression on his handsome features.

I glanced away from him, perturbed, and focused on Johnny. He was quiet, like Ponyboy. His features were Spanish, I noted, as my eyes trailed over the dark black hair and the tanned skin. Some sort of exotic background. His eyes were a charcoal black with distinguishable swirls of brown. But then my breath caught, as something caught my attention. It was a long, startling scar that ran from the side of his sideburn to the very tip of his jaw.

It made me swallow as my fingers automatically touched his jaw, tracing the scar. He flinched almost immediately, his eyes blinking to meet mine, and I pulled away, feeling my fingers burn. "S-Sorry," I muttered embarrassedly, feeling tears rise in my eyes. "There was just a scar…" I trailed off, realizing the attention of the room was on me.

Johnny was startled, no doubt about it. He swallowed, and then whispered, "Yeah… my parents – they…"

I nodded, understanding. I let my fingers drop to my lap, whispering only so he could hear, "Me too."

Surprise, shock, and some sort of warmth flashed over his face. To prove my point, I raised the hem of my sleeve to reveal a long scar that ran nine inches long. It was fading, but the memory itself was permanently engraved in my head. I didn't bother to say anything else, my thin fingers dropping back to confines of my lap.

Darry rescued me. He pulled me up from the couch, ignoring the curious stares of the gang. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I lied easily, blinking away the tears. "Just shocked."

"You want to go to sleep? You look tired." He was concerned.

I nodded, and he sat me back on the couch, gently pulling my head against his chest. Had he heard? He probably had. He ran his fingers through my hair, murmuring unknown words to me while he hugged me lovingly.

I closed my eyes, and finally drifted off into a peaceful slumber.