He woke up and wondered if he had time to get to school. He knew his parents were passed out somewhere, maybe in the living room, his mother sleeping with her mouth open on the couch, his father on the floor. Maybe in their bedroom. Maybe his dad had stayed out all night at the bars, and maybe his mother had been with him, maybe not. Not that it mattered.
His room was small and sparsely furnished. There was a twin bed and a plain pine dresser that had splinters in all the drawers. That was it. He didn't have any posters, any pictures, nothing. Just his jean jacket crumpled on the top of the dresser.
He sat up, still wondering what time it was. Wondering if he even wanted to go to school. He hated it. There were too many socs there, eyeing him like he was trash. Teachers treated him like he was stupid, and half the time he agreed with them. Ponyboy liked school, but why wouldn't he? He always did well, he'd been put up a grade and all of that. Johnny closed his eyes against the bright sun coming into his room, the one window had no curtains. It was just smudged glass and a splintering wooden frame.
The morning was the one time he didn't worry much about his parents. They were never awake. They were always sleeping off the hangover. They were in their bedroom, his father snoring. He could smell the alcohol coming off of them, saw the empty cans of beer and empty bottles of vodka strewn around the kitchen and living room.
There was nothing to eat, just a stale box of cereal. Didn't matter, he wasn't hungry anyway. He shrugged into his jean jacket and took off for school. He still had time to get there.
He hadn't been to school in a few days but his teachers never expected him to do any of his assignments. He was pretty much failing English now as it was. Sometimes he could get Pony to do some make-up essays for him and then he'd pass the term. He thought that's what he'd do today. And of course Ponyboy would be here. He never skipped. Johnny scowled, thinking of it. Ponyboy was so lucky, in a way. No parents to worry about, cool older brothers who let him do anything, and plus he was smart and everything.
He passed a group of socs, smiling and laughing together, and they watched him walk by. He could just hear them, 'why do we have to go to the same school as that trash?'
"Johnny! Hey, Johnnycake!" Johnny looked up at Two-bit, and he smiled.
"Hey," he said, cringing as Two-bit slapped him on the back. His back was sore from a run in with his old man and Two-bit should have known that, but he never really thought. He was scatter-brained.
"So, you decided to show up today?" Two-bit said, and Johnny nodded, kind of wishing he had decided to skip. Sometimes he didn't know why he didn't just quit, he wasn't learning much of anything anyway.
"Hey, Johnny," Johnny looked over at Ponyboy, and he bit his lip, thinking how he wanted Pony do to that essay for English class for him. He was in the same grade as Pony now, despite being two years older, but since Pony got put up a grade and he was held back they were in the same grade. But he wasn't in any of the same classes. Pony was in the smart classes and he was in the dumb ones.
"Listen, uh, Pony, I was wondering if you could help me with this English essay thing I have to do…"
Two-bit had wandered off, flirting with some middle class girls, who were kind of smirking at his antics. Johnny watched him and didn't look at Ponyboy.
"Yeah, sure. Of course I can help you," He looked at him quick, he was as handsome as Soda. He was nice, smart, a good friend. But he didn't get it, what it was like to have to ask for shit like this, to depend on people because you couldn't do it yourself. Johnny took a deep breath, thinking about his drunk parents and shitty neighborhood and limited prospects. They'd always be limited. Pony only lived a few houses down from him, and it was all the same now. He was a greaser, too. But it wouldn't always be like this for him. He'd be able to do whatever he wanted to. Johnny felt the dull jealousy kind of pulsing through his bloodstream.
"Thanks," he said softly, and walked off toward his homeroom.
"Johnny Cade," his homeroom teacher said, a tall, thin man who smelled of cloying cologne. It filled Johnny's nostrils and he nearly gagged, "you decided to grace us with your presence?"
"Yeah," Johnny said, ducking his head. He didn't like that kind of funny, sly comment. He wished again that he'd skipped. God, he hated school.
He heard variations of that comment from most of his teachers, some of them just writing him off as a low life greaser who'd probably quit school anyway, but some of them gave him that sad, sympathetic look like they wanted to help him, save him.
School was finally over. He breathed a sigh of relief as the final bell rang. He thought he probably wouldn't show up tomorrow. Outside the double glass doors on the steps of the school he lit up a cigarette and waited for Ponyboy. Two-bit might show up, too, but maybe not.
"Hey, Johnny, got a weed?" Ponyboy said, his book bag slung over his shoulder. Johnny didn't even have a school bag, he never brought any books home. His classes rarely assigned much homework anyway, the teachers knew the kids in those classes probably wouldn't do it anyway.
"Yeah, here you go," he said, handing him one. Pony lit it and took a drag.
"Wanna go play football or something?" Pony said, and Johnny nodded, filled with the relief that school was over, for today at least.
They played football for a while in the vacant lot and then walked over to the DX station where Soda and Steve worked to get some free cokes.
"Jesus, Johnny, what did you do, go to school today? I thought you'd given it up," Steve said, and Johnny didn't say anything.
"Leave him alone," Soda said absently, handing him a glass bottle of coke, cold with condensation.
It was closing time at the station, and the light was dim in the sky. Johnny thought he might go home and just see how things were. Maybe his parents would be okay tonight. It was a hope as dim as the sky.
He heard the fighting before he even got to the door and he thought of just taking off, but instead he went up the rickety wooden steps to the closed in porch, and he could smell the rotting garbage and the beer.
One look at his old man and he knew he was drunk. It was only seven or eight o'clock and he was cocked off his ass, and Johnny kind of pulled into himself as his dad looked at him with that bleary, drunken stare.
"Johnny, you little shit," his father said, coming toward him, and he pulled on his wrists and pulled him forward, and Johnny squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the blows.
Outside, the fire at the lot warming him, the cigarette dangling from his fingers, his eye watering where he'd been hit, Johnny buttoned up his jean jacket and thought about nothing. Nothing at all.