Hey y'all! This is my first fanfiction, so constructive criticism in the form of reviews is appreciated! Also, I'm searching for a beta and am fully aware that my grammar is atrocious. PM if you can help, or just want to toss around some ideas :)
My composition book lay on the desk in the corner of our room; it was finally finished. Well, it was finished in the sense that I had something to turn into Mr. Syme and Darry would get off my back about it. He'd let up about some things, but I don't think he'll ever stop fussing over my schoolwork.
I stood by the open window smoking a cigarette and staring at the collection of papers that exposed so much of our lives, yet left so much out. Some things—like Soda and Sandy—were easy enough to be tactful about. I couldn't very well include the grisly details in a school assignment, but I'd gotten my point across. Other things, though, I'd omitted completely.
It almost amazed me how easily the words had filled the pages as I'd written about Soda and the rest of the gang. And for as little as I thought I knew about Darry, I'd sure had a lot to write about him. I'd even dared to tell the whole truth about Dallas Winston, and the guy was dead. Johnny had been the hardest to write about but, once I'd been able to start, his story seemed to tell itself.
There wasn't one word in there about Billie-Jean, though.
I realized Darry was standing in the doorway at about the same time I realized my cigarette had burned past the filter. Tossing it out the window, I muttered a curse and stuck my scorched fingertip in my mouth. Darry looked at me like he couldn't believe I was dumb enough to get burned by my own cigarette.
"I thought you were working on your theme," he said stepping into the room.
"It's finished." I motioned toward my desk as proof.
Darry turned. "The Outsiders?" he read from the cover.
He made a move to pick it up, but I was across the room in a flash. I snatched it from him, clutching it to my chest like I had to protect it from something. It wasn't unusual for Darry to look over my homework, but this was different; he wouldn't understand. For a split-second I thought he looked hurt.
"I can't read it?" Darry asked, confused.
I shook my head, unable to make my eyes meet his. It wasn't like I usually went around broadcasting information about myself anyway, but I'd never intentionally kept something from Darry before. In fact, there was a time—when mom and dad were still around—that I told Darry everything. I didn't have so many secrets when I was seven, though.
Darry shifted uncomfortably, then cleared his throat and told me to get washed up for dinner. He disappeared down the hall as I stood there hugging our story like an idiot. Shoving the book under the mattress, I decided not to think about it again until Monday morning.
Even from the bedroom, it seemed too quiet for a Friday night. I'd at least expected Soda to be around, if not Steve or Two-Bit. The living room was empty as I crossed through it into the kitchen.
Darry had his back to me as he stood in front of the open oven door. He'd never admit it, but he hated taking hot things out of the oven. Darry might've been the strongest of us all, but he wasn't always the most nimble. Sure, he could do a backflip; he'd always been athletic, but he could still be kind of clumsy sometimes on account of being so big.
For example, he has to have Soda pick all the splinters he gets at work out for him because his hands are too big to hold the tweezers. Last Christmas I made him a sculpture in art class and he'd crushed it before it was even out of the wrapping. And he always burns himself taking things out of the oven.
Anyway, he was standing there wearing the kind of oven-mitts that go clear up to your elbows and an apron tied around his narrow waist. I remember the first time I'd seen him put that apron on. It was the morning after we'd lost mom and dad. Somehow Darry putting on Mom's apron and making pancakes had reassured Soda and me that things would be okay again.
"Dammit," Darry hissed yanking his arms out of the oven as whatever he'd been trying to take out clattered heavily back onto the rack.
I tried to stifle a laugh and wound up choking on it. Darry whipped around like he hadn't known I was standing behind him.
"I told you to wash up," he snapped, taking me by surprise. We'd been getting along okay for a few weeks now.
I kept my mouth shut and turned on the tap, waiting for it to get warm. As I stood there, I wondered if Darry was just embarrassed he'd burned himself again or if I'd really upset him by not letting him read my theme. I hadn't been aiming to hurt his feelings; I just knew he wouldn't understand.
By the time I'd finished washing up, Darry had managed to take dinner out of the oven and was setting it on the table. Tuna casserole. We ate a lot of casseroles when money was tight. I tried to forget that my hospital bills were probably the reason we'd gone back to eating casseroles lately as I sat down.
Darry sat across from me and briskly slapped a spoonful of casserole on my plate with a sickening squish. He served himself too, but then we both just sat there looking at our dishes for a while.
"It's just us tonight?" I asked eventually because the silence was getting to me.
Darry nodded and started stabbing at his food with his fork. "Soda won't be back 'till late;" he told me, "went to watch the rodeo with Steve."
I followed Darry's lead and picked my fork up too. I wasn't sore at Soda for not asking me to go to the rodeo with him and Steve. I knew full-well that Darry wouldn't have let me go anyway. Nights like this sure made me miss Johnny, though. Heck, I even missed Dally's wild antics.
Darry suddenly tossed his fork down and the sound of it startled me from my thoughts. He stood up and took our plates, putting them both in the icebox.
"What are you doing?" I asked, still sitting stupidly at the table as Darry took his keys and my sweatshirt from the hook on the wall.
"Let's go see Billie," he said tossing my sweatshirt at me.
I was so surprised that I let it hit me in the face and fall into my lap.
"Right now?"
Darry nodded. I jumped up from my chair so quickly that I almost knocked it over. I hadn't seen my sister since Johnny's funeral.