chapter one
Ponyboy's POV
It was a normal Sunday morning at the Curtis house. Mickey Mouse was blaring from the TV, competing with Elvis singing about Teddy Bears on the radio. Two-Bit and Steve were arm wrestling to see which device would be turned off, which meant that both would keep going for the foreseeable future. Soda egged the other two on, laughing, his golden hair flowing down his back like the mane of a greasy lion. Darry sat in his easy chair, the one that had once belonged to dad, trying to read the sports page, and I grabbed up the comics, flopping down on the sofa and trying to ignore the familiar confusion and make sense of Alley Oop and The Cisco Kid. Later, we would go to the empty lot on the corner and play football. Tim or Curly might come around, though we had seen less and less of them in the months since Dally died. It would be a quiet, ordinary Sunday.
Then came the knock at the front door.
No one knocks at our front door. Even Tim and Curly, if they happened to drop around, would just open the door, holler "Yo, Curtises!" and walk in. Steve and Two-Bit didn't even knock or holler; they treated the place just like it was their own. The only people who ever knocked were the occasional official visitor, Darry's boss, or one of Soda's girls, but no one else, except... My eyes flashed to Darrys face, worry exploding in me when I saw him frowning. It would be really unusual for the State Caseworker to come on a Sunday, but unusual didn't mean impossible.
The guys sprang into action. Two-Bit disappeared into the kitchen, probably to hide his beer; Steve snapped off the tv, then turned the radio down, changing the station to a classical music/news setting that normally would have had even Darry protesting; Soda picked up the clothes and dishes that were strewn around the room, carrying them to the kitchen and the laundry room beyond. I grabbed the newspaper scattered around Darry's chair, folding it into a neat pile and placing it on the battered coffee table. All of this took only seconds; it was like a carefully choreographed ballet, though we had not practiced or even spoke of it before today.
As soon as everything that could be done, was done, Darry rose without haste to his feet and went to the door.
I always admired how calm and cool Darry stayed in situation like this. I could feel my own heart beating like I'd been running an event at a track meet, and even the guys in the kitchen were whispering and peering nervously out at us as they sat around the kitchen table, dealing cards for a game of Crazy Eights. The tension in the room had ratcheted up about two hundred percent, but Darry's face, as he moved towards the door, showed nothing but his usual tranquility. I knew that he had to feel the tension at least as much as I did, but his face showed no sign of it.
I watched as he pulled the door open. If I hadn't been paying such close attention, I would almost certainly not have seen how he stiffened, just enough to let me know that the danger was not past. "Can I help you?" he asked, in his coldest voice; from experience, I can tell you that Darry's coldest voice makes an iceberg feel like a day on a tropical island.
"I hope so," a light, feminine voice said. "I'm looking for Ponyboy Curtis. Do I have the correct address?"
There was a moment of hesitation. Even before Darry answered, I was rising to my feet. "You do," Darry said, and I could hear the reluctance in his tone. Darry always wanted to protect us, even when the danger existed only in his mind. He couldn't protect me from everything, though, and he turned his head and said, "Come here, Ponyboy," still in that deadly quiet voice.
When I got to the door, I could instantly see why he reacted to her that way. She wasn't a state caseworker, I could see that right away, but that didn't change the fact that she was a Soc. Her dress was simple, but in a way that was too expensive even for one of the state workers; I bet her shoes alone would have cost a week of Darry's salary. She had ash blond hair, braided and pinned on top of her head in a fancy style, and she wore makeup that was so well suited to her face that you could hardly tell it was there. She carried a little clutch purse that matched the shoes precisely, and over her shoulder I could see a tuff red Mustang parked at the curb. She was beautiful, and classy, and as completely out of our reach as if she were on the moon instead of on our porch.
"I'm Ponyboy Curtis," I said, trying - and failing - to sound as tuff as Darry always did.
I had never seen this girl before. She was a complete stranger to me, so I guess I expected the standard kind of greeting, hello, nice to meet you, all that. That's not what I got, however. Instead, she tilted her head a little to the side, blinked up at me with soft brown eyes, and said, "You're a little small, aren't you? Do you even know how to ride a horse?"
If she had just asked the first question, I probably would have gotten mad, mostly 'cause I know the guys in the kitchen could hear every word and would never let me live it down. But the second query, coming from a girl I had never seen before and who had no reason that I knew of to care if I could ride or not, just caught my funny bone. I burst out laughing and kept on until I had to hold on to the door jamb to keep from falling over.
So, who do you think the Soc is... and what does she want with Ponyboy? Reviews of all types are welcome!