I was happy that school was over. Last exam today, it felt good. I tried to get a ride home with Steve, but they left before I got outside. My geography teacher was talking to me forever after the exam was over. He was showing me all my old tests, telling me how well I was doing. I know how I'm doing. I took those tests for god sake. Maybe he was trying to get it out of me that I was cheating. I wasn't. I don't talk much in that class, but when I do I know I don't sound as smart as I do on paper.

So now I walk home by myself. Not exactly how I had planned my summer vacation to start off. It was hot out. I mean really hot. The sweat ran down my back, and the only thing that was keeping me from passing out and laying under a tree for the rest of the night was that thought that when I got home I could sit in front of my TV by myself, a Pepsi in hand, and maybe even sleep. I haven't done much of that lately. I was constantly locked in my room studying. I haven't done as well as I could have lately, really slacking off. But I had to work so hard last year to bring my grades back up to a pass that I think it was well earned. My oldest brother Darrel, of course, had a different opinion on the matter.

My grades were slipping. It seems so stupid now. Do you really want to know why I was slacking off all year? No, you will lose all respect for me. I can't tell you.

I was close to my house now. My pace slowed, even though I wished I could hurry up.

I reached the house, the truck was gone, and I was hoping that Sodapop and Darry were both gone, maybe out to the store, or over at Two-Bit's.

I walked into the house. It was hot. I gasped because it was so hot, and the air was thick. I looked longingly back outside because it was colder out there than it was in here.

I let the screen door slam, my book bag slide off my back. Sodapop was here, and Darrel. So were Steve and Two-Bit.

"Aw great, another set of lungs to take up all the air" Two-Bit said, he was sitting in front of the fan with Sodapop and Steve.

"If it's so hot then why are you all here?" I snapped, "Don't you have your own houses?"

"What are you all bent about?" Darrell asked, he was flipping through the TV channels.

I sighed, "Nothing," and looked around for something to do.

"How did your geography exam go?" Darry stood up now, looking at me.

"Good, I guess. I don't know really."

"What do you mean 'you don't know'?"

"I mean 'I don't know', all right?" I snapped and walked into my room. I shut the door behind me, careful not to slam it because I had just gotten that lecture on the weekend.

Big mistake, because this room must have been the hottest room in the house.

"He's been that way all month now," Darry said loudly.

"Hell," I heard Sodapop say, breathing heavy, "He's been like that all year,"

"We all know why-" Steve started deeply.

"Don't talk about it Steve, that's not something he needs to be thinking about now; it's his summer vacation,"

"Well that's when it happened-" Steve started then stopped abruptly.

Just drop it Steve I thought

They thought that by me hearing them bring it up I would start thinking about her. As if I don't think about her all the time anyways.

I heard them all whispering outside my door, and I stuck my head out. They stopped.

"Hi Pone, are you hungry?" Sodapop asked; his voice rather shaky. I rolled my eyes and shut the door again. I grabbed my pencil case and notebook and jumped out the window which was ajar.

I settled myself into the grass, which, even thought it was starting to brown from dehydration, was still comfy as I ever remembered it. I lied back and looked up at the sky. It was really blue today, and I was probably going to get a hell of sunburn lying out here. But I wouldn't really mind to tell you the truth. I rolled onto my stomach and flipped through my notebook. Through drawings and short letters and stories. Then to an envelope, packed thickly, which I picked up, then set aside gently. To an empty page and messily sketched our truck, which I could see from the yard.

I looked down, studied it, then crumpled it up and turned to another new page. I wrote the date in the top right corner, June 27 1967

Then I stopped, my hand hovering over the paper. What next?

Nice weather, huh?

I rubbed it out the second I finished writing it. Don't resort to small talk, I commanded myself.

Is the weather nice where you are?

Damnit Ponyboy! I thought, rubbing that out too. That's an even worse display of small talk.

What did I even want to say in this letter? That I'm miserable? That I can't stand being here without you?

No, I thought, I want to tell her the truth. I want her to know that I'm going to keep living my life thinking about her, and that I hope that she is happy.

And I hope she'll come back to me really, really, really soon.

But how do I put all that into words? I had more trouble writing these letters than I had writing my one thousand word essay on pig intestines.

Fine, since I can't seem to find anything better to do, I'll tell you the reason for my grade trouble.

The trouble was… ugh god I can't tell you.

Okay, fine, it was a girl.

A girl who, maybe I wasn't supposed to like but I did anyways. And she liked me too. Even if it took a lot work to make her like me, she did and I know that now. But I guess now is too late.

I took the envelope into my hands and read the front, in my messy handwriting it read:

Shelby Roxanne Matthews

469 Eldrocks Lane

Wisenville, South Carolina

USA

All I needed was a zip code, but I still didn't have it.

I took the first letter out; I think there was about twenty-five now. When I first started, I wrote one once a week. Then once every two weeks, and now once a month. But not because I have to, because I feel like I might actually get the courage to send them to her. I'm a coward though, because I keep them behind my dresser, under a floorboard. Because if my brothers saw them, they would sock me good.

Though the last year has been rough for me, I know that it has been worth it. I have loved someone more than I thought was possible, and that feeling is worthy of anything.

Just the thought of seeing Shelby Roxanne Matthews again on my front step is enough to make me lie in bed for hours, not getting any sleep, but feeling better than sleep could have ever made me.

And I smiled now as I read the first letter I wrote to her. And I remembered that each and every letter I wrote to her was signed,

I love you and I miss you,

Ponyboy

That's right I, Ponyboy Michael Curtis, have fallen in love.