It was dinnertime at the Curtis household. Ponyboy, a growing teen with an enormous appetite to begin with, wasn't inhaling his food like usual.
For the umpteenth time, Ponyboy fingered his bleached hair. And it was starting to get on Darry's nerves. "It's so prissy..." Ponyboy muttered in disgust. It had been a long day at work and Darry was irritable. Thirty minutes and seven hair-rescuing attempts later, Darry lost it.
He slammed his platter down and turned to Sodapop, who was forking down some chicken, and asked, "doesn't that bother you at all?!"
Soda slowed his eating, but not enough to talk normally. With a mouthful of food, he managed to say, "wah bohohs meh?"
Darry groaned. "He's been fiddling with his hair like some kinda Soc. All week!"
"But Darry," Ponyboy whined, "I look like some kinda Soc!" He fisted his hair and almost pulled it out to make his point.
" If it bothers you so much, why don't you have a haircut to even out your hair? It's still frayed from the fire." Soda gestured to the nape of Pony's neck, where hair was growing unevenly. "Then you dye it. You just gotta work from the roots out."
"That's enough," Darry muttered. "Now forget about it and eat your dinner."
--------- 3 days later -----------------
An anxious Ponyboy snuck into the house, brown hair-dye in hand. He hoped Darry didn't come home from work early, or all his efforts would be in vain. He'd raced from school to the drugstore to his house, a total distance of three miles, in little under 20 minutes. Restoring his hair was Pony's top priority, even above being a greaser. Scissors, scissors... They had to be around the house somewhere. After five minutes of searching, he gave up and headed for a different room. It wasn't like it was going to be hard to convince Darry to let him cut his hair. No, it was the thing he was going to do next that Darry would never approve of.
Deep breaths, Ponyboy. You can do this. Taking the bottle of hair-dye out of the container and throwing the container away, he shook it good before applying it from the roots out, like how Soda told him to. He figured he needed to spread the colored gunk out, so he ran his fingers through his hair. What happens after that?
When he was with Johnny, they let his hair dry for about ten minutes in the sun. He really objected going outside while dying his hair; it would demolish his reputation as a Greaser. He decided to wait it out in his room before washing it out later. Pony waited patiently on his bed.
---------------
Sodapop opened the front door, very satisfied with his job at work. "Ponyboy! You home?" Nothing. He was about to go to the kitchen and fix up a snack, when he heard a yelp coming from Ponyboy's and his room. "Pony?" The door creaked open, revealing...
"Soda!" Ponyboy was sitting on his bed, face beet red with mortification. His hair and hands contained clumps of what appeared to be vibrant red goo. Soda stifled a snicker; his brother looked like a Ronald Mc Donald impersonator. "I-I swear, I was just trying to change my hair color back to the way it was-"
"And now you and your hands are bright red. Shoot, kid. This is what happens when you hear things but don't listen to all of it." Ponyboy nodded sheepishly. "We'll have you cleaned up before Darry comes home. Just don't do it again, okay?"
Ponyboy nodded and sighed in relief while crossing his fingers. Next time, he would get it just right. And he would start with the scissors.
-------
Yeah, it's really short, but the assignment was to make the story under 600 words. I'm sorry if it sucked!! Constructive criticism is appreciated.