On a Long Road

2. Boys Home

I wipe my eyes with my sleeve when I notice how the man behind the steering wheel is catching glimpses of me through the rear view mirror. I blink hard and look down at my lap, clenching my hands. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry; I'm tougher than that. But when I take a shaky breath, I can still feel the lump in my throat. It seems like I can't swallow it down.

In the passenger seat, Ms. West turns slightly in her seat.

"Are you all right, Ponyboy?"

I don't trust my voice, so I don't answer. I pretend I don't hear her, and luckily, she doesn't repeat herself. She just throws a glance at the man, then looks back at me for a while, before she turns forward again.

I turn my gaze to the window, trying to figure out where we're going, how far away they will take me, but I don't recognize the view. I don't think I have been in this part of town before. It seems nicer than my own neighborhood; there's no trash on the street, no cracked windows on the buildings, and the cars parked here and there are not only rusty, old jalopys. But that doesn't matter, I don't care about nice.

In bad moments I have imagined this - being taken away from Darry, I mean - but I never thought it would really happen. I know the threat has hung over us since our parents' accident, but it has never been like this before. Never because of these reasons. In the beginning, they just cared about the money situation, if Darry could afford taking care of us, and being able to be there if we needed something. I remember that was almost the only thing Ms. West asked him about when she came to check on us the day after the funeral. His answers made her satisfied, and me and Soda had to just stay out of trouble, and we would be fine.

And then everything happened, with Bob Sheldon and Johnny and Dally, barely two months ago. The Social services never said anything to us, but it was obvious they had thoughts about pulling me away from home then. It even said so in the newspaper, that was where I found out about it. I was so scared that they would do it. But they never did - they just left us alone after the hearing.

And now they think Darry is some kind of abuser, and it's my fault. He said it was his, but it's not. I wrote the words. But I don't understand - I know I wrote about the good things too, that everything is all right between us now, and I know that Mr. Syme had Darry in his class when he went to High school. Why did he do this to us?

I finger on the door handle, wondering if I can jump out in the speed, but then I look up and see how the man pulls the car into a parking lot and cuts off the engine.

I don't want to move. Through the windscreen I can see a high metal fence, and behind it some brick buildings, the largest three stores high.

Ms. West looks at her wrist watch. "Just in time for supper," she says, too happily.

We climb out of the car. The man takes out my suitcase, but he doesn't hand it to me, instead he just places his other hand on my shoulder again. His grip is hard, telling me to not even try to run. It's like he can read my thoughts.

We cross the pavement to the gate, and while Ms. West opens it by pressing in a code, the man mutters beside me. "We have some trouble with runaways."

I remember what Curly Shepard has told me about the reformatory, with its locked doors and guards, but I'm not a criminal. I have done nothing wrong.

"It's for safety for the boys," Ms. West says flatly, and pushes the gate open. "It keeps people out, too."

We walk up the gravel to the front doors. It's light inside, and kind of nice, I guess. There are big pottery plants on the floor, and a counter with a woman sitting behind it. She's in her forties, with blond, curly hair and a happy face.

"Good evening, Ms. West, Mr. Johnson," she says. Then to me, "Welcome to Tulsa's home for boys. I am Mrs. Williams."

I stare down at the carpet. The hand around my shoulder tightens, he still has not let go of me, but I can't talk. Then I will break down, and I refuse to break down here.

"This is Ponyboy Curtis," Ms. West explains when she realizes I won't say anything. "He's in emergency care, judge Arnold Stone took him out from his home just two hours ago."

Mrs. Williams looks at me with pity, and I feel my cheeks burn. I know what they all are thinking, but they are wrong. I'm not some abused, neglected kid.

"Does he need a medical examination?"

I want to tell them I don't; I'm not hurt, but Ms. West nods and agrees, and she puts up her portfolio on the desk and opens it. A bunch of paper, with my name written in a white square on the front page, switch hands.

I guess I'm delivered properly when Ms. West suddenly says goodbye and tells me she will be here tomorrow again, and then she and Mr. Johnson walk out through the doors. I stand awkwardly on the floor, with my suitcase next to my feet and my jacket in my hands. My mind still tells me to run, to go home, but I know what my brothers said. It's just for a week, and I will behave. I won't give them anything to be wanting to keep me here.

"Follow me, please." Mrs. Williams has my folder in her hands, and I leave my things and do as she says. We walk down a hallway with closed doors on both sides. "Dr. Moore will check you first, and then you will see our supervisor, Mr. Marshal." She stops outside a door and opens it. I glance inside. It looks like a doctor's examine room, and Mrs. William's smiles reassuringly.

"You can wait in here and the doctor will be there in a minute."

She leaves me and I sit down on the edge of a chair. Warily I look around the room - at the examine table, at the poster on the wall that is showing the insides of the body, muscles and the skeleton. It's nasty. Another poster holds the words Child abuse?, a picture of a kid who's crying and underneath it, phone numbers to call to prevent it. I shudder.

It's so quiet. There's a phone in the corner, and I'm thinking of using it to calling Darry and Soda, but I'm afraid that will get me into trouble. Instead I rub my palms on my jeans and wait, wishing I had a cigarette, but I left my jacket with my suitcase.

It feels like at least half an hour passes before Dr. Moore shows up with a nurse in tow. I stand up.

"Hello, Ponyboy." He shakes my hand with a smile, then points at the table. "Can you please take a seat?"

I slowly go there and climb up. I hate having to do this. The nurse doesn't say a word as she rolls up my sleeve and takes my blood pressure, and then picks out a syringe in a plastic bag from a drawer. I jerk away, but she catches my arm.

"I just need a little blood."

I look away with a grimace as I feel the needle prick my skin.

When she's done, she leaves the room, and Dr. Moore tells me to undress. I jump down to the floor again, turn my back against him and drag my shirt over my head, then unbuttoning my jeans. It's uncomfortable standing in just my boxers in front of him, as he lifts my arms and pokes at every inch of my skin. I know he's probably looking for signs of abuse; wounds or scars, but I know he won't find any.

"You have a bruise here. You know how you got it?"

I look down on my arm. Right over my elbow the skin is blue and purple.

"It's just a bruise." I have finally found my voice again, but I hate that I sound like a scared little kid.

"It's not just a bruise if someone caused it." Dr. Moore's eyes find mine. "Do you want to tell me something?"

"What?" I say quietly, staring at him. I think I know what he's trying to imply.

"You can trust me."

This is ridiculous and I manage to roll my eyes.

"I'm just clumsy sometimes," I say. "I get bruises, everyone does."

"Are you... clumsy... often?"

I wonder if he think's I'm stupid, because I'm sure thinking that about him.

"No one hits me," I retort, harshly this time. I have to defend Darry.

Dr. Moore blinks. He looks at me as though he doesn't believe me, and I really want to get out of here. I want Sodapop to come. I cross my arms in front of me, dipping my head. Suddenly I feel very naked under his stare.

"Okay," Dr. Moore says finally, leaving the subject. But he's not finished yet. I have to stand on the scale, and then he checks my height, before I'm allowed to get dressed again, and I do it quickly while he writes something down, sitting by the small desk.

"You are a bit underweight," he says as I stick my feet into my shoes. "You have to come back in a week, so I can do another checkup, okay?"

I'm close to telling him I won't be here in a week, but I don't.

xXx

Mrs. Williams comes back.

"Did it went well?" She smiles at me again. Dr. Moore nods and hands her the paper, and she takes it. I follow her out in the hallway again. I feel tired. I shouldn't be here. I'm sure there are a lot of other kids that need to be rescued, but I'm not one of them. I don't belong here.

"I'm not abused," I suddenly hear myself say out loud. "I should go home."

She gets that pitying look on her face again. "You're safe here, Ponyboy," she says, obviously trying to comfort me.

"I'm safe at home!"

"Well, Mr. Marshal wants to see you now, and then we will have to get you something to eat. Supper-time is almost finished in the cafeteria I'm afraid."

No one listens to me. We're going back through the hallway again, and then through another door, to another man, sitting behind his big desk. He's almost completely bald, but he doesn't look old. I notice he has the folder with my name on it in front of him.

"From Dr. Moore," Mrs. Williams says and gives him the paper. I wonder what it says.

"Thank you. Please sit down... Ponyboy? Or is it Michael?"

"It's Ponyboy," I mumble and take a seat in the chair across from him. Mrs. Williams leaves again, and I throw a glance at the door as she closes it.

Mr. Marshal reads the paper he got from her, then put it in the folder and places his hands over it.

"So here is the situation," he says. "Children's Welfare made the decision that you needed to be removed from your home in an instant, due to new information about your safety. You are in the custody of the state for the moment, but there will be a hearing about it next week. What do you feel about this?"

I feel my hope rise slightly. "I want to go home," I hurry to say. "This is a mistake."

"You want to live at home?"

"Yeah."

His eyes are dull. "But your parents are dead," he says, like that would change my mind.

I take a breath. It's still hard to talk about my parents. "Yeah," I mumble, leaning back. "I live with my brothers. My oldest brother Darry is my guardian."

"Was, I believe."

I look down at my lap. "Will he get the custody back?" I ask, afraid of the answer. But Darry promised me. He said I would come home.

"It depends. If the state can make sure you're absolutely safe with him, then yes. But if there are any ambiguities, I doubt it. We only want what's best for you, and I hope you realize that. Since you are an orphan, maybe a decent foster home is what you need."

I feel the lump in my throat coming back.

"We could place you in a temporary foster home until the hearing, but unfortunately we don't have any proper family for you right now, and all our emergency care families are filled, so you will probably be staying here. But we do our best to make this place like a home for all the boys that we can't place in actual families. We receive boys in the age from twelve up to seventeen, who's home lives fail in - "

I tune him out. Suddenly it feels like days have passed since I last saw my brothers, but it's just about two hours ago. Two hours feel so long - how am I supposed to manage a week? I won't do it. I swallow and swallow. He's talking about foster homes, but I can't live in another family. Sweat starts to run down my back, and I clench my hands and open them.

It feels like I want to throw up.

"Bathroom?" I manage to choke out, interrupting Mr. Marshal in the middle of his speech.

He stops talking, raising his eyebrows. "Yes, of course. Go out in the hallway, and it's the third door on the right."

I flee. I find the door and stumble inside and lock it, and then I sink down to the floor and put the heels of my hands into my eyes, push them in so hard it hurts. This is not happening. This is one of my nightmares, it must be. And when I wake up Soda will be there, and we can laugh about this stupid dream together.

But I know it is real, and Soda is not here, and I groan when I think of sleeping in another bed. How am I supposed to be able to do that without waking up screaming? So much has happened today, I just know I won't be able to sleep tonight.

Even though part of me wishes for it, I can't hide in the bathroom forever. So about ten minutes later, I stand up on shaky legs, and I take a leak and wash my hands and my face. I'm ready to face this again, I have to tell myself. It won't get better sitting here feeling sorry for myself. I just have to persuade everyone in this place that I'm much better living with Darry. I can do that. I have to believe that I can.

xXx

Mrs. Williams takes me to the empty cafeteria, and apologizes that I have to eat by myself. But I don't mind. I think I prefer it.

The place kind of reminds me of the cafeteria in school - the tables with the plastic chairs, and the counter where you get your food. But my plate is already on the table for me, along with a glass of milk. I sit down and lift my fork, knowing I won't get a bite down. I think of Darry's baked chicken, of Soda's colorful food. I wonder what they will eat tonight, if they can eat. We didn't have the time for dinner before Ms. West showed up. I put the fork back down and take a sip of my milk, but it doesn't taste of anything either. I put my elbows on the table and lean my head in my hands.

"Ponyboy?"

I look up, blinking.

"You haven't eaten anything?" Mrs. Williams stares down at my untouched food.

"I ain't hungry," I mumble.

She looks at me in disapproval. "Well, I can't give you anything else later." Then her face softens again, like she understands. "I can show you to your room instead."

My suitcase stands beside the door, and I pick it up. As we walk up the stairs to the second floor, Mrs. Williams keeps chattering, and I try to listen, but it's hard.

"... ten o'clock. There are of course no smoking inside, and you have to leave your suitcase with one of the staff members so they can check it for forbidden items. But I'm sure Mr. Marshal has already told you this."

Maybe he did. I don't know.

We go into a room, and I have to leave my suitcase and jacket with a fat woman in her fifties.

"I'm so sorry for this," Mrs. Williams says. "But it happens; some boys bring drugs or weapons when they come here."

I feel how I pale a bit, knowing about the switch blade in my pocket. Then I remember what she said about smoking. My hands are already a bit jittery from the lack of nicotine, and I turn my head at the direction of the other woman, worried. Her face is concentrated as she flips through my clothes. She only look up when she finds the pack of Kool's and the lighter in my jacket, a brief glance at me as she puts them to the side.

When she's done, she comes over to me.

"Show me your jeans pockets."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Feeling awkward I shove down my hands to turn the pockets inside out. I realize it's probably no use to even try to hide it, so I pick up the blade immediately, handing it over. The woman snorts at me, and then we can go.

Mrs. Williams doesn't say anything about me bringing weapons, just takes me further down the hall. We walk through a big room with couches and tables. There are bookcases with books and games along one of the walls, and a ping-pong table stands in a corner. A TV is placed against another wall. It's turned off, but a radio next to it plays an Elvis song. The room is filled with boys, and most of them turn their heads and look at me as we pass. My cheeks burn again.

We walk around a corner, and then Mrs. Williams suddenly stops outside a door. "Here it is."

Nervously I follow her inside. The room has two bunk beds and two closets. That's all. I almost expect grids on the window, but there aren't any - just the dark sky outside the glass.

"It can seem a little sparse," Mrs. Williams apologizes. "But it's a temporary room and you will only spend your time sleeping in here."

The bed in the bottom to the right is mine. I go sit down on it, since it feels like my legs won't bear me so much longer. I feel like crying again, but I really can't do that. Not in here.

"The bathroom is down the hallway. Maybe you should unpack?"

I think it's the last thing I want to do. I'm not staying.

"Okay."

A few minutes later she's gone again, and I'm alone. What am I supposed to do now? I stare at my shoes.

I don't know how long time that pass and I just sit here, but suddenly the door opens and my head snaps up. Three boys walk in, but only the first nods at me, before plopping down on his own bed, across from mine. The other two climb up to the top bed above him, and start to deal out cards.

"Who are you?" Blue eyes are staring at me, a bit hostile.

"Ponyboy Curtis," I mumble, cursing myself. I know I need to toughen up. The boy talking to me is dressed like a middle class kid, but one of the others has his hair greased back, like me. Now he leans over the rail of the top bed, squinting his eyes.

"What did you say?"

"Ponyboy Curtis," I say a little louder.

"You're kiddin' me," the first boy says. "Ponyboy? Really? Got many horses with you?" He laughs at his own joke. I know I probably should come up with a smart retort, but I can never do that. I'm not used to talking that much. I decide to just keep quiet, maybe I can avoid some trouble if I do.

"You're Sodapop's brother then?"

Surprised, I look up at the greaser. "You know Soda?"

"Nah, not really. I know who he is, shared a couple o' classes in High school freshman year. But I haven't been around since my old man got to jail." He picks up the cards lying in front of him, and he and the chubby boy start a game I don't recognize. I look at the boy in the bottom bed again, but his stare makes me uncomfortable. I look away.

God, I need to smoke. Real bad. It crawls in my skin. I pick up my suitcase and place it on the bed. I know it's pointless, they have searched through it, and it's just clothes and books in it, but I hope to find a cigarette anyway, just one, please just one...

There isn't any. I sigh.

The room is silent, except from the soft sound of flipping cards and low curses. "Hey, don't cheat," the chubby boy suddenly says.

I come to think of Soda and Steve, and all the places they try to hide the aces as they play. I want to go home so badly. I know I can't, but I don't have to stay here, in this room, and be reminded. I rise and reach for the door. I almost run to the bathroom, but apparently I walk in the wrong direction, because I end up in the room with the couches. There are still some boys there, and this time the TV is on, showing some comedy show.

I ignore everyone and take the stairs. Mrs. Williams is not behind the counter this time, and I rush to the front doors, just to find them locked. Half heartedly I tug at them, already knowing there's no use. They won't let me out.

"You're not supposed to do that."

Thank you so, so much for the respond on the first chapter. It really means a lot! I hope you like this chapter too.

And I want to say... I have tried to do a lot of research, but either it's hard to find information or I don't know where to look. So this story might not always follow the reality. I mix the info I find with my own imagination, and I hope that's okay with you.

Beta-read by xXxAngel-With-A-ShoutgunxXx