Guiding Destiny
Chapter 2
I gaped at Ponyboy. Something was horribly wrong. "Uh . . . it's me, Pony. You know – your sister. Remember?" I finished feebly, then bit down on my bottom lip.
Ponyboy shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry, but this isn't right. I don't want to hurt your feelings or anything, but I just don't know you. So maybe you should just move along, go ahead home." He motioned as if to shoo me away.
My heart weighed heavily in my chest, and I wondered how much I should tell him. "Okay, look," I started, trying for honesty, even if he was going to think I was insane, "you aren't . . . real."
He stared at me and gave an impatient circular wave of his hand.
"I mean, you're very real to so many people, but the fact is, you're a character. In a book." I waited for the men in white coats to come and pick me up, thereby completely mutilating my story.
Ponyboy waved a hand again like he wanted me to continue. "Yeah, I know that. But what exactly are you doing here?"
It was my turn to stare. "You . . . you know? You know that you're a character in a book?" I must have looked like I'd just seen, oh, I don't know . . . something really surprising. I made a mental note to buy a thesaurus.
He looked impatient. "Of course I know. I go through the same routine fifty-thousand times a day. Sometimes for the same people, day after day."
"I . . . wow." I couldn't get over it. He knew? "But, well . . . wait a minute. How come you noticed me? People do this all the time, and everything just moves along and nobody ever says anything."
Ponyboy gazed at me for a moment before finally throwing his arms up in disgust. "You just can't take a hint, can you?" he asked. "Well, forget it. I'm not going through this again."
"Again?" I hurried after him when he started walking.
"Yeah, again," he said, clearly annoyed. "You jump into my story, take over everything, and change everybody. Nothing comes out the way it's supposed to in the end."
"But," I panted (he's got some long legs), "that's the whole idea. I can make things different. I can keep Johnny and Dally from dying. I can -"
I almost ran into Ponyboy when he stopped abruptly and turned to face me. "What? You can what? Do you have any idea what happens if Johnny and Dally don't die? There's no story! The plot would be non-existent!" I took a step back, throw off by his frustration. "I mean, seriously, what would the story be about?"
"It would . . . ." I stopped to think, and Ponyboy waggled a finger at me.
"Uh-huh, yeah. That's what I thought. Who on earth wants to read a book about a bunch of thugs that nothing happens to? Why would my English teacher care in the least to read about my pathetic life? And why would I even write about it, if I hadn't been inspired by my new understanding of Johnny and Dally, and everything they died for?"
"I -"
"It doesn't make sense!" he went on passionately, giving me an accusing look. "And you probably didn't even bother to develop a plot, did you?"
I stiffened. This was getting to be a bit much. There was no reason to throw insults around. "Of course I did," I snapped.
He crossed his arms expectantly.
"I . . . well, it's about . . . I'm your sister, and . . . you and I are very close and get along really well." I paused, but then continued when he didn't make any comments about the obvious flaw with that one. "Soda is very protective of me, and Darry gets a little frustrated with me, even though I'm kind of tough. Stuff in the book kind of happens, but I'm there, and -"
"So what difference would it make if you're there or not? If you change the ending, there's no book; I never would have written it," he cut in. "And if you just go along for the ride, then I have to stand aside and watch everybody act like idiots over you and pretend I actually like you." He shook his head and started walking again. "Well, not this time, sister. Forget it."
I stumbled after him again. "What do you mean, not this time? That's not fair!" Something occurred to me. "Why would everybody else be acting like idiots? Don't they . . . know?"
"No, they don't," he said without slowing down or turning to look at me. "They just do whatever they're supposed to do, and anyone new who comes along fits right into their memories." A slow grin spread across Ponyboy's face. My stomach clench up a little. "You want fair?" he asked, stopping and turning to look me in the eye.
I paused. "Uh . . . I guess so."
"Fine." He grinned in a manner that didn't at all make me feel happy or comfortable. "I'll give you two chapters. You have the next two chapters to come up with some sort of a plot, and to make this story worth reading. If you can't do it, you're out of here."
A surge of panic shot through me. "A plot?"
"Yeah, a plot. But this time," he went on, pointing a finger at me, "I am not relinquishing control. Everybody acts the way they're supposed to; so if you want in, you suck it up and go along with it."
I nodded. "Yeah," I agreed, more so that I could prove him wrong at that point than for any other reason. "Okay, deal. You keep control of everyone, and I'll make up the plot." My knees gave a quiver.
"First off," Pony asked, eyeing me closely, "what's your name?"
I smiled. "Destiny."
Ponyboy kind of smirked and shook his head.
I frowned. "Sparkle? Jade? Uh . . ."
"Something a little less . . . original," he said.
"Like Kayleigh?"
"Whatee?"
"Right. Okay, then maybe you have a suggestion?" I was starting to get annoyed. I mean, this was supposed to be my story, after all, and I couldn't pick my own name?
My pretend-brother thought for a second. "How about Sarah? You kind of look like a Sarah."
Sarah. I nodded, realizing he could throw me out of the story at any time if I didn't get on his good side. "Sarah it is, then," I agreed. "It's a nice name."
"And your hair," he went on. "We need to do something about your hair."
I reached up to my head. "My hair? What's wrong with it?"
"Well, for starters, does that color even exist anywhere in this universe? And second, it needs to be shorter. Nobody who's only been alive for thirteen years has hair that long. I mean look," he pointed, "it's just about touching the sidewalk!"
"But I -"
"Shorter," he persisted.
I sighed. "Okay, okay. Shorter hair, and golden blonde." Ponyboy gave a slight shake of his head. "Blonde?" I clenched my teeth. "Alright! Brown hair! I will have boring old shoulder-length brown hair!" I squinted my eyes. "Can I at least have a few ringlets around my ears?"
"No. Next, your eyes. It's like, I can see the ocean in them."
I smiled. "Yes! They're deep blue, like the -"
"No, no. I can see the ocean – waves, sand, seagulls . . . that's just wrong. You can't be that literal. Fix it."
I sighed. "Alright. They're just blue. Sky blue."
Pony shook his head. "Green."
I was flabbergasted. "But . . . but you don't like people who have -"
"Green!" he ordered, narrowing his eyes when I started to argue again.
"Oh, alright already! Have it your way. My eyes are green, and now you have an actual reason to not like me." I gave him what I hoped was a ferocious glare.
Ponyboy replied with a slight smile that only made me more annoyed, and then he glanced behind us before I could make any more arguments. "Okay, here we go."
I realized then that five well-dressed and fairly hot young guys were piling out of a red car and heading toward us. They were all smiling in a nice friendly way, so I smiled back.
"Don't say a word," Ponyboy breathed, hitching his thumbs in his pockets, and I realized that these were the scary rich guys who mugged, name-called, raped, pillaged, burned villages – that sort of thing.
I stood there next to Ponyboy while the Socs surrounded us and commented about grease and haircuts. Things were getting tense, and they were standing so close I could smell somebody's breath. "Leave us alone!" I suddenly shouted without thinking, because to be honest, I was getting scared and had forgotten that I had inserted myself into a story. Ponyboy shot me a look, and the five boys just kind of laughed.
"Your girlfriend has a big mouth," one of them said. The Soc who had spoken motioned to one of the other boys, who took a hold of my arm and held on tight while the others were all over Ponyboy, holding a knife to his throat.
I started screaming. In fact, I was screaming so loud I hardly noticed Ponyboy's yelling. I kind of knew what was going to happen, but I tell you, right in the midst of it, it was just downright scary, and I didn't do any of the tough exciting things that I had thought I would. I just screamed. Uselessly. The boy who was holding my arm got a hand over my mouth, and I couldn't do anything about it. He was bigger than me, and stronger, and I couldn't even bite him because my mouth was closed. For a second I thought that I would suffocate.
Just when I was starting to wonder frantically how I could get myself out of my story, he dropped me like a hot potato and took off. Within a few seconds I realized somebody had already dragged Ponyboy to his feet and was headed toward me next. Darry! A rush of excitement ran through me. I took a deep breath and prepared to make a few snide little remarks if he gave me any problems.
He yanked me to my feet and gave me a shake. "Good Lord, Sarah Jean, what in hell were you thinking, dressing like this? Is there a brain in that head, or do you just enjoy doing stupid things?"
I shrank back a little and tried to swallow the lump in my throat that always appears when somebody, especially large men who I barely know, yell at me. I couldn't seem to control it any better in my story than I could in real life. "I . . . I like low-rise blue jeans," I stammered, crossing my arms across my skin-tight black tank top.
"Like? Like?" he bellowed. "What has gotten into you? You look like a two-dollar whore! And for God's sake, wipe that stuff off your face." He turned his attention to Ponyboy, asking him if he was okay.
I rubbed at my face, certain I hadn't put that much makeup on. The other guys were ambling back by then, and I was fighting hard to not cry. Soda bypassed me after a quick pat on the shoulder and a grin and went straight for Pony. "You got cut up a little, huh?"
As I watched the scene unfold, it took me several minutes to realize that everybody was mostly ignoring me. "So you're out of the cooler, Dally?" I finally piped up at a completely inappropriate time.
They all stared at me like I had a lug nut for a head. Ponyboy looked amused.
"I was thinking of heading over to the Nightly Double tomorrow night, hunt up some action," Dally announced.
"I'll go," I offered.
Darry glared at me, and I quivered. Ponyboy wasn't kidding when he said he's big and scary. "No, you will not," he said, moving on a moment later to okay Ponyboy's involvement in the movie plan.
I was indignant. How was I supposed to be a part of the story if Darry wouldn't let me go to the movies with Ponyboy? And why was Soda focusing so much attention on Ponyboy, and hardly any at all on me? A surprising surge of jealousy shot through me. Pony and I were supposed to be almost exactly alike, and Soda understood us. Both of us. I glared at Ponyboy, but he was involved in a conversation with Soda.
As everyone started to disperse, I followed my story family home, feeling miserable. This was supposed to be my story. I was supposed to be controlling things. Darry was supposed to be frustrated but patient with me, Soda was supposed to console me, and Ponyboy was supposed to understand me.
This was not going the way I had planned it.