Okay, this one is still third person (which I'm hoping to use straight through the entire story) but the first little bit follows George Mansfield and the second kind of merges together, but is mainly focusing on Emma.

Any suggestions or constructive criticism or whatever are glady welcomed.

And the lyrics are from This Ride by The Starting Line.


"What do you see when you look at me?"

"Look, Tim, you know I enjoy these little meetings just as much as you do, but I've got a dinner to get home to. Just tell me what you know about the stolen Chevy, an' you can go," Mr. Mansfield said, resting his hands on the metal table and staring into the eldest Shepard's eyes. Most of the other kids he had worked with would look away real quick, but Timothy never did.

Instead, his black eyes stared straight into George's brown ones. "What makes you so sure I didn't steal it?" he drawled, balancing his chair on its back two feet.

"You may not be a saint, but you sure as hell aren't stupid either, and the person that took that car was dumber 'an a doorknob."

It was true, and George could readily admit it. Tim Shepard was smarter than almost anyone. Mr. Mansfield had seen him a lot in the two years that he'd been working with the Tulsa PD, and he could even admire the boy. True, he made his job a pain in the ass, but George still wanted to believe that maybe the boy would turn around one of these days, realize the error of his ways.

"Maybe you overestimate me," Tim shot back, raising his eyebrows a little.

George sighed and rubbed his temple. "Do you want me to throw you in a cell for grand theft auto? Cause that's what you're askin' for. Now I know you didn't do it, so give me the name of the person who did and you can go."

"Alright, alright," Tim said, letting his chair drop back down to all fours and leaning forward. Mr. Mansfield subconsciously tilted towards him, ready to hear the name.

"So you got me, I didn't take the car…"

But I know who did, George mentally prompted, waiting eagerly.

"But… what makes you think I know who did?"

George let out a frustrated sigh. This kid found fun in making things impossible. "Cause it was taken on your territory and you and I both know that you know everything that goes on in your neighborhood. Now stop bullshitting me, Shepard. I like you, kid, but I'm hungry and you don't wanna mess with me when I haven't eaten in a while."

He tried his best to give the kid a sharp look, but he knew it wasn't working. If Tim didn't want to tell who stole that Chevy, he wouldn't. And he clearly did not want to cooperate.

"Well, now, George, I just can't seem to remember… funny thing, that memory, ain't it?" He was smirking, and Mr. Mansfield knew that there was nothing else he could do.

So, with a slow, disappointed shake of his head, he gestured for Tim to stand up and strode over to the door of the interrogation cell. Just before he unlocked it, he turned back to look Shepard in the eye, "I suggest you tell your brother to stop pulling stupid pranks that'll get him into trouble, and if you decide that a good scaring by the cops will straighten him out, you give me a call. Understand?"

It was a long shot, but George was nearly sure that the car thief had been Curly Shepard. The kid wasn't nearly as smart as his brother, or if he was he hid it well. He was hoping to catch Tim off guard with his comment and get him to make some indication that George had gotten it right, but Tim Shepard was nothing if not sharp.

"I don't have a clue what you're talkin' about; go home, George, you obviously need some sleep."

It wasn't more than five minutes later that Tim was pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and ambling down the stairs to the police station, out into the sunlight.

George watched him for a minute, thinking about how sad it would be if Tim didn't get his act together and make something out of himself, but then he shook his head and grabbed his car keys to start the drive home.

Dinner was waiting.


By the time Mr. Mansfield got home at six, Pony and Emma were talking and laughing easily.

He stepped in the front door and hung up his cap and jacket, walking in to the kitchen. "What's for dinner?" he asked, giving his wife a kiss.

"Pot roast."

A burst of laughter sounded from down the hall, and he turned to look toward the noise with a frown. "What's goin' on?" He asked.

His wife smiled happily, "Emma's got a friend over. He's helping her with English."

"He?" Mr. Mansfield's voice instantly got a little gruffer, and his wife only swatted him playfully on the arm.

"He's a very nice boy. Shier than all get out, but a sweet boy nonetheless. Don't you go barging in there and scare him, ya hear me?"

Mr. Mansfield put on his best innocent face and wandered on out of the kitchen. "I just want to say hi to my daughter, Diane." He straightened his shiny gold police badge and adjusted his gun holster just before he knocked and walked in, falling into the protective father role he had never had to play before.

This was the first boy he'd heard of his stepdaughter associating with, and it made him nervous. She was sixteen, just a baby, really.

"Em, I'm ho—oh, well now, who's this?" he asked, as if he hadn't already known.

His eyes studied the boy carefully, noticing the way he instantly tensed. The kid's face was hard, defensive, but his eyes were young and innocent. His hair was greased back and he wore jeans and a tee shirt. This was no Debate Club president, that was for sure. Still, even though his police experience told him the kid might be dangerous, George Mansfield's instinct told him not to overreact.

Besides, after spending half the day with the oldest Shepard boy, George felt that this kid was a relief.

Emma hopped up from the bed and came over to give her father a hug. She pushed up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Dad, this is Ponyboy Curtis. He's helping me with English. Ponyboy, this is my stepdad."

Pony nodded warily but didn't say anything, to Emma's surprise. He had been talking easily with her for two hours at least, and had even spoken with her mom when she had brought in a snack for them. So why was he suddenly so quiet again?

Mr. Mansfield, seeing that his presence was bothering the kid, excused himself and returned to the kitchen. He was still frowning over it when his wife looked up at him.

"What is it?"

"That kid, Diane, I'm not sure about him…"

She sighed and rolled her eyes a little, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"No, I'm serious. He's too nervous around me…" George insisted, peering around the wall toward his stepdaughter's room.

"Maybe you scared him," she said accusingly.

"Exactly!" George whispered loudly. "He's afraid of the police. Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?"

Diane turned away from the stove, wiping her hands on a tea towel, "He's just a kid, George. Now I like him just fine so you leave him alone." She gave her husband a stern glance and the middle-aged man looked slightly humbled.

Perhaps his wife was right. Maybe he was overreacting.

After a few more minutes, Diane Mansfield started setting the table.

"Go tell the kids it's ready, will you, Honey? And ask Emma's friend if he'd like to stay for supper."

George told his son first, who hurried off to where the food was, ruled by his stomach. Then he frowned a little and plastered a smile to his face as he opened Emma's door. "Dinner's ready. Ponyboy, you're welcome to stay and eat."

The kid's smile instantly disappeared as George walked in, and he just stood, shaking his head. "Why not, Ponyboy? It's the least we can do, after you helped me so much."

"Naw, I oughta get back home anyway. My brother'll skin me if I ain't home by dinnertime. I'll see you in school tomorrow."

He gathered his books up and gave Emma a little smile and George a stiff nod as he walked out. George raised an eyebrow at his daughter, but she shrugged. "Oh no, his money! I forgot to pay him, Dad!"

Mr. Mansfield, at his daughter's insistence, hurried out the front door after the kid and jogged up to him. "Son, wait!"

Ponyboy stopped dead in his tracks and turned slowly to face him. "We forgot to pay you." George pulled a dollar bill out of his wallet and started to hand it to the kid, but Pony's face darkened.

"I don't need your money."

For a second, George was taken aback, surprised at how upset this boy seemed. "I didn't say that, Son, but you helped my daughter and it's only right that I pay you."

Grudgingly, Pony took the bill and stuffed it in his pocket before starting his walk home again, leaving Mr. Mansfield standing in the yard with a confused frown on his face.