The usual: Cursing. Long chapter. SE Hinton owns.

99 Problems

OoO

I take the roads home early in the morning, as the sun's rising. I take them fast too, knowing Soda's probably climbing the walls by now. I haven't called and I always call. I run a hand down my grizzled chin and punch the gas. God, what am I going to tell them?

I almost want to lie, to say I found nothing and be done with it. Yet something tells me the Cowboy will come knocking sooner rather than later.

The best thing to do is just tell the truth. As painful and as hard as that will be.

OoO

"Jesus, Dar, where the hell have you been?"

Darry looks like he's had a long night. Dark circles under his eyes, the beard making him look older than he is. Shutting the door with a quiet clack, he sits on the arm of the couch.

"I've been worried sick," I say, hunting around the living room for my socks. "I didn't know whether to call the cops or call into work or—" That's when I notice the knuckles on his right hand. The skin's shredded across all four of them.

"Whose face you punch?"

"I didn't punch a face," Darry says, glancing around the living room. "Where's Ponyboy?"

"Shower." I find one sock under the couch, the other on top of a lamp. "You should let me look at those. Bandage 'em up."

"I'm okay."

"Darry…" I sink into his recliner. "You want to tell me what happened last night?"

"I talked to Thomas Mercer," he begins slowly and his voice cracks. He props his hands on the thighs of his jeans, muscular arms bulging. Darry sighs. "There's no easy way to say this…but…well, he was right."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Sodapop — and goddamn it – I don't want to believe it but it's true."

I shake my head, refusing to believe. "No, Darry. No it ain't. It can't be."

"Listen, buddy—"

"This is such bullshit, Darry! We're just gonna take some stranger's word for it and—"

"He has pictures, Soda. Letters from mom." I just stare at my oldest brother, wondering how he can be so emotionless and practical. How he can accept it so calmly. "I can't argue with those," Darry wearily continues. "I wanted to…but I couldn't…"

"And me? What'd he say about me?"

Darry's ice-blue eyes go wide. I glance over my shoulder and Ponyboy's standing in the living room. He's dressed, ready for school, his hair still damp and messed from the shower. Pony moves further into the living room. He crosses his arms, defenses up.

"The same thing, Ponyboy," Darry says.

"It's true?"

Darry's Adam's apple bobs. "Kiddo, c'mere…" He sticks an arm out but Pony doesn't budge. Darry speaks carefully. "Listen…I don't want it to be true but…but it seems—it seems like there's a possibility..." Pony pales instantly and Darry hurries on. "This doesn't change a thing, kiddo, you know that right?"

He looks at me. "Soda?" I open my mouth and then Pony takes a step back.

"I have to go to school."

"I can call you out today," Darry says. "I can stay and we can tal—"

"No." Pony shakes his head. His eyes shine. "No, I wanna go. I need to get out of here. You need to work too."

In disbelief I watch as Darry nods and Ponyboy disappears out the front door. It's been five minutes when I realize he's walked out without his backpack or jacket. "I can't believe you just let him walk outta here."

My brother stands, looking lost, like he doesn't know what to do next. "What do you expect me to do, Soda? I can't make him talk."

"But you sure made him listen didn't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, hell, Darry," I say, close to snapping. I lean forward and run a hand through my hair. "You ain't even upset about this. You just walk in and tell us mom had an affair and Pony has a different father like you're ordering a beer at a bar. How come you're buying this shit so easily?"

"Soda," Darry says, and his voice is hard. Hurt. "Nothing about this is easy." He squeezes his right hand into a fist, says, "I have to get ready for work," and leaves me sitting in the living room alone.

OoO

A possibility. According to Darry I'm a possibility.

School's my only saving grace. It makes me concentrate on algebra and biology instead of the shocker of a bombshell Darry dropped this morning. I still can't believe it. I go through the day in a daze, once even trying to open a locker that isn't mine.

After class, I skip practice but I don't go home. My heart feels on fire. I wonder how my mom could have done this. I wonder who this Thomas Mercer is. I wonder what happens next. And most of all, I wonder who I really am. All my brain wants to do is examine, ask questions. But I'm too tired to be curious. I want something mind-numbing. So I go find Curly Shepard.

OoO

"Curtis, whoa…" Biff Ryan grabs my bicep as I nearly topple over, taking the load of roofing with me. Instead, he steadies me and only the 2 x 4s go flying. They hit the ground with a loud smack.

"Shit," I swear, staring down at them, my head not where it should be.

"What's with you today, boss? Biff asks. "You got the jitters."

Ignoring him, I bark at the team below, telling them to get everything in order before the shift is through. I climb down the side of the roof, exhale, and check my watch. I have class tonight but all I want to do is skip and get home to my brothers even though I don't know how to deal with – or explain – any of this. But the time for second guessing is over. I better damn well do it.

OoO

We watch the arrows fly high. I stick an unlit smoke behind my ear and take my turn on the crossbow. I pull back, release and the arrow goes flying, sticking into a large oak tree like a giant needle. Curly whoops, drains his beer.

"Nice shot, Curtis. My turn."

I sit on the gravel bank of the lake and light my cigarette. The wind whips, storm clouds brewing above. Curly shoots his arrow into the sky and I look up, shielding my eyes from the dying sun, dizzy from everything that's happened when there's a shooting pain against my side.

I glance down. The arrow's nicked my right side, now it lies behind me in the gravel. A small trail of blood trickles. It's just a thin slice but it stings something fierce.

Curly's biting his lip. "Oops. I aimed low."

"No shit." I throw my cigarette onto the earth.

OoO

"Soda, calm down, man."

"It's just like fucking Sandy all over again, Steve. And you want to know the sick kicker of all of this? It's my mom, man. My own mom screwed around on my dad. She screwed around on all of us."

"Soda—"

"There's not any excuse for it, Steve. It's bullshit is what it is." I grab my jacket from the back office and clock out from my shift. It's been a long day and having kept most of it in, trying to deny, I'm only now finally spitting it out thanks to Steve's endless prodding.

"I'm not making an excuse, man," Steve says, following me outside. "I'm just..." He pauses, searching. "I'm just saying...she's not here anymore and it's in the past. And whatever she did – your mom still ain't Sandy."

"It ain't in the past," I snap. "It's here and it's wearing goddamn cowboy hat." I let out a sigh and lean back against the side of the DX. I tug the brim of my cap down and stick a cigarette in my mouth. "I don't know what to do. I don't get how Darry's so calm."

Steve gives me a look as we start walking to his truck. "You gotta give Darry a break, Sodapop. Superman's doin' his best. And you know that too, so don't start acting like an asshole."

"Yeah." I groan. "So what do I do?"

"You deal with it, man. And we go home because I'm fuckin' starving."

I stop. "I can't go home."

Steve sighs. "Soda…"

"I gotta go blow off some steam."

In the process of opening his door, Steve shuts it. "I'll go with you."

"No. Go back to the house. Check on Ponyboy for me."

"C'mon, man." Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm sure the last thing the kid wants to see is me playing Mary Poppins."

"But you're so good at it." I crack a smile. "Be a buddy, Steve. I'll be back in an hour."

"Goddamn it, fine," Steve swears and opens his door, climbing in with his good arm. "Don't say I never did nothin' for you."

I give him a wave as he starts up the truck. "Try to keep the insults to a minimum."

"That," Steve says with a wicked grin, "is something I can't promise."

OoO

I'm halfway to my class when I pull over to a gas station on the side of the road. I use the payphone to call Josie.

"I can't make it tonight."

"Anything the matter?"

"Pretty much everything but I can't get into that now."

I can hear her thinking over the phone, then she says, "I'll let you know if we have any homework. We can meet later this week?"

"We'll grab lunch."

"It's a date," Josie says before hanging up.

OoO

After everything that's happened what really sets me off is the empty house. I get home and there's no one. It's just a quiet house with four walls, making me think of a different life. All the what-ifs. A scary time to be alone with my thoughts: The Cowboy; this isn't something that can be undone. This is a life changer. My mom's not who I think she was. And my dad—did he know? Did he have any idea? What about Darry? Maybe the reason we've never got along was because he knew about—

It's then that it really dawns. The news from this morning kicks in. "Oh, shit, no," I say with sob. The room blurs and it's like a freight train rushing down on me.

OoO

The backdoor squeaks. Soft bootsteps that I know aren't Darry's. I don't bother turning around. My side feels stiff and frozen from the dried blood. It stings too. Stupid Curly.

"Aw, not you too, kid." Steve sounds exhausted. "I got enough to worry about with Soda freaking out then to come out here and find you bawlin'."

Hastily, I wipe my eyes. "I ain't bawlin."

"Right. Can't bullshit a bullshitter, Pone."

"Just go away, Steve."

There's a loud sigh and then Steve Randle sits beside me on the back steps of the porch. I keep my eyes on the dead grass of our lawn. "You know, I heard about everything from Sodapop…"

"So you what? Came to rub it in? Tell me I'm not really a Curtis?"

The longest silence lingers. Then, Steve's voice is harsh, "Ponyboy, don't think just because you're in a tough spot right now I won't beat the everlovin' shit out of you." Finally, I look at him and his eyes are seriously dark. "Don't you dare be spoutin off about that to Darry or Sodapop, you hear me? Fuck, you want to kill them quick, that'll do it."

I bite my lip, knowing he's right. Steve swears again. He lights a smoke. Breathes in. "Tell me you ain't really thinkin that?"

"I don't know what to think," I mutter. "I'm just all kinds of messed up right now."

"Yeah," Steve says, "you and me both." Sticking the cigarette between his lips, he runs a hand down the side of his sling. Clears his throat. "I'm starving. What do you say we make some dinner?"

Startled, I raise my eyes. "With you?"

"Hell, Ponyboy, don't look so shocked."

"Where's Sodapop?"

"Had to run an errand or two."

I shift. "Okay…but before dinner I need you to help me with something."

Suspicious, Steve frowns. "What's that?"

OoO

When I walk in the front door I'm greeted by two things: the smell of spaghetti on the stove and Steve Randle swearing a blue streak. His angry voice drifts out of the kitchen, followed by Pony's quieter one. I set my bag on the floor, nearly tripping over one of Soda's work boots. I kick it out of the way; pinch the bridge of my nose.

Pony's sitting on the kitchen table, Steve in a chair. Pony pulls his shirt down when he sees me. His green eyes are saucers, the rims around them red. "You're home," he squeaks, surprised. "I thought you had class."

"What's goin on?"

Steve sits back, tossing something onto the table. "Curly Shepard shot your brother with a crossbow."

"What?" I boom at the same time as Ponyboy says, "Thanks a lot," and kicks Steve in the shin.

Steve holds his hands out, stands and moves to stir the sauce. "He'd find out anyway. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one." He looks at me. "He's fine, Dar. Just a scratch. He's good as new." Steve smirks. "As good as he can be anyway."

I go to Ponyboy and check out the job Steve's done. His side is bandaged in white gauze and taped up tight. "Thanks for taking care of it," I tell Steve and he waves me off.

Ponyboy slides off the kitchen table. I grab his arm, making him face me. "No more hanging around with Curly Shepard." I still remember the cigarette incident and don't want a future reenactment.

Pony nods and before I can ask him what he's thinking, ask if he's okay, tell him to be careful, tell him we need to talk, he wraps his arms around my waist and squeezes me in a hug. "Okay, Darry," he says, pulling away before I can hug him back.

OoO

I lay my cards down. I grin. The crowd gathered around us murmurs their surprise. I'm on a roll. It's a nice amount of cash. In fact, I feel better already.

"You dirty, cheating, sonofabitch—"

"Cheating ain't got nothin to do with it," I tell the scruffy guy across from me who's been giving me shit all night.

He's a regular at Pinkie's, one of the creeps Steve and I've heard about. So far I've beaten him three times tonight and he doesn't seem to want to give up. He's wearing a Budweiser baseball cap, a tattoo of a cross on his neck. I go to scrape up the few dollar bills I've won in the poker game, planning to give some to Steve and some to Darry, when his fist juts out and grabs my sleeve.

"I'm not done. I want another hand."

"Sorry, man." I stand, pocket the money. "Thanks for your donation." I'm about halfway across the bar when someone spins me around. Instinctively I duck, the fist whizzing above me. I pop back up and shove Budweiser across the bar. He falls over a chair and goes sprawling.

"Do not mess with me tonight," I say, advancing, giving into the recklessness. I grab an ashtray off a table, empty its contents onto the guy's hat. "Here's a consolation prize for being a sore loser." I throw it onto the front of his shirt.

"Bad mistake, man," Budweiser growls. "You're so dead." A brief shiver goes through me but I shrug it off. The neon light of the Pinkie's sign flickers around me as I step out into the darkness.

OoO

Darry's in the doorway of our bedroom. He has his hand on the doorknob, his busted knuckles still bandaged up. "Finish up your homework," he's saying. "Then we'll talk some, okay?" he pulls the door shut and turns.

"You missed dinner, Sodapop."

I jump; unaware I've been caught staring. How much Darry reminded me of my dad just then. "Glory, Dar." I laugh. "You got eyes in the back of your head."

"With you two I better." He sighs. Looks to the ceiling. "Goddamn Curly Shepard shot Pony with an arrow."

I wait for it, ask, "He okay?"

"He's fine." Darry frowns. "Where've you been?" I follow him into the kitchen and there's a stack of spaghetti waiting for me. "We saved you a plate."

I sit down; ready to do something I've been wanting to all day. "Dar, I'm sorry about this morning. I shouldn't have said what I did."

"It's okay," Darry says. He goes and leans up against the counter. Shoves his hands in his pocket. "You were upset and—"

"No." I shake my head. "It's not okay. Blamin' you wasn't right. I just keep thinkin' this can't be happening. I mean, hell, it's like one of Ponyboy's nightmares."

He forces a fake smile. "I think we all don't know what to do with this. But we'll figure it out."

I pick up my fork, then reconsider and push my plate away. "I'll believe it about mom. But I can't about Ponyboy."

Darry just stares at me like I'm a figment of his imagination, his eyes heavy. He sighs. "Soda, I know you don't want to believe it, buddy, but we have to stick together on this. You can't go telling Ponyboy it's not true…when I'm…" He cuts off, like someone pressed mute. "Hell," he mutters. "I don't know what I'm telling him anymore…"

"Darry?"

"What?"

"Do you think dad knew?"

"I don't know, Sodapop." Darry looks old and tired. "I just don't know."

OoO

If this isn't the talk of all talks then holy hell, I'm afraid of what would be. I can tell my brothers don't know what to say, that this conversation hurts and is uncomfortable but the fact that they're trying tells me a lot.

Soda sits with me on the bed, Darry on the chair at my desk. "It's a lot to let sink in," Darry's saying. "But we don't want you to worry about it. You just concentrate on school and track."

Easy for you to say, I think. I look at Darry. "So mom really…?"

His nod and his voice are both curt. "Looks like it."

"How could she do that?"

Darry looks like he'd rather be anyplace than here. He rubs his callused palms on the thighs of his jeans. "I can't answer that, kiddo."

I meet Darry's eyes. "What do you think about the Cowboy and me? And tell me the truth."

"Darry…" Soda's tone carries a warning.

"I think…" Darry begins. "I think it's possible but I can't say for sure." His eyes move to the floor.

Soda loops an arm around my neck, bounces next to me. "Nothing's gonna change, Ponyboy. Nothin'. Dad is still your dad. This guy – this asshole – is just trouble. He doesn't know what he's talking about. We won't let him bother you none."

"Soda's right," Darry says. "We'll take care of it."

I chuckle. "Glory, Dar, sounds like you're gonna go break his legs or something." Darry's eyes flick to Sodapop who merely shrugs as if that's been his plan all along.

OoO

A day turns into a week. Pretty soon it's been seven whole days and while I haven't forgotten, everything's kind of numb. It's almost like it never happened except we all still remember. I'm curious and I'm angry, a dangerous side to myself threatening to shake loose. I have questions and want answers. I want to run someplace far and not come back.

I think Soda has the bug too because he's going out most nights to some dive bar. He stays out late and comes home happier than I've seen him in a long time. Darry buries himself into work and school and sometimes I'll catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye when he thinks I'm not looking.

I keep telling myself it's no big deal; that we'll get back to where we were. But right now normal seems a long way from here.

OoO

"Oh, shit."

"Oh, shit is right." Two-Bit gawks as the guy across from me lays down a straight flush beating my four of a kind.

The loss comes as a surprise because so far I've been winning. It's even worse because the guy I've just lost to is the Budweiser asshole from a week ago. He grins and scrapes up the pile of cash with big, meaty hands. His grin widens as he examines the money.

"You're short."

I curse myself for calling his bluff, for being so cocksure that I had it in the bag. "I'll get you your money."

Two-Bit and I stand and Budweiser steps in front of me. He gives me a shove. Two-Bit braces against me, his body tensing.

"You playing with money you don't have, boy?"

"I have it." A crowd begins to gather. I pull out my wallet. "Here." I show him two dollar bills. "You'll have the rest next week."

"I don't want no IOU."

"You ain't got one. Next week."

Budweiser snarls, "I know who you are. I know you got a big brother and a little one." He raises his hands, a tattoo on his palm. "Next week. And for every day you're late, I'll be watchin' them." He punches a finger in my chest. "Consider that a warning."

OoO

Pardon typos.

Thank you for reading and all the reviews. These chapters are going to be pretty long…I don't want to drag the story out but I feel there's a lot to be said that needs to be still so I'm comfortable with that. I hope you are too.

Reviews would be divine.

XO,

Feisty