Chapter Nine: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

By the time we walked through the door, Terry's party was in full force. Everywhere you looked, there was a kid or four, and a wide variety of them: greasers, hippies, black kids, you name it. I didn't recognize a lot of them. I did notice that about just everybody was clutching a cup, a smoke, or a body though.

"Want a drink?" Frank asked. He practically had to holler to be heard over the music, turned up so loud that the thin walls vibrated. Next to us, I could see the other boys doing the same thing.

"Okay!" I yelled back.

Curly leaned forward to kiss Jennifer before he walked away. I made a point to fiddle with my purse and my cigarettes so that Frank didn't get any ideas. We had made out during our first two dates, but I wasn't looking for an encore.

The guys disappeared into the crowd, heading for the kitchen. Jennifer, Beth and I found an empty corner where we could puff on cigarettes while we waited and try to look sharp. Jen talked loud like always, but I wasn't paying any attention. Nobody else seemed to either. Most of the people there were older than us, some too old for high school. I thought about Two-Bit's warning earlier: Terry's parties got wild.

When Frank reappeared, he handed me a cup. Covertly, I sniffed - 7-Up and vodka. I wished that I had thought to ask for a whiskey and Coke instead, because Daddy liked vodka. Just that smell reminded me of the first time I ever tasted blood, but you didn't say that kind of thing at a party. I took several big gulps, trying to swallow the lump in my throat down with it.

"If you ladies are interested," Curly said devilishly, his low voice cutting right through my thought process, "Terry offered to meet us in the backyard with a joint."

I knew that Tim Shepard sold quite a bit of dope. Curly did too. He told Jen that if wasn't very often, but I was wiser than that (even if she wasn't). How else could a sixteen-year-old hood with no job afford to take Jennifer Price out every weekend?

Even if she didn't like her boyfriend selling it, Jennifer still made me try a few tokes at a party over the summer. Grass made me feel real silly and slow, like my brain and I were wading through molasses. That might be an advantage, though. If I couldn't think straight, I couldn't think about my dad or Ponyboy or anything else. Besides, Jen was already telling him yes, and Beth was nodding too. What choice did I have?

It was a feat just for the six of us to make our way through the living room, into the kitchen, and then out back. We kept bumping into people, or being trampled ourselves, by a guy with hair down to his shoulders and a peace sign hanging from his neck, or three beautiful black girls with hard eyes. There was even a girl dancing on the kitchen table, wearing a pink shift dress. Eventually, though, we bypassed all of them, heading out the back door in a single file line.

With no lights, Terry's backyard would have been dark, but the half full moon covered everything in a silvery light. Against my own will, Ponyboy popped into my mind again. My best friend would appreciate the moon, and the light - but he definitely wouldn't approve of the reason I was out there. For a moment, I wanted to see him so badly that my chest ached. I swallowed more 7-Up and vodka in a poor attempt to soothe it.

Valerie O'Brien was hanging on to Terry's arm like tinsel on the Christmas tree. She was Angela Shepard's best friend, a mean redhead with a Jackie Kennedy haircut. It shouldn't have worked with her leather jacket and short green skirt, but somehow, it did. She resembled a pretty, feral cat, like all of Angela's friends did.

Val also seemed spectacularly drunk. Even from several feet away, I could pink lipstick smeared down her face, how she swayed in her heels. I was just about to feel sorry for her when the girl laid eyes on me, Jennifer, and Beth, and smirked.

"Hey, Curly," she slurred. "Y'all sure got some pretty little dates, huh?"

"Hush, baby," Terry told her absently. He struck a match to light something, and I knew from the shape and smell that it wasn't a cigarette. Glory, I surely hoped this dress wouldn't smell like tobacco and marijuana by the end of the night. That'd make for a great memory.

Valerie took the joint from him. When she inhaled, her brown eyes turned crimson, the cherry reflecting off of them.

She must have noticed my stare, because Val blew her big clouds of smoke directly at me and Jennifer. In another time or place, that would've been an open invitation to knock her pretty teeth down her throat. I liked the idea of that, but I knew better. Jen didn't care say a word, and neither did I.

Because of Valerie's secondhand smoke, the joint had already taken some effect before it ever even got passed to me. It was halfway burnt by then, and there was pink lipstick on the tip. I hit it like I would a cigarette, hard and long, the taste curling around my throat down to my lungs. When I exhaled, I began to cough.

"'Atta girl," Frank said approvingly. He patted my back a couple times, then kept his hand there, flat against my dress. He felt hot and weighty.

I said nothing as I handed the little joint to him. God, I wished I was at the Curtises, watching some old movie that Ponyboy found playing on TV and eating chocolate cake. A strong, chilly wind blew, ruffling everybody's hair, and I shivered.

Thankfully, I only had to hit the damn thing one more time before it went out. Valerie made her exit as soon as the dope was gone, claiming she needed to powder her nose. Everybody else had to stood around to smoke a cigarette, even though it was cold and we could've gone inside to do that. Despite the joint, that simple act rankled me, the way everything else had that evening. I swallowed down the rest of my drink while we stood there. Frank smirked when he saw my cup empty.

"C'mon, babe. You need more booze." He used his hand on my back to lead me away from the group and back towards the house. Beth and Nathan followed us, but Jennifer and Curly stayed with Terry.

Once inside, I realized almost immediately that I did not need another drink. I wasn't stumbling, exactly, but my limbs felt funny, and my red lips seemed to be stretched into a permanent smile, even though that was about the farthest thing from how I actually felt. Frank, oblivious as always, ambled to the refrigerator.

I walked over to the doorway, surveying the party in the living room. I didn't realize what I was searching for until I spotted it: the long, mahogany hair of Ponyboy Curtis. He looked so damn handsome in jeans and a blue t shirt that my heart swelled like a balloon.

Then it occurred to me that he was talking to a girl. She had her back to me, but I could see her red bob, a tight green skirt, the hand on her hip. The balloon popped and my jaw dropped. It was Valerie fucking O'Brien.

I thought Angela had quit chasing Ponyboy. Or was Valerie herself dumb enough to try to make a play? I couldn't tell from the expression on Pony's face. Either way, my whole body was blazing hot all of the sudden, and my stomach felt like it was doing somersaults. I fumbled for another cigarette with shaking hands. Once it was lit, I swear, I smoked half of the damn thing in one drag.

Why the hell did watching Ponyboy talk to Valerie O'Brien hurt so badly? He was my friend, but it wasn't just a friendly concern that I felt. I could blame it on the alcohol all I wanted, but the truth was I was jealous, truly hot with envy for maybe the first time in my life. And it hurt like hell.

Frank came up behind me, curling around my waist and handing me back my cup. Even though it was a lot stronger than last time, I downed nearly half of that too. The dark haired boy seemed completely clueless as he kissed me on the cheek. Then his lips started to trail downwards.

"Let's go to Sin Park," Frank said, his mouth against my neck.

I froze.

Once, I had loved Senatobia Park. It was just a few blocks from my house. Me and Carla grew up on that jungle gym, rusty even back then. Then I reached junior high, and I found out that the kids called it Sin Park. The place was all shadowy at night, making it a good spot to go make out. People had trashed it now, leaving beer cans everywhere and scrawling crude things in the bathroom.

Of course, there was also the bit about Johnny Cade stabbing Bob Sheldon to death at Senatobia Park. That kind of ruined it for me too.

"We can't leave Jennifer and them," I told Frank uneasily. My eyes were still trained on Ponyboy. He either hadn't noticed us yet - or was doing a very good job of pretending he hadn't. "Let's dance for a while, okay?"

I didn't give Frank a chance to protest. This time, I led him, pulling the tough hood out to the middle of room where a few other kids were dancing. The same damn Elvis record played on repeat and I was much too drunk to be any good, but Frank didn't seem to mind. He was pretty gone too. His hands felt glued to my waist, warm and sticky, and he kept stepping on my shoes. Still, I liked to dance. For a while there, it was almost fun.

Then, after nearly half an hour, Frank pulled me close enough that I could smell the vodka on his breath. "Come on, baby, let's get outta here. Don't you wanna go make out at the park?"

His hands and that smell made me panic. "No. I already said I didn't want to go."

I tried to take a step back, but Frank wrapped his arms around my waist so tightly that only my head moved. A wild look came across his brown eyes, the same kind of look I had seen in my father and Dallas Winston and every other mean drunk that I knew. Of course I knew that Frank was a hood, but I had always thought of him as kind of dopey, too dumb to be any real threat, despite his muscles. For the first time, it occurred to me that I might have made a bigger mistake than I thought.

"What's your problem, little girl?"

The larger boy kissed me so hard that my teeth pressed against the back of my lips. I was drunk and scared, but I knew if I could get out of his grip, I could get away. Desperately, I tried again to wriggle away. When that didn't work, using both hands, I began to slap at his broad chest. He loosened his hold enough that I could at least properly lean back and gasp for air.

"Leave me alone, Frank." My voice was clear, and loud, despite the mounting terror ripping through my veins. A few people turned their heads to looked at us. Completely undeterred, my date merely tried to kiss me again. I vigorously resumed my smacking. "Get the fuck off of me!"

He let go of my waist to grab my wrists, preventing me from making contact with his chest again. The boy's eyes were dark and dangerous, a flicker of amusement in them. Frank didn't say a word. He didn't have to.

God help me, I should've never started dating one of Tim Shepard's boys. He probably had a knife on him, and even if he didn't, he was a head taller, and I was drunk as a skunk. I knew it was stupid as hell, but still, I demanded, "Do you know who the fuck I am?"

Suddenly, gentle hands were tugging on my shoulders, pulling me away from Frank's grasp. Ponyboy swiftly stepped in between me and the bulky boy from Shepard's gang.

"Hey, man, I think she told you to leave her alone," Pony said. His tone was surprisingly composed, friendly even. Yet just from the way he stood, shoulders back and squared like Darry's, I knew that he was filled with a rage that could have rivaled mine. It practically radiated off him.

Every eye in the room was on us. Valerie O'Brien, Jennifer and Curly; even the girl who had been dancing on the kitchen table somehow known to come for the show.

Frank leaned his head to the side, looking past Ponyboy to me. He wore a mirthless, wicked grin that made his fiery eyes even more frightening. "Oh, I see. It all makes sense now. You don't want to go with me 'cause of this joker. Didn't I tell you that I didn't want you hanging around him, Rosalie?"

Even though I was scared stiff of this newfound malice, I was still drunk, stoned, and pissed. I was also a greaser, and showing fear wasn't an option. In my deadliest voice, I snarled, "Listen here, Frank Sullivan. I want you to fuck off. Leave me alone. Lose my number. You and me, we're done. Come on, Ponyboy, take me home."

Ponyboy grabbed my hand before Frank could react. The crowded parted for us as we walked out of the party together. There were an awful lot of people watching, but I didn't look at any of them as we walked out the door. I wasn't worried about Frank, or Jennifer.

Instead, all I could think about was Ponyboy's hand wrapped around mine.