AN: /hides behind Darry to avoid angry looks/ So sorry to keep you waiting for this chapter, peeps! I wrote it down on a bunch of receipt tape from work, and it got lost a while back. I just recently found it in a bunch of other receipts in my purse... Yea, I know. But I've gotten over my stupidity, and so should you. :) So no more talking! I've kept you waiting long enough... Though I'm sure you're gonna hate me again after this chapter too. sad day Enjoy!
Chapter Eleven:
No one answers when I knock a third time, and I sigh exhaustedly, rubbing at the back of my neck.
"They probably left, Pony," Johnny says softly. "I mean, who would want to stick around a place like this?"
"They got nowhere else to go," I argued, noticing the spite in my voice but not really caring. I turn back to the door, determined to do what I came to do.
My fingers grip the doorknob tightly, and I take a deep breath. It twists easily in my hand, and the door jerks open.
"Pony," Johnny squeaks behind me, taking hold of my shoulder and squeezing almost painfully. "I don't think we should-"
The sound of a gun cocking echoes out to us from within the house, and my heart leaps into my throat.
"Don't move a damn muscle, punk," a gruff voice says from behind the door.
"M-Mister Randle?" I stutter, releasing the doorknob and beginning to raise my hands.
"I'll shoot!" Mister Randle threatens. "You're trespassing. I've already got reason enough to drop you where you stand. Just get the hell off my property."
"Mister Randle," I try again, grateful that I don't stutter this time, "we're here to see Steve."
"Steve ain't none of your business. Just leave us alone! We ain't done nothin' to nobody."
"I know that, Mister Randle. I'm Ponyboy Curtis from Tulsa. Darrel Curtis's little brother. I'm friends with Steve."
There is a long pause before the door opens a little wider and a pair of tired eyes looks out at us.
"Who's that with you?" Mister Randle demands.
Johnny jumps slightly at the acknowledgment and says, "Uh, Johnny Cade, Sir. F-Friend of Steve's."
Mister Randle eyes us warily once more before swinging the door open, careful to shield himself behind it as we enter. I catch sight of the single barrel shotgun clutched tightly in his hand and swallow. I didn't know Steve's dad owned a gun . . .
"Wait over there." He motions towards a ratty couch in the middle of what I think is supposed to be their living room. Johnny and I do as we're told, sitting down while Mister Randle disappears down the hall and through a door. There is some hushed conversation before he comes out again, Steve in tow.
"Pony?" He asks softly, and I'm on my feet before I know it, quickly closing the distance between us.
"Steve!" I sob, wrapping my arms around him. Steve hugs me tight as I bury my face in the crook of his neck, the tears flowing before I can stop them.
"Ponyboy, what the hell do you think you're doing here?" He breathes in my ear, contradicting his words by holding me even tighter. "How'd you find us? You're not supposed to be here."
"I don't care," I nearly wail, fisting the back of his shirt. "You shouldn't be here! This place is awful! You have to come home, Steve! You can't stay here!"
"Sh," Steve soothes, rubbing my back and stringing his fingers through my hair. "Pony, you know we can't move back there. And you should know better, coming here. You could get into a lot of trouble, and so could we."
"I'm sorry," I mumbled into his neck, breathing in his scent. He always smells like cologne and oil.
There's a quiet moment between us before he speaks again. "Your brothers know you're here?"
I can't help the bark of laughter that escapes my throat. "You think I'd be here if they did?"
Steve sighs. "C'mon. We should give them a call."
0 o 0 o 0
"Hello?"
The voice that answers is Soda's, and he sounds real worried. The guilt sets in immediately.
"Hey, Soda," I say sullenly, and a sigh of relief comes from the other end.
"Ponyboy, I just don't get you sometimes! You can't just run off and leave a note like that! It's not-"
I hear Darry demand the phone, and the distinct sound of he and Soda wrestling for it sounds for a few seconds. It's quiet before Darry's voice, calm and serious, echoes from the other end.
"Ponyboy?"
"Yea?" I say cautiously, bracing myself for the rant that's sure to come.
"Are you all right?" He asks, surprising me.
"Uh, y-yea," I stutter. "I'm fine."
"Where are you? At Steve's?"
"Yea. Me and Johnny both."
"Okay, lemme talk to Steve."
"Kay." I hold the phone out to Steve, and he takes it, putting it to his ear carefully as if it might burn him.
"Yea?" He listens for a moment before looking at me. "Yea, he's fine . . . Nah, I didn't tell him where I was. He just showed up . . . I know. I'll stick him on the next bus out of here."
"What?!" I say, disappointment making my chest tighten.
"I'll take care of it, Dar . . . No, this doesn't change anything . . . He didn't know. He was just worried, is all . . . Yea, first one that comes through. He and Johnny will be on it . . . Tell Soda I said 'hi' . . . Bye."
He hangs the phone up and turns back to me. "You're headed out on the next bus." He looks at Johnny over my shoulder. "Both of ya. I'll walk you to the bus stop."
"Steve," his dad says warily, his eyes shining with concern. It's quite a difference from the drunken stupor I'm used to seeing.
"I'll be all right," Steve assures him. "I'll just walk there and back. There ain't much trouble I can get into. Don't worry."
"Steve," I say, and he turns to me, his eyes sad and tired, "what'd you mean that I 'didn't know'? What were you and Darry talking about?"
"Get your things, Pony," Steve sighs, brushing his fingers against my cheek.
0 o 0 o 0
The walk back is almost uneventful. The only person we pass on the street is an old lady. She offers us an uninterested glance until she notices Steve. She scowls and spits at him. Steve barely turns his head away, continuing on without a word.
"What the hell, lady?" I say angrily, starting after her. She turns to me with a startled look. Steve grabs my shoulders before I can do anything more, turning me back around and forcing me towards the bus stop once again.
He leans in against my ear, whispering, "Just keep walking, Pony. It don't mean nothin' if you just ignore it."
I want to cut off Miss Spenster's head and feed it to the alligators at the zoo.
This is not the Steve Randle I remember.
Steve Randle wouldn't let anybody spit at him, old woman or not. Steve Randle would have ground that social worker's fat face into the sidewalk before letting her take him away to this place, before saying those awful things about him.
So this is when I realize that the person behind me telling me to forget about being spat upon and keeping things from me – this person who has deserted all hope of any kind – is not Steve Randle.
So when this stranger hugs me goodbye at the bus stop and I don't hug him back, I don't see the hurt in his eyes. Because he's not Steve Randle. And on the ride home when Johnny asks me if I think Steve will be okay, I don't say anything. Because I haven't seen Steve Randle. And when my brothers meet us at the bus stop in Tulsa and scold me for going to see Steve, I'm confused. Because I don't know a Steve Randle. I don't think I've ever heard that name in my entire life.
"Steve who?"
"Ponyboy, don't play dumb. What were you thinking? Anything could have happened to you!" Soda says with annoyance, pulling me into a hug anyway. Darry doesn't say much, just ruffles my hair and pulls me towards the truck.
"No more road trips, Pony," he says softly.
What road trip? Did I go somewhere? Why do they keep mentioning someone named Steve?
Who the hell is Steve Randle?
AN: Oh dear... What a cliffie. Please don't hate me! I promise I'll try to be better about updating this time. Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side. :)