Spring's Resurgence

Chapter 25

Beyond The Social's Expectations

XXX

"Hey," I said, munching Cheerios at the table. Sodapop shuffled through the kitchen – scanning the fridge before giving up and making himself a PB&J. Except the J was really sliced ham; we were out of eggs and jelly. "You got in late. Didn't hear you come in."

"Yeah, I had something that came up... last minute. Looks like you survived okay." he teased, walking behind me then suddenly dropping an ice-cube down the back of my shirt.

"EEYIKES, Soda... Pop! Don't do that!" I screeched, pulling my shirt off to get the ice off my skin. He was laughing hard by then, his face all red. I grabbed the ice off the floor and chased after him, throwing it at him but missing by inches. "You are so gonna get it!"

"I see everyone's up. Morning Soda, is this 'torture the kid day', at last?"

"Hey Steve. I dunno, Pony, you up for more torture?" Soda joked from the opposite side of the dining room table where I'd trapped him. I was gonna say something snide back, but started coughing instead. It took me a minute to recover, ending up winded. I gave up the chase with a comical roll of my eyes at Soda, who smiled crazily back. He knew I was done chasing after him for now. Still, I sneered at Steve.

"Torture me at your own peril. I will get even, eventually."

"Kid, you ain't big enough, man enough or stupid enough to try it. C'mon, get a shirt on and get outside. I'm leaving in a few minutes."

I'd have thought he was being mean, except he was smiling when he said that. I downed my medicine and grabbed another shirt, then hustled outside to meet him.

"See ya, Pone!" Sodapop called after me as I left.

"Where's Muscles?" he asked as we pulled away.

"He worked last night at the warehouse. Then I guess he went to Michelle's. Other than that.. it ain't my business."

"I'm glad someone's got a life around here," he mumbled. I looked at him.

"What, ain't you and Evie still a thing?"

"Kid," he said roughly, his jaw clenching as he stared hard at the road, "that ain't your business either."

I sat there with my trap shut tight the rest of the way.

XXX

"Ponyboy, have you decided?"

I looked around, the guys had scattered as Mr. Lane came over. "Sorry sir?"

"The graduation music. I'm sorry I couldn't get up with you earlier, but, well, you've been sick and I didn't want to disturb your rest. How are you, by the way? Better, I hope?"

"I'm feeling better, thanks. I haven't spoken with Darry about it... it sort of got forgotten about. I'll talk with him tonight, make sure it's alright. I don't think it'll be a problem though."

He nodded. "Great... that's just great. And just in case you could, Mrs. Hobshire managed to find a, uh, zippier arrangement of the music. I'd still like to hear it, make sure it's appropriate for the occasion. Can you come by and practice this afternoon? The Seniors are meeting in the auditorium for practice during last period. I'll send a note to your teacher, excusing your absence."

It was gym, and since I was out with a doc's note for two weeks, it really didn't matter. I got my things for my next class and closed my locker. "That's fine. I'll be there, no sweat."

"What?" he asked, looking at me. I smiled.

"I meant, it won't be a problem, sir."

XXX

I snuck unnoticed in the side door and made my way down to the front, winding my way through the auditorium seats in order to avoid the Seniors who were for the most part acting like grown up kindergarteners. As if by second nature, they had divided themselves by classes - soc's on one side, greasers on the other; the sides separated by an aisle. Each side milled around, talking in their little groups and horsing around. Occasionally, one side would sneer at the other, the hostilities simmering just below the surface. Times hadn't changed since the rumble like I wished they had.

It was obvious; one side, dressed in their nice clothes and fancy shoes - looked forward to a future filled with college and good careers; while the other side - sporting longer, slicked back hair and scuffed boots faced minimum wage employment in back-breaking sweat shops and low-income housing. The path to a better future – for those who sought it, would be paved with shards and ruts... and a lot of dead ends. Dead end opportunities, dead end wages, and in most cases... just plain dead. I shook my head, sickened by the thought.

"What do you think you're doing here? You lost or something? Go play in your sty, loser!" One of the soc's muttered at me when I got too close. A bunch of his buddies milling around nearby stepped closer. I didn't give him the satisfaction to know how shaky they made me.

"You got problems with him, do ya? Then you got problems with me."

I didn't turn to look, knowing that voice by heart. Steve. I could also feel the presence of more than one grease behind me, but didn't turn to look.

"He ain't got no business being here, do ya.. ya little piece of shit?"

"Take a swing at him, go on... and you'll all get your diplomas courtesy of the fuzz." Someone behind me growled low.

"You'll be there too, greaseball!" the soc sneared.

"Then let's hope we don't share a cell, I might have to teach you ..."

"Ah, good. Ponyboy, I see you made it. Tut tut, gentlemen, take your seats so we can get this started." Mrs. Hobshire called out as she came up the aisle, oblivious to the fight she'd either stopped, or simply delayed.

The two sides split up again, the soc's sitting on one side and the greasers on the other. Steve grabbed my shoulder and whispered harshly to me. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was asked to be here..." I tried to answer, but Mrs. Hobshire was coming toward me waving her hand like she wanted me to follow her.

"Come with me, Mr. Curtis..."

"Jesus kid, now what are you up to?" Steve hissed. I didn't get a chance to answer.

"I put the music on the piano, go ahead and look it over." she murmured to me as we walked to the stage. "Mr. Lane is on his way to hear it. Seniors," she turned back to the still-simmering graduating class, "let's get started. This year, due to Mrs. Muse transferring out, we won't have her usual rendition of Pomp and Circumstance to march to. Instead, we will have a guest student, Ponyboy Curtis, play for us. Some of you might know him, he's one of our talented Sophomores and has agreed to lead us through the ceremony."

I rolled my eyes listening to her babble on. Yeah, they all knew me... or knew of me, and was pretty sure most of them didn't want me participating in their graduation. Just to prove my hunch correct, the undercurrent of moans and catcalls swept through the muggy auditorium like a hot breeze – I was clearly not welcome.

The undercurrent abruptly ended when Mr. Lane came down the aisle and made his way over to me.

"Okay Ponyboy, let's see what you can do."

I gave it a go, the new arrangement admittedly better than the earlier rendition but still not the full measure I heard in my head. I doubted he'd liked it if I went off on my own though. He smiled, apparently pleased. When I was done, he nodded.

"Excellent. You have a talent there, young man."

I smiled, too embarrassed to say anything else. Also, I'd noticed the rest of the auditorium had grown silent as well. I looked over my shoulder at them, one side silent with stone faces, while the other tossing a few smug grins my way. I could have sworn I saw a grin on Steve's face, but by the time I'd looked in earnest, he was back to his usual annoyed look with me.

"Okay, Seniors, let's go over the schedule... everyone look at the papers Mrs. Hobshire passed out …."

It was confusion for the rest of the hour, as they had to get in alphabetical order; putting soc next to grease as they lined up. I noticed from my vantage point on the stage that there was more than a few incidental shoves going on. How this was going to go over on graduation day without an all out fight breaking out was going to be interesting. Mr. Lane play-acted the ceremony from start to finish, and once more I played the recessional. The bell rang, and we were all finally free to go.

"Not bad, grease," I heard as I passed through the crowd. I stopped and looked, the Soc was getting his stuff and stiffened defensively. Others just looked at me warily but didn't advance. "What, you expecting more?"

"No," I said carefully before I turned and headed outside. I heard heavy footsteps and braced for the hit; but turning, it was only Steve.

"Hold up, Ponyboy. Darry'd have a cow if he knew you were walking home. I'll give you a lift, drop you off on my way to work."

"Thanks." I hated to admit I really wasn't looking forward to hoofing it in this heat.

"Welcome. So, how'd you land this gig?"

"Huh?"

He rolled his eyes. "The piano playing. How did Lane find out about your ivory fingers?"

"Oh," I shrugged, "I got caught by Mrs. Hobshire playing the grand in the music room that week before I was sick. She told Lane, and next thing you know, I'm the pianist. I didn't ask to do this."

"Well," he said opening the doors, "don't screw it up."

"Trust me, that's one crowd I don't want to have angry at me."

He laughed in agreement as he sped off school grounds.

XXX

"Ponyboy, get to bed. It's late and you heard what the doc said, that you still need to rest. Remember?"

He frowned before looking up at me. "I doubt he meant for those instructions to stick for the rest of my life. I ain't all that tired, Dar."

"Ponyboy, don't try me. I can't afford for that pneumonia to double back on you, now get to bed."

"Just thirty more minutes? Please? C'mon Darry, I gotta get this paper done. It's due tomorrow and all I have to do is retype it."

I groaned inwardly, hating it when he puts my back against a wall like this. "Fine," I relented – somewhat. "Another thirty. Then it's lights out, done or not. Want me to proof it for you?"

He shook his head. I knew he was doing that paper about Mom, but unlike Sodapop I wasn't going to snoop. Just like when he did that paper for Mr. Syme, when he'd want me to read it, he'd bring it to me.

"Nah, that's okay. I've gone over it twelve times already. If something's misspelled, it's just gonna have to be misspelled. Once I get done typing it again, I ain't typing it no more."

I accepted that. Knowing Ponyboy, I was pretty sure I wouldn't find anything wrong with it even if I did proof it.

"How're your other classes going? Finals are coming up – don't think I forgot."

He grinned. "I know better than that. I'm doing the best I can, but don't hold out for miracles."

I gripped the top of his doorjam, stretching the kinks out of my back. "I think if you wanted a miracle, you'd find it. Now, get to work. Thirty minutes... no more."

"Hey Darry?" Ponyboy called me back as I turned toward the kitchen.

"Yeah?"

"Did Steve tell you?"

Great, now what'd he do? "Tell me what?"

"Mr. Lane has me playing the piano for the graduation. I thought you might've heard since Steve's in the graduating class. Mr. Lane had me practicing today with the Seniors."

"Oh? No, this is the first I've heard. Anyone razz you?"

He smiled, the tips of his ears turning pink. "No. In fact, I even had a Soc tell me it wasn't bad."

"Really?" I asked, not able to hide my amazement.

"Yeah, then the guy looked like he wanted to deck me for saying it. He didn't though." His grin was half laughter, half disbelief. I had to grin too. "I'd better get back to this paper."

"Take your pills, don't forget."

The steady tap-tap-tap of the typewriter went on well past thirty minutes, but before I had to go back and remind him of the time, silence had fallen and his light was off. Passing by his door, I heard his light, steady breathing and pulled it shut for him.

XXX

I heard Soda's Galaxie pull up as I was finishing another set of weights outside in my garage. I put the bar down and quickly noticed the glowing end of a lit cigarette between his lips as he slid along the shadows headed toward the house. "Hey, Sodapop," I called out into the darkness. "Whacha been up to?"

"Oh, hey," he shrugged, hopping over the overgrown bushes separating us and came over. "Not much. Had a late repair come in. Some dame ran over some nails and needed some patches. Didn't think I'd ever close up." He watched me a minute then grinned. "How much you lifting now?"

I looked down and counted it up, telling him. He raised his eyes, obviously impressed. "Here, you want to try?" I offered.

"No thanks. I don't need no hernia surgery this young in life."

I smiled, then jutted out my chin at the stick. "So... what's up? What's with the smokes?"

He looked at the dying stick and dropped it, snuffing it out with his shoe then shrugged. "Nothing. Just, summer's coming quick."

"So?"

"Steve's gonna be leaving the DX after he graduates, remember?"

I nodded, remembering he'd told me. "Well, Pepsi, it ain't like neither of you planned to be there forever. He's going to school... good for him. You could go back, get your GED."

He shook his head. "I ain't cut out for school, Dar. We've had this argument before, you know the score."

I put the weights back on the peg and nodded, that argument old and frankly, tiring. "So, he's leaving. That don't mean you have to go, does it?"

He shook his head again. "Nope. It's just not going to be the same, is all."

"Time moves on, little buddy. Change is the only constant."

"Yeah, I know." He looked toward the house, the only light on being the living room lamp. "Pony asleep already?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He got his homework done and was out. Told me he's playing the piano at the graduation. Hard to believe, huh?"

He grinned tiredly, nodding. "Yeah, tuff enough."

The sound of puking got my attention. Someone was using my fence to brace against as they hurled. I was gonna go hit them with water from the hose, thinking some drunk chose the wrong house to lose their dinner on, until I saw who it was.

XXX

Calla Lily Rose