The porch swing squeaks with each forward motion. It's almost mollifying as we rock forward and back, my feet tucked under me and Pony pushing us at an even tempo. We sit in silence – but it's comfortable.
We sit, watching the people stumble in and out of the house. For me, it's a new experience, but every so often a person will stumble over and greet Ponyboy and ask how he is. Most of the people are drunk, but so blissful from their night that at times they don't even notice us sitting off to the side.
"You gonna finish that?" Ponyboy asks motioning towards the wine cooler that sits in my lap. Its warm now and in my opinion, wasn't particularly good to begin with. I smile sheepishly and shake my head.
"Can't say I'm a fan," I tell him as he sniffs the alcohol. He makes a face but takes a sip anyways.
"Can't say I am either," he says with a laugh before leaning over the porch railing to dump the rest of my drink into the bushes. He leans back and looks at me for a moment and I feel a small blush creep up my face. I'm thankful its dark outside and that the low glow from the porchlight doesn't reach us on the swing.
"I don't think you've ever come to a Mark and Bryon party," he finally says looking away from me to watch a group of girls stumble out the front door, talking loudly, and trying to light a cigarette.
"Cause' I've never been," I say watching the girls with the same intent gaze. They look tired and one of them looks as if she has been crying.
"Is it everything you dreamed of?" He asks sarcastically.
"Oh yeah," I say as he playfully nudges me in the ribs, "I can't believe I've been missing out."
Ponyboy grins and leans back into the swing, pushing us off again into the rhythmic tempo of a late summer night. The silence settles back over us, the way it does for two people who have known each other for almost their whole lives. I try to remember the last time I sat so close to Ponyboy Curtis. It had to be before high school, before his parents, before everything with the Socs and Johnny, before Sodapop and Steven left for Vietnam, before he was Curtis, and before I was Penny.
Yes, it had been a long time since I have enjoyed the company of Ponyboy Curtis.
"How are you feeling about senior year?" He finally asks, breaking the silence between us once more.
"No," I laugh, "I am not ready to start our senior year. I cannot even picture the idea of leaving."
"Leaving?" Pony asks, his eyes settling over mine once again.
"For college," I say with a grin. "I'm going as far away as possible. California. New York. Washington. Maine."
At my words, I can see Ponyboy's eyes beginning to dance with excitement. He leans closer towards me, hanging onto every syllable. "Me too," he says. "Maybe not Washington, but I want to see the Pacific Ocean."
"Me too!" I gasp, turning my whole body towards him in my own excitement. "I want to climb a mountain. I want to touch a redwood tree. I want –"
"Just get out of Tulsa." He finishes for me, and I nod in agreement. Yes. Just get out of Tulsa.
"Maybe," he says with one of those classic Ponyboy grins. Warm. Inviting. "I'll see you there someday."
This realization seems to open up Ponyboy to more conversation and suddenly he is asking me about all kinds of things. The movies I've seen. The books I've read. All the places that I visit in my mind when I'm daydreaming away.
"You work at the bookstore on 9th street?" He asks and I nod again. "I've never seen you there."
"I'm only there on Tuesdays and Thursdays," I say, "and sometimes on Sundays when they're closed to help restock the shelves."
"I must only go on Mondays and Fridays," he teases.
"You'll have to come by and see me," I tell him. "I can get you a discount."
"I know all about the Mathews 'five-finger discount'," he teases in reference to my brother's sticky fingers. There was nothing my brother couldn't steal or wouldn't steal if a challenge presented itself to him. In hindsight, his knack for thievery was helpful, especially when we were at our poorest. We never went to bed hungry, thanks to Two-Bit.
"No, no – I get a friend's and family discount." I roll my eyes and he smiles playfully towards me.
As the night progresses, the crowd seems to get louder, rowdier as the alcohol continues to flow. There are a few moments where boys rush out, shoving each other, exchanging harsh words. I look down at the watch on Ponyboy's wrist, it's close to one in the morning, and I know that my mother and brother will be expecting me back soon. I didn't have a set curfew, but more of an understanding of the expectations they had for me.
"I should find Angel and Anette," I say watching as Bryon quickly deescalates the fight from happening on his porch, "I need to get home."
"What's up with Angel, anyways?" He asks as we stand-up from the porch swing. Ponyboy holds the door open for me and I feel my eyebrow lift towards him.
"Angel," I drawl, trying to think if I should tell him the truth or makeup some excuse.
"Is looking for a new way to make Bryon jealous." He finishes for me, and I shrug my shoulders with a laugh.
"If you already know, then why do you ask?" I say as I follow him through the dancefloor, trying to pinpoint where Angel and Annette could have disappeared.
"She's predictable," Ponyboy says over his shoulder towards me, "but hopefully, she caught the hint tonight."
"What was the hint?" I ask as we push back towards the kitchen, ending out night back against the kitchen counters.
"Isn't it obvious?" He asks, looking down at me with his eyes wild and dancing once more, "I ain't interested."
I smile, feeling his fingertips gently brush against mine. It's subtle and I find myself wondering if he even meant to do it, but it's over so quickly and he leaves my mind spinning with questions.
Annette and Angel are no where to be found, so by one-thirty, Ponyboy is walking me out the front door of Mark and Bryon's, and we hit the pavement in equal stride. The summer night has cooled completely, and I watch as my warm breath swirls from my lips and disappears into the cold night sky. As soon as we turn the corner away from Mark and Bryon's street, it's obvious that all of Tulsa has been asleep for a long while. Even the cicadas have ended their nightly song.
I wrap my arms around me tightly, wondering why my mother didn't insist on me bringing a sweater – but even if she had, would I have listened? Part of me likes to think I was still that obedient daughter, but the more I hung around with Angel and Annette, I found myself questioning if my mother and Two-Bit really knew best for me. Shoot, they had their fun.
"Cold?" Ponyboy asks and before I have a chance to answer, he's removing his jean jacket, and handing it to me.
"Aw, Pony," I begin to protest, but he drapes the jacket over my shoulders so that it hangs gently. "My house is close; I don't want you getting cold."
"Shoot kid," Ponyboy teases, "Two-Bit would never let me hear the end of it if I brought you home as an ice cube."
This I knew to be true, so I pulled the jacket in closer and settled into the warmth. For a moment, I inhale the deep woodsy and cigarette scent of his jacket. Wondering, how he managed to make cigarette smoke smell good. I hated it on my brother and wanted to gag when I had my first kiss behind the gym at school. I imagine what it would be like to kiss Ponyboy and look towards him, focusing on the perfect, full shape of his lips.
"What are you thinking about?" He asks, catching me off guard. If only you knew. I say, shaking the idea from my mind.
"What I want to have for breakfast in the morning," the answer sounds stupid, even to me, but he smiles regardless.
"Chocolate cake," he says with a nod. I give him a funny look and he laughs, "Don't knock it till you try it, Nell."
"I was thinking more along the lines of pancakes – maybe bacon," I tell him, and he shrugs his shoulders.
"To each their own I guess," he says before slowing to a stop in front of my house. There is one light on upstairs, shining down like a beacon from my mother's room. Of course, she waited up.
I sigh, leaning against the chain link fence that edges our property line. I knew that my mother would be full of questions, but I wasn't sure how much I wanted her to know. I look back at Ponyboy, who is just watching me. Was there really anything to say? All he did was sit with me and walk me home – hardly front page news.
"Thank you," I saw awkwardly, "for walking me home – and honestly, just hangin' out with me tonight."
"Anytime, Nellie." He responds with a slight grin, "It's always a pleasure with you."
I stare at him awkwardly, unsure how to end the night. If it was some other boy, I would expect them to kiss me. To brush my hair away from my face, to hold my waist in a close embrace, as their lips just tasted mine for the first time. But Ponyboy wasn't just some boy. He was Two-Bit's friend first and if I knew my brother the way I think I do, the very idea of me kissing his friend would be enough to never allow me anywhere again. It was unfair and once again, I found myself thinking about what it would feel like to kiss Ponyboy Curtis, somewhere far away from here. Maybe with our feet, dipped into the cold waves of the Pacific Ocean. Maybe in another life.
"Goodnight, Nellie," he tells me as he starts to walk backwards off the curb from my house.
"Get home safe," I whisper after him, before remembering his jacket draped over my shoulders. "Ponyboy! Your jacket."
"I'll expect it back," he says still walking away from me, "next time."
"Next time," I whisper more for myself than for him. I watch him walk down the street, before hurrying up my porch and closely the door safely behind me.
The house is dark and silent. I expect that Two-Bit and Donna also left for the night, which is why they aren't waiting up for me on the couch. I sigh and take off my shoes, sitting down on the bench next to the front door with a slight plop. The wave of tiredness hits me and I yawn, stretching my arms in front of me before shimmying off Ponyboy's jacket.
As I ascend the stairs, I fold the jacket carefully over my arm and trace my finger lightly over the frayed collar of his jacket. Knowing better, than to sneak off to bed before saying goodnight to my mother, I push her bedroom door open carefully, catching a glimpse of her reading in her favorite chair by the window. The curtains are drawn tight, but I have a feeling she might have been peeking – trying to identify what mysterious figure walked me home.
"Did you have fun?" She asks, without looking up from her book.
"Surprisingly," I tell her with a small smile. "Sorry I'm home so late, I lost track of time."
"Penelope," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "You are not my first child to come home late. I am far used to some boundaries being pushed. I'm just glad your home – not spending the night in jail like Two-Bit did at your age."
I feel the smile tug at my lips, and I join her in her room, sitting on the stool at the foot of her bed. I carefully fold Ponyboy's jacket onto my lap and lean towards her.
"I'm still sorry," I say, "and I won't do it again."
"I know," she says before leaning over to brush a loose piece of hair from my face. "So," she says, elongating the vowel, "who was the very tall stranger who walked you home?"
"Mama," my eyes roll dramatically, but I lean forward eager to tell her regardless. "It wasn't a stranger."
"No? She questions, just as eager to hear.
"It was Ponyboy Curtis," I tell her with a laugh. "Hardly anything to be excited about. He just walked me home."
"Those Curtis boys," she says with a knowing grin, "always such gentleman and so handsome."
"Mama!" I protest with a fit of giggles as she pokes my side, "It was nothing."
"Sure, it was dear," mama answers with a quick glance of the jacket in my hand. "Are you going to return his jacket then or ask Two-Bit."
My hands grip the jacket a little tighter and I watch as Mama's smile grows. She knew because of course she did. Mama always knew how I was feeling before I ever really worked it out for myself.
"Get some sleep, my girl," she tells me before standing to press a kiss to my forehead, "and have the sweetest dreams."
The sheets of my bed are cold as I slide into my bed for the night. The clock above my vanity reads close to three in the morning, but despite the tiredness of my body, my mind swims with new daydreams. As I snuggle into the pillows and pull the blankets up to my chin, I close my eyes and imagine Ponyboy once more.
Next time floats in my mind as I begin to imagine the possibilities of what that will mean for us.
A/N: Reviews are always appreciated. The story of Penelope has been working in my brain for years. I hope you will enjoy her story as much as I do.
