AUTHOR'S NOTE-Okay, chapter nine! Yay! This chapter's kind of strange
because, well, I wrote it in an odd mood. A couple days ago I came down
with something so I was just sitting around, enjoying staying home from
school much more then I actually should. I'm back at school though and
feel better!
Besides that, there are some people I need to thank. TimeTravller, thank you, and you'll just have to wait and see. ;). SodasGurl, I got your e- mail, thanks for the reviews, I'm glad you guys are getting so into the story. Everyone at my school always complains about my writing, so I was considering quitting on it. Bega, lol, yeah, writing Pony in a bad mood was a great form of anger management. :P. Starstruck, thanks for the positive review and the note on the theme, I wasn't sure whether it'd come out corny or not. And thanks, Karlei, again for the great review, and I'll tell you this; you'll find out what Anya is up to.
Today I actually got in trouble because we needed to write this paper for school (hehe, SodasGurl, one of the prompts was "Sandy kept repeating 'I don't believe in ghosts, I don't believe in ghosts.') and I couldn't think of anything because there A. wasn't any music playing and it was too quiet and B. we had to handwrite it. So I got in trouble because I wrote nothing. Grrr *snarls madly*.ok, got that venting out. Here's chapter nine for ya, I'll go back to munching on Orange Milanos and watching bad television.
CHAPTER NINE
DARRY
You notice how Sundays are supposed to be the calming day of the week? The week you unwind and relax? This Sunday was anything but relaxing. All I wanted to do was take a long nap. Nearly everyone had stopped by at the DX, but I simply wanted to spend the day with Kat.
"I've got a job!" she cried excitedly as she hurried into house. Cloud was moaning and crying, and Kat whispered, "Shhh.I'll get you some medicine tonight. Darry, do you know where you keep the thermometer?"
"Yeah, in the cabinet over the sink."
"Thanks, Darry!" she called. I tucked Cloud in on the couch as Kat gave her a thermometer. She hushed Cloud and sat down beside her, the back of her hand on Cloud's forehead. Sighing, Kat smiled wearily at me, "Hey."
"Hey," I whispered back. I was stretched out in my armchair, newspaper laid across my lap. She leaned over and we had a brief kiss before Cloud began fussing. Kat took out the thermometer.
"Damn, 103, I can't take you out," Kat said softly.
"Damn! Damn! Damn!" chattered Cloud. I laughed softly.
Kat's hands flew to her mouth, "No, forget Mommy said that, okay?" Now that Kat had told her not to repeat it, Cloud began to yell it at louder decibels. Kat gave up and sighed.
"I still need to get dinner on the table," murmured Kat.
"I'll take care of Cloud, you handle the dinner," I told her. Kat smiled, kissed me softly on the forehead and then plopped Cloud straight into my lap. Cloud was sniffling, and whining softly.
"Shhh," I hushed. "Come here, come to Papa." I stopped myself. I just referred to Cloud as my daughter. I felt a little uncomfortable. The truth was I wasn't Cloud's real father. Her real father was an idiot too busy beating up his ex girlfriend and selling drugs. At that moment I wanted more then anything to be her father. But as I watched Cloud look up with me with big, brown eyes, I didn't care that I wasn't biological. Cloud meant something to me, and that's what mattered. I held her close to my body, and then dozed off.
I woke up about fifteen minutes later. Kat had now set the table and was sitting at a chair, sipping coffee and staring out the window. She looked over to catch my eye and smiled tiredly. I looked down, fully expecting to see Cloud there. She wasn't.
As if to answer my question, Kat replied, "She's in your room." I nodded. Kat stood up and walked over to me, sitting down in my lap. She started to run her free hand through my hair. I loved it when she did that, and I wrapped my arms around her waist. I gave her a little plastic ring I had found in a box of Cracker Jack's and slipped it on her finger as a joke. She laughed and we just sat there together for a while in peace.
"I need to go get medicine," Kat teased.
"It can wait."
"Can it?"
"You tell me." Kat giggled and whipped her black hair behind her. It was the first time we really had alone to ourselves. I was always working, and Kat had Cloud, so it was nice to just have alone time. She lifted my chin up to meet her face, and we started to kiss.
The doorbell rang. We ignored it at first, but whoever was there was desperate to get through, and continued to buzz.
I sighed and murmured, "I swear, I'm getting that doorbell removed." Kat chuckled as I stood up and strolled over to the door. I opened it to see who was there. A lanky, black woman in a plaid gray suit with her graying brown hair tied in a tight bun stood before me.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Yes, I believe you can. Does a Katerina Noreiga reside here?"
"Yeah," called Kat, walking up to stand beside me. "Can I help you?"
"Yes. Eleanor Fisher, I work for social services," she held out her hand, and Kat looked at it skeptically. Ms. Fisher continued, "I have been sent here by the orders of Mrs. Rubella Rigby. You need to turn over your custodial rights and deliver your daughter." She looked at her clipboard, and then primly said, "Cloud Evita Noriega, two years of age I believe?"
"I'm sorry, I know no one by the name of Rubella Rigby," Kat stated. It was rather convincing, to tell the truth.
Ms. Fisher shook her head, "You already lied to the hospital staff about your age when you had little Cloud, Ms. Noriega. Hand over the child and everything will be fine."
"I'm not giving you my girl," Kat said.
"Ms. Noriega," Ms. Fisher protested calmly, "unless you can prove to me that you are living in a substantial home, I am forced to take your child from you."
"We're married," I blurted. Stunned, Kat and Ms. Fisher turned to me. I held up the finger with Kat's Cracker Jack ring on it, "See?"
"Oh.oh!" exclaimed Kat. She played along. "Right. Married. Last June, actually. Beautiful wedding, actually, honey."
"I still think we should've gone with the cheesecake," I argued. It was like having an out of body experience. I was lying to authorities. Kind of a power trip, actually.
"I see," Ms. Fisher said skeptically. I don't think she believed us, but I saw a smile tug at the corner of her thin, pursed lips, "May I take a look around at your house, Mr. and Mrs.."
"Curtis," I told her. "Mr. and Mrs. Darrel Curtis."
"Thank you," she said, taking out a pen and jotting down my name. "Mrs. Rigby never mentioned her daughter being wed."
"Mom has kind of a rather short term memory," lied Kat easily. Ms. Fisher stepped inside and looked appraisingly around. Chucking a flannel T-shirt behind the armchair, I tried to keep up a phony smile.
"Where do you work, Mr. Curtis?" asked Ms. Fisher.
"I'm a construction worker."
"Ok, and you, Mrs. Curtis, if that's your legal name."
"No, I didn't change mine," stated Kat. "I work as a cashier."
"Hmmm.very well," continued Ms. Fisher, marking off our every answer as if she was interviewing us for a job. She then started to take a tour around the house. After agonizing moments of waiting for Ms. Fisher to make a decision, she looked over to the two of us and smiled, "Well, Mrs. Rigby indeed must have been mistaken. You two seem to be efficient parents. It's so nice to see two young people marrying these days instead of shacking off."
"Yeah," agreed Kat. "Thank you so much, Ms. Fisher."
"Do not thank me, thank yourselves," Ms. Fisher said. "I will send a report back to the office telling them we no longer need to investigate you anymore." Kat and Ms. Fisher made small talk and Kat closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you," she said, sliding to the floor. "For covering for me back there."
"I wasn't covering," I said.
"What?" asked Kat, laughing.
"I want to marry you, Kat." Kat covered her face as if she had been thrown out of the frying pan, into the fire. "What?"
"Darry, I don't know if I want to marry you yet--"
"Why not?"
"Darry, it's not that I don't love you, or that I don't want to marry you-- "
"So you've just been mooching off me?" I asked.
Kat shook her head, "No! Not at all."
"Really?" I asked unbelieving.
"I'm only twenty okay!" shouted Kat. "I don't know jack shit! I thought I knew the man I wanted to marry at eighteen! You know what, I don't! My kid's sick, I'm broke--"
"I can't believe it," I said disgusted. "You used me!"
"No!" pleaded Kat. "I love you, Darry! I know that for a fact!"
"Then why don't you marry me?" I asked. Kat didn't have a reply to that. I saw her look away, refusing to leave her seat from the floor. A single tear rolled down her cheek. I wasn't sure whether to yell at her or to gather her up in my arms and kiss her, glad that she had walked into my life.
"I don't know," she whispered.
"I know," I replied. "It's because you act like you can just come in here and hide your emotions. And you're afraid. You're afraid of having someone take your heart in their hands and actually love it for who you are. With Julio, he just broke it and left the pieces to be put back together by someone else."
"Oh, and I'm the weird one?" asked Kat. "What about you!"
"Me?" I asked, caught off guard.
"Yeah! You always act like you know everything and you're in charge but you have no control over your life, and that pisses you off!"
"What?!" I asked, trying to hide the fact that she was uncomfortably right.
"Don't lie, Darry!" cried Kat. I hate it when girls cry. I know Pony and Soda hate it as well. We stood there, or in Kat's case sat, for ages on end. Kat whispered, "I love you, Darry. It nearly killed me when you said I was using you."
"I know," I murmured. "I'm sorry.I don't want to lose you."
"Don't speak," she begged. I sat down beside her, against the door. When I was younger, I used to wonder why my mother and teachers would say under their breaths, "Silence is golden". Now I know why. There weren't any words needed to express what we were feeling. I looked over to Kat. She had been crying all her life. I had sworn to myself I would never make her cry. I just did.
Silence isn't what's it's cracked up to be.
ANYA
Glitter blinded my face as I gazed into the mirror. Deep down, I hated myself. I hated myself for what I had done. I bit the inside of my mouth as I idly played with the make-up brush. Inside I was crying. The bright lights, the sneering, whorish women surrounding me, I wanted them all to disappear.
I sighed. Soda would never know. I had done this for Soda. I think I cared for Soda more then anything in my entire lifetime. Soda would understand, I told myself. He'd appreciate the great sacrifice I had made and then hold me forever and everything would be wonderful because that's how it was supposed to be.
"Hey hey, pussycat, you made the most out of any my girls here." I heard a Boston accent, and turned in my chair to face the voice. It was Proteus, a scrawny, petite, balding 30 year old who owned the club. He had a gold tooth and a bowl hat with a rooster's feather.
I glared at him as he spoke, waving the dollar bills in my face, "You're our best worker here, pussycat. Yeah."
"Give me the money, Proteus, I earned it."
"Nope," Proteus said, snatching the money away from my clutches. "You want the cash, you gotta work for it. Why don't you come upstairs and we can.talk business, huh?" I watched his tongue lick his lips savagely. Disgusted, I shoved him away, but he grabbed my wrists. The other girls thought this was funny, and cheered Proteus on. My hand clawed its way to the bottle of pepper spray I carried, and I sprayed it in his face. He cried for mercy as he crashed into the other girls. Snatching the fallen money, I stuffed them in my purse, robed myself protectively in my black leather trench coat and stormed out of the door. Kitty Katz was behind me.
It was getting late out, and the sun was setting. I counted the dollar bills. Seventy five dollars all together. This could pay for everything. Sighing, I continued to stroll down the streets. No one was going to know, I told myself. I did what I had to do. It was for a good cause. Little, innocent Anya was no longer little or innocent. I put behind everything that had happened. I felt dirty, and needed a nice, long shower. Tonight I had resigned from the underground life. Nobody could touch me and Soda anymore. This was all for Sodapop.
"Hey little girl in the trench coat." I had lost track of where I was going, and found myself walking down a darkly lit street alley in a rough side of town. The voice reminded me of English leather and shaving cream and cheap vodka. I kept walking. I heard heavy footsteps behind me.
"Little girl, slow down. Papa can't catch up with you."
"Leave me alone!" I shouted. I whipped around to see my attacker. I had the night vision of a cat, and I saw a tall, lanky blonde haired teenager. His dark, unrelenting beady eyes stared directly at me. It was the Soc that hated Pony. He looked awful, unhealthily thin and pale. What did he want with me?
Before I could do anything, he grabbed my wrists. I screamed for mercy, but he covered my mouth. I bit his hand, and tasted the blood. He swore bitterly. Remembering I had left my pepper spray at the club, I tried to grab my switchblade. I wasn't afraid to kill this Soc, preferably just scare him off. Squeezing painful pressure onto my wrist, the blade dropped from my clutches, followed by my entire purse.
"Shh, shh," he hushed, "don't fight, little girl." Attempting to knee him in the groin, he unfortunately twisted and his body crashed on top of mine. I fell to the ground, and tried to grab my switchblade. It was too far out of my reach.
"Nooo!" I gasped. "Get lost!"
"I'm thinking quite the opposite," the Soc, Spike, said. I couldn't struggle too much anymore. I screamed. No one heard.
PONY
There's always that calm before the storm, that single moment when you realize what everything has been building up to. It's always strange to look back and point out that specific moment. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you did this, or that, and spend the entire time second guessing yourself and playing 20 questions. Tonight, all hell was about to break loose.
Walking the streets at night was dangerous, which was precisely why I did it. Soda and Steve had jetted off home, to confront Anya and find out what she was up to. Believing Anya had a perfectly wise excuse, I decided to tag along with Two-Bit and cruise around. We met up with these two punks, Bryon and Mark, at a diner not to ofar from the one Two-Bit's mother worked at. Mark was a tuff enough guy, could hot wire and shoplift better then anyone. Bryon, however, hated me. I had no idea why. I didn't particularly care either.
Figuring that Two-Bit, Mark and Bryon were going to talk my ears off, I managed to slip out and call Sarah on a pay phone. I needed to talk to her badly. I had practically pined for her, though the image of her and Randy still was burned crisply in my mind. I put a quarter in and dialed her number.
"Hello?" A female voice answered. I believe in fate, and I realized that fate nudged me right at that moment. Figuring that it was some ritzy member of her family, so I replied, "Hello, Miss van Pelt?"
The voice was dead air, and what happened next surprised me. The woman barked, "What kind of sick joke is this? Ms. van Pelt ran off years ago!"
"What?" I asked. Ms. van Pelt? I was referring to Miss van Pelt, as in Sarah van Pelt. What was this she was saying about Mrs. van Pelt running off?
"Caroline van Pelt ran off years ago, everyone in the town knows that. What kind of sick person would rub that into a poor girl like Sarah?" Wait. Sarah had told me her mother died. So she had.lied to me?
"I-I'm sorry," I replied quickly, dropping the receiver. I could hear the poor maid's voice calling out like a broken record. Not even bothering to tell Two-Bit where I was going, I just simply ran. I needed to find Sarah and make her explain to me what she had been lying about.
SODA
Thoughts raced through my head faster then the rate that Darry's truck was driving at, and that was pretty fast on its own. It just stunned me. Anya actually had lied to me. Maybe lied wasn't the best choice of words. No, it was. She had specifically told me that she had received a job at 7-11 and the money was coming from there. Maybe she did work at 7-11 and Kat was just mistaken. No, there was only one 7-11 in all of Tulsa. I kept going back and forth on myself the entire time.
Steve hadn't said a word. I think he was just as shocked as I was. He loved Anya like she was his sister, and treated her as such. I think more then anything he wanted to shield Anya from the neighborhood we lived in, to hide her from the all the horrors that come out at night. To provide a shield against all the traits she shouldn't pick up, like lying or stealing or swearing. Now she was picking up with the rest of us.
I couldn't stop trying to deny the fact that Anya lied to my face. I started thinking about her last words. I knew she loved me. I felt it every time I was around her. Then why? Why would she lie to me?
We parked Darry's truck in front of his house. The lights weren't out, which was a bad sign because it was pretty late. That would probably mean that Steve's folks were fighting again. Let me rephrase that: that meant Steve's dad shoving his mom around. It wasn't that Steve's dad was a bad guy; when he was sober he was actually pretty tuff. He just was too stressed and ornery and drunk and took it out on others.
Steve and I stepped out, and we hurried up the steps and opened the door. I saw Angus Randle fly through the doorway, a beer bottle in his hand, "Where the hell have ya bin?"
"Out," Steve said, tightlipped. "Where's Anya?"
"That's what I was gonna ask you," Mr. Randle slurred. He pointed to me, "You done anything to her?"
"No!" I said. I would never think about harming Anya. I loved Anya. I just hoped I could after this.
"Fuck, we're out of beer," commented Mr. Randle. He threw the beer bottle against the wall, where the faded yellow wallpaper was peeling. "Woman! Bring me my beer!"
"Yes, honey," Julia Randle called meekly from the other room. Just then, Anya walked through the door. None of us had even noticed her; she had come in so quietly. Her head was bowed in shame and her dark blonde hair covered her face. Her knuckles had turned right from clutching her purse, and her trench coat was wrapped tightly around her body.
"Where the hell have ya bin?!" snapped Mr. Randle. "We make rules, you follow them! If it weren't for me, you'd be in foster care!"
"Don't take it out on her!" Steve yelled. "It ain't her fault your sister's a fucking prostitute and our dearest uncle was a thug!"
"You stay out of this," Mr. Randle shouted. "You don't make the money!"
Steve argued, "Yeah, I do!"
"You shut the fuck up!" argued Mr. Randle. "Or I'll kick the both of you little delinquents out!"
"Don't refer to her like that!" Steve yelled. "Anya's the best thing that ever happened to you, you drunk bastard!"
"GET OUT!" screeched Mr. Randle. "All of you! I hate you, I wish the two of you hadn't ever been born!"
Mrs. Randle entered the room, "Honey, please."
"Leave me alone, woman!" Mr. Randle yelled, shoving his wife to the floor. Steve grabbed his jacket, then took Anya's hand and yelled, "Fine! I'll get the fuck out! And I'll never come back!" I think this time he was serious. You could never be sure. Every week Steve and his father would have heinous arguments like these. Anya was standing off in the corner, meek, hurt. The three of us hurried back into Darry's truck. Steve spent the next few minutes swearing and slamming his fists into the driver's wheel. Anya sat quietly in between us, twiddling her thumbs, biting her lip as if she had something to say but was afraid to say it.
After Steve got his aggression out, he sighed and said, "Soda, can we stay at your place?"
"Sure," I said, looking directly at Anya. I think she noticed I was staring. Figuring that Steve was too angry to safely drive, I took the wheel and drove us home. That was when I'd get my explanation.
Besides that, there are some people I need to thank. TimeTravller, thank you, and you'll just have to wait and see. ;). SodasGurl, I got your e- mail, thanks for the reviews, I'm glad you guys are getting so into the story. Everyone at my school always complains about my writing, so I was considering quitting on it. Bega, lol, yeah, writing Pony in a bad mood was a great form of anger management. :P. Starstruck, thanks for the positive review and the note on the theme, I wasn't sure whether it'd come out corny or not. And thanks, Karlei, again for the great review, and I'll tell you this; you'll find out what Anya is up to.
Today I actually got in trouble because we needed to write this paper for school (hehe, SodasGurl, one of the prompts was "Sandy kept repeating 'I don't believe in ghosts, I don't believe in ghosts.') and I couldn't think of anything because there A. wasn't any music playing and it was too quiet and B. we had to handwrite it. So I got in trouble because I wrote nothing. Grrr *snarls madly*.ok, got that venting out. Here's chapter nine for ya, I'll go back to munching on Orange Milanos and watching bad television.
CHAPTER NINE
DARRY
You notice how Sundays are supposed to be the calming day of the week? The week you unwind and relax? This Sunday was anything but relaxing. All I wanted to do was take a long nap. Nearly everyone had stopped by at the DX, but I simply wanted to spend the day with Kat.
"I've got a job!" she cried excitedly as she hurried into house. Cloud was moaning and crying, and Kat whispered, "Shhh.I'll get you some medicine tonight. Darry, do you know where you keep the thermometer?"
"Yeah, in the cabinet over the sink."
"Thanks, Darry!" she called. I tucked Cloud in on the couch as Kat gave her a thermometer. She hushed Cloud and sat down beside her, the back of her hand on Cloud's forehead. Sighing, Kat smiled wearily at me, "Hey."
"Hey," I whispered back. I was stretched out in my armchair, newspaper laid across my lap. She leaned over and we had a brief kiss before Cloud began fussing. Kat took out the thermometer.
"Damn, 103, I can't take you out," Kat said softly.
"Damn! Damn! Damn!" chattered Cloud. I laughed softly.
Kat's hands flew to her mouth, "No, forget Mommy said that, okay?" Now that Kat had told her not to repeat it, Cloud began to yell it at louder decibels. Kat gave up and sighed.
"I still need to get dinner on the table," murmured Kat.
"I'll take care of Cloud, you handle the dinner," I told her. Kat smiled, kissed me softly on the forehead and then plopped Cloud straight into my lap. Cloud was sniffling, and whining softly.
"Shhh," I hushed. "Come here, come to Papa." I stopped myself. I just referred to Cloud as my daughter. I felt a little uncomfortable. The truth was I wasn't Cloud's real father. Her real father was an idiot too busy beating up his ex girlfriend and selling drugs. At that moment I wanted more then anything to be her father. But as I watched Cloud look up with me with big, brown eyes, I didn't care that I wasn't biological. Cloud meant something to me, and that's what mattered. I held her close to my body, and then dozed off.
I woke up about fifteen minutes later. Kat had now set the table and was sitting at a chair, sipping coffee and staring out the window. She looked over to catch my eye and smiled tiredly. I looked down, fully expecting to see Cloud there. She wasn't.
As if to answer my question, Kat replied, "She's in your room." I nodded. Kat stood up and walked over to me, sitting down in my lap. She started to run her free hand through my hair. I loved it when she did that, and I wrapped my arms around her waist. I gave her a little plastic ring I had found in a box of Cracker Jack's and slipped it on her finger as a joke. She laughed and we just sat there together for a while in peace.
"I need to go get medicine," Kat teased.
"It can wait."
"Can it?"
"You tell me." Kat giggled and whipped her black hair behind her. It was the first time we really had alone to ourselves. I was always working, and Kat had Cloud, so it was nice to just have alone time. She lifted my chin up to meet her face, and we started to kiss.
The doorbell rang. We ignored it at first, but whoever was there was desperate to get through, and continued to buzz.
I sighed and murmured, "I swear, I'm getting that doorbell removed." Kat chuckled as I stood up and strolled over to the door. I opened it to see who was there. A lanky, black woman in a plaid gray suit with her graying brown hair tied in a tight bun stood before me.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Yes, I believe you can. Does a Katerina Noreiga reside here?"
"Yeah," called Kat, walking up to stand beside me. "Can I help you?"
"Yes. Eleanor Fisher, I work for social services," she held out her hand, and Kat looked at it skeptically. Ms. Fisher continued, "I have been sent here by the orders of Mrs. Rubella Rigby. You need to turn over your custodial rights and deliver your daughter." She looked at her clipboard, and then primly said, "Cloud Evita Noriega, two years of age I believe?"
"I'm sorry, I know no one by the name of Rubella Rigby," Kat stated. It was rather convincing, to tell the truth.
Ms. Fisher shook her head, "You already lied to the hospital staff about your age when you had little Cloud, Ms. Noriega. Hand over the child and everything will be fine."
"I'm not giving you my girl," Kat said.
"Ms. Noriega," Ms. Fisher protested calmly, "unless you can prove to me that you are living in a substantial home, I am forced to take your child from you."
"We're married," I blurted. Stunned, Kat and Ms. Fisher turned to me. I held up the finger with Kat's Cracker Jack ring on it, "See?"
"Oh.oh!" exclaimed Kat. She played along. "Right. Married. Last June, actually. Beautiful wedding, actually, honey."
"I still think we should've gone with the cheesecake," I argued. It was like having an out of body experience. I was lying to authorities. Kind of a power trip, actually.
"I see," Ms. Fisher said skeptically. I don't think she believed us, but I saw a smile tug at the corner of her thin, pursed lips, "May I take a look around at your house, Mr. and Mrs.."
"Curtis," I told her. "Mr. and Mrs. Darrel Curtis."
"Thank you," she said, taking out a pen and jotting down my name. "Mrs. Rigby never mentioned her daughter being wed."
"Mom has kind of a rather short term memory," lied Kat easily. Ms. Fisher stepped inside and looked appraisingly around. Chucking a flannel T-shirt behind the armchair, I tried to keep up a phony smile.
"Where do you work, Mr. Curtis?" asked Ms. Fisher.
"I'm a construction worker."
"Ok, and you, Mrs. Curtis, if that's your legal name."
"No, I didn't change mine," stated Kat. "I work as a cashier."
"Hmmm.very well," continued Ms. Fisher, marking off our every answer as if she was interviewing us for a job. She then started to take a tour around the house. After agonizing moments of waiting for Ms. Fisher to make a decision, she looked over to the two of us and smiled, "Well, Mrs. Rigby indeed must have been mistaken. You two seem to be efficient parents. It's so nice to see two young people marrying these days instead of shacking off."
"Yeah," agreed Kat. "Thank you so much, Ms. Fisher."
"Do not thank me, thank yourselves," Ms. Fisher said. "I will send a report back to the office telling them we no longer need to investigate you anymore." Kat and Ms. Fisher made small talk and Kat closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you," she said, sliding to the floor. "For covering for me back there."
"I wasn't covering," I said.
"What?" asked Kat, laughing.
"I want to marry you, Kat." Kat covered her face as if she had been thrown out of the frying pan, into the fire. "What?"
"Darry, I don't know if I want to marry you yet--"
"Why not?"
"Darry, it's not that I don't love you, or that I don't want to marry you-- "
"So you've just been mooching off me?" I asked.
Kat shook her head, "No! Not at all."
"Really?" I asked unbelieving.
"I'm only twenty okay!" shouted Kat. "I don't know jack shit! I thought I knew the man I wanted to marry at eighteen! You know what, I don't! My kid's sick, I'm broke--"
"I can't believe it," I said disgusted. "You used me!"
"No!" pleaded Kat. "I love you, Darry! I know that for a fact!"
"Then why don't you marry me?" I asked. Kat didn't have a reply to that. I saw her look away, refusing to leave her seat from the floor. A single tear rolled down her cheek. I wasn't sure whether to yell at her or to gather her up in my arms and kiss her, glad that she had walked into my life.
"I don't know," she whispered.
"I know," I replied. "It's because you act like you can just come in here and hide your emotions. And you're afraid. You're afraid of having someone take your heart in their hands and actually love it for who you are. With Julio, he just broke it and left the pieces to be put back together by someone else."
"Oh, and I'm the weird one?" asked Kat. "What about you!"
"Me?" I asked, caught off guard.
"Yeah! You always act like you know everything and you're in charge but you have no control over your life, and that pisses you off!"
"What?!" I asked, trying to hide the fact that she was uncomfortably right.
"Don't lie, Darry!" cried Kat. I hate it when girls cry. I know Pony and Soda hate it as well. We stood there, or in Kat's case sat, for ages on end. Kat whispered, "I love you, Darry. It nearly killed me when you said I was using you."
"I know," I murmured. "I'm sorry.I don't want to lose you."
"Don't speak," she begged. I sat down beside her, against the door. When I was younger, I used to wonder why my mother and teachers would say under their breaths, "Silence is golden". Now I know why. There weren't any words needed to express what we were feeling. I looked over to Kat. She had been crying all her life. I had sworn to myself I would never make her cry. I just did.
Silence isn't what's it's cracked up to be.
ANYA
Glitter blinded my face as I gazed into the mirror. Deep down, I hated myself. I hated myself for what I had done. I bit the inside of my mouth as I idly played with the make-up brush. Inside I was crying. The bright lights, the sneering, whorish women surrounding me, I wanted them all to disappear.
I sighed. Soda would never know. I had done this for Soda. I think I cared for Soda more then anything in my entire lifetime. Soda would understand, I told myself. He'd appreciate the great sacrifice I had made and then hold me forever and everything would be wonderful because that's how it was supposed to be.
"Hey hey, pussycat, you made the most out of any my girls here." I heard a Boston accent, and turned in my chair to face the voice. It was Proteus, a scrawny, petite, balding 30 year old who owned the club. He had a gold tooth and a bowl hat with a rooster's feather.
I glared at him as he spoke, waving the dollar bills in my face, "You're our best worker here, pussycat. Yeah."
"Give me the money, Proteus, I earned it."
"Nope," Proteus said, snatching the money away from my clutches. "You want the cash, you gotta work for it. Why don't you come upstairs and we can.talk business, huh?" I watched his tongue lick his lips savagely. Disgusted, I shoved him away, but he grabbed my wrists. The other girls thought this was funny, and cheered Proteus on. My hand clawed its way to the bottle of pepper spray I carried, and I sprayed it in his face. He cried for mercy as he crashed into the other girls. Snatching the fallen money, I stuffed them in my purse, robed myself protectively in my black leather trench coat and stormed out of the door. Kitty Katz was behind me.
It was getting late out, and the sun was setting. I counted the dollar bills. Seventy five dollars all together. This could pay for everything. Sighing, I continued to stroll down the streets. No one was going to know, I told myself. I did what I had to do. It was for a good cause. Little, innocent Anya was no longer little or innocent. I put behind everything that had happened. I felt dirty, and needed a nice, long shower. Tonight I had resigned from the underground life. Nobody could touch me and Soda anymore. This was all for Sodapop.
"Hey little girl in the trench coat." I had lost track of where I was going, and found myself walking down a darkly lit street alley in a rough side of town. The voice reminded me of English leather and shaving cream and cheap vodka. I kept walking. I heard heavy footsteps behind me.
"Little girl, slow down. Papa can't catch up with you."
"Leave me alone!" I shouted. I whipped around to see my attacker. I had the night vision of a cat, and I saw a tall, lanky blonde haired teenager. His dark, unrelenting beady eyes stared directly at me. It was the Soc that hated Pony. He looked awful, unhealthily thin and pale. What did he want with me?
Before I could do anything, he grabbed my wrists. I screamed for mercy, but he covered my mouth. I bit his hand, and tasted the blood. He swore bitterly. Remembering I had left my pepper spray at the club, I tried to grab my switchblade. I wasn't afraid to kill this Soc, preferably just scare him off. Squeezing painful pressure onto my wrist, the blade dropped from my clutches, followed by my entire purse.
"Shh, shh," he hushed, "don't fight, little girl." Attempting to knee him in the groin, he unfortunately twisted and his body crashed on top of mine. I fell to the ground, and tried to grab my switchblade. It was too far out of my reach.
"Nooo!" I gasped. "Get lost!"
"I'm thinking quite the opposite," the Soc, Spike, said. I couldn't struggle too much anymore. I screamed. No one heard.
PONY
There's always that calm before the storm, that single moment when you realize what everything has been building up to. It's always strange to look back and point out that specific moment. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you did this, or that, and spend the entire time second guessing yourself and playing 20 questions. Tonight, all hell was about to break loose.
Walking the streets at night was dangerous, which was precisely why I did it. Soda and Steve had jetted off home, to confront Anya and find out what she was up to. Believing Anya had a perfectly wise excuse, I decided to tag along with Two-Bit and cruise around. We met up with these two punks, Bryon and Mark, at a diner not to ofar from the one Two-Bit's mother worked at. Mark was a tuff enough guy, could hot wire and shoplift better then anyone. Bryon, however, hated me. I had no idea why. I didn't particularly care either.
Figuring that Two-Bit, Mark and Bryon were going to talk my ears off, I managed to slip out and call Sarah on a pay phone. I needed to talk to her badly. I had practically pined for her, though the image of her and Randy still was burned crisply in my mind. I put a quarter in and dialed her number.
"Hello?" A female voice answered. I believe in fate, and I realized that fate nudged me right at that moment. Figuring that it was some ritzy member of her family, so I replied, "Hello, Miss van Pelt?"
The voice was dead air, and what happened next surprised me. The woman barked, "What kind of sick joke is this? Ms. van Pelt ran off years ago!"
"What?" I asked. Ms. van Pelt? I was referring to Miss van Pelt, as in Sarah van Pelt. What was this she was saying about Mrs. van Pelt running off?
"Caroline van Pelt ran off years ago, everyone in the town knows that. What kind of sick person would rub that into a poor girl like Sarah?" Wait. Sarah had told me her mother died. So she had.lied to me?
"I-I'm sorry," I replied quickly, dropping the receiver. I could hear the poor maid's voice calling out like a broken record. Not even bothering to tell Two-Bit where I was going, I just simply ran. I needed to find Sarah and make her explain to me what she had been lying about.
SODA
Thoughts raced through my head faster then the rate that Darry's truck was driving at, and that was pretty fast on its own. It just stunned me. Anya actually had lied to me. Maybe lied wasn't the best choice of words. No, it was. She had specifically told me that she had received a job at 7-11 and the money was coming from there. Maybe she did work at 7-11 and Kat was just mistaken. No, there was only one 7-11 in all of Tulsa. I kept going back and forth on myself the entire time.
Steve hadn't said a word. I think he was just as shocked as I was. He loved Anya like she was his sister, and treated her as such. I think more then anything he wanted to shield Anya from the neighborhood we lived in, to hide her from the all the horrors that come out at night. To provide a shield against all the traits she shouldn't pick up, like lying or stealing or swearing. Now she was picking up with the rest of us.
I couldn't stop trying to deny the fact that Anya lied to my face. I started thinking about her last words. I knew she loved me. I felt it every time I was around her. Then why? Why would she lie to me?
We parked Darry's truck in front of his house. The lights weren't out, which was a bad sign because it was pretty late. That would probably mean that Steve's folks were fighting again. Let me rephrase that: that meant Steve's dad shoving his mom around. It wasn't that Steve's dad was a bad guy; when he was sober he was actually pretty tuff. He just was too stressed and ornery and drunk and took it out on others.
Steve and I stepped out, and we hurried up the steps and opened the door. I saw Angus Randle fly through the doorway, a beer bottle in his hand, "Where the hell have ya bin?"
"Out," Steve said, tightlipped. "Where's Anya?"
"That's what I was gonna ask you," Mr. Randle slurred. He pointed to me, "You done anything to her?"
"No!" I said. I would never think about harming Anya. I loved Anya. I just hoped I could after this.
"Fuck, we're out of beer," commented Mr. Randle. He threw the beer bottle against the wall, where the faded yellow wallpaper was peeling. "Woman! Bring me my beer!"
"Yes, honey," Julia Randle called meekly from the other room. Just then, Anya walked through the door. None of us had even noticed her; she had come in so quietly. Her head was bowed in shame and her dark blonde hair covered her face. Her knuckles had turned right from clutching her purse, and her trench coat was wrapped tightly around her body.
"Where the hell have ya bin?!" snapped Mr. Randle. "We make rules, you follow them! If it weren't for me, you'd be in foster care!"
"Don't take it out on her!" Steve yelled. "It ain't her fault your sister's a fucking prostitute and our dearest uncle was a thug!"
"You stay out of this," Mr. Randle shouted. "You don't make the money!"
Steve argued, "Yeah, I do!"
"You shut the fuck up!" argued Mr. Randle. "Or I'll kick the both of you little delinquents out!"
"Don't refer to her like that!" Steve yelled. "Anya's the best thing that ever happened to you, you drunk bastard!"
"GET OUT!" screeched Mr. Randle. "All of you! I hate you, I wish the two of you hadn't ever been born!"
Mrs. Randle entered the room, "Honey, please."
"Leave me alone, woman!" Mr. Randle yelled, shoving his wife to the floor. Steve grabbed his jacket, then took Anya's hand and yelled, "Fine! I'll get the fuck out! And I'll never come back!" I think this time he was serious. You could never be sure. Every week Steve and his father would have heinous arguments like these. Anya was standing off in the corner, meek, hurt. The three of us hurried back into Darry's truck. Steve spent the next few minutes swearing and slamming his fists into the driver's wheel. Anya sat quietly in between us, twiddling her thumbs, biting her lip as if she had something to say but was afraid to say it.
After Steve got his aggression out, he sighed and said, "Soda, can we stay at your place?"
"Sure," I said, looking directly at Anya. I think she noticed I was staring. Figuring that Steve was too angry to safely drive, I took the wheel and drove us home. That was when I'd get my explanation.