A/N: Here we are again. Don't get too excited now, I don't think I can keep up this rate of updating! I'm putting my review thank-yous at the end, so everyone can get to the story first. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders; no one can own Vic, he wouldn't have it.
Dedication: This goes out to Rich, who reads all my chapters even though he doesn't remember the book and who listens with interest to my rambling, and to Tens, who inspired me to put my own creation on this site and who doesn't seem to mind when I send her a rambling email. Enough rambling, let's move on.
Pony's POV
It was 2:30 in the afternoon. I had just hung up the phone after my fifth consecutive call since lunch, when it rang again. I almost didn't answer. An hour and a half of sitting at a desk with a phone pressed to my ear, going in circles with people high on their own importance, had me in such a knot I was ready to sit back and smoke through my entire week's pack of cigarettes. I had cut myself back to a pack a week at Melissa's prodding, but was reconsidering, with the people I had to deal with. Nothing can just be simple.
On the fifth ring I snatched the phone off the hook, not so much because my coworkers were all looking at me anxiously, but because it was grating on my already worn nerves.
"What!" I snapped unintentionally into the receiver. Why am I so tense? I could really use a cigarette, I'm usually more professional than that.
There was a pause.
"Um…Social services, Ponyboy Curtis speaking," I revised.
"Mr. Curtis? This is Officer Jason Franks. I've gone on a few of your backup calls…" he faded off expectantly.
"Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry, officer, it's been a long aftern…" I cut myself off. Why was he calling me? Typically, I called him, when I was going on a home visit where I anticipated trouble, like for a pick-up. "What can I do for you?" I asked suspiciously.
"I've got a young man here…" I could hear papers shuffling, "…Victor Madison. He's yours, isn't he?"
My stomach clenched. "Yeah, he's mine. What happened?"
"You can come on down here and pick him up, I'll explain everything then. Don't worry, I pulled him out before he got booked when I saw he was yours."
Booked for what? He was supposed to be in school! "Uh, sure, thanks. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"Just ask for me at the front desk." The phone clicked, and I was left sitting there dumbfounded.
I had a good long time to think things over in the car on the way over to the station, with the backup I was sitting in; from the flashing lights up ahead, I gathered there had been an accident, and I was up too far to be able to turn off and go a different way.
It had been three days since our moderately successful Sunday dinner. Vic had been behaving a little more humanly to me, almost friendly. It was like something clicked, and a little of the shell he had enclosed himself in was eroding away.
The first couple of weeks he had lived with us had been hell, probably for him as much as me, but I have to wonder. He did everything possible to push my buttons, test his limits, and drive me crazy, and I knew exactly what he was doing. After about two weeks, he seemed to realize that, first, I wasn't sending him away, and second, he couldn't come up with anything to do that was bad enough to make me hit him. Eventually he stopped flinching every time I reached across him to get something out of the cabinet or off the table or wherever.
Early on I put him on a tight leash. I didn't want to, because it was important to me that he felt trustworthy, but he was already almost fourteen, I didn't know him, and my first concerns were keeping him safe and out of trouble. He wanted to go out and spend time with his friends, which I let him do, but there were rules: I needed to know who he would be with, where they were going, and when they would be coming back. On top of it, he was required to call me every hour, no matter where he was or what he was doing. I also reserved the right to go out at any point and check to make sure he was really where he claimed to be, and with the people he had told me he would be with.
It's become customary for me to hand Vic a pocketful of dimes before he goes out. There are payphones all over the city, so there is no reason he shouldn't be able to follow the call-in rule, but I had clearly stated the consequences of a missed call from the beginning: if he were more than ten minutes late on a call, I would contact everyone at my disposal, and we would comb the city for him. Once I got him home, he would be under close surveillance for the next week – school during the day, home with Melissa afterward, and no leaving the house except with either me or Melissa. Even unsupervised visits to Darry were prohibited; I trust Darry with my life, but it was a punishment – almost from the beginning I could see how much Vic enjoyed time with my oldest brother. He had tested me only once on the call-in rule, and was severely unhappy with the result. Vic saw that I had been serious, and I was sure he wouldn't miss a call again.
Sometimes, I wish I were the kid again – no real worries, somebody else figures out the rules, and you don't have to feel like a jerk telling someone what to do all the time.
Today, though – what was this all about? Had Vic cut school? I didn't think so; either Melissa or I should have gotten a call from the school if he hadn't shown up. He hadn't even been out with his friends since Friday night, with all the homework he'd been getting, and when they had gone out, it had just been to a movie, then back to our house afterward for a late-night snack. As much as it probably bothered Vic, his friends seemed to like coming to our house. We didn't ask questions, didn't bug them, and didn't care if our dirty old second-hand furniture got dirtier. We had taken them all out to a movie for Vic's birthday not long after he had moved in with us. They seemed like a good bunch of kids, watching their language in front of Melissa and remembering to use most of their manners most of the time.
The backup was starting to move, and from then on it took only another ten minutes to get to the police station. I approached the desk sergeant when I walked in. "Pony Curtis; I'm here to see Officer Franks."
He picked up a phone and dialed a few buttons. "Franks? There's a Mr. Curtis?" he looked to me and I nodded, "a Mr. Curtis here to see you. Righto." He hung up. "He'll be right down. You can take a seat over there."
"Mr. Curtis!" I hadn't even sat down yet when I heard the familiar voice. Officer Franks was jogging down the stairs, waving to me. "Come on up." I followed him up the stairs to what I'm guessing was his desk. Police stations still make me nervous. I try to avoid them when I can. I even felt a little jumpy around Officer Franks, who was about the nicest guy I knew.
"The boys took the dog over to the high school earlier this afternoon for a locker check," he explained. I was aware that about once in a blue moon a drug-sniffing dog was taken to one of the schools to check the lockers. "We got several kids, one of them being your Victor," he continued.
"It's Vic," I corrected. I don't know why I felt like I needed to say that, he wasn't even in the room with us.
Officer Franks smiled. "I know, he told me. Anyway, he didn't have much – just a small bag of marijuana. If it had been more…well, I know you're a good guy, and if anyone's going to straighten this kid out you will, so I pulled him out for you before he got booked. Shame to see a kid get himself in trouble over such a little bag of grass."
I'm not sure if he had any idea how grateful I was that he had kept this under the table. Vic already had a record, and something like this would have been enough to put him back in juvenile hall for a while. That was the last thing he needed. I extended my hand. "Thanks, officer. I really appreciate this. I don't even know what to say…"
Shaking my hand, he smiled again. "I've got my own kids, I know how hard it is keeping track of them – can't even imagine if I hadn't gotten them until their teens. Yeah, hard enough as it is. You just keep looking after these kids. Someone has to get to them before I do." I nodded. He turned then and led me up the hallway. "I've got him waiting in one of the interrogation rooms. Oh, you'll need this." He handed me a small key; I dropped it into my pocket as he opened the door.
Vic's POV
The room was stifling. Were they expecting to be questioning geezers from the old folks' home in here? It must have been ninety degrees in that room. Maybe it just felt warm to me.
My nose itched like crazy. It's probably just a psychological thing, but they put those cuffs on me, and all of a sudden I need my hands for things I don't even realize I'm using them for most of the time. They were making me feel nauseous. I can't stand having handcuffs on. Maybe I wouldn't mind so much, except for all of the stuff that Ray had put me through…
I was seriously starting to think I would throw up. What was taking so long? Normally they would have taken my picture by now and thrown me in a cell with a bunch of other guys to get my face bashed in for being something less of a hood, but enough of a problem, to get myself into the company of the likes of them.
What the hell was going on! I tapped my foot impatiently. I really needed to scratch my nose. Finally I got up out of the chair and tried scratching it on the wall; that just didn't do it. Another wave of nausea hit me when I moved my arm and my other arm got pulled along with it. If I just stay perfectly still, I can almost pretend that I'm not chained together, that I'm holding my arms uncomfortably behind my back on purpose.
The minutes ticked by. I wondered if they had called Pony yet. I guess this would do it. No more homework checking, no more call-ins, no more of him pretending to be my buddy or something. Why was he even bothering? He must have known that I'd get taken away at some point, or that I'd go so far over the line that he wouldn't want me within two miles of his house. I just wished it had been something I had actually done, something that was one of my own legitimate screw-ups…
I started wondering what he would think of me. I didn't care. I knew, anyway. He would think I was a stupid little brainless waste of time. That's what I would think, with the information he was getting. I kicked the table leg. I don't care. All of his damn rules, and hovering over me like I was a criminal. Well, OK, that's a bad analogy, considering I was standing in an interrogation room with handcuffs on. It wasn't my fault, though. Not really. I couldn't tell him that, though. I couldn't tell anyone. Even in the heat of the room, a shiver ran down my spine.
I couldn't wait until I was the adult; no real worries, you make the rules, and you can be the jerk that tells other people what to do.
I almost started to wish Darry was there, and then felt sick with shame at the idea of him seeing me like this. I didn't even want to think about how disappointed he would be. I was feeling nauseous all over again, and not from the handcuffs.
At least I didn't care what Pony thought. And at least he wasn't my father, or Ray, hauling me home to beat on me or…I stopped there, before I could think about what Ray would have done to me. Pony would just sign the papers out front, have them send me off to the group home, or to juvie (I guess depending on how serious the cops took that little bag of weed), and he'd be done with me. He could just move on with his life without me in the way. I don't know why he took me home to begin with, he should've just got a puppy or something. At least it would have probably been nice to him, where I couldn't be. Maybe he was just trying to get in some practice to have his own kids.
I half leaned against the cool wall behind me, feeling like my chest was caving in from the heat and the nausea. It was almost getting hard to breathe.
I started wondering stupidly what we would have been having for dinner; or, rather, what I would have been having for dinner; the two of them weren't going anywhere. Melissa wasn't a great cook, but she had potential. Beat the hell out of anything my own mother ever put in front of me. I think Pony was actually the better cook of the two of them, but he usually just did his cooking on the weekends since he got home from work later. Sometimes he'd make a chocolate cake during the week, though. That dude really likes chocolate. And cigarettes. Talk about your basic addict.
Melissa's been getting on him about cutting back on the cigarettes, and he's been a real grouch. Kind of funny, since he keeps trying to be nice, even though he looks like he wants to rip someone's head off. It's the stupid little things that do it, too, and I don't even think he realizes it. Like, I could tell him I just dropped an open gallon of pink paint on his car, and it'd roll off of him like water off a duck; but, man, you clank your spoon around in your cereal bowl too much, and he's practically tearing his hair out. I really got him the other day. We were both sitting at the dinner table – I was doing homework and he was writing out bills or something – and I started clicking my retractable pen in and out. It wasn't intentional, until I saw the effect it was having on Pony. So I kept doing it. It was ten teeth gritting, fist clenching minutes later that he finally grabbed the pen out of my hand and hurled it across the room. Didn't say a word, either, just kept writing out his bills. I can be a real ass sometimes, I know. I can't believe Pony and Melissa have kept me around as long as they have. Well, after today they won't have to put up with someone making them crazy any more. After today, they'd think I had been doing, or dealing, drugs right under their noses. After today, I'd be lucky if Pony didn't cross to the other side of the street when he saw me coming. After today…we might never even see each other again.
My throat started feeling tight, and I tried to swallow around the lump that had formed as my vision blurred. What the hell! I cursed, and mentally called myself every name in the book – girl, wuss, pansy, stupid little moron Nancy-boy…I don't care what he thinks about me. He's just the guy who's house I was living in until he saw what a big mistake he made bringing me home.
The door opened. Finally. I started to lean forward, until I felt those cuffs pulling at me again. The cop from earlier came in, the one who had pulled me aside and tossed me in this room. Pony walked in right behind him. What was he doing in here? I wasn't expecting to see him. I wasn't expecting him to see me.
Why can't I look at him?
Pony's POV
Officer Franks led me into a small room with a table, three chairs, a "mirror", and Vic. He was half-slumped against the opposite wall, looking like he was suffocating. As soon as he spotted me, he shifted his gaze and hung his head. It gave me the surprising impression that he was feeling remorseful.
"I'll leave you two alone until you're through," Franks said. "Take your time, we don't need the room right now," he told me under his breath on the way out.
I focused my attention on Vic. His dark brown hair was waving off to the side as he hung his head. Leaning against the wall with his too-big t-shirt rumpled and half untucked from his jeans, hands behind his back, breathing in helpless gasps like a fish out of water, he looked younger than fourteen, which was unusual. Even with his small size, probably due in some part to the nearly empty pantry he had grown up with, he usually had a tough don't-mess-with-me demeanor that made him seem older than he was. Right now he just looked small, young, defeated, and ashamed.
He started to move one of his arms as if to pull his hand forward, like he'd forgotten he was handcuffed, then froze and paled slightly when the cuffs jingled. I knew by his stance and by the desperate aura that surrounded him that right now, I could question him about anything on God's green earth and he would tell me whatever I wanted to hear; hell, he would probably get down on the floor and kiss my shoes if I asked him to, if he knew it would convince me to take those cuffs off of him. God only knew what sort of controlling garbage the kid had been put through in his life by people who were bigger and stronger than him.
I was already aware that Vic had a mortal fear of duct tape. I had been on my way toward the back door a few weeks ago with a roll of it in my hand; Vic had barely been able to hide his panic when he saw me coming toward him with that tape, and then he'd nearly cried when I walked past him and he realized it had nothing to do with him. I doubt he even caught that I had picked up on it, but like I've said, having grown up in my neighborhood, I see things in people that they think they're concealing. The look I had glimpsed in his eyes that day matched the one I remembered in Johnny's when he had seen the rings on Bob Sheldon's fingers, the night Johnny had killed Bob.
Yeah, I could have gotten more out of Vic under the humiliating influence of the cuffs, but I wasn't about to be a prick about it, especially when I had the key in my pocket. I couldn't leave him standing there like that any more than I could have done it to one of my own brothers. It almost made me hurt just looking at him.
I walked around the table to Vic, who seemed to shrink a little lower as I approached. "Turn around," I told him. He did, without question, and I removed the handcuffs. Vic took a couple of deep breaths and pawed wildly at his nose.
"So whose was it?" I didn't see any need to beat around the bush; we both knew what we were doing there.
"Mine," he answered, barely audible.
I didn't believe him for a second. "What did you use to buy it?" He hadn't come to us with any money, and I hadn't started giving him an allowance yet, just what he needed when he went out.
He shrugged. "I had some money. Jake owed me," he added too quickly. His normal volume had returned, along with a touch of the annoyed boredom that typically oozed through his voice when he was answering my questions.
"How much did you pay for it?" That one threw him off even more; he stammered for a few seconds before answering. "Twenty bucks."
"Isn't that a lot for that amount of grass?" I had no idea, really, but I was betting he didn't either, and he had no reason to think that I didn't know exactly what I was talking about.
"Um…no. I mean…it was good stuff. Not that cheap kind." He was visibly flustered and obviously lying. Who was he protecting? I was almost certain, even after only two months, that Vic would never smoke pot. He needs to be in control, always, and he won't relinquish the upper hand to anyone – or anything. He wasn't dealing it either, or he wouldn't have had such a problem with my question about the cost.
I clearly wasn't going to get a straight and honest answer out of him right now, so I didn't see the point in fooling around any more. "No more drugs of any kind. Not in your locker, not in our house, not in your pockets, not buried in the back yard – nowhere. Clear?" Vic nodded. "Good. You're on call-in punishment for the next week and a half – and that includes this weekend and the following weekend. Let's go home now."
For the first time since I had entered the room, Vic looked me in the eye. "Home?"
"Yeah, home." Where did he think we were going? Maybe Officer Franks hadn't explained. "I know that cop who brought you in here. When he saw that you were my kid, he pulled you aside and gave me a call. You're not getting booked. Go ahead and put your jacket on. We might as well get home and start dinner, Melissa has that meeting after school." I had called Liss to let her know I was headed over here, so she wouldn't be expecting Vic to be waiting in the high school cafeteria where she normally picked him up.
I realized Vic hadn't moved. He was still staring at me in astonishment. "You're taking me back home?" he asked.
"Yeah. Did you want to spend the night here?"
After staring through me for several seconds, Vic climbed out of whatever mental foxhole he had retreated to, and took his jacket off the back of a chair. "Let's get out of here, then. Let's go home."
-
Pony's POV
It was about 8:30 that night when Vic plopped down next to me on the couch where I was reading a book. He had an armful of papers and books, which he dumped in my lap. "Homework," I said rhetorically.
"Yeah," he replied, starting up the nightly ritual. "Algebra is on top. We had to do all of the even numbered problems, my sheet is in the page where the problems are. Biology, we had to answer the first three questions at the end of the chapter. English, she wants us to read the first chapter of that book-thing and write our thoughts on it. History, no homework. We had a sub – Mr. Mathews."
I looked at him blankly.
"You know," Vic clarified, "Mr. Mathews. That guy. That friend of yours."
It still took a couple more seconds for it to click. "Two-Bit! Yeah, sure! How'd it go with him?" Two-Bit had finally graduated from high school, then went through a few years of part-time and temporary jobs, like delivering furniture and driving a tow truck, before he realized that he could actually go back to school and goof off for real, without even getting into any trouble. He filled out the paperwork, got approved, and has been a substitute teacher ever since. He gets paid by the day, so he can refuse a call if he has other plans, but I don't think he has ever said no. He's at Melissa's elementary school every so often, and apparently the little kids love him.
"He was OK," Vic answered. "He showed us how to play some weird variation of poker. I don't know, I think he was making up the rules as he went along. That guy is nuts." I couldn't argue with him there. "He said to tell you hi."
I started paging through Vic's homework. I only checked a couple of the algebra problems. The point was that he had it all done, not that he had gotten all of the answers right. That was up to him to figure out.
I scanned through the biology homework next, and found myself getting wrapped up in the chapter for a while.
English was the last assignment I took a look at. The 'book-thing' that Vic had mentioned was exactly that – not really a book, just a stack of paper that someone had bound with staples on one side; the text was copied; the number '17/100' was printed at the bottom. It looked like it was about a hundred years old, with dog-eared pages and scribbles and stains all over it. I read the title: "The Other Side of the Tracks." What was he supposed to do? Read the first chapter. I opened the first page, which turned out to be just a dedication and a note, but I read it anyway.
Note: All names have been changed for the privacy of those involved.
To the Author: You have touched more lives than you will probably ever know, and more than I could possibly hope to, even as a teacher. Thank you for telling your story. David Syme
"Hey, I had this guy for English!" I announced, apparently to no one. I looked up and realized that Vic had wandered off, probably to the kitchen for a snack. I shrugged and paged through the book-thing. After a minute or so I stopped. Something seemed familiar. I turned to the first chapter and felt my mouth drop open when I started to read the first line: "When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house…" It was my semester theme from my freshman year. Apparently Mr. Syme had typed it up and made, what, a hundred copies of it? I wondered how long it had been included as part of the English department's curriculum. I vaguely remembered Mr. Syme asking if I would mind if he passed it around, maybe made some copies of it. I hadn't really expected something quite so extensive. It really blew me away.
It suddenly occurred to me that the note had said the names had been changed. Curious, I paged through again until I found myself. "Polokid?" Oh man, Mr. Syme, what were you thinking? I guess he had to come up with something original, though – I probably put some reference in there about how different my name is; I don't remember, it's been a long time since I wrote it. I checked for my brothers. Snake and Harry. Snake – a little more of a predatory feel than Soda, but again, he had to come up with something original. At least for Darry he only had to change one letter. Harry was still pretty funny, though. Everyone else seemed to have normal names, like Sam and Jeff and Derek. Except Two-Bit. He had become Swiper. This was too much.
Finally, I got around to reading Vic's homework – his thoughts on the first chapter. I thought that kid was really stupid for walking home from the movies by himself when he knew he could get jumped. Nice. Maybe I shouldn't tell him it's about me. I think his oldest brother should have beaten him up for being so dumb. Darry would love this. And why would anyone put grease in their hair? It's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard of. The only thing that seemed realistic was how Polokid felt better when his one brother stuck up for him, and how his friends all came to help him when he was in trouble. I don't have any brothers, but if I did I would want them to watch my back for me. It bites when you're the only one looking out for yourself. That kid should appreciate his older brother more. Not everybody has one. Not everybody has a real family who keeps you no matter what you did. Some of us do. But not everybody.
So how many times did you all have to scratch your nose while reading Vic's POV? Hehehe!
Now, for the review thanks! By the way, for those of you wondering (did anyone notice?), the pun in the title of the chapter was completely intentional.
Fairlane: Thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I had a feeling that was your review when I turned on the computer one morning and saw that an email had come through at 3am (I got your chapter 1 review at 4:50am). Hopefully chapter 3 filled in for you some of what's going on in Vic's head. I have to keep reading through the book, finding things the original characters say and mannerisms that seem to match them, to keep everyone in character; being ten years later, obviously certain things will be different, while some personality traits should still come through. I'm glad it seems to be working so far. I don't have plans right now for a love-interest for Vic, but if one does come in later on she won't be related to anyone. Thanks again, hope you liked chapter 3!
FoxFyre33: I'm glad you found it too! Good to hear you think I'm on the right path. No, I don't have Darry and Soda married yet; I thought it would be fun to bring in someone for each of them from the beginning of the relationship. I've got one in mind for Soda, and Darry's will be mentioned in the next chapter. No, I'm not putting in a random girl. Thanks for the compliment!
Kate: Wow, this was such a nice review! I'm glad you thought so highly of my story. As long as people keep reading, I'll keep writing, especially since I'm not going in a specific direction with this and keep coming up with more ideas. I guess I'll have to end it at the one-year juncture though, since at that point it would be "Eleven Years Later!"
BonnieBlackCat: Thanks so much for the review, I'm really glad you like the story and the believability of the characters. I have to keep paging through my book, hopefully that continues to work for me. No, no random love-interest girls popping in. Thanks again for the review, and I hope you liked chapter 3!
Scarlett7: Yeah, Vic's a little rough around the edges; part personality, part past environment. He'll get around to showing his true soul here and there, more often as it goes along. I felt like I needed to give some insight into Vic in chapter 3, hope it wasn't disappointing. Thanks again!
Volleyballlover: Thanks for the review and the thoughts! I have to admit, there's someone coming in a few chapters down the line, but not a love-interest. Hope you like her anyway! And keep the thoughts coming, I'm always up for advice, especially since I'm making this up as I'm going along, no real grand plan. Enjoy!
Kaz456: Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I'm hoping I can keep up with expectations! Just keep letting me know if it's good or if it's getting sour, I definitely take constructive criticism seriously. Thanks again!
Tessie26: Glad you're enjoying. No, Darry and Soda are still free-swinging bachelors. I've got their women in mind though, they'll be coming along shortly (Darry's is mentioned in the next chapter, in fact).
Ale Curtis-Carter: Thanks! Darry is one of my personal favorites, I think he's a fun character to try and figure out. I hope you like Two-Bit's occupation; he wasn't actually in this chapter, but I had to at least mention him.
Tens: I'm glad you liked the direction it took (I'd be interested to hear where you were expecting it to go). I have a real-life role analogy in mind with the Darry/Vic/Ponyboy relationship; it'll be interesting if anyone else picks up on it over the next several chapters. It's good you're looking forward to more, because I keep writing more (for now, anyway). Hope you liked chapter 3!
