Chapter Twenty-One: Life Gets Worse
The trial did indeed resume the following week. A.J. and Darry attended all of it. After the first couple of days, they started bringing homework and books along to keep them busy.
A.J. felt guilty at first, but, as Darry had pointed out, "What else are we supposed to do in all those hours? I wouldn't even be there if it wasn't for you!"
He had a point. Before A.J. started bringing along books to the trials, her grades had been slipping from all the lost hours she could have been studying. Now, they were steadily improving again.
Darry paid no heed to the proceedings, but A.J. glanced up to listen every once in a while, whenever she heard Lucky's name mentioned.
It did not seem to be going well. Even at college, people were starting to have their doubts.
"I don't know, A.J.," Pepsi had confessed once. "Is he really innocent?"
Before A.J. could chew him out, Skate agreed. "I agree," he announced. "We don't know what he did that night, A.J. None of us do. You included."
Suddenly A.J. was under the blank stares of students who were Lucky's former friends. She was about to shout them down, but her energy was drained. "Screw you all," she mumbled before leaving the vicinity.
000000000
Dear Ponyboy and Sodapop,
A.J.'s still weirded out over Lucky. I don't know if he's really innocent, but she keeps insisting he is. I guess love's blind.
Still failing Calculus. Ms. Hart's never been happier, for her marriage and her fiancée, who's opposing Lucky in the trial.
I'll write you guys later. Love, Darrel.
000000000
That was the shortest letter Darry had ever written home, but nothing had really changed since the last time he wrote.
Darry wondered how his brothers were faring as he stuck the letter in the mailbox. Hopefully they were doing better than he was. He was sick with worry for Lucky and now A.J., who he feared was either going clinically insane or was having a nervous breakdown, and failing the class taught by a woman he just happened to love, who was engaged to Lucky's prosecutor.
He was sick of worrying and sick of being lovelorn. Stepping out into the blustery Chicago weather, he sneezed violently. Great, he thought. All this being sick of everything and I really am sick on top of it.
000000000
"I'm worried about Darry," Soda announced.
Ponyboy looked up from the typewriter he was clacking away on. "Why d'you say that?" he asked.
"His last letter was really short. He normally goes on and on about crap nobody even cares about. And he signed it 'Darrel,'" he added, brandishing said letter in Pony's face.
Ponyboy batted Soda away with his arm. "I saw, Soda. He's just worried about Lucky and A.J."
Truth be told, Ponyboy was worried about Darry too. But he didn't want to worry Soda by telling him.
"And A.J.!" Soda went on, arms flailing expressively as he ranted.
"Watch out for the!…coffee," Ponyboy sighed as it went flying.
"Does she honestly believe the man's innocent? I mean, come on! The whole world's against him!"
"Maybe the whole world's wrong," Ponyboy commented quietly. Soda whipped around at this comment, his jaw hanging open.
"Oh, no, Pony, not you too. Am I the only sane one left?"
Ponyboy ignored him. He was thinking about A.J. She had left a lasting impression on him that fateful night. He hadn't thought about her often since, but now her face appeared clearly in his mind.
He remembered the way her eyes had lit up whenever Lucky's name was mentioned, the way she looked at him, exasperated but loving all at the same time. He ought to have known. It was the same look Darry used to give him.
Soda stalked out of the room. Ponyboy barely glanced up. The only sound left in the room was the clacking of the typewriter as he worked and reflected.
000000000
Darry woke up the next morning and staggered to the bathroom. He started to brush his teeth, but ended up puking all of last night's dinner, lunch, and possibly breakfast into the sink.
His vision was swimming and his head pounded like a bass drum. He washed the vomit out of the sink and pressed his forehead against the cool mirror to soothe it.
He stumbled over to the phone. He thought he was supposed to call in sick. But who was he supposed to call? The dean? One of his friends in all his classes?
Halfway through dialing A.J., he clanged down the phone. He was being stupid. He didn't have to call in sick. They didn't take attendance at college.
He made his way back to bed and lay there all day, delirious. Lucky danced with Ms. Hart as A.J. declared him guilty of murder and sentenced him to life in prison.
Shouldn't have gone out without a coat, he thought feverishly as the ceiling swam before his eyes.
He shut his eyes. How long would this take to pass?
He awoke with the vague memory of waking up earlier to a cool hand on his forehead, a soothing voice and the faint smell of cashews and caramel. A note on the bedside table told him A.J. had stopped by.
Darry groaned. He was miserable. Life can't get any worse than this, he thought.
How wrong he was.
000000000
Excuse the lameness of this, but I'm recovering. I've been sick like Darry for the past couple of days. This story's almost over!
