"A LITTLE MESSED UP BUT WE'RE ALL ALRIGHT." - Kenney Chesney (American Kids)

"I'm not cheating!" Ponyboy yelled out. The families around us glanced over their shoulders, sending cold glares to the two greaser kids playing rock, paper, scissors. I glared right back at them between rolling my eyes at Pony and dodging Momma's hand before she could slap my shoulder. "You've been cheating the last five rounds," I reminded him. That's when Pony rolled his eyes at me, and it took all my self-control not to send him flailing down the bleachers, all the way to the football field.

We were in the middle of the third inning - I think. Football had always been Darry's thing, especially when Coach Henry decided he would be the perfect addition to their team. Momma and I didn't understand it much, it just looked like a bunch of guys tacking each other to the ground and tryna to keep their skulls intact long enough for the next season. Sodapop and Ponyboy, though? They worshipped the ground our brother walked on and did everything in their power for a little bit of attention. So if it meant sitting up in the ninth row on cold metal bleachers in late November? They'd do it in a heartbeat and drag me along for the ride. I guess it wasn't all bad though. Being a senior in high school, the only thing Darry had to look forwards to were a bunch of final exams and football. He seemed pretty excited when we told him we'd come, especially when he mentioned Momma and Daddy could finally put a face to the name Donna Micheals.

I knew she was blonde, and a cheerleader, and drove a red corvette she probably got for her sixteenth birthday. Besides that, I was as clueless as Sodapop tryna do long division. I figured she was one of the girls waving to the boys on the field, hair tied back in ribbons and hands full with blue pom-poms. Still, I was too far away and had no idea what she actually looked like. I decided elbowing Ponyboy in the side and preparing for our eighth round of rock, paper, scissors was gonna be the most interesting thing that happened to me today, but my brothers really like proving me wrong. Sodapop's foot knocked against my shoulder just as I was about to start the game. I looked over my shoulder to face him, he sat on the bench above us with our parents. With a smile and a coin between his thumb and pointer finger, he said "c'mon, I want something to drink."

My brothers raced down the rickety steps, shaking the bleachers as they did so. I followed as close as I could - which really isn't that close when your legs are half frozen, the stairs are shaking, and you're tryna make sure the twelve-year-old doesn't run into some Soc's fist. Fortunately, by the grace of God, we managed to get to the grass in one piece. Just as my feet slammed against the frozen earth, the crowd erupted into cries of triumph and defeat. The clapping, shouting, and yelling all merged together into one horrible symphony as Sodapop stood in front of me, pointing between us and the players on the field. I could see his lips moving and his eyes light up excitedly, but I couldn't make out a word of it. Ponyboy stayed close to us - thank you, Jesus - his eyes bright with childish wonder. Normally, that would've been great, but as I looked around a little more, all I saw were knit sweaters, ski jackets, and collard shirts. Socs watching us just as closely as they once watched the game. Instead of trying to make sense of what my brother was saying, I grabbed onto Ponyboy's shoulder before doing the same to Sodapop and pushed them towards the gym doors.

A hop, skip, and a jump away, the ancient machines stood like statues beside the massive gym doors of Will Rodgers High. Sodapop pushed himself out of my grip as soon as the machines came into view and fixed the collar of his blue flannel shirt I had - very rudely, obviously - ruined. Ponyboy on the other hand just kinda went limp in my hand and let me drag him around like a rag doll. I guess watching guys beat each other up for two hours can do that to a person. "Y'all okay with coke?" Sodapop called, breaking the silence.

That probably topped the list of my brother's stupidest questions. Us Curtis kids had more Coca-Cola running through our veins than blood. But I guess Soda realized that because he didn't bother waiting for a response before he slipped the coin into the slot and punched in the code. Even if we were only a hundred feet from the game and endless yelling, it seemed a lot more peaceful here. Which of course wouldn't last, but I didn't know that yet. None of us did. After a minute, Soda straightened back up and walked towards us, three bottles of coke in his hands. At first, all we heard was the garbled speech of the "announcers", the heavy clunk of the machine settling, and a satisfying hiss as we screwed the caps off our bottles. But that was before I recognized a leather jacket and a head of dark, curly hair.

"I'm starting to think you're following me, Shepard."

I didn't know whether to be annoyed or amused. By the looks of it, Soda and Pony didn't know, either. Tulsa wasn't as big as the other towns around Oklahoma, but it was big enough. If you didn't wanna run into someone, there were quite a few places you could hang out. But no, first he has to show up at my place of work, and now my brother's football game. Jesus, does he even like football?

"Don't flatter yourself," Tim spat back with a roll of his eyes. "Ain't much to do around town when all the assholes are cooped up here." I took another sip of my coke before screwing the top back on and crossing my arms over my chest. Tim wasn't that bad to look at, but I'm pretty sure that\s all he had going for him. "So what was your plan, try and jump the smallest football jock you can find? Maybe take on one of the benchwarmers with the busted ankle, right?"

"Gonna introduce me to your friends or not? That's pretty rude, Tim."

My eyes shifted to the left as Tim raised a hand to the bridge of his nose. The boy emerging from the long shadows of the bleachers stood beside him, about eight feet in front of us. My grip on Pony's shoulder subconsciously tightened as the realization suddenly struck. I didn't know who he was. The stranger wasn't as tall as Tim, but certainly taller than Sodapop and I. Grease shone in his dark hair, but it wasn't as combed or neat as the other boys'. It was long and wild, curling around the nape of his neck, ears, and a few bits dangled in front of his eyes. They were dark, like the tar they laid on the roads in June. The next thing I noticed was his hands. Long, slender and scarred fingers wrapped around the handle of a switchblade as he flicked it open and closed effortlessly.

Tim's hand left his face and pushed through his hair before he gestured to us. "These are the Curtises," he said quickly. Then, he extended one finger and pointed towards my brothers individually. "Sodapop and Ponyboy." And then to me. "Their sister, Marley."

No sooner had my name past his lips, the stranger took a few steps forward and I pushed Ponyboy behind me. A smile pulled at his lips, curling them upwards into a smirk. His eyes - dark, but they still held something I couldn't describe - only landed on my face for a second. Then, I became painfully aware of what I was wearing as they travelled down. A blue sweatshirt - the only kind of "school spirit" I had - was neatly tucked into my jean skirt and flattened against my stomach. My converse fit a little snug now that I was wearing wool socks, but I'd rather be uncomfortable than need my toes amputated. I pulled them up as far as they could go - the socks, I mean - in a sad attempt to keep from freezing. My skirt wasn't that short or revealing, but it wasn't as modest as some of the other girls. "You look cold, Marley."

I'm sure my face was red as all get-out as I shrugged uselessly and stumbled backwards when he stepped a little closer. Stale booze and cigarette smoke clung to him like a second skin. I shrugged and shook my head while my hand curled around my back, slowly wrapping around Pony's before I could force the words past my lips. "It ain't that bad, not when you get used to it."

His tongue ran over his lips after I finished speaking. I could see Tim running his thumb back and forth over his knuckles, occasionally looking around the abandoned entrance as his friend kept standing too close for comfort. Thank God I only had to put up with it for a few more seconds. Sodapop's shoulder brushed against mine as he walked forwards, his arms crossed over his chest and signature slouch gone. "You're new around here, huh? Can't say I've seen you around before."

"No," he said cooly, "I just spent my time further north."

Out of all of us, Sodapop was the pretty one. He looked the most like our Momma, always smiled, his eyes were warm and full of life. But kids didn't last very long on the east side for being nice, or kind, or pretty. We got by because we knew what battles to pick and when it was best to accept our defeat. The warning bells in my mind were screaming louder than any crowd as my brother squared his shoulders and cocked his head to the side. "So what're you doin' here now?"

I pushed Ponyboy a step farther back again, my eyes darting frantically between Sodapop and the guy less than two feet away from him, and Tim, still standing near the shadows of the bleachers watching. If I had half a brain in my head, I woulda yelled at him to call off his guard dog and head home, but Tim was a hood. Who knows the reason he hadn't already pulled out a blade of his own and jumped us, so I had to be grateful for that at least.

"Christ, Andy, let's just go. There's nothing to do 'round here, anyway."

I was able to let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when he - Andy -finally took a step back from Soda and uncurled his fists before jamming them in the pockets of his jeans. He reminded me of a wild animal, shifty-eyed and strange, like the coyotes that prowled the outskirts in all Momma's memories. The smile he sent me before he turned did little to soothe my nerves. It was the kind of smile that didn't meet his eyes, the kind that worked for a disguise.

"See you around, Curtis."

The clock on my bedside read quarter after one and I was still staring at my ceiling and trying to shut my brain off. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't forget about Andy and Tim. Sure, we were never friends, but I thought I knew him fairly well. I mean, Tim Shepard was the kind of guy to have the same friend his entire life. That guy did not trust easy, and I understood that. So the idea of Andy just showing up and getting along well enough with him? Something about it just made my stomach twist. Or maybe I was just restless because it was two hours past Darry's curfew and he still wasn't home. I drummed my fingers against my blanket softly and watched the shadows cross over my ceiling and walls like spiders. Really, the kinda reminded me of flames, stretching further and further until they slipped back into the darkness or turned into something else completely. Or like a coyote, shifting through the trees and grass, waiting for hours until the opportunity presented itself to attack.

Just like that, I managed to scare myself awake as my eyelids finally began to slip closed. I tried to soothe my racing mind, but it didn't slow. Instead of my quickening heart and the rising sense of dread, I thought about how dry my throat was and how nice a glass of water would be right now.

The air was cold once it brushed over my bare legs, swishing against my shins like the edge of my nightgown. I crossed the floor like a ghost - silent and weightless, like my soul was still trying to fall asleep amidst the coyotes and shadows. After years of use, the door slid open soundlessly and let me slip into the hall as easily as the boys I had met a few hours earlier.

"You have a curfew for a reason, Darry, I expect you to follow it-" I could see Daddy standing next to her as I rounded the corner, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as she slumped against the table with her head in her hands. My brother stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, the right side of his face illuminated by the single lamp beside our Daddy's recliner. Darry didn't get in trouble very often, but I could tell he didn't hear a word of what Momma was saying. The wide, dopey smile on his face was all the evidence they needed. Still, he stumbled over his words and coated them in just the right amount of sympathy to get off the hook. At least until he sleeps off his hangover, anyway. Momma and Daddy ushered him through the kitchen tiredly, not bothering to look back when he pulled a glass from the cupboard and filled it with cold water from the sink. Darry passed me in the hall silently, the glazed-over but happy look in his eyes seemed to carry the light from the living room as he pushed the glass into my hands and dropped his hand to my shoulder. "What are you still doin' up, Miss Marley?"

"Waiting for you," I whispered back. "You missed curfew... thought something happened. Couldn't sleep." He smelt of beer and perfume, the kind of grease that coated the burgers down at the Dingo and popcorn. I could only imagine the things my brother had done between winning the football game and coming home drunk, but it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered at one in the morning, not as long as he was in one piece and home. It was a real quiet night, too. Johnny Cade was the only one asleep on our couch, his dark, greasy bangs barely visible under the quilt Momma tossed over him. "Well, I'm home now," Darry sighed as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket. "Go back to bed, honey." Then he left, moving through the halls like a ghost from an ancient time, the number seventeen and "Curtis" shining dimly against the dark hall.

I wanted to go back to bed. I wanted to slip under the covers and back into ignorant bliss and pretend that's where my day ended, but I couldn't. Not when I heard Momma start crying and Darry's door slip shut.

"Everything's fine, Annie. Just breathe, c'mon now." Daddy's voice was soft and tired. I figured after working all week, staying up this late with Momma was taking a toll on him, too. As much as he tried, the calming words and gentle kisses against her forehead did nothing to stop her tears. "He's just a kid, Annie. Kids do stupid things like forgetting about curfew-"

"Frank's back, Darrel. I don't care about his curfew, I'm worried about him getting jumped, for Christ's sake! Or worse!"

"You haven't seen him, right? He's stayed away from you?"

Momma nodded weakly into her hands, her shoulders still shaking with sobs. "Then we've got nothing to worry about," Daddy reasoned gently. "Frank's an asshole, I know darlin', but he wouldn't go after our kids. Not unless he's really itching to be back in a cell, or wants to know how snug a coffin can be."

I carried the glass back to my bedroom last night. I couldn't risk running into my parents and getting more questions than answers. The covers weren't as warm when I finally slipped under them again, but I couldn't be bothered to care. Instead, my eyes finally fluttered closed while my mind wandered back to Tim and the stranger. I ended up thinking about Mr. Shepard, and why Momma was so scared of him, too.