"WHAT A HOME SO SAD AND LONE." - The Carter Family (Can The Circle Be Unbroken)

Had it really been a week?

The days all bled together into a seamless nightmare. Even at night, I had no choice but to lay there, staring at the shadows crossing my ceiling. And then, when the first few rays of sun shone through my curtains, I'd get up, having fully convinced myself I was just tired. Momma was still in Pawnee, she and Daddy were just taking a well-deserved break. By the time my brothers crept out of their rooms and down the hall to pick away at their breakfasts and I had already accepted the most recent pity meal, reality hit me like a truck. Over and over and over again.

Nothing seemed to change. Our sink was overflowing with dishes nobody bothered to touch, we all came out of our rooms at separate times, wandering around our home like strangers. But the news changed every day. Our parents and the crash that killed them barely took up a minute of the five o'clock news. Each morning there was another woman I didn't recognize standing on our front porch with a dish in her hands and tears in her eyes. Every day the phone rang at nine in the morning, Miz Green on the other end, asking why Darry, Soda, and I hadn't bothered to show up. Darry tried explaining, but you can only say your parents are dead so many times.

A week had passed, but it was still like nothing had changed at all. We were stuck in an endless loop, watching idly by as Tulsa moved on without us. The only time I didn't need to be reminded that I was still alive, was when I caught sight of the gang standing just outside our yard. The first time I caught them, Two-Bit had my textbooks tucked under his arm. I didn't bother asking how he'd gotten them, but something in the back of my mind told me I'd need a new lock when I went back to school. In short, I was a mess. My throat was still hoarse and aching from crying my eyes out, but I forced myself to thank him. Out of all of the gang, Two-Bit really was my best friend. Sodapop had Steve, Pony had Johnny. Dally - well, I think Dally chummed around with us just 'cause we gave him a place to sleep and occasionally paid his bail, but he was just another brother thrown in the mix to me.

But when the door flung open and my textbooks littered the ground, I couldn't stop myself from falling into his arms. Burying my face in his shoulder, letting the tears go, Two-Bit ran his hands in gentle circles on my back. He didn't say anything, there was nothing to say, but I appreciated it all the same. The last we'd talked, was when he and Miz Mathews delivered some apple pie. "Take care of those boys of ours, alright Marley?"

Sure thing, Two. Once I'm sure I can take care of myself, they'll be priority number one.

I was already awake when my door popped open, I just didn't want to be. I didn't wanna face the brother in my doorway, either. "I'll be up in a minute," I mumble into my blankets, "I'm just kinda tired, Pone."

The house is silent. It isn't calm or comforting anymore, it's cold and distant. My room is cold like it shouldn't belong to me, but my bed is so warm. I just wanna melt right back into the covers, hide my face underneath the pillows and sleep off the nightmare for another day. I wanna sleep of the nightmare for one more day, like tomorrow will be any different. If anything, today is different. The edge of my mattress sink as he sits on it, brushing my clothes to the floor gently. That's when I realize who's sitting next to me, with his face in his hands. "Went through the last of the files last night," he sighs. "Should be everything Miss Johnson needs to see."

My spit tastes like copper as I turn onto my back and sit up in bed. My hair is a wild mess, the kind that could put a rat's nest to shame, but Darry doesn't look much better. He's stopped combing his hair back since the accident, said he looked too much like Daddy. That was the day after I told 'em about what happened. I nod my head and swallow the blood coating my tongue before dragging the back of my hand across my forehead. It's a sad attempt to clean up my hair, but that's all we've been lately. Sad, sad attempts at getting by.

Darry's eyes are bloodshot and puffy as he stares at my floor. I managed to wash most of our clothes in the bathtub the other day, I just couldn't bring myself to fold them. They littered my room like confetti. If confetti also managed to be a tripping hazard. Darry sighs again, his shoulders dropping as he turns to look at me. "Clean your room, 'kay?" His hundred-yard stare has vanished. As I look into his eyes - even if they looked more like Daddy's than ever - I couldn't help but fear I wasn't even in focus. I nod stiffly and drop my gaze to his hands. Doubt's been chipping away at my mind for the past week, but it's nothing compared to what I'm facing now. Seeing my big brother, the golden boy, looking so unsure was enough to make the tears sting my eyes before I even knew they were there. "You don't think they're gonna take us away, right?"

I've never felt so young under my brother's void and empty gaze. I can't help myself as I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them, almost making a tent with the blankets. The chilly air hits my exposed hands, it's all I can do not to pull away when Darry rises from his seat and wraps one of his around mine. "Nothing's gonna happen to you, Marls. No one's gonna take Soda or Pony, either." For a minute, I let myself believe him. I let my left hand cover his, slowly running over all the minuscule bumps and scars we thought healed years ago. I let myself pretend the last seven days had been the worst dream I could've possibly thought of.

The illusion shatters like an antique when he pulls away and moves to the door instead. When I call out for him - the loudest I've been since the accident. It still feels like Ponyboy's cries are echoing through the kitchen - I'm surprised I'm able to keep the choked sobs at bay long enough. "I can do the dishes if you want. I can make breakfast for the boys, too."

Darry doesn't smile, but I can see the slightest glimmer back in his eyes. "Clean your room first, babe. Leave the boys to me."

The sleeves of my sweatshirt have never been this itchy. They rub and scratch in all the wrong places as I sit down in front of my vanity, dragging my brush through the rat's nest on top of my head. The rest of my clothes are stuffed in every gap I could find, under my bed, behind my cupboard, most are just stuffed in the back of my closet and away from plain sight. I convince myself it'll be enough to keep the social worker happy - teenagers are supposed to be messy, ain't we?

I'd like to say my vanity - the place where I did all my hair, makeup, and homework, was clean since I don't have much to put there, but that would be a lie. Most of the things covering its stained and filthy surface aren't even mine, but the original owner won't be using them anytime soon. Along with countless brushes, bottles, and tubes, I can't tear my eyes from the shoebox sitting front and center, Momma's neat, cursive letters written on the side. I found it last night when Darry and I were going through their bedroom. Still, in a trance, it was pretty easy to rifle through the drawers in search of the "important documents". I found the shoebox tucked under their bed, lost to time and a million dust-bunnies. Darry found what we needed, like our birth certificates and the deed to the house before I could pry the lid off.

"Marley?"

I can see why Darry fell head over heels for this girl. Her voice was soft, it matched her blonde curls as they draped themselves over her shoulders effortlessly. WIth dark blue eyes hidden beneath long, dark lashes, Donna Micheals was nothing short of stunning. Her neck is lined with lace, a delicate collar to match her purple sweater and long skirt. It goes down past her knees - the skirt, I mean, and frays out a bit at the ends. It looks warm for the most part, but I doubt a girl like her walked all the way over here from the west side. "You might havta knock again, she's 'spossed to be cleaning," Darry calls from the kitchen. That's all I need to hear for the shock to wear off, and for me to remember I'm sitting here with my mouth wide open, looking like a fish caught on a hook. "You're Donna?"

She steps over the threshold as I scold myself. Leave it to me to be the asshole in a house full of teenage boys. But she either brushes it off or doesn't care. "I've been wanting to meet you for a while now," she says hesitantly. I follow her movements from my chair, slowly twisting as she takes in the mess that has become my bedroom. I can already feel the heat rising to my cheeks as her eyes dart down to my ruined nail polish. "It ain't always this messy," I mumble out. "Just been a rough few days. Got bigger things to worry about than my nails." I'm waiting for her to turn her nose up at me and walk out. Maybe outta the whole house, too. I'm waiting for the snide comments whispered under her breath, but they never come. Instead, Donna leans against the foot of my bed comfortably and extends her hand out to me. Confused, and completely out of my league, I do the same thing. She studies them for a moment, our nails side by side. "I got a real nice yellow polish at home, I think you'd like it. I can bring it around some time if you want."

I recoil and shrug my shoulders. Asking her straight out seems kinda rude, but I don't have many other options. "What're you doing here? Ain't this kinda-"

"Far from the west side?"

I nod again, this time letting a sheepish smile reach my lips. Donna just smiles back kindly, her feet slowly slip on the floor until she's sitting entirely on my bed. Her smile fades a bit as she lowers her gaze to her skirt and her eyebrows furrow, but the eerie sense of peace I thought was lost doesn't vanish. "Darry an' I've been talking since the accident," she starts quietly. "Y'know, we talked about school an' what we're gonna do-"

"What do you mean, we?" I snap suddenly. The outburst was just as unexpected on my part, but I can't help but fight the rising guilt in my stomach when I see Donna flinch back. She recovers quickly though, maintaining the same kind of simplicity and ease all Socs seemed to be born with. "Your brother," she tries again, "Darry doesn't know the first thing about being a parent, especially overnight, but he does know how boys work. The kind of things they need, how to take care of 'em." I nod along hopelessly, seemingly unable to tear my eyes from her own. "But Darry doesn't have a clue on how to raise his little sister."

I know that. I know Darry's just as confused as the rest of us, but I know I'm the wild card in the deck. But Donna didn't have to just come out here and say it.

"I mean, really Marley, just think about it. When's the last time you told Darry anything? Does he know about school? Are you seeing anybody? Physically? What about drinking and smoking? Have you two ever talked about that?" I can't remember the last time we had a conversation that wasn't forced. But I'm not about to admit that to some Soc who thinks she can walk into my bedroom and jump down my throat like some crazy shrink. "Does your daddy know you were giving my brother hickeys in your corvette?"

Her cheeks flush a pale pink as her eyes narrow teasingly. "Does Darry know if you're on your period?"

"Does Darry even know what a period is?"

All the tension we've built up evaporates immediately. Before I can stop myself, I'm laughing along with her, as if we were old friends instead of strangers. EVen flustered, Donna manages to look like a model. "I-I told your brother that I'd be there for you," she finally admits between gasps of air. "An' if that means driving you around in the middle of the night and getting Kotex or just screaming into pillows at one in the mornin', I wanna be there for you, Marley."

It isn't supposed to be Donna. Momma is the one who is supposed to listen to me rant about school work, or some dumb guy, not Darry's girlfriend. But she and Syl are the only girls I got left, now that Momma is sitting in the morgue, waiting until we got enough cash to decide what to do with her. Tears sting my eyes and my throat gets tight, but I'm determined to hide it from her until the last possible second. Turns out, I didn't last as long as I thought I would. "Thanks," I mutter thickly, "knew you musta been nice if Darry liked you so much."

For the second time that morning, a warm hand covers my own. Her hands are soft and flawless, but I'm not sure what else I would've expected. "I think you're giving me a run for my money," she jokes. "Now I'm gonna have to choose my favourite Curtis."

"Don't let Soda hear that, he'll drop dead if you choose your boyfriend over him."

For the first time since the accident, my room doesn't feel so cold anymore.