"MAYBE SHE AIN'T AS BAD AS I THOUGHT SHE WAS."

"God, I can't believe you," Angela hisses. I roll my eyes silently, you can only tell your sister to shut up so many times. We had barely stepped off the school grounds when she found me - which was already suspicious. Ever since she started ninth grade, Angela would only be caught with me if it meant a ride in Pat's car. My first thought was that Bryon was getting a little too pushy and that Ang needed me to remind him whose little sister she was. Turns out, that was not the case. "I mean really, her parents just died! You were there!"

She'd been squawking in my ear ever since she caught sight of me at my locker and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. Our shoes crunched against the gravel as we dicked into an alley, taking the shortcut towards the elementary school. Curly used to be able to walk home by himself, but that stopped after he got jumped three times in one week. Dumb shit didn't even think to tell any of us, I only found out after Ponyboy watched him get his ass handed to him for the fourth time. "I heard from Charlotte that Darry's dropping outta school," she continues, "he's tryna keep the state off their back. Maybe if you talked to her-"

I'll admit it, I was getting real tempted to push her into the garbage lining the broken fences and take off, but she'd probably slit my throat in my sleep. So, instead, I take the civil route and glare at her. "An' what was I supposed to say to her, huh?" I snap. "Sorry your folks are dead and your brother's a high school dropout? Sorry I left you downtown with a bunch of slimy cops?" Angela scoffs carelessly and rolls her eyes, so much so I'm surprised they don't get stuck. "Woulda been nice if you said anything. Ain't like her daddy's gonna come back." We walk along in silence. Without thinking, my thumbs begin to run against my knuckles as they bounce around in my pockets as the end of the alley grows closer. Angela finally had the grand idea to shut her red lips, but she twist them together, so I know she still has a lot to say. As if she can say anything I haven't been thinking about already.

I was a criminal. A greaser. A Shepard. Worst of all, I was a teenage boy, and those ran around town like they were looking for something to set on fire. Dally and me walked around the town with our heads held high, fists clenched around a switchblade with liquor and bloodlust running through our veins. We fought guys twice our size, crashed a couple beer blasts, slept in the holding cells down at the station more than our own beds. But somehow, girls always ended up looking twice when we made our way down the street. Dally was a lot more impulsive than I was, especially when he caught sight of a short skirt and smiling lips. I guess I had a habit of thinking with what was between my thighs rather than my ears, but what guy didn't? At least I never ditched a crying chick.

I couldn't sleep that first night. I could still feel her heart hammering against my side, I could still hear her trying not to break down in the middle of the living room. Curly snoring next to me did nothing to help clear my mind, not even as the dark sky turned light blue, then red, then yellow as the sun beat through the clouds. I couldn't get Mr. C's face outta my head, no matter how hard I tried. It was like it was stuck behind my eyelids, the bruises and scars painted across his skin, even if it was already turning blue and cold. By the time Tuesday morning rolled around, the Curtis folks were all anybody was talking about. By lunch, I watched a few of their gang stumble out of Mr. R's office, fists and faces bruised. I guess there weren't many nice rumours floating around, especially since the kids weren't around to defend their parents.

By the end of the day, Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in one hand and the paper in the other. What we'd talked about just hours before - what I had accused him of - remained a secret to everyone but us. The tension swan through the house like thick smoke for the rest of the night, threatening to choke me if I even acknowledged its existence. Sure, I liked being right, but I liked being alive more. I counted my losses and left for Pat's house before he had time to call me out on my bullshit. But here I was, walking along with my sister, trying to convince myself I didn't feel like the worst person in Tulsa for what I did. Jesus fucking Christ, I wasn't even the one kill them, some stupid semi did that.

School's just let out when I see Curly leaning against a tree with the youngest Curtis next to him. In all honesty, I'm kinda surprised he hasn't taken off yet and tried to beat us back home. He probably could if he ran fast enough, but something in the back of my mind was telling me he missed the geeky Curtis kid more than he wanted to admit. He looks the worst out of all of them, Ponyboy, I mean. He's pale and his bangs are sticking to his forehead with something other than grease, his pale eyes that resemble his sister's stick out like blades of grass in the snow. It doesn't help that he's real scrawny for a kid his age, and about half a foot shorter than the rest of them, too. Angela and I walk up to them, ignoring the shifty gazes sent our way. It was no secret Curly had made his fair share of enemies ever since the first grade, he was just carrying on the Shepard family traditions.

"Hey, Ponyboy," Angela greets calmly. Instead of his eyes bulging out of his head like most of the kids his age, Pony simply nods and gives her a weak smile. Before he can look at me - and make my stomach churn - I pull Curly into a headlock, careful to avoid the nice purple bruise Gary gave him weeks ago. "Was wondering if you'd take off on me," I tease as I pull on his hair. We shuffle around a bit as he tries to break free, Angela just looks disappointed to be related to us, and Ponyboy's got his eyes fixed on something in the distance. "I wasn't waiting for you, asshole," my baby brother spits, "do you really think Pony walks home alone?"

Speak of the fucking Devil, and he shall appear.

I'm not blind, okay? I sure as shit ain't deaf, either. Ever since the Curtis kids have been allowed outta their house, people talked about them. They talked about Darry, being a spitting image of his father and top of his class ever since the ninth grade. Now, they talked about his football career and the sacrifices that would have to be made in order to keep his family together. Did I believe Darry would drop out of school? Hell yeah, if it meant his siblings weren't getting shipped off to some home in the middle of some cornfield. People talked about Ponyboy, too. Nothing bad, we all just thought it was weird for a kid like him to spend more time indoors than out. Angela and her girlfriends gossiped about Sodapop from time to time, but I usually made myself scarce when guys popped up in conversation over the phone. There's only so much a guy needs to know about his little sister.

But everyone knew of Marley. The only Curtis girl, and just as greasy as the rest of us. Sure, her brothers weren't bad looking - they usually had their own group of girls watching them in the halls - but Marley was the only one I heard people talk about out loud. Her hair wasn't nearly as long as Angel's, but it fell just beneath her shoulders in light curls. I don't know if they were natural or if she had to twist her hair into curlers every night, but they didn't look half bad as they outlined the curve of her jaw and cheekbones. She had her arms crossed over her chest, the blue of her jacket stuck out against her purple sweatshirt. Beside her, Sodapop was tryna tame his hair after the wind ran through it, making it stand on end.

Even with flushed cheeks and sullen eyes, it was plain to see why most greasers thought she was a looker. The only thing that ruined the look - or added to it, if you're into that kinda thing - was the red, bloody scar across the side of her jaw. Now that she and her brother were only a few feet away, it was obvious the wound was fresh - and that Sodapop was in no better shape.

Curly wormed his way outta my grasp as the two Curtis kids came closer, their lips drawn into thin lines as they tried their damnedest to look unbothered. I couldn't think of anything to say, even after Angela had been chewing me out ever since Monday night. I think I'm supposed to apologize. To offer my condolences, maybe some help if they ever need it? At this point, I was just racking my brains for anything at least slightly comforting. After Dad went away - before guys started filling his place - we always had some doe-eyed do-gooder on our front step, a string of pearls around her neck and a casserole dish in her hands. The pity party lasted about a week before we came back to school and had kids telling us he deserved what he got. Turns out, most parents aren't too willing to help you or your hungry kids after your oldest son almost puts some Soc through a window. Unlike my father, Pete Bradley got what he deserved, all three of his broken bones and six weeks in a cast.

Thank God I'm not the only one here. I was standing there, leaning against some tree barely clinging to life and watching Marley and her brother walk over to us, like an idiot. "What happened to you two?" Ponyboy asks suddenly. He sounds so much like Marley, I nearly bite through my lip. Still, the tired and sombre persona is replaced with frantic anxiety as he rushes forward. "It ain't that bad," Sodapop tries. Ponyboy's young enough to skip right over his brother's bruised knuckles, bloody lip, and crooked nose as Soda tries to calm him, but it only forces his attention to Marley, instead. "What happened? Was it Socs? Did you tell Dar-"

"It was just some guy lookin' to start a fight," she explains. Though her voice is even and calm, I can't help the cold dread twisting through my veins as her eyes focus on me for longer than necessary. "Couldn't get Soda riled up enough to fight, so he pushed me around a bit. Nothin' serious."

My sister's voice, once shrill and obnoxious, cuts through the tension like a boat on the water. "Well, who was it then? Socs?"

"Grease."

It wasn't long after that we finally left. Curly and Ponyboy pulled to the front of our group, yelling and running about wildly. Angela and Sodapop were stuck in the middle, gossiping amongst themselves about new kids in their grade, or who-kissed-who. And that left Marley and me, walking side by side, in the very back. The light breeze pushed back her hair, making the scar on her jaw stick out against her tanned skin. Every so often she'd trace her fingers over it, only for them to peel away streaked with blood. Once again, everything I should say start rolling around in my mind. In front of us, Ang drops her sympathy into conversation so easily, I'm sure it rolls right off Soda's greased-up skull. Curly doesn't have the first idea on what to say, but Ponyboy seems to be enjoying himself, kicking rocks back and forth with my brother. But here I am, completely at a loss for words for a second time around Marley Curtis.

The collar of her jacket is stained from the cut, her skirt is following suit from all the times she's brushed her fingers against the fabric. "You don't look bad," I mutter stupidly, "can barely tell anything's there. "Specially when you've got your hair down."

I don't know what I was expecting her to say, but it wasn't, "how much do you know about Andy? Y'know, the guy you were with at the football game?"

"Not much. Our dads hung out a bit back when we were young. That's it," I tell her honestly. I can practically hear the gears turning in her mind as the gravel crunches beneath our feet, but she stays silent for a while. I feel like I'm putting together some sort of puzzle. Y'know what, scratch the puzzle. This feels like one of those stupid games they play at carnivals, where you've gotta match all the right cards but they're all flipped over. I can hear the cheesy fucking music, feel the bright lights burning my skin, all while I reach out for the card in the middle. I don't even know what I'm looking for at this point, but I do it anyway. "What'd he want with you and Soda?"

I didn't realize we'd made it to her house until Sodapop called out to her from their front step. Marley just glanced over her shoulder and yelled she'd be in in a minute as her brothers disappeared in through the open door. "It wasn't even about me and Soda," she mutters quickly. "H-he said it was 'bout Darry, that he knows what's he's doing or something."

My fists clench on instinct and I swallow the lump in my throat - trying to look unbothered. I dunno if she bought it, but Marley seems to let the conversation die and tucks her hair behind her ears. "If I'm not in school tomorrow, you can assume Darry killed me," she adds with a sad smile. "He's been telling us to stay outta trouble, don't think this is what he meant."

As if on cue, I can already hear the yelling start as Marley rolls her eyes. " I gotta go before he makes Pony cry again."

Angela and Curly say their goodbyes and are already halfway to the end of the block before Marley reaches her front door. Part of me is glad I know what I want to say, another part is just wondering if I should say it. "Hey, Marley!"

She turns, green eyes locking with mine as she fiddles with a piece of her hair anxiously. "I'm sorry 'bout your parents," I call, "that really fucking sucks. Just- just lemme know if there's anything you need, yeah?"

I'm sure she'll just nod and turn away, pretend it never happened. I mean, the last time I was anywhere near her house wasn't great, either. But as it turns out, Marley just likes confusing the ever-loving shit outta me and having the last word. "The only thing I need from you, Tim, is to open your goddamn textbook!"

Then she's gone. The door slams shut, and she's busy trying to keep her family together while I try not to contemplate homicide of the first degree. My siblings are a block ahead of me when I finally start walking away from the Curtis house and I don't make any attempt to catch up with them. A little peace and quiet are all I need right now. Before long, my mind starts to wander back to the house. Back to Marley, and the difference between her on Monday afternoon and now. The death of her parents was still fresh - I'm not even sure if they're in the ground yet - but she's good at pushing it all aside. She's never looked bad, but she looks a helluva lot better when she isn't crying.

Alright, fine. Maybe she's ain't as bad as I thought she was.

Andy Keep on the other hand? I hate that fucking kid a little bit more every day.