"HE AIN'T A MAN, AND SURE AS HELL AIN'T HONEST." - Billie Eilish (My Boy)

My schoolbag bounced around on my lap with every minuscule bump in the road as we drove, an almost comforting silence heavy in the air, Ray Charles singing out from the radio. Even if you asked me how I ended up seated next to Donna Micheals, I wouldn't be able to tell you. One minute I was wrestling my books into my locker and the next, she was standing beside me in the hall, asking ing I wanted to head to the drug store with her. Every bump and curve jostled her gold hair, each strand expertly curled to fall into place with even the tiniest of movements. Her smile was nothing short of radiant, the kind that could put some Hollywood stars to shame without even trying. It matched her sweater, her lipstick, and only managed to make her eyes shine even brighter. "Seen any good movies lately?" She asks cheerfully.

Not really. Rebel Without A Cause was good, but a girl can only watch that so many times without all the guys thinking you had the hots for Hollywood wanna-be gangster. West Side Story was another popular one - and I didn't mind it at all - but it plays down at the Drive-In every other week, and is on channel four every Saturday at ten o'clock. Syl and I spent too many hours curled together on her couch with a cheap bottle of wine between us, laughing ourselves into hysteria at the idea of any greaser breaking to song before a Rumble. It was a good movie, but definitely a Hollywood perspective on what a turf war really looks like. And don't even get me started on the whole forbidden-love thing. Dally talks about New York from time to time, always telling us the trouble he got into up there and how much tuffer it was than Tulsa. So, it just comes as a shock to me that nobody killed Tony - or at least tried to - before the big Rumble.

"West Side Story ain't bad," I mumble quietly, my nails drumming against the upholstery as we take another turn. "They play it on the television so much I can pretty much say it word for word."

Her lips curl upwards in a gentle smile as the car lurches to a stop just outside The Dingo. For the middle of the week, the diner seems to be pretty empty. Kids and teenagers are running back and forth, the occasional fight already bubbling beneath the surface of angry glances and sinister glares. "I feel the same way with Bye-Bye Birdie," Donna adds, "I'd watch that movie every day if I could."

Maybe it's the way her eyes dart around the parking lot, like she was looking for something - someone- but I can't help but feel the anxiety settle in the pit of my stomach when they find me again. Her eyes, bright, electric blue, study every inch of my face almost clinically before her lips part in another soft smile. "We're kinda like friends," she begins hesitantly, "don't you think?"

I don't even have to think before I respond. "I mean, sure. You're my brother's girlfriend an' all, so I don't really see why you'd wanna be friends-"

"Friends tell each other things, right, Marley?"

Donna looks too kind to be cruel. Too sweet and gentle, too delicate to twist together some evil scheme. But the apple that banished Adam and Eve looked pretty appealing, too. Doubt and anxiety whisper back and forth in my ear, begging me to run while I still have the chance and to worry about the dozens of eyes glued to the car later.

"Darry told me about what happened at the dance. You bein' behind the gym with that guy, said he had a knife-" That's when her hands wrap around mine. Her pristine nails shone in the sunlight, perfectly shaped, manicured, and painted the same pink as her sweater. Her thumb rubs across my knuckles so tenderly, it's all I can do to keep my tears at bay. Her voice is tight when she speaks again as if her own worst fears are choking her. "H-he didn't hurt you, right? Didn't make you do anything for him?"

Somewhere in my chest, dread slowly melts into gratitude, like the first winter frost vanishing by mid-morning as the sun beats down on it. I know she's only asking because Darry told her to - otherwise, she'd have no idea about what happened - but I appreciate the gesture all the same. "No, Donna, Tim ain't like that. He showed up at the dance and we just couldn't hear each other over the band. It was dark out, Darry didn't recognize him."

My hands curl into fists when Donna pulls away and raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Honest, the worst thing that happened was spilling some punch on my blouse."

And the fact that Darry beat some random greaser within an inch of his life and managed to give Tim a concussion all in the same night, but I gloss right over that fact.

"Darry worries about you a lot," she tells me, "he just wants to keep you safe. I won't tell him anything you don't want me to, though."

The last thing I need is to trust another person with enough blackmail material to send me to an early grave. It's been three days since Ponyboy caught me an' Tim, and I'm still jumping through all his little hoops just so that he doesn't use it. Besides doing the dishes, washing our laundry in the bathtub, cooking, and trying to survive, I don't think I could handle another thing to worry about. "I'm tellin' the truth, Donna. Tim wouldn't hurt me. Sure, he's a greaser, but he wouldn't hurt me."

"Alright," she answers with a nod, "I believe you." Her voice and eyes are thick with sincerity, but it vanishes nearly as quickly as it arrived. In an instant, Donna's back to looking around the diner parking lot, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. "I gotta make sure Paul doesn't catch me here, he'd skin me alive."

"Why're you so worried 'bout Paul?"

"He's my cousin. Our moms are sisters and they pretty much got pregnant at the same time. Since we both don't have any siblings, he's the closest thing I got to a brother. if he caught me here alone, he'd either kill me, or let my mom know so she could."

Trust me, I know the pain of overbearing boys all too well. "Well why are you hanging around The Dingo anyway? It ain't exactly high class," I manage to cough out.

Firey determination mixes with childish excitement in her eyes as her cheeks flush, and she smiles wide. "I"m gonna tell you two secrets, okay? The first doesn't leave this car, and I don't really care what you do with the second." I don't think that's what you're supposed to do with a secret, but the curiosity is enough to keep my mouth shut as I nod eagerly.

"I got a job interview here in a few minutes," Donna finally admits. "It's almost nineteen sixty-four an' I want some independence," she says seriously. In all honesty, it isn't the worst thing she could be doing here. I'm not exactly in any position to judge her, either, not after I've been working in some redneck bar washing dishes and scrubbing blood off the tables since I was thirteen. It's the last secret that really catches me off guard, if anything.

"An' I'm pretty sure I caught Tim Shepard checking you out when we were in the halls today."

The last few weeks had been the worst of my life. My parents died and the state started sniffing around, ready to tear my shrinking family apart. And now that Darry wasn't at school, the Socs were getting ballsy as ever. Even going as far as to grab onto my skirt in the hall, follow us home, or try to jump one of my brothers every other day. Everything that had gone down at the dance was just another piece thrown into the endless puzzle of how one was supposed to survive when the odds seemed to be stacked against you. The holiday and finals season arriving certainly didn't help to ease any anxiety, either.

But I didn't have to worry about any of that now. The worst I had to think about, was making sure Buck's glasses were clean enough that no one got sick and that the water wasn't hot enough to burn. It was barely a week into December, but everyone seemed to be getting into the holiday spirit - my employer included.

"You're gonna fall and break your neck," I tell Buck as he balances precariously on the bar, a bundle of green leaves in one hand, a hammer in the other, and a nail or two between his teeth. He just scoffs carelessly at my concern before fastening his homemade mistletoe together with a piece of string and considering where to begin. I'm stuck staring at his dirt-stained boots atop the counter I'd just scrubbed clean as he pulls the nail from his mouth and lines it up into position with a beam overhead. "What's the point of mistletoe anyhow? People are tryna swallow each other regardless of some fancy leaves-"

"'Cuz of some guy sees his girl making out with some other hobo, there's gonna be a fight. An' what do you do when you get the shit beat outta you in a bar?"

"I dunno, Buck, what happens?" I groan sarcastically. His head whips around, blonde hair falling in front of his eyes as a spare nail flies past his lips and is lost on the ground. He always tries to look tuff, but the mask always cracks after a minute or two. Sure, Buck can handle the drunks when they get too rowdy, and he can stand up for himself at the rodeos when he gets accused of cheating, but he'd never lay a hand on me. Just as I was expecting, his eyes roll to the side as he turns back to the beam of wood and pushes it through the bundle. "You buy a drink and soothe your ego, Marley," he mumbles. "An' whattya do when you beat the shit outta some guy in a bar?"

"Buy a drink and buff up your ego?"

Trust me when I say Buck Merril is completely harmless. Well, as long as you don't get in his way, I guess, but still. Buck was too stupid to do any real damage to anyone but himself. A sly smile pulls at his cracked lips as he turns his head again, this time I can hear him clearly since there's no nail obstructing his tongue. "Well shit, kid, maybe there's some hope for you, after all."

If only I could say the same to him. Without turning his eyes back to the "mistletoe", Buck pulls back the hammer and slams it against the wooden beam - and his thumb. Words, all jumbled together too much for me to identify any of them, rolled over his tongue in rapid succession as he tried to ease the pain and keep his balance. I guess Buck and I were both going through our own struggles at that moment in time. He was trying to keep from landing on his face and proving me right, I was trying - and failing - to keep my laughter from filling the bar. In the end, we both failed, and I could make out the mud stains on top of the bar from where he'd fallen.

I'd been laughing so hard, I didn't notice three more people enter the bar until it was too late. Fortunately, I knew at least two of them wouldn't go shouting my secret to all of Tulsa. "See? I told you she'd fuckin' be here," Dallas spat as he crossed the wooden floor, not even wasting a glance at the man on the floor. The three boys now standing in front of me like ducks in a row were dressed nearly identical. The same slicked-back hair, leather jackets, cold eyes and tuff smiles. Dally was the one right in front of me, Tim stood to his left, and Pat stood on his left-hand side. Kinda ironic, considering Pat was always considered Tim's right-hand man.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb an' guess one of you's been looking for me," I say with my eyes to the bar and a wet rag bunched up in my hand. I didn't bother waiting around for a response - especially not when the space was so small - and moved back over to the sink to rinse out the mud and grime before Dally finally answered my statement. "DIdn't see you after school," he said easily. Though the comment was for me his pale eyes lingered on Tim for a while longer than they should have. "Ol' Tim over here got a lil' suspicious, thought you got jumped or something." I didn't have to turn around to know Tim had socked him - or at least tried to - the string of curses passing Dal's lips give me everything I needed to know. "Thanks for your concern," I call over my shoulder, "but I caught a ride with Donna Micheals."

"Ain't she Darry's girl now?" Pat asks before the other two could try and kill each other. I like Pat, I really do. He kinda reminds me of Ponyboy, in the way that even for a kid, he's so damn responsible it doesn't seem real. He's real nice, and a real good father, too. "Yeah," I answer. "Turns out she's Paul Holden's cousin, too. Their moms are sisters."

There were a few quiet murmurs as Buck finally rose to his feet, the thumb on his right hand ugly and swollen. Still, he managed to smack Dally on the back of his exposed neck. "If y'all are gonna fight, do it outside. I got one bullet in that shotgun up there, an' I ain't fixin' to waste in on one of yous."

Dallas and Buck went on to spit insults back and forth while I managed to clean the bar for the second time that day. I had just turned to drop the rag into the sink when a hand caught my arm, and Tim leaned over the counter. "Lemme walk you home," he said quickly, "it's gettin' late an' there's something we need to talk about." I pushed my teeth into my bottom lip before I could think to stop myself and turned away before any heat could rise to my face. Christ almighty, I swear this guy knows how to get me flustered. I pull open one of the cupboards behind me and pull out my backpack and jacket before wrestling them both onto my shoulders and stepping out from behind the bar. Before Tim, Pat, and I can make it to the door, however, Buck ushers me over and slaps a wrinkled five-dollar bill onto my open palm.

"It's your Christmas bonus," he says plainly as if he didn't just drop close to a month's worth of work into my hand. "An' I better not see you in here until sixty-four, alright? Spend some time with those brothers of yours."

Never in a million years - even under the horrible circumstances that had become my life - would I ever imagine Buck Merril giving away money. Especially when I didn't work for it. "Really, t-this means so much to us, Buck- you don't understand how much-"

"Trust me, kid, I get it."

I guess I had a tendency to forget who Buck Merril was. He wasn't just some guy running his daddy's bar, or Dally's landlord, or some wanna-be drunken cowboy. He was three years older than Darry, and completely on his own. I can't remember the last time his parents were around, I don't even think I've ever seen his parents. And so, even if his folks aren't dead, I guess he knows what it's like to be alone. To be a greaser, with the odds stacked against you, with half the town waiting for you to fail.

My face is already getting sore with all the smiling I've been doing as I push the bill into my pocket and nod to the boys ready to accompany me home. I didn't really know what to say, so I just waved back to Buck and Dally before heading towards the door and thanking God for not letting any of the boys look up, and recognize the "mistletoe" that had been hanging above Tim and me.

There had to have been a mistake. An absolutely monumental mistake that could have made Tim imagine it was Darry. That was the only excuse - there was no other excuse - because Darry wouldn't do something like that, Especially not now, when we needed him the most. The clock on the wall read eight o'clock, and he still wasn't home. His plate was still sitting on the counter, cold butter now melting down the clumpy potatoes and spilling over into the chicken. It was eight o'clock, and I was still pacing around the kitchen, running my hands over my arms over and over again, as if it would erase his touch.

"I swear to God, Marley, I know what I saw."

I didn't want to believe him. I couldn't believe him. What kind of sister would I be if I placed my trust in some guy I barely knew instead of my brother? But what kind of sister would I be if I didn't at least try and talk to him about it? Really, if it was all just a misunderstanding, there wouldn't be any real harm in asking, right?

"I'm being serious, Marley. Darry's gonna get hurt if he keeps this up. Soda and Ponyboy could get hurt, you could get hurt."

I could hear them in the bathroom - Soda and Pony - fighting over who got to brush their teeth first. They'd been nice enough to make dinner after I got home, but I think that's just because they caught sight of the plastic bag in my hand and didn't want to risk pissing me off. I had a habit of breaking down in tears at least once a month, and the gang had just started putting two and two together.

But that left me with doing the dishes, and I didn't really mind. Soda and Pony had eaten all their dinner, and we'd left some aside for Darry, so I didn't have to scrub a ton of mushy, leftover food. I didn't want to admit I was crying, but I was, I just couldn't help it. I couldn't even tell you what I was crying about but the tears just didn't seem to stop. Not until the door creaked open and a shadow made its way into the kitchen.

His hands were cold and heavy on my shoulders, like the weight of a million sins finally raining down. My heart jumped to my throat as his fingers combed through my hair, blocking out his words while I was sure he could hear the blood pounding in my veins. "-Thanks for doin' all this, Marley." My hands were still in the sink, one curled around a rag, the other around one of our plates when he tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. That's when the dam broke.

I twist in his grip, water pouring off my fingertips as I shove him back and try to keep my tears at bay. "D-don't touch me."

If only the floor would open up and swallow me whole, how much better life would be. There's only one light illuminating the kitchen, but it seems to be caught in my brother's eyes, like the pain and betrayal responsible for holding it all. I know he didn't stumble back that far because I pushed him, he did it because I'd never done that before. I'd never pushed away from him before, not even in our worst arguments. I'd always melt into his arms, muttering a tearful apology into his chest after exclaiming I hated him. His back is against the fridge, the collar of his letterman jacket pulled up close to his jaw. He has his hands stuffed in his pockets, stuffed around the thing Tim had warned me about.

"Show me what's in your pockets."

He takes a step forwards, his hands now outstretched and reaching for me as I take two backwards. He freezes, and I want nothing more than to apologize until my throat is sore and my tongue bleeds. I want to say that I trust him, that I believe him, but I can't bring myself to lie to him. Not after everything we've been through. "What's gotten into you, honey?" His hands are on my face before I can push away. I don't even have anywhere to go, not with my back already pushed against the counter's ledge. "You don't have a fever," he says as his thumb catches one of my tears. His hand slowly moves down to my chin, his fingers graze over my scar tenderly. The same scar I got because of this.

"I know what you're doing. Tim told me everything. About the dance, an' about Paul and the rest of the-"

"You're insane," he whispers harshly. Even in the midst of our argument, he has enough sense to keep quiet. "You really think I'd sell Momma's pills? Are you really gonna believe Tim Shepard over me? Your brother?"

I gasp, and the tears race down my cheeks like rain. "I never said you were sellin' Momma's pills, Darry."

No wonder it only took two weeks for here to run out. No wonder Darry could suddenly afford new jeans and nice socks, while every other kid in the neighbourhood was still rifling through the church's donation box. No wonder my brother had suddenly become Mr. Popular, while we were still sinking further and further into his shadow, talking all the blows for him while the profits burned a hole through his letterman jacket.

"It's good money," he tries to justify.

"It's dirty money!" I whisper back. "You're selling lithium to a bunch of kids who don't even know what they're buying! What happens if yot caught, or someone overdoses? This is illegal for a reason, Darry! What happens if you get arrested? What'll happen to-"

I'm so caught up in imagining my own worst fears that I don't notice Darry move until his hands curl around my bare arms. Hard enough that his nails will leave indents if he's not careful, but neither of us are paying attention. He's too busy trying to soothe my mind, I'm too busy trying to keep my sobs from echoing through the house.

"Nothing is gonna happen to you, alright? I'm being smart an' I'm playing it safe. I'm not selling to junkies in random alleys, I'm selling to kids at school who need something to help 'em calm down, for Christ's sake. J-just leave it alone now, okay? I'm not selling anymore anyways. I'm almost outta pills and the pharmacy won't refill the prescription now that she's gone."

I know I should've been glad that he's almost out. I should be happy he finally admitted to what he's been doing, I should be grateful Tim was right. But I don't feel anything as I push away from Darry for a second time. I don't feel anything as I remind him his supper is still on the table. I don't feel anything as I pass the bathroom, and my brothers stumbling out of it.

I don't feel anything as I close my bedroom door and step over my jacket on the floor, my "Christmas bonus" still poking out of the pocket.

I don't feel anything except for the overwhelming hurt of betrayal and the horrible feeling that something worse is about to come.