"DARKNESS BRINGS EVIL THINGS, OH, THE RECKONING BEGINS." - Lord Huron (The Yawning Grave)

So, uh, how've you been?"

I've never been one for conversation, especially not around Curly's friends. Usually, I wouldn't even have to acknowledge them, since they'd be jacking around with Curls or gawking at Angela. But Angela wasn't here right now, and the kid in front of me was about as lively as his parents' funeral. Just like last time, Ponyboy walked the line between life and death like a razor's edge. Even Curly had been trying to split some of his lunch with the kid since he didn't have the heart to push any of it down. His hair was styled in thick bangs that hung down in front of his pale eyes, too limp and thin to have been styled with any hair grease.

The part that disturbed the most wasn't his hollow cheeks or frail hands, the kind that shook violently with any movement, it wasn't even his older brother's shirts that hung off his frame like a sheet on a clothesline. None of that creeped me out like his eyes did. They were far too cold and distant for a kid his age. Even when he raised his eyes to me, and wiped back his hair, I couldn't help but feel like he was seeing through me. Ponyboy shrugs before shifting his gaze over to my brother. Curly and Angela have always been real good at talking their way outta trouble. I guess that's why they've had their own gang following their every move since the first grade, and I was still stuck with Patrick Macrorie.

"I've been alright," he sighs hoarsely. That isn't a fucking pun. I mean it, this kid looked two minutes from death and sounded even worse. "Darry an' Marley were gon' at it last night. Thought we couldn't hear 'em, but we could."

Right. I knew I was forgetting something. Darry and Sodapop were spitting images of their parents, right? But Marley and Ponyboy only resembled Curtises because they looked like each other. They had the same damned eyes, swirls of green and grey. The grey was a lot stronger in Ponyboy's now, just like had been yesterday when I talked with his sister. Marley's eyes always went more grey than green when she was trying not to cry. And even though she wouldn't have been trying not to cry if her brother wasn't selling drugs, the guilt kept me up for most of the night. It worked like a ripple effect, I guess. I tell Marley about Darry, she confronts him, and Ponyboy comes to school looking like he climbed out of the morgue rather than his bed.

Thank God Curly was there, otherwise, I would've ended up standing there in silence for another minute or two until I gathered the courage to leave. "Shouldn't she be here by now?" my brother asks, while throwing an arm over his shoulder with so much force, I almost push my arms out to catch Pony when he falls. Surprisingly enough, Curly must have had the same idea. Ponyboy's gaze is too far gone to realize, but my brother's grip tightens oh-so-slightly around the fabric covering his shoulder.

"She didn't come to school today," a voice behind me calls. That's enough of a relief that I don't really care where she is. Marley could be stuck in her house with her drug-slinging brother, but it's better than wondering Tulsa all by her lonesome when Socs and a few other greasers got a bone to pick with her family. But I turn around anyway, just to see the entire Curtis gang - minus a few honourable mentions - stalking towards me like I just killed their dog.

I recognize Dallas immediately, his eyes narrowed into thin slits and a disgusted scowl on his face. But he wasn't the one how called out to me. That came from her brother, the boy standing in front of me now, with a cigarette between his teeth that hasn't even begun to smoulder. Steve Randal is standing a few steps behind him. He's kind of a stocky kid, good in a fight, and I only know his name because of Dally and Marley. But he's Sodapop's best friend, which means he's pretty keen on kicking my ass right now, for whatever reason.

Yeah, Curly's good at talking himself ou of trouble, but I seem to have the knack for talking myself into it. And, well, I haven't gotten into a fight I've lost.

"Yeah, Ponyboy was just tellin' me about that," I say cooly. I'm tempted to reach forwards and yank the cig out from between his teeth since there's no way he'd actually smoke it, but even I know I'd be pushing my luck. "Said she and Darry were arguin' last night, too. She sick or something?"

It was no secret Darry could get violent. We'd seen him take down two Socs without breaking a sweat before that kid had chest hair. Being a football star and spending hours tackling people probably only added to his skill. Then, if you put the pressure of taking care of three kids all before you were even eighteen, it was only a matter of time before he snapped. And when he did, I just hoped no one here was on the receiving end. All eyes are on Sodapop as my question registers. I'm guessing no one had actually seen Marley before heading to school today. As far as they know, she could be sick in bed with a cold, or three broken ribs.

If I've learned one thing in my fifteen years of living, it's that it's pretty easy to act like your hot shit when you got a gang behind you. Sodapop motherfucking Curtis was no exception. "You're one to talk, Shepard," he spits before shoving me back. I stumble half a step - not because he was strong - he just caught me off guard. "Ain't your stepdaddy the one to put you in the reform? What 'bout Curly's broken nose, didn't he give him that one, too?"

It's a Thursday afternoon, and I am about to beat the fear of God into a fourteen-year-old boy in front of the elementary school. I crack my knuckles, the sound damn near echos throughout the schoolyard as I take a look over my shoulder at Ponyboy. He's staring at the ground, lost in his own mind like we're just going on in the background. I'm kinda glad, though, I don't like fighting in front of little kids. "Ponyboy really did get all the brains, didn't he?" I snarl, "you don't know jackshit, Curtis."

"I know your name ended up in conversation last night," he says before I can throw the first punch. His eyes are dark and cold now, hands curled into fists at his sides as the cigarette tumbles out from between his teeth. "An' I know you've got no goddamn chance with my sister after that shit you pulled at the dance. You're lucky you're still breathing, Shepard."

"And your damn lucky you're not alone, Sodapop."

I'll admit, I was surprised to see him stand his ground for as long as he did. Even with the six other greasers surrounding us - not to mention the kids leaving the school - I can't be bothered to pay any attention. I'm too busy concentrating on the guy in front of me, wondering where all the time had gone. I swear, at this time last year? Sodapop Curtis would cross the street to avoid me. Now here he was, tryna start a fight he'd lose in an instant. "An' it's kinda funny you think this is still about me." That's all it takes for Sodapop to glance over his shoulder anxiously, but I'm too far gone to stop now. "If you really wanna know what this is all about, ask your fucking brother whose side he's on."

Sodapop lunges at me, and I'm surprised it only takes one person to stop his fist from crashing into my nose. Ponyboy's shoulder brushes against my sleeve for a brief second as he pushes past me and into his brother's arms, forcing him further back into the crowd. "C'mon, Pepsi, let's just go."

Soda spits out a few more insults, but they're too muffled for me to understand. The only thing I do understand, however, is the adrenaline is still burning under my skin and looking for a way to escape. At this point, I'm just being an asshole who probably deserves getting his ass beat. I can hear Curly chuckle as I raise my hands to the sides of my mouth. The last time I did that with him, we ended up running six blocks.

"Hey, Curtis!" I yell to the crowd, "tell your sister I'll see her Saturday!"

I was already feeling pretty damn awful. Besides explaining to my brother what I meant by "tell your sister I'll see her Saturday" among a couple other things, I really was in no mood to see my father and Andy Keep standing in my kitchen when Pat and I showed up. The coke was still fizzing in my ear as Pat took a slow sip, never once tearing his eyes from the cocky, arrogant asshole who ended up in my house more than I did. But at least I wasn't the host. That meant I was not restrained by the limitations of hospitality and could deck him in the throat if the opportunity presented itself. Dad was leaning against the fridge, the ugly green paint of the telephone clasped in one of his hands and held to his ear. Andy, on the other hand, the fucking tool was leaning against my table, arms crossed over his chest and eyes darting around the room like a coyote looking for its next meal.

"If I have to change the locks again, I swear to fuck-"

My rant is cut short by the telephone being slammed back onto its hook and Dad's booming laughter. He's never been one to laugh much, so all it did was put me on edge as I took a quick sip of my coke. "Your old man was right," Dad says before slapping Andy on the back, "you really know what you're doing, don't you?" Andy just shrugs in response, a slick smile pulling at his lips as he pops the collar of his jacket. "Yeah, I guess. He's 'spossed to be out in February, right? That's what Ma said."

The pieces finally mould together in my mind as the coke goes sour. It tastes like vinegar or curdled milk, but I'm not about to spit it out. Judging by the quick glance Pat sends my way, he's starting to figure it all out, too. John Keep wasn't the worst guy, but I wouldn't trust him with a fucking cactus much less a child, or a shit ton of acid. But, alas, he was my dad's supplier, and the whole fucking reason this happened in the first place. And now, sounds like he was on track to be released in February of sixty-four. Two months from now.

"So what's the big deal?" I snap before I feel like a stranger in my own goddamned kitchen. The tension settles in immediately, thick enough to choke on it if you even thought to acknowledge it. "Where're your siblings?" Dad asks harshly. It's a question, but the edge in his voice makes it sound more like an order. "Ang is out with her friends, Curly's bumming around The Dingo." After what happened outside the school, Curls and I decided to cut our losses and took off for the diner. Had some fires and come coke, even caught sight of Darry Curtis's new girl in uniform and a menu tucked under her arm. I caught up with Pat once Curly saw some of his buddies and took off with them.

"Well, we can't get back to selling if we've still got competition running around," Andy chuckles. His voice is like nails on a chalkboard, I swear to God. He sounds so sure of himself, it's all I can do not break his scrawny little neck. "An' what are you gonna do about that, Andy?" Pat asks casually. Pat has always had a real neutral voice - says he doesn't wanna scare Kaite - but that just makes it easier to detect every passive-aggressive bite. At least he likes Andy as much as I do.

"Well, I figured if Darry's still selling, why don't we leave him a little message?"

The coke doesn't taste sour anymore. The taste is metallic as it mixes with the blood coating my tongue thanks to the scar on the inside of my lip. I know where this conversation is headed, and I don't like it at all. "What kinda message are you thinking?" Dad asks again.

He's staring at me now, dark eyes burning like tar. "You saw how worked up he got over a little scratch on his sister. Why don't we give 'er something worse?"

Yeah, 'cuz y'know, what'll really put me in her brothers' fucking good books. "Leave Marley outta this, alright? She doesn't know a goddamn thing about any of this."

That isn't the answer anyone was expecting, but I don't care. I glare back at my father and take another sip of my coke, as if it would wash away the guilt that only seemed to coat every damn inch of me. I've spent enough of my life keeping Angela and Curly from the receiving end of his wrath, so what's one more person? Dad's harsh glare melts away into a thin, sinister smile. "Not Marley, huh kid? What else you got planned, then? I know you're plenty smart."

My mind is racing, a thousand miles a minute, searching for anything I could throw their way. All I'm getting is blanks as my grip curls tighter around the bottle in my hand, tight enough I can feel the drops of water winding down the neck and breaking on the back of my hand.

I'd gotten the coke at The Dingo, the same place I saw Darry Curtis's girl in uniform with a menu tucked under her arm.

"If we go after Marley," I start, "the only person we're affecting is Darry. But if we go after his girlfriend, Donna Micheals, we'll hurt him and Paul Holden. He's been helping Darry sell for months now, an' he's Donna's cousin."

Dead silence filled the room as Dad mulled over the offer, his eyes narrowed suspiciously as he ran his tongue over his teeth. "Two birds, one stone," he finally huffed. "Ain't that right, Tim?"

I manage a matching smile, the same kind that makes my insides twist as reality finally sets in. I cover my regret with a quick sip of the bottle, draining the last of the coke down my throat. "Learned from the best, didn't I?" Pat gives me a good slap on the shoulder as my face settles back into a cold scowl and Andy moves towards us. "Guess I better get goin' then, huh? I'll see you around," he waves to my father. Dad waves us off, but I understand the message. I stay quiet as Pat and I flank Andy on his way out of my house, my hand grips the cold, bronze knob of the door hard enough to leave a dent before he can even open his mouth.

"Y'know something, Tim? I'm starting to think little Miss Marley's got you wrapped 'round her finger." I keep glaring at him, my grip only growing tighter around the doorknob as Pat cracks his knuckles menacingly. I know what he's doing, what reaction he wants out of me. But this ain't high school, we're in the big leagues now and he'll have to stoop a lot lower if he wants to piss me off. He turns around slowly, hands shoved carelessly in his pockets as his eyes burn into mine. "Or maybe you've just got her wrapped 'round your dick."

His nose shattering against my fist sounds just as satisfying as I thought it would. And the sound of the door slamming shut as he stumbles down the steps and onto the grass are enough to bring a smile to our faces - and push my guilt to the back of my mind for another day.