"BET DADDY WOULD BE REAL PROUD OF THE MAN YOU'VE BECOME."
tw: sexual assault.

Mr. Syme was thin and tall, with wiry, silver hair to match the square frames of his glasses. My English classroom was empty now, the kids flooding out into the halls the second the bell rang and sent us off to lunch. But here I was, hands folded nervously in front of me, and my copy of Robinson Crusoe dropped on his desk. It's our first day back at school since the holiday break, and I didn't do any of the reading I was supposed to. (I'd given it to Ponyboy back in September and would just ask him what happens in each chapter, but he's already finished it twice.) The book isn't the reason I'm standing here in front of him when I'm supposed to be meeting my brothers at the DX, though. It has nothing to do with my lack of comprehension skills and everything to do with the blood staining the back cover.

I'd been in this class for four months - five, since it's January - and the Socs have never given me any trouble. Not until my parents died. Not until Darry stopped coming to school. Not until Donna Micheals was found in the alley behind The Dingo, dead. I was the one drop of blood in a pool of sharks sitting there, stuck in the middle of ski jackets and long poodle skirts. I was Darry Curtis's little sister and so far, everyone was convinced it was his fault his girlfriend was dead. The gang and I did what we'd been trained to do since we started school with them. Kept our heads high, did everything in our power to ignore the rumours and cruel words aimed at our skin like knives and bullets. I really did try to keep my composure with Bob Sheldon stuck behind me. I didn't even flinch when he tugged on my hair, even if it really hurt. We only had two minutes left of class, and I was real proud of myself for keeping calm.

No matter how hard he pulled on my hair, or the back of my shirt until the collar was pulled tight against my neck, I didn't react. I didn't react until he leaned over his desk and whispered in my ear. "If I were your parents, I woulda killed myself, too."

I knocked him out of his chair with the force of my swing. Bob was lying there on the floor as chaos erupted around us. People yelled back and forth, some demanding I be expelled, others were begging to get a closer look at the bag of broken bones and mangled cartilage hanging off Bob's face. And I stood there, in the middle of it all, with three hundred and four bloody pages and quickly wiped away my tears before anyone could see. What I'd done was bad. What I'd done was so horribly inexcusable it was a miracle Mr. R hadn't drug me out of the school already.

But what Paul did was bad, too. Sure, it didn't happen on school grounds or even when we were in school, but it was still bad. Evil. And now he walked the halls like a god with the title my brother had to sacrifice for us. The title of team captain.

Now, Mr. Syme's once kind eyes were focused on a thin slip of paper on his desk as he drags his pen across it in quick, clean strokes. No doubt telling Mr. R I needed to be expelled before anyone else got hurt. The seconds are ticking by slower and slower as I stand there, too petrified to even raise my eyes to lock with his when the pen finally stands still. "I shouldn't have done it," I mutter thickly. I'm like a kid caught with her hands in the cookie jar, still thinking she's cute enough to slip away unscathed if she apologizes. There's no use going to the Sheldons. Begging for forgiveness at their feet? Please. With what I did to their kid's face, I'll be lucky they don't riot for my execution.

The pen falls against his desk as he folds his hands and clears his throat. I swallow my pride like the cough syrup we keep in the back of the medicine cabinet and raise my eyes to him. "Really, I know it was wrong, an' that I shouda just ignored it but-" But I've up for the past three nights 'cause I can still feel him. I can hear his breath, smell the beer clinging to his jacket, smell the cold, dead earth as Donna is finally laid to rest. The words die on my lips like petals. Like the flowers Darry laid on her casket. White lilies are hard to find in January, but she was worth every damn cent.

"I don't know what I was thinking," I say instead. "I'm sorry."

Mr. Syme sighs heavily before pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes tiredly. "What you did was wrong, yes," he mumbles into his hands, "but Bob shouldn't have provoked you in the first place." My jaw drops before I can help myself. I'd been preparing myself for the lecture for the past five minutes. The inevitable "how could you?" and "your brothers have never done something like this." Sodapop's done it a million times, he's just never gotten caught. Mr. Syme pushes his glasses back onto his slender nose and leans back in his chair, hands resting on the armrests. Mr. Syme is almost fifty and has been a teacher here for most of his life, but he's always seemed young. He isn't one to yell or give out too much homework, he kinda just gets it, y'know?

"Things can't be easy at home right now," he says slowly. He doesn't sound condescending or like he's trying to prove a point. Mr. Syme's never been like that. It's genuine. "It isn't, but we're gettin' by," I answer. I let my eyes drop back to his desk and the slip of paper sitting on it. Upside down, I can't make out what he's written on it, so the dread just coils tighter and tighter in my stomach. Without warning, Mr. Syme's hand reached out around my book and tucks the paper inside the front cover. When I look back at him, there's a hint of a smile pulling at his thin lips.

"I want you to go home, Marley. I want you to go home, and I don't want to see you in my class for the next month, alright?"

I should've just apologized and snuck out when the bell rang. At least that way maybe I could've avoided my fate for another day. There was no going back now. "I can't skip school for a month, Mr. Syme, our case-worker-"

"If the state starts poking around again, you tell them to call me," he says sternly. He rests his elbows on his desk while he speaks to me now, his voice soft and kind. "You're not a violent girl, Marley. I know the kind of girl you are, and she would've never broken Bob's nose. Maybe insult him a little bit and make him regret coming to school, but you wouldn't hurt him." If I'm being honest, it feels really nice to have a person say they know me. I thought the fight with Soda would've blown over by now, but he's still pissed Darry's been keeping a secret from him. It doesn't help that Ponyboy's nightmares have been so bad that Darry took him to a doctor. Now that I'm standing there with my teacher, I don't feel like a stranger in my own skin.

"Go home and take a break, Marley. Catch up with friends, watch t.v., it's Darry's birthday in a few days, isn't it?"

"It's today," I answer softly. "He's out job-hunting and I've got the ingredients for chocolate cake lined up at home."

His smile widens, far too bright to be forced. "Go home and make your brother a birthday cake, alright?

I realize I'm fighting an uphill battle right then and there. I really have nothing going for me here, besides tryna defend my family name and own ego. I fall asleep first period every day, I can't remember the last time I had breakfast - Soda and Pony need it more than I do - my hair's getting real thin and falling out in clumps every time I try to wash it. My sanity is waning, my need for a break only piling up like the homework I've abandoned in my room. The back of my book is slick with blood and leaves behind an imprint when I pull it off his desk, but Mr. Syme wipes it away with the back of his hand carelessly. "You take all the time you need, alright, Marley? I don't even care if you come back this year."

"Chemistry's always been my best subject," I say as I move towards the door, "but you've always been my favourite teacher."

"Well now, guess I'll have to stick around in Tulsa 'til you graduate!"

Ponyboy and Sodapop are in the kitchen, tracing our brother's name in green icing over the cake I'd pulled out of the oven a few minutes previous. We had a couple of streamers tucked away in the junk drawer from later celebrations, so I was responsible for twisting them into designs and taping the thin paper to the walls and door frames. Money had been tight ever since Paul burst into our living room, tear stains still visible on his face, as he told us about what happened to his cousin. To Darry's girlfriend. To my friend. We weren't even that close, but a girl can only attend so many funerals in her life.

Darry had stuck to his promise. I had a shower when I came home at a quarter past noon after dropping my book off at the office, along with the note explaining why it was bloody. Somehow, Mr. Syme managed to keep my and Bob's theatrics out of the equation. I tried walking past the medicine cabinet, but doubt and fear all twisted together in my chest until I flung it open and stared at Momma's name printed on the orange bottle, three tiny pills still tucked inside. I hated myself for not trusting him. I hated myself for not believing Darry when he said he'd stop. I hated him for dragging me along to that damned funeral.

Momma and Daddy didn't get a real proper burial. We wanted to, but it's pretty expensive to dig two holes, just to drop a pinewood box in it. The hospital was already charging us a lot of money to keep 'em in the morgue until we were ready to do something with their bodies, so we took the easy - and cheapest - way out and cremated them. They still got two headstones in the churchyard on our side of town, but we let their ashes go a few miles outta town. It was a really nice spot, lots of prairie grass, it was even on the edge of some real nice trees. Darry said it's where Daddy used to take them hunting. He said they'd watch the sunrise and set for miles, too.

Donna's funeral was nothing like that. Darry and I sat together in a pew near the very back, his hand holding mine tight enough it's a miracle my fingers didn't snap. The priest who ran the ceremony wasn't some greenie who just graduated or stumble over every other word like Father Daniels, this guy was real old and didn't even need to look down at the Bible he was holding. The church was clean, the door stayed shut the whole time, even with the vicious wind, it was a beautiful service. The opposite of Uncle Jim's, but none of it did Donna justice.

I thought her parents would've hated us. Darry was the hood she'd been dating at the time of her death - maybe even the reason she was in a box instead of math class. But her father gave Darry a handshake, and her mother hugged me. I was like jelly in her hands, half-frozen with cold and grief, but I let her cry into my shoulder and comb through my hair with her fingers. Darry and I were the two kids without parents, Missus and Mister Micheals were two parents without a kid. It was a really pretty service, but Donna deserved a lot better. It was a really pretty service, but I hated it all the same. I hated it. I hated him. I hated-

"Hey, Marley?" Ponyboy croaks cautiously. I've shoved enough cough syrup down his throat to kill a horse, but his throat stills sounds like a scratched record. I'm teetering on my tiptoes in an attempt to reach the top of the doorframe and hang the blue and white streamers I've twirled together as Ponyboy walked out of the kitchen, a smear of icing in his hair. "What's up, Pone?" I ask. Between searching for a job, going through our bills, helping with homework, and mourning, Darry doesn't talk to me much. Sodapop is still moping because I didn't like the fact that he had a scrap with Tim last month and will barely talk to me unless he asking me to pass the salt and pepper, so Ponyboy is my best friend and only ally in this godforsaken house. "Do you know where the matches are? We've got the candles set up and everything."

"Check Darry's room," I sigh as the streamer finally stays in place. I'm sure I've gone through half a roll of tape tryna keep everything in place, but I'm proud all the same. I hear Sodapop stomp down the hallway towards Darry's room in search of the matches. They're still sitting on his bedside table I think, they've gotta be, especially after I caught him last night with a cigarette between his teeth and the box in his lap. "The streamers look nice," Pony adds as I stumble back to admire my artwork. "Darry's gonna love 'em."

That's when the door pops open and Darry walks in. His eyes are wide and almost glazed over, the collar of his jacket pushed against his jaw. He follows close behind, and it's all I can do not to sink through the floor. I don't care where I end up. It could be a million miles away, it could be down the street. I just want him out of my house. I don't wanna spend another night scrubbing my skin raw in the shower, all because I can still feel his fingernails digging into my arms. Keeping me pinned against the church. Telling me it was Darry's fault.

"What's all this?" Darry laughs lightly. For such a tall - and heavy - guy, my brother is kind of a lightweight. Momma and Daddy didn't drink much, so neither did he until last year. Now, just the smell radiating off his breath makes my stomach turn. I'm sure Pony can feel my hands tremble as his fingers slide between mine, but he doesn't mention it. With a short squeeze, I'm pulled back to the reality I'm trying so desperately to escape. "Happy birthday, Dar," I sputter. He lets out a low whistle as he stares around the room, admiring my work, or just to torment me further. I can't even feel my heart in my chest anymore, I'm sure it's fallen to my feet. "Love the decorations, Marley," he taunts. "I like the blue."

I think it's how comfortable Darry looks with him that sends me over the edge. My voice is shrill and strained, but it always is when I'm terrified. "D-Darry? Can I talk to you in the kitchen?"

They share a knowing look before Darry finally moves forward as my hand goes limp in Pony's grasp. He seems to get the idea, since he isn't yelling at me, saying he wanted to keep the cake a secret. He looks like Goofy as he follows me into the kitchen, the wide, lopsided smile on his face makes him a carbon copy of our father. His eyes, once cold and callous, lock onto the chocolate cake we'd prepared with childish wonder. "Y'all didn't have to make me a cake-" I'm trying to come up with a nice way to say it, but there's too much going on. Ponyboy's thrown all one-hundred pounds of himself in front of the doorway and is talking loud enough to block out our conversation, as well as my own thoughts while Darry stares at every little thing. Eventually, the little bit of sanity I have left snaps like Bob Sheldon's nose.

"I don't want Paul here." Anxiety takes off like a firecracker inside my chest, flooding my senses with the desire to run. To escape. To forget. But Darry just stands there, dumber than a sack of hammers. "I really don't want 'im here, Darry," I beg like a little kid. Whining and crying when she doesn't get her way, but I've sacrificed enough for him. I have the right to feel safe in my home, and it's about damn time I get it back. "Please just tell him to leave, Darry, please-"

"What've you got against Paul?" Darry asks suddenly. "Thought you liked him, you did go to the dance with him and everything."

I only went to the dance with Paul because I wouldn't have been allowed in otherwise, but the liquor soaking in his blood seems to gloss right over that. I did like Paul. He was nice enough, kinda funny once you warmed up to him, didn't make a snide comment about our house or social standing like I would've expected from any other Soc. 'Cept Donna. He was Darry's friend, he made Darry happy, and I really did think I could let sleeping dogs lie, but I was dangerously close to breaking down in tears right now. So I let the words fall.

"Darry, Paul- he did s-something to me at the funeral."

I really did like Paul. Thought I could trust him when Darry wandered off with Donna's parents - telling them he really did love her - and left me in enemy territory. Sure, he used my nickname before we really knew each other, but Marley's a lot simpler than Marlene, ain't it? It was cold outside, the wind was fierce, so I didn't really think anything of it when I saw his flushed cheeks, his eyes wide like Darry's, and leaning against the pristine exterior of the church. His words were all jumbled together, but he ended up talking to me once I was close enough. "She's dead. S-she's really gone now, huh?"

Darry sobers up in an instant. His lips form a single, solid line and his hands tuck themselves away in his pockets as he glances over his shoulder. "The hell are you talkin' about, Marls?"

I stood there with him, against the church. I told him everything I'd heard after the accident. Every single cliche excuse for comfort. She's in a better place. God just needed to call her home. She was loved. So, so loved. I end up telling him it's better than her spending the rest of her life in a coma. But that's when he turns to me, tear-stained face contorted into a cruel sneer as he grabs onto the cotton fabric circling my waist and pulls me against him. "It's Darry's fault." His hands move up to my chest, pulling at the three black buttons responsible for holding it closed. The first button pops open without a fight. Hot, sour breath lands on my collarbone and I do everything I can to get away without causing a scene. "None of this woulda happened if he protected her." My back is pressed against the wall, chaffing against the polished wood while the second button gives way. The top of my bra is poking out, just as something begins to rub against my stomach.

After three brothers, you start to develop a basic understanding of male anatomy. That's when I started crying.

"He said it was your fault she was dead," I explain through quick gasps. "T-that none of it woulda happened if you kept her safe."

By the time the third button is undone, there's nothing above my waist he hasn't already grabbed, pinched, or held. Face, neck, and lips included.

"Said the least I could do was get him off."

There's a quick crash, then Paul's standing behind Darry. His eyes are wide as the plates I have laid out, mouth gawking open like a fish on a hook. I wanna say Darry pushed me behind him. Shoved Paul. Told him to get outta our house never come back. Anything. But he didn't. It's Paul who speaks first, sending my fight or flight into overdrive. "I was so fucking hammered man, really. I don't remember a damn thing." He takes a step forward, and my hip collides with the counter's edge. "If I did something to freak you out," he nearly begs, "I'm so sorry, Marley. I really didn't mean it-"

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Who ever came up with that bull is a liar.

Everything goes blurry as the tears start to trickle down my face. My knees go weak when Darry takes a step to the side. My heart stops when he looks back between us. "See? He apologized, didn't he?"

"I don't care if he writes a speech," I cry hysterically. "I just want him out of my goddamn house!"

My grip on reality is fading fast. Ponyboy's standing in the doorway, his bottom lip wobbling worse than my knees as he tries not to cry. He's too sweet to grow up here, around this. He really doesn't deserve it. I wanna give him something better, something much better than another reason to cry himself to sleep when he doesn't think I can hear. I can hear vague muttering, whispers more like, as I try to remind myself it ain't happening again. Sure, I can hear his voice, smell liquor in the air, but it isn't happening. He's gonna leave soon. He's gonna leave soon. He has to leave soon.

"We've been over this a million times," Darry huffs, "they left the house to me. Don't I have a right to celebrate my eighteenth birthday with my family and friend?"

Darry. My big brother. My guardian, the guy who was supposed to protect me, let's me storm outta the kitchen and to the front door in a blind fury. I shove my feet into my shoes with little regard for my laces. All I need is to get as far away from here as possible. My grip is like iron around the doorknob as I pull the door open and am met with endless black sky and dark streets. "Daddy left the house to you, huh?" I laugh bitterly. "Bet he'd be real proud of the man you've become."

No one comes after me when I leave. No one calls out as I storm off the porch and slam the gate. I want to be alone, but I want Ponyboy or Sodapop or Darry or my Momma to tell me I don'thave to be alone. Scared tears mix with betrayal and anger as they roll down my cheeks, too fast and heavy for me to blink back. It ain't really that late, only half-past nine. But for a Tuesday night, my options are pretty limited.

Sylvia would never turn me away. But Tuesday nights mean her dad is home, and he's always looked at me funny ever since the seventh grade. The last thing I need right now is to be stuck in a house with another drunk guy.

Miz Mathews treats me like a second daughter, and Two-Bit would give me his left arm if need be, but he'd wanna know what happened. What Darry did. Why I was walking around alone, at night, without a weapon. Then, he'd probably squeal to the whole gang.

Sure, Buck offered me one of his rooms if I ever needed it, but I'm not that desperate yet.

My feet steer me down the street before my mind can make up a decision. I tell myself it's just because it's close. That he'll probably be awake. That it's just to kill time until Darry sobers up and is eaten alive with guilt.

I'm such a bad liar, I don't even believe me.