When Ponyboy got up, I was almost finished with the dishes. He went to take the box of Cheerios off the top of the refrigerator,
and sat down at the table to pour a huge bowl, and cover it with milk.
"We're gonna need more milk," he said.
"Yeah. Darry said to tell ya to cut the grass."
"I know I need to cut the grass," Pony said, crossly. "I don't need to be told."
"I'm just sayin' what Darry said," I objected. "You don't have to bite my head off."
"Okay, sorry," Pony mumbled, and started gobbling his Cheerios.
"I'm goin' down to the Wilson's," I announced. "I'll be back after awhile."
"What ya goin' down there for?" he asked, his mouth full.
"To see if they're gonna be needin' a babysitter anytime soon," I told him.
"You've gave up on workin' at the drugstore, huh?"
"Not exactly," I said. "Darry doesn't want me to do it."
"Oh," Pony said, looking up long enough to give me a sympathetic glance. "I'm sorry, Junie."
And, the thing was, I knew that he really was sorry. Pony's nice that way.
"I'll figure out a way to make the money for the camera flash," I said, with determination. I hung the dishtowel over the faucet, neat
as you please.
I left a few minutes later, telling Pony I'd be back after before very long. I brushed my hair before I went, and made sure my
shorts and shirt were still clean. I wanted to make a good impression on Mrs. Wilson. I hadn't babysat for them since
last year sometime.
Pony was just starting to cut the grass as I started walking towards the street the Wilsons lived on.
When I got to the Wilson's house, and unlatched their front gate, I thought that our grass wasn't the only yard that
needed cutting. The grass here was nearly ankle high, and there were kids broken toys strewn all over the place.
I went up onto the porch, and stepped over a gray cat that was sunning itself.
I knocked on the door, and even before that, I could hear the yelling from inside the house. Kids hollering, and an adult,
likely Mrs. Wilson, hollering right back.
Finally the door opened, and Mrs. Wilson stood there, a toddler on her hip. On a closer look, I thought it must be Maisy, who
been more like a baby when I'd last babysat.
"June," she said, thru the screen. "What are you doin' over here?"
Not the best of greetings.
"I was out walkin'," I said, hedging a bit on the truth. "I thought I'd stop and say hello."
"Well-that's real nice," she said, seeming pleased. I almost felt guilty.
"Is there any air out here?" she asked, pushing the door open and stepping out onto the porch.
"Not too much," I said.
"I guess we're in for this heat until at least October," she said.
I nodded in agreement. "Probably."
"Sit down," she said, gesturing to a couple of chairs that looked as though they wouldn't hold my weight. I sat down carefully.
"I hafta keep the door closed like that-little John won't stay inside if I don't lock it. No lock on the screen," she said, setting the
toddler on her feet.
Little John. I was trying to remember which one that was. Altogether, there were four of the Wilson kids.
"I don't know what I'm gonna do when the new baby comes," she said.
For the first time, I noticed that Mrs. Wilson's stomach was poking out a bit from the front of her house dress. Another baby?
It was the perfect opening for me, though.
"Do you need a babysitter?" I asked her.
"I don't know about that," she said, sounding doubtful. "I might could use some help cleanin' 'round here, though."
"Cleanin'?" I echoed.
"Not that I wouldn't like a nice break from all the kids," she said. "But, I don't have much money to pay out, and I figure
if I'm spendin', it ought to be for help to clean up around here. You interested?"
"Yeah. I guess," I said. "How much would you be able to pay?" I asked, getting to the meat of the matter.
"I could pay ya-fifty cents an hour," Mrs. Wilson said. "Two hours a day for the rest of this week. How's that?"
I was figuring in my mind what I might make during the week.
I told her yes, though I didn't feel all that good about it. I'd gotten a look at the inside of the house when she'd
told me to step in, while she put the baby down for a nap. There were toys everywhere, which isn't that big of a deal,
but there was trash spilled, and the couch was sticky, like somebody had poured syrup all over it. I sat down in it without
realizing.
When she came back out from putting the baby in her crib, she asked me if I wanted to start working right then. She said she would go
out and work in her garden, if I did the dishes. I agreed, and then, when I saw the kitchen sink full of dishes, I widened my eyes.
Good golly, Miss Molly. She must not have done the dishes for three days or more.
I dived in, and began washing, and scrubbing the dishes. I had to stop washing a couple of times, just to dry some, because
the dish drainer was too full. Some of those plates and pans had food stuck on them. I mumbled to myself how disgusting it was, and
then remembered how many kids there were around here. It took me over an hour to do all those dishes, and a couple of the
kids kept wandering in, wanting snacks and drinks. I told them to go and ask their mother, and the oldest one, Billy, would open the
door every time and screech out to Mrs. Wilson. "Maaaa! Can we have some cookies?"
Then I had to stop and hand out cookies, and pour juice into cups. More cups to wash.
I ended up staying for a little over two hours, and walked back home with a dollar in my hand. The dishes had taken
most of that time, and then I'd helped hang out some wet laundry on the line.
I was nearly back to our street when I saw Pony walking towards me, down the sidewalk.
"Where u been?!" he was hollering, before he even got very near to me.
I didn't holler back an answer. That was stupid. Pony was already repeating himself by the time he
got up to me. "Where u been?!" he demanded again.
His face was all hot and he had grass clippings stuck to the bottom of his jeans and his shoes.
"I was at the Wilson's," I said. "I told you."
"You said you were goin' over there to ask about babysittin'. You didn't say you were stayin'!"
"I wasn't gone that long-"
"You've been gone for hours," he insisted.
"I have not," I snapped, and walked on past him.
"You should have told me you were stayin' over there awhile," he said, falling into step beside me.
"I didn't know, Pony! Okay?"
"Okay," he said, subsiding.
We were silent on the walk back to our house, other than Pony muttering, "Damn. It's hot."
We went into the house, were all the fans were running. It felt cool compared to the outdoors.
I went to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of lemonade. I was taking out the ice tray, popping out a couple of
ice cubes.
That's when I noticed the sink of dirty dishes. There were quite a few. Not as many as there had been at the Wilson's, but
enough to fill the sink. I stormed over to the doorway to the living room.
"Why are there all those dishes?!" I demanded.
"Huh?" Pony asked, from where he was flopped onto the couch, one leg slung over the back of the couch.
"I did the dishes before I left! Now there's a sink full of them again!" I hollered.
"Two Bit came over, and I made bacon sandwiches-" Pony began.
"I don't care!" I screeched. "Why didn't you clean them up?!"
"I will!" Pony said, hollering back.
"Oh, sure!" I scoffed.
The screen door flapped as Soda came in, Steve on his heels. Soda paused at the door.
"What's goin' on?" Soda demanded. "I could hear you two from outside."
Pony had swung himself to a sitting position, and he and I both started talking at the same time.
"I cleaned the kitchen and now there's a bunch of dishes to do again-" I said.
"I told her that I'd do them-" Pony said, his voice rising over the top of mine.
Soda came on in, and went to stand beside me, peering into the kitchen, as if to see the sink for himself.
"Pony says he'll do 'em," Soda said, turning to me.
"I'm not the damn maid around here!" I screeched. "Pony needs to clean up after himself and Two-Bit!"
"I said I would-" Pony began.
"And I said sure!" I snapped. "They'll still be there next week if I don't do them!"
Steve, who looked less than impressed by Pony and I's argument, walked on past both Soda and me, and
went to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator.
"I'll do 'em right now!" Pony snapped back, standing up and stalking past me and Soda.
Pony went over to the sink, and started slinging dishes around, and running water into the sink. All while Steve worked
on preparing himself a huge sandwich with ham, and tomatoes and cheese.
"Pony's doin' the dishes," Soda said, looking at me again. "Alright? So settle down."
I gave Soda a look right back, and then I stomped thru the living room and out onto the porch, letting the screen door slam.
I hitched myself up to sit on the railing of the porch, with my legs stretched out in front of me on the narrow railing.
It was just a couple of minutes later when the door squeaked open, and Soda came out.
"I'm gonna start smokin'," I announced firmly. "And then, at times like this, I'll be able to calm down."
"Thanks for lettin' me know," Soda said, in his usual easy-going manner. "That way I can be gone when Darry
finds out about it."
"Pony and Two-Bit shouldn't mess up the kitchen right after I clean it," I complained.
If I'd thought Soda would agree with me, and assure me that I was in the right, I was to be disappointed.
"He's takin' care of it," he pointed out mildly.
He came over to lean against the porch post that was right next to where I had my feet stretched out.
"Why are you so worked up, June-Bug?" he asked me. "You and Pony don't scrap like that, usually."
I shrugged, and tried to meet Soda's blue eyes. "I dunno," I said.
"May be that you're worryin' over Darry?" he asked me then.
Soda meant about the evening before, when Darry and I hadn't seen eye to eye. I knew I still needed to talk to
Darry, and apologize for being so contrary.
"Maybe," I allowed.
"Pony says you went to the Wilson's," Soda said.
"Yeah. I wanted to ask about babysitting," I said.
"Did you talk to Darry about that?" he asked.
"No. Not exactly," I said. "Why?"
"Pony says you were gone a long time and he got worried 'bout ya. One of us ought to know where you're goin'
to be at. So, I wondered if you told Darry-that you were goin' over there."
"What's wrong with me babysitting?" I demanded, swinging my legs to the front. "Or cleaning, or whatever I do over there? It's the only way
I can make money!"
"I didn't say anything was wrong with ya doin' it," Soda protested. "I was just askin' if you talked to Darry about it first."
I gave him a sulky look, and said, with attitude, "And I said no, I didn't."
"Don't start givin' me lip, Junie," Soda said, quietly. "All I'm doin' is havin' a little talk with ya."
"Just because Pony tattled because he thought I was gone too long!" I said, crossing my arms and fuming.
"He was worried. You know you're not sposed to be walkin' 'round by yourself. And, then bein' gone so long. Darry's gonna be pissed."
At that, I lost my toughness. I already had something to work thru with Darry. I didn't need more. And, this was something
that he might punish me for. I'd been sent off to bed the night before. I didn't want to be put on restriction for this.
"Don't tell Darry, Soda! Please?" I said.
"You gotta tell him you went over there, tryin' to get a job-"
"I know," I interrupted. "I'll tell him that part. Do we have to tell him that I was too long comin' back?"
"He's still gonna know that you went without askin'," Soda pointed out.
I slid down from the railing, managing to get a splinter in my upper thigh as I did so.
"Ow," I said, poking at where I felt it at.
"What's the matter?"
"I got a splinter," I said, looking up at him.
"Where?"
"There," I said, pointing.
"Want me to try and get it out?" Soda asked, peering at the spot.
"Are you laughin' at me?" I accused. "Just because I got a splinter almost on my rear end?"
"No, I'm not laughin'," Soda said, holding up both hands in front of him, as if in defense.
Steve came out, a sandwich in his hand. "Come on," he said, to Soda.
"Alright. Let me grab a sandwich," Soda said, and went back inside.
I don't always know what to say to Steve, so I just said, "See ya" to him, and followed Soda inside.
I was still rubbing at the spot with the splinter, and I flopped down onto the couch.
A couple of minutes later, Soda came back thru from the kitchen, carrying a sandwich and an apple.
"I gotta get back to work," he said, pausing beside the couch, and looking down at me.
"Bye," I said, briefly.
Soda stood there, still eyeing me.
"What, Soda?" I asked, irritably.
"Don't be scrappin' with Pony anymore," he said.
"I won't."
"Don't jump on him because he told me about ya bein' late gettin' home-"
"Don't jump on him for tattlin' on me, oh okay," I said, with sarcasm.
"Hey!" Soda snapped, and it startled me so much that I sort of snapped to attention.
"Knock it off," he ordered.
Soda so very rarely snaps at me, or at anybody really, that it shook me.
"Okay," I said meekly, already sorry for my bad mood.
"I'll be home by three. Be in a better mood, alright?"
"Yeah, Soda," I said, still meek, because he was lookin' all 'big-brotherly' right then. And, not in a good way.
"What sounds good for supper?" he asked, then. "I'll cook."
"It doesn't matter," I said.
"Okay. See ya later," he said, and headed out the door.
Outsiders