OK, so many apologies for the long wait. Seriously. Mucho sorry. Writing block = bad news.
Disclaimer: As usual, I do not own The Outsiders. SE Hinton does.
Please read and review…and have a Happy Holiday! Stay warm and safe!
*
Ponyboy wakes early. It's barely five am and he can't sleep; a rare feat for him. He washes his face, brushes his teeth and finally remembers that it's Christmas. "Oh no," he tells the mirror.
The boy dashes for his duffel bag. He pulls out the gifts he's bought for Darry and Soda nearly two months ago and his palms sweat. In the midst of everything, he forgot what he brought for his brothers; an Oklahoma State University cap for Sodapop and a coffee mug for Darry.
The slap in the face doesn't feel so hot and Pony ends up staring the Christmas gifts down, wishing they'd disappear. He can't give his brothers nothing but giving them these is a lie. Fighting his breath, he glances at the ceiling, knowing he doesn't have much of a choice.
*
"Get in here, it's freezing." Soda opens the front door, tapping on the screen.
With a last look at the falling snow, Ponyboy leaves the porch for the living room. Soda has a blanket wrapped around himself, his eyes clouded with sleep. "It's so early," he whines.
Ponyboy smiles. "It's nine, Soda."
Soda plops on the couch. "Well, it feels early." Soda yawns, appraising his brother who's standing next to the Christmas tree. "How long have you been up?"
"A few hours."
"Darry still sleepin?"
"I'd say so."
"You know what we should do?"
"What?"
Soda grins. "Wake him up. Like the good old days."
"Sure," Pony says, smiling wistfully. "Like the good old days."
Soda's already off the couch, heading for Darry's room, ready to pounce, when all of a sudden he pauses and walks back towards Ponyboy. He touches Pony's shoulder, grateful his brother is home. "Merry Christmas, kiddo."
"Merry Christmas, Sodapop."
*
"It isn't anything…really…" Ponyboy folds his legs underneath himself, reclining back against the couch.
"Are you kidding?" Soda says, shaking his baseball cap open. "It's great – my replacement DX cap." He puts the cap on, adjusting it to his head. Grinning, he nods at Darry who's holding his OSU mug. "And you know he'll use that with all the coffee he drinks."
Darry raises the mug like he's making a toast. "I'll put it to good use, don't worry Ponyboy." Noticing Ponyboy's quiet, Darry asks, "Do you like your books?"
"You don't have them already do you?" Reaching over, Soda picks up Catch-22, turning the book over in his palms.
"They're great," Pony says. "I can't wait to read them." But he stares at the books, the titles, the words blending over and over again in his mind, jumbled confusion threatening his senses. Shaking out of his daze, he raises his head, smiling robotically.
"They're really great," he repeats.
*
He wakes up in the infirmary. Most of it's a blur.
His arms are bandaged tight, numb against the pain he should be feeling. The doctor tells Ponyboy that he overdosed on Ecstasy. "You could have died," the doctor says his black face solemn.
Samuel Morrow holds Pony's hand.
Pony thinks of his brothers and begins to cry.
*
Soda's showering, Darry's changing and Ponyboy's on the phone. Anyone entering the house would see the telephone and its cord strung through the kitchen, into the hallway and underneath Ponyboy's bedroom door. Ponyboy punches in familiar numbers and waits. He has to talk to someone.
"Hello, Morrow residence."
Ponyboy doesn't even say hello. "Is your dad there? Samuel?"
"Sure, sure," she reassures, not even put off. "Let me get him." There's a faint rustle and then Samuel's on the line.
"Ponyboy? What's going on, son?"
"Sam…I keep lying." Ponyboy's sitting on the floor, near the door, the receiver clenched against his ear. "I keep trying to tell them but I can't. I gave them their gifts." There's disgust in his voice.
"Ponyboy," Sam's voice is gentle, smooth. "When you're ready you will know and it will come easily. You can't force it."
"But it's like a countdown. I only have two weeks left and that's just…it's just…What should I do?" Pony rubs his eyes, feeling like a horrible person.
"Take a breath. Calm down. You're not a bad person, you're not a liar. You're their brother, they will understand." Sam repeats what Ponyboy should know. The boy is fragile but he's still smart and Sam hopes he will understand in time.
"Ponyboy, go enjoy Christmas with your family."
Ponyboy slumps. "I'm sorry, it's Christmas, you shouldn't—"
Sam chuckles. "Don't you worry about that. You can call here any time."
"Thanks, Sam…"
"Here, Sarah wants to talk to you."
"Did you open my gift?"
"What?" Then, remembering the small wrapped box, his eyes widen. "Oh no—" He doesn't know where he put it. Darry's truck somewhere, his mind recounts.
Sarah sighs. "Ponyboy, you better go find that. You can't go and lose my Christmas present."
"I will, I forgot it in the—" Hearing voices, Ponyboy drops the receiver, picks it back up, tells Sarah he has to go and hangs up the phone.
*
Ponyboy bumps into Darry. "Where're you going?" he asks, seeing Darry holding the truck keys.
"I'm going over to Alice's real quick. She wants me to meet her folks. Is that okay?"
"Sure, why wouldn't it be?" Pony snaps, annoyed. He doesn't know why he is; only that Darry's leaving them for another piece of his life Ponyboy has no involvement in.
Ignoring Pony's comment, Darry's eyes brush over Pony who's holding the telephone in his hand. "Who were you talking to?"
"A friend from school."
He may not be lying but Darry can tell Pony's nervous about something. It's getting harder for Darry to ignore, Alice's words still stuck in his mind. "Well, go on and help Soda with dinner."
"Oh sure, Darry," Soda calls from the kitchen. "You go out and get your kicks and we'll stay here and cook."
Darry tries to reason. "I'm meeting her parents, Sodapop."
"Likely story, Dar. Likely story."
Darry turns red. "You need a supervisor!" he hollers back. "I'm not eating purple mashed potatoes again. Or gummy bears." Soda starts laughing. Darry rolls his eyes and turns back to Ponyboy, whose face is stony.
"Go on, kiddo. Try and have some fun."
"I am having fun," Pony replies, wishing mightily he could get at those keys. Darry just gives him a look and leaves the house.
*
Eventually, he does have fun.
Soda cranks the radio; Elvis and the Rolling Stones flooding the kitchen. Their attempt at cooking turns into a game of cards. Ponyboy forgets his stress. Christmas will never be the same without their parents, but he's very thankful he has his brothers.
"I say we just cook spaghetti," Soda says. "It's easier."
"Much more simple," Ponyboy agrees, evaluating his hand. "Besides, it's gonna be hard to cook a turkey when it's still frozen."
Soda blushes. "I know, I know it's my fault. But we don't really need it do we? Alice cooked enough yesterday."
Pony nods. "Leftovers work."
The phone rings and Ponyboy bristles, thinking it's Sarah or Sam. Soda scoots out from his chair, picks up the shrill phone and listens. After a quick moment, he hangs up. "Steve's coming over," he tells Ponyboy.
*
Pony spends the next week in the infirmary, extremely confused and depressed – a side effect of coming down from an overdose, he's told. He lies in bed listlessly.
When asked if he'd like to call anyone, he tells them his parents are dead.
No one says much more.
*
Darry sits in his truck, listening to the weather forecast before he goes inside his house.
He's back from Alice's, well fed and bearing gifts. Her parents were less worrisome than Darry had thought; mother sweet like her daughter, the father easy-going. But he shouldn't have been worried. He always does well with parents – seen as responsible, polite, adult. Soda's the one parents worry about. One look at his face and it's all over.
The snow's falling crazily; the radio warning that a major blizzard is coming in a few hours. Darry's wondering if they have enough flashlights, blankets and all the necessary equipment just in case the meteorologists are right for once and Tulsa gets snowed in.
Darry twists the radio dial and then jumps a mile as there's a tap at his window. "Jesus," he exhales. He pops his door open. "What're you doin Ponyboy, trying to give me a heart attack?"
Ponyboy's standing in the street, wrapped in Darry's old jacket. He grins, looking better than when Darry last left him. "Sorry, Dar."
Shutting the truck off, Darry climbs out, grabbing the presents Alice gave him. "Soda burn the kitchen down yet?"
"Nope." Pony sticks his hands in his pockets. "We're having spaghetti. He didn't defrost the turkey."
Darry just laughs. "Why am I not surprised?" He slams the driver's door shut, moving towards the house. Ponyboy continues standing next to the truck. "You coming in?"
"Yeah, in just a sec. I think I dropped my lighter in here yesterday…"
"You don't smoke anymore."
"Yeah, but other people do." Ponyboy gives him a smile. "I'll be in, go on."
*
"Damn it," Pony mutters, trying to feel around on the floor of the truck for Sarah's present. "Where are you?"
Unable to get good momentum in Darry's jacket, he strips it off, arms bare for once after throwing on a quick t-shirt. His long lanky body drapes across the seat, reaching blindly. Suddenly, there's a loud bang against the side of the truck, like someone kicking metal.
Panicked, Ponyboy pulls back and out of the truck, smacking his head on the doorframe. Wheeling around, he sees Steve Randle smirking at him over the hood of the truck. Ponyboy rubs his head, muttering soft curses.
"Sorry about that kid," Steve says. "Couldn't resist."
Despite the iciness of the air, Ponyboy instantly goes hot all over as Steve stares at him. Grabbing up the jacket, Ponyboy slips it back on, crossing his arms protectively. Steve barely gets a good look, but it's enough.
"Ponyboy, what the hell happened?"
"What're you talking about?" Pony slams Darry's door shut, briskly walking around Steve.
Steve grabs his shoulder. "You know what I mean. Your arm—"
"Don't touch me." Ponyboy twists out of Steve's grasp.
"What the fuck's wrong with you?"
"Just leave me alone, Steve. Or tell Soda. I don't care anymore."
"Bullshit," Steve says, seeing the fear on Pony's face. "I don't know what the hell's goin on, but I ain't telling Sodapop a damn thing. Because if you think I'm going to do your dirty work and tell your brothers you're shit out of luck. That's your job, not mine."
Ponyboy blanches; thinking himself a coward, knowing it would be easier if Steve told someone.
But Steve's words are harsher than his voice; the way the kid moves, the way he breathes, makes Steve worried he's going someplace far and distant. "Whatever it is you're hiding they're going to figure it out."
Then the worst thing Steve can possibly imagine happens: Ponyboy's face screws up really tight and the kid sags against the truck. "I dropped out, Steve. I flunked—I screwed up bad."
Ponyboy covers his mouth, like he can't believe what he's just said, looking relieved nonetheless. Sam was right; it just came out.
The two of them stand there, in the falling snow; Steve, confused and shocked, Ponyboy, sick to his stomach. Steve Randle's the last person he ever wanted to spill the truth to. But he's almost beyond caring, too tired to act.
Steve doesn't have an easy rebuttal, unsure of what to do with Pony's admission. Instead, he holds out a hand. "Do you have a smoke?"
"I quit."
"Well, you sure picked a hell of a time. Maybe you should take it back up again, kid. For my nerves."
"Look." Ponyboy sighs. "I'll tell them. Just not today. It's Christmas."
*
Pardon typos. Please review.
I am hoping, really crossing my fingers that this is not dragging out. A few more chapters to go.
As always, thanks for reading.