A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm back, I guess. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed and added to favorites and alerts. I appreciate it!
Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton, nor do I own "In My Life" by The Beatles.
Chapter filled with brotherly coolness, optimistic Ponyboy, and arm wrestling matches.
I was a ball of enthusiasm all throughout the next week.
This morning I had woken up easily, without fighting Sodapop to let me sleep in for a couple more minutes, which is what I usually did.
I couldn't help but notice how happy and great things were.
Everything was going so perfect for me, I almost thought I was dreaming.
Even the weather was looking up. After a long, freezing and almost unbearable winter, it was finally turning in to spring.
As I walked outside with Two-Bit, who was giving me a ride to school that day, I took a deep breath and basked in the fresh air. The smell of rain on the pavement filled my nostrils, and all was serene. Things were really going good for me.
And while I reflected the events of last night, I could hear Sodapop excitedly chatting with Steve, talking about his hot-shot kid brother. A writer at fourteen. I smiled in spite of myself, because I couldn't help but feel proud.
"Well," Steve said nonchalantly to him. He used my comb and hair grease to brush through his swirly hair. I didn't care. I was in too great of a mood. "He's a smart kid. Ain't like you didn't see something like this happenin', anyhow, Soda."
I grinned wolfishly at how my life was going. Even Steve was being nice today.
It was hard for me to believe that Johnny and Dally and Bob died, and all that other terrible stuff happened almost half a year ago. That I've managed to move on and put it all behind me. All the good in my life has cancelled all the other stuff out.
Two-Bit jumped in to his rusty truck through the car window. I shook my head absentmindedly. Two-Bit and his antics. "You coulda just opened the door and got in like a normal person," I said, laughing like an idiot, because I was just so happy.
"Yes, I could have, indeed. But you see, Ponyboy Curtis, writing extraordinaire," he explained jovially, and I assumed Soda or Darry explained everything to him already about getting published, "I'm not a normal person. Come on, Steve!" Two-Bit said obstreperously through his open car window. Steve's head snapped up. I slid in to the backseat. "We're gonna be late!"
"I'm comin', I'm comin," I could hear Steve mutter. He continued to use my hair oil. "See ya, Sodapop. Bye, Muscles!"
Two-Bit lit a cigarette and stuck it in to his mouth. Steve took his sweet time to get in to the car, but I didn't care. I was in too great of a mood to be annoyed.
It was difficult not to tell anyone at school about "The Outsiders". I wanted to tell everyone, even this cute Soc girl I was starting to talk to more and more everyday. She was pretty, new in town, and nice, and I was pretty sure she didn't know how to act in this school. Mean or nice? Soc or greaser?
But I didn't tell her. I wanted to keep it a secret until it was in print.
After English, I stayed behind to tell Mr. Syme everything. I even brought the letters to school to show him.
I handed him the ruffled papers eagerly and he tore through them, his eyes scanning the words hungrily. "This is great!" he said joyfully, clapping his hands together in excitement. "I knew you could do it!"
"Thanks," I said shyly. I couldn't help but smile, though, even though I was trying to be modest about it. But I wanted nothing more than to jump up and down again.
"I'm proud of you, Ponyboy," he said.
Life was good. I knew that if my parents were here, they would be proud too. And I think that was the thing I was the happiest about.
Darry had a rare day off, and he decided to pick me up from school. That added to my list of good things that have happened to me today:
1.) No Socs picked on me today.
2.) I'm going to be a published writer.
3.) Mr. Syme is proud of me.
4.) I'm going to be a published writer.
5.) It is spring now; no more winter.
6.) Darry has a day off, so I don't have to walk or take the bus.
"Hi, Darry!" I exclaimed as soon as I walked in. My voice sounded chipper.
"Hey, Pony," he replied, his voice sounding gravelly. "Someone's in a good mood today."
"How can I not be?" I said. "This is one of the best days of my life.
Darry rolled his eyes and snorted, but he was grinning. "You're funny, kid."
I just smiled.
"There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed…"
"You want me to turn this?" Darry asked, pointing to the radio. "I know you don't really like the Beatles."
"No, keep it on," I responded. The Beatles sounded a lot better today than they ever did to me. Everything seemed better to me today.
Darry shot a look in my direction, but I just ignored it.
I listened intently, paying attention to every word Paul or John What's-his-name (I could never tell who was singing; they all sounded the same to me) sang brightly.
"Is this Paul or John… um… what's their last names?" I asked Darry.
"I wouldn't know who's doin' the singing, Pony," he said back to me. "But his last name is Lennon."
Lennon! That was it. John Lennon. Yeah, that name sounded familiar to me. "What's… what's Paul's… that's his name, ain't it…? What's his last name? That's McCartney, right?"
"I think so," said Darry, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I used to go with a girl who loved the Beatles when I was out of high school, before Mom and Dad died. All she would listen to," and then he added, starting to mock sing: "She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah! She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah! All I'd ever hear on a daily basis from her. She sure did love her some Ringo."
Oh, yeah. I remembered her. I remembered Darry talking about her, mostly complaining, when I was younger.
"All these places had their moments, with lovers and friends, I still can recall… Some are dead and some are living… in my life, I loved them all…"
Some are dead and some are living. Hmm. Amen to that.
Maybe the Beatles dug okay after all.
I smiled in the warm sunshine. I turned up the radio and let The Beatles take us home.
"Can I read your theme?" Two-Bit asked later in the evening.
I snorted as he plopped down next to me on the couch, beer in hand. "Why? Ain't like you wanted to read it before."
He guffawed sarcastically and clutched his chest in mock agony. "Ponyboy Curtis, I am offended. You never told me about that theme! Ever! I am 99.9 percent sure that it was never mentioned."
"Yeah, I did," I replied, laughing good naturedly. "You were probably too drunk to remember it."
He took a swallow out of the bottle. "That…" he breathed, "…might actually be true."
I got off the sofa and flipped through the channels. "What do you wanna watch, Darry?" I asked, looking over to Darry, who was sitting snugly in the arm chair.
"Doesn't matter," he grunted back. He was tired, I could tell. He was working so hard, he was even tired on his days off. Work was taking a toll on him. I couldn't help but think about the money I'd be able to get if I managed to sell my book. Maybe I could sell so many copies that we could become rich, and we could move in to a mansion and-
"Turn on Star Trek," Two-Bit said, burping. He took me out of my thoughts.
"Why?"
"I like that show," he replied. "Anything wrong with that?"
"No," I relented, turning the dial and flipping through channels while sitting on the ground. "Is it even on?"
"Ain't you got homework, Ponyboy?" Darry interrupts suddenly. "Don't be worryin' about what Two-Bit's doin'."
I went and did my homework without attempting to protest. I was still in too good of a mood.
I got another letter from Mrs. Almost. I ripped it open with baited breath, scared out of mind.
Oh, my God, was all I could think. There was a mistake and now it won't be published. It's not good enough, it's not good enough, it's not-
I almost didn't open it, but I knew I would have eventually had to.
She didn't write anything about it not getting published at all. Thank God.
I let out the breath I was holding. I was so relieved I could have cried. She actually wrote about how she thought that maybe people wouldn't take me seriously about writing gang life since I was so young. I thought that that was the stupidest thing ever, because I was writing out what I lived on a daily basis. Who would know anything about that more than me?
I got worried about that. Would people not buy my book because of my age? Would I get hate for it because I was only fourteen?
Mrs. Almost told me not to panic, though, because people wouldn't have to know my exact age at the moment, and they shouldn't review it badly. She said that would just be biased and opinionated, and that you shouldn't judge on account of who wrote it, but what the content is and how it was written.
That made me breathe a little easier.
Also, since I had "an interesting name" as she called it, she suggested getting an alias or at least shortening it to "P. Curtis" or "P. Michael Curtis" like L. Frank Baum did for all of his books, or even just "P.M. Curtis."
I got that reason. I'm sure people would be taken aback at seeing "Ponyboy Curtis" written on the front of a book at a bookstore.
I liked P.M. Curtis. I was perfectly fine with having almost two identities - one for my author name and one for my personal life. My friends and family could know me as Ponyboy and the world know me as P.M. Curtis. I liked it.
"The Outsiders" by P.M. Curtis. I could see it already. It had a nice ring to it, didn't it? P.M. Curtis.
I called Darry in and showed him what I decided. Two-Bit thought it sounded cool and official, business-like, but he continued to make fun of me for it for the next two hours, until Darry told him to shut up.
"This is great, kiddo," Darry said. He was beaming. "I'm so happy for you."
"Good job, P.M.!" Two-Bit jumped up in the air and hugged me. He reeked of beer. I grinned and grinned.
"I heard the good news, P.M. Curtis," Soda said as he and Steve waltzed in, home from work. Soda threw his shoes off and they flew in different directions.
Darry snorted. "Oh, glory."
"Not you, too, Soda!" I moaned, trying not to smile. "Two-Bit's bad enough."
Two-Bit smiled innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Darry rolled his eyes and laughed, loud and low, and it caused everyone else to join in with him.
"How'd you find out already, Soda?" I asked him.
Steve ruffled my hair as hard as he could. It hurt. "How does it feel to be a hot-shot? A published writer?"
"Pretty good, actually," I said back to him, being honest for once.
"Darry called me at work. Good job, kiddo. We're all real proud of ya," said Soda, grinning a movie star smile. He ran a hand through his golden hair.
"You shoulda heard him braggin' about ya at work. Tellin' all the co-workers and customers about how his brother is getting published."
I smiled shyly, embarrassed. I could feel my face heating up. I didn't want this kind of attention.
Things were going well that night. We had a good night as friends and we all enjoyed each other's company, and not too many wrestling matches went on, unless you include Two-Bit and Steve getting in to an arm-wrestling match (in which Steve won, and Two-Bit got mad so he tackled Steve, nearly sending him flying straight in to the TV, which aggravated Darry so much that he almost kicked Two-Bit out, but then Two-Bit challenged him to a football game, and then we started playing football).
It seemed as though life was falling in to place perfectly that night. I couldn't help but feel happy.
And nothing could bring me down. Nothing.
A/N: Optimistic Ponyboy is a refreshing change to write about. Please review! I'm begging you! (That rhymed, everyone.)