Long chapter.

Cursing below.

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

Does This Sound Okay?

OoO

They were hiding behind the lining.

Nearly 30 photos in all of Lara – my mom – and the Cowboy. Her on the back of a motorcycle. Lara and the Cowboy posing next to a Tulsa Limits sign. One where she's smoking, the pearl-enameled lighter in her long fingers.

The photo that really gets me is one of her on some balcony that overlooks some rolling hills and fields. She's staring off into the distance, a glimmer of sunlight on her auburn hair, her hand up and out like she's trying to shield herself from the camera. But she's smiling. In all of them she's smiling.

There're more photos too. Worse than the others. My ears begin to ring. I feel the flush creeping from them down into my neck. Oh god, this isn't real. None of it.

In these she's pregnant and she's with the Cowboy. Not my dad. He has a hand on her stomach. He's beaming. Then my birth certificate falls out from the hidden stash and the room swims.

OoO

The door slams hard. So hard that a photo falls from the wall, shattering. I groan, stretching my legs out on the couch. Steve rolls an eye my way. "What's his problem?" I hear the unsaid now.

I have to grin because inside my pocket is the crumpled dollar bill Ponyboy had given me earlier that morning for Steve. Not that that would stop my friend's smartass comments but if he knew what Pony was doing it would knock him off his high horse pretty damn quick.

Ever since we've been home Ponyboy's been worked up. Between him and Steve and sometimes Darry I'm beginning to think there's nowhere I can escape to for a minute of peace and quiet.

"We should turn this," I tell Steve as the Newlywed Game comes on.

"We should," he agrees. Yet neither of us makes a move.

Five minutes later, there're raised voices on the porch. Darry's yelling. "Oh boy," I mutter to the ceiling, readying myself for interference. But then Darry's entering, no Ponyboy in sight.

"Jesus," Darry says. His face is red as he pulls his jacket off. "What's his problem?"

"You see?" Steve says, giving me a look. He eyes Darry too. "Got some lipstick on your collar there, Dar."

"I'm gonna raise your rent, Steve," Darry snaps, the tips of his ears turning red. He pounds across the floor, slamming the bathroom door shut. The shower begins running.

OoO

I took them from the attic and buried them. The photos are underneath my mattress, burning a hole in it.

I can't think about anything else. It's been three days and I'm walking around like I did after Johnny and Dallas died. I forget shoes. I forget to eat. I frown when Two-Bit cracks a joke. I just don't know what to say or do. Especially with my brothers.

It's not true. It can't be. It absolutely cannot be.

When I rehash it I begin to feel better. The Cowboy's never actually said it. Maybe it's all in my warped mind. Maybe he meant to say that he loved my mother when she was pregnant with me, maybe she – and god this thought hurts – really did cheat on my father, maybe that's all it is. Just photos and a Cowboy.

There's a knock on my bedroom door and I jump as Darry's voice booms, "Pone, let's go. C'mon."

I grab my track shoes, swallow the lump in my throat.

OoO

Ponyboy unbuckles. "Can you come to the meet?" he asks, green eyes wide.

Shit.

His face falls. "You forgot." The statement's flat, slapping me in the face. I don't get what's going on with him the last few days. Clingy and absentminded, he's getting harder and harder to talk to, which I'll admit is getting harder for me to find the time with work and school and him being at practice. I don't like the excuse and it pisses me off I even have to make one.

"Pony, I didn't forget," I gently tell him, which is part-lie. I did forget. Only I really can't go. "I have a midterm tonight. I can't get out of that."

"Sure," he says. "I know."

"Soda'll be there. He'll bring you home."

Dipping, he grabs his duffel bag containing his track gear. His long hair falls in his face and he brushes it away. He punches the passenger door open. "Good luck, Darry." Pony trudges across the parking lot to the entrance of Will Rogers. I watch his figure get smaller and smaller until finally he disappears inside.

OoO

Steve fingers the wad of cash I hand him, Pony's dollar tucked in there somewhere. "Sodapop…" He knows it's more than my own paycheck.

"Just take it and shut up," I say.

Reluctantly he pockets it and then grins. "Yeah, well, I'll make it up to you tonight."

"What's tonight?"

"Poker game at Pinkie's."

Slowly, I tug my gloves off, setting them on the hood of a dismembered car. It's so torn apart I don't even know the model anymore. "Not that place, Stevie." Not only is Pinkie's place in a bad part of town – down by the railroad tracks and old junkyard – but the people who play are all cheats and liars.

Not that Steve and I aren't cheats and liars; we just have fun while the other ones want your money or your blood. Or both.

"One night, Soda," Steve says. "I'll win us some cold hard cash."

I raise an eyebrow, try not to laugh. "Can you play with one hand?" Steve flips me the bird, our decision made.

OoO

Run. Run. Run.

Squatting, fingertips brushing red earth, I ready myself for the signal to GO. I glance into the stands. They're full; parents and students and teachers all cheering us on. Somewhere Soda is there, along with Two-Bit and Steve.

Run. Run. Run.

The heart in my chest pumps a frantic beat. I'm ready to launch myself forward, to work off the extra adrenaline that's been sticking with me these last few days.

The shot's loud and I bolt.

OoO

The hits keep on coming; not only do I not win the meet but no one shows either. I wait until the stands clear and all I'm left with are a few janitors sweeping up. Everyone else is milling around the front of the school.

"Bullshit," I mutter, trekking across the track to the parking lot. Running's the one thing I do well and now I've gone and loused that up too.

When I reach the gravel lot my eyes widen. "Oh no," I say. "Not you."

The Cowboy's sitting on the hood of his Impala, parked between a Bronco and a motorcycle. There's a Styrofoam coffee cup in his hand. "Some good runnin' you got there."

I keep walking. "Don't. Do not talk to me." A few teammates turn and wave, giving me smiles of condolence.

"Pony, wait…" The Impala creaks as Cowboy slides off it. He moves into place alongside me, matching my stride easily. "Do you want a lift?"

"No!" I shout. Parents turn to stare. The Cowboy stops in place. "No," I repeat a bit quieter, backing away. "I don't want anything from you."

OoO

"How was it, Dar?" Soda asks. He comes inside and shuts the door. Soda blows into his hands, warming them. He takes his coat off, hooking it over the arm of the couch. They both look guilty.

"Could've been worse," I say. "Don't think I'll ever take another econ class again, though."

"Econ?" Soda frowns. "I was talkin' about the meet. Didn't you—" His eyes widen. "Oh. OH."

I run a hand down my jaw. "Soda…you didn't go?"

"I thought you were going. Steve and I got caught up…we couldn't get away…" Steve avoids my eyes and I wonder what they've been up to tonight. "Shit," Soda swears. "Shit."

"Great. I promised him one of us would be there and we both didn't show." I grab up my jacket and keys. The meet ended hours ago and Pony's not back yet. "I thought he was out with you and—"

"Two-Bit!" Soda yelps as our friend crashes through the front door. "Tell me you've—"

"Been faithful?" Two-Bit finishes. He clasps a hand to his heart. "Why yes, Sodapop. Only for you. But don't tell Kathy that or she'll have my ass in a sling. Not to mention—"

"Two, Bit, have you seen Ponyboy?" I ask, wanting to get to the point. "He had a meet tonight and we missed it."

If Two-Bit's surprised he doesn't show it. Instead, he shakes his head, the smile slipping from his face. "Aw, Darry, man, I couldn't make it either. Had to pick my ma up from her job now that we're down to one car."

"Damn it." Normally missing a meet wouldn't be something that Ponyboy would care about. But we both promised him we'd go and between that and forgetting about spring break, it's easy to see how he'd take that to heart.

"He's okay, Dar," Soda says, "Probably just out blowing off steam."

Out of habit, I check my watch, noting the time.

OoO

I squeeze my eyes shut. See colors. See the photos. Feel the pressure. Darry's and Soda's absence from my track meet. Everything bottled up explodes in one single burst and suddenly I'm yelling at the Cowboy in the middle of my school parking lot.

"Why are you here? Why are you doing this now? Why now?"

"Kid, believe me, I didn't mean to. And believe me it's an even longer story that I hope to tell you about someday soon…but right now…." Cowboy's face is pained. He doesn't look embarrassed or hurt, just concerned.

"I promised your mama I'd never say anything but then I saw you at the cemetery and Jesus…you looked so much like her. Like m—"

"Stop!" I shout, cutting off any more information before I can process it. "I don't believe you. Any of it."

"And that's okay, Ponyboy. I ain't here to change your mind. I just thought you should know."

I press my fingertips against my eyelids, seeing spots, warring between my need to know and the need to deny. Suddenly, I'm angry. Angrier than I've been in a long time. Light flashes behind my eyes and I open them.

"Then say it."

"What?"

"I want. To hear. You say it."

The Cowboy toes his boots in the rocky gravel, looks me in square the eyes and says, "Ponyboy, you're my son." He doesn't blink.

My heart jumps into my throat and then drops into my toes like one of those rides at the fair. And before I can tell him to take it back I turn on my heel and keep walking. My eyes begin to blur. I will myself not to bawl in front of twenty of my teammates.

He calls out, "Ponyboy…I'm sorry…"

I stop at the curb just as he reaches me. Mrs. Miller turns the corner, whooshing by us and waving. "You're lying." My voice shakes.

"I'm sorry, son, I didn't want to do this here—"

"Don't call me that!" I pull away as Cowboy takes a step toward me. "Don't touch me."

"Ponyboy let me take you home. You're upset."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

I turn; stumble off the curb and into the road. Cowboy grabs my elbow to steady me. "Easy," he says. He tries to pull me up onto the curb but I jerk away. The force of the push/pull causes me to trip off the curb again.

The car that slams into me is barely going 20 mph. The driver screeches in surprise as I hit the hood and roll up onto the windshield. Glass shatters and then like a rollercoaster I'm rolling right back down again. I hit the cement with a thud.

I moan, imagining for one brief moment that I'm splattered across the front of my school for everyone to see.

"Holy shit, Curtis!" comes the shout from the offending car. Jimmy Peretti has his head out the car window. His mom is trying to unbuckle her seatbelt and climb out.

Getting my bearings, I sit up fast, my shoulder giving a throb.

"Good god, you took that like a champ," The Cowboy's saying, voice tinged with panic but calm nonetheless. He reaches down and pulls me up with a strong callused hand. "You okay, son? You need a hospital or—"

"I don't need your help," I say, limping away from him. "Damn it, just leave me alone."

OoO

Darry watches Steve and I smoke out back. The stars are bright, the night air crisp. Inside a door slams and Darry sighs.

"That's Ponyboy." I ash my cigarette. "No one can slam a door like my kid brother." Steve snorts but says nothing.

Darry's frowning. "Yeah, well, he's doing it too much lately and I want it to stop. Besides, I don't remember us being that bad."

"Compared to Pony I'm a saint," I brag, semi-joking. In all honesty, my little brother just gets caught more than I ever did. I'd give him some tips but then again I don't want Darry to kick my ass for encouraging it. Two-Bit's bad enough.

"Bullshit," Steve says. "You're a sinner in saint's clothing if I ever saw one."

Darry rolls his eyes. "I better go talk to him." His knees pop as he stands.

"Good idea, Dar. I'll let you have the first crack."

"Gee, thanks a lot."

OoO

"Pony, c'mere I want to talk to you."

"I have to change," he snaps. Instead of stopping in the kitchen to see me he goes straight to his room.

When I find him, he's standing near his nightstand, tugging off his track shoes. "Look," I say. "I know we missed the meet and I'm sorry about that but that's no excuse for not calling and staying out past—"

That's when I notice his face. It's scuffed on the right side and dirty. He's also leaning funny, like he's holding himself up at an odd angle. I flip on the bedroom light. Something shimmers in his hair. It looks like glass.

"Pony?"

He hangs his head. "I ran into a car."

Inwardly, I count to five. Then— "Parked or moving?"

"Moving. Nothing's broken," he quickly adds. "I'm okay."

I sigh. "You're going to make me go gray, you know that right?"

He winches and stripping off his shirt changes into a clean t-shirt. I get a good enough look to see that at least on the surface he looks okay. He faces me. "I need to talk to you, Darry."

"Wait," I say. "Come on out to the kitchen where the light is better. I want to check—"

"No," he says. "You don't understand. I really need to talk to you."

"No buts. Let me look at you. Then we'll talk."

OoO

I wait for my brother in the kitchen. A few minutes go by and impatient I call out, "Pony, bring the first -aid kit while you're at it."

He limps out, carrying a stack of papers in his arms instead of what I've asked him to get. It's a relief to see the scrapes aren't bad and except for his limp, he seems fine. "Sit down, kiddo." When he remains standing, I say, "Ponyboy, for god's sake, sit down and let me look at you."

He dumps the pile of white onto the kitchen table. "Here," he says. He doesn't sit down.

Without meaning to I snap, "What the hell is this?" annoyed that he's not listening to me. He doesn't answer and it's then I see the white papers are actually photographs. I give him a look, absentmindedly picking up a stack. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Ponyboy…" I trail off, the face in the photos familiar. It's my mom. I flip through a few more, seeing her with a strange man. I blink.

"Where'd you get these?"

"I found 'em in mom's things."

I squint at the photos, perplexed, not sure what I'm seeing. That's when I glance at my brother, the next question on my lips when I see that Ponyboy looks ready to cry. Pale, he's got both hands on the table, bracing himself up. I push back from the table.

"Kiddo, what's wrong?" Right now I've got deal with my little brother before I can deal with these photos.

He shifts his weight, standing straighter. "Darry…did you know? Just tell me…Did you know about these?"

"Know about what, Pone?" He's talking strange, has me searching my mind for what he could be talking about. His words carry an edge, a fine line he's walking alone. "The photos? I've never seen them before in my life." I pick up another stack.

"Look at them." He speaks carefully. Pained.

"Pony, I don't see what you're—" The words die on my lips when I get to the next photo. "Jesus. Who is this?" All of a sudden I'm having trouble focusing. "Pony!" I shout when he doesn't answer. I flip the photo his way. My mom is pregnant and with a man who is clearly not my father.

I take a breath, trying to keep it together. "Do you know who this is, kiddo?"

"Thomas Mercer."

"The guy who's been following you?" I frown, recognizing the name from the DX receipt. Something I don't want to get tries to turn on in my brain. "Why do you have these…?"

When he says it I'm not prepared. I had expected to discuss the meet tonight, to talk about my shitty memory but not this. It's like a shotgun blast to the face. "That guy says I'm his son." Pony whimpers. "He says I'm not dad's."

"What?" Darry hisses in a low and dangerous voice. "What the hell is this?"

Stepping up to the table, Ponyboy throws a photo at me like he's a dealer in Vegas. It hits my arm, bouncing to the ground. "You tell me, Darry! Because I don't know what the hell to think anymore." He's crying now, hobbling around the kitchen like he's an old man.

OoO

I don't know what the hell Steve and I've just walked into but it doesn't look like anything good. Pony's got his arms crossed, defensive, sagging back against one of the walls. It's clear he's been crying. Darry's so green he looks sick to his stomach.

"What's going on? Darry?" I ask when there's no response.

Steve shifts as Ponyboy and Darry stare at each other. "Uh, I'm gonna take a walk," he says, clasping a reassuring hand on my shoulder. He squeezes. "See you later, man."

"Pony?" I ask again when Steve's gone. "What's wrong?"

"Ask him," Pony says. "He knows."

I turn to my other brother, wishing they'd cut the shit and get to whatever's going on. "Look, man, would someone tell me what the hell is going on?"

Then in a voice so monotone, so deadened, Darry begins to speak. He gives me the gist and with every word I feel as if I'm getting socked in the stomach. I sink into the nearest chair and stare at the photos.

"Bullshit," I say when Darry's done.

Darry shakes his head. "I know, Sodapop. I told him—"

Pony whispers, "Look at the photos. Just look at them." He's shaking. I don't know what to say.

We stay like that in the kitchen until Darry blurts, "Go to bed, Ponyboy," and Pony goes.

I run both hands through my hair. Cover my face. "Jesus fucking Christ, are you kidding me?"

OoO

Happy Easter! Eat many peeps.

Please read and review.

XO,

Feisty