Cursing below. SE Hinton owns.

Oklahoma Shake-Up

OoO

The next morning Darry finds me on the porch. He's already dressed, watch on his wrist. Though his haggard face tells me he didn't sleep at all last night. He hasn't shaved either.

I've got a cigarette stuck above my ear and one lit and in my mouth; my hands hold the photo of my mom and the Cowboy. Last night had been rough. I had stayed up listening to Darry and Soda, their hushed words in the kitchen, until I had finally fallen asleep. I don't even remember Sodapop coming to bed so it must've been late, past midnight.

Darry sits next to me on the stoop and fixes me with an anxious look. "Pony…give me that." I hand over the photo. He cups it, holding it away from my view. "I don't want you lookin at this or workin yourself up." Darry speaks carefully. "I know you're upset and I know it's confusing….But I don't think we oughta be jumping to any conclusions. I mean, this could be a long time ago. Kiddo, it might not even be mom."

Despite his sure tone, something in Darry's face tells me he knows for a fact that it's our mother. He recognizes something; a harried kind of desperation clouding him.

"It's her," I say, snuffing out my smoke and going for the other one. "Just look at it." The screen door creaks, Soda exiting the house. He leans on the railing of the deck, gives me a weak smile.

"This is all gonna work out," Darry says, his eyes flickering to Soda for a brief moment. "I'll fix it, don't worry."

"But what if you can't?"

"I will."

Darry sounds so sure that I believe him. He's my oldest brother. He's Superman; he can do anything.

"Goooooooooooood morning, Curtis's," Two-Bit drawls, bounding out of his car. "Fine day to you and what is this good, sir?" He snatches the photo from Darry.

"Oh, Two-Bit, don't," Soda murmurs.

"Huh." Two-Bit eyes the photo. "Your dad sure looks different in this photo, Dar." He squints. "Your mom seems happy as peach pie—"

"Give me that," Darry snaps, grabbing the photo. Standing, he stalks inside, minutes away from throttling Two-Bit.

"Do we have a thing against peach pie?" Two-Bit asks, propping his hands on his hips.

I cross my arms. "Boy, you have no idea."

oOo

"Soda?"

"Huh?"

"I hate to break it to you, buddy, but uh, you just dumped salt in your coffee. Plus, you hate coffee." Steve pauses. "Kid keep you up last night?"

"No," I say, taking a taste of the liquid anyway and grimacing. "And leave him alone. I mean it Steve, I ain't dealing with this shit today."

Steve pulls away from the drive-through and parks in the parking lot of McDonald's. He cuts the engine. "You want to tell me what's going on then? You've been in a pissy mood ever since we left."

Finished with the coffee I roll the window down and hurl the cup and its contents across the lot. I prop an elbow onto the window and sigh. I tell Steve the story, keeping it brief and his dark eyes get wide. When I'm done he whistles.

"I'm gonna kill that creep," I say, "for giving Pony the wrong idea."

Steve looks doubtful. He starts the truck. "Soda, man, what if—"

"I will punch you in the face if you finish that sentence, Steve. It ain't true."

"You're probably right," Steve says, checking his blind spot and squealing his tires in the direction of the DX. "Probably a bunch of bullshit."

I try to ignore the ball of lead in my stomach.

oOo

When we pull into the DX, Darry's truck is parked out front. "What's muscles doing here?" Steve asks as both of us climb out.

Darry's at the front desk, chatting with Lloyd. Lloyd looks over. "You're late Randle." Steve goes to clock in, punching his card hard.

"What're you doin' here, Darry?"

Darry doesn't look too happy to see me. "Got Mercer's address," he says, quickly pocketing what looks like an invoice. "Thanks Lloyd, I appreciate it."

"Made me dig through a stack of papers," Lloyd grumbles, "But you got what you wanted, Curtis." Lloyd gives him a nod, moving to answer the phone.

I follow Darry out front. He has his hands in his pockets, his face unreadable. "I'm gonna drive over there today, talk to this guy."

"I want to go," I say and Darry begins shaking his head. "Darry, come—"

"You got work, Sodapop."

"So do you."

"I took it off," Darry says. "I can't have this hanging over our heads."

"Jesus, Darry, I don't see why I—"

"One of us needs to work, Sodapop. So stop arguing with me and just do it."

Dumbfounded, I watch Darry get in his truck and drive off without another word."Damn it, Darry," I mutter, hoping my brother knows what he's doing. Because I sure as hell don't.

oOo

3426 Quail Pointe Road is on the outskirts of Tulsa, maybe about 20 minutes. It's a dusty stretch of dirt road that leads to a huge two-story farmhouse. A great big deck surrounds the front, a balcony up top. Some type of mangy dog rolls in the dirt. I see the Impala sitting out front that Ponyboy's mentioned.

I ring the bell and wait. I know Soda's mad at me but I couldn't bring him along and try to worry about his emotions when I'm trying to get a grip on my own. I already want to take a swing at this guy and I haven't even met him.

"Si?"

At first I think I have the wrong address. A tiny, old Mexican woman stands in the doorway. Her face is pleasant and wrinkled. "I was looking for a Thomas Mercer. Is he here?"

"He certainly is," a voice drawls.

I turn and Thomas Mercer is coming across the lawn. The dog bounds over to his side and kneeling in the dirt he gives it a bellyrub before resuming his walk. "It's okay, Rita," he tells the woman and then says something in Spanish. She shuts the door.

"I imagine you're here about Ponyboy."

"I want to talk to you," I say, my hands balling into fists at my side. "And I want to talk to you now."

oOo

"Wanna split, kid?"

Two-Bit's grinning face greets me. I shove my sandwich into its paper sack. "I knew you'd come back to high school."

He scoffs. "Ponyboy Curtis, clearly you do not know me at all." His smile gets wider. "So whaddya say? Let's go see a movie or something."

"Darry'd skin me," I tell him, although I really do want to go. I haven't been able to concentrate in any of my classes. I turned my math homework to my English class.

"He'll never know," Two-Bit says. "At least he won't hear it from me. C'mon kid, let's do it."

I hop off the picnic bench, knowing that within the time span of this morning and this afternoon someone's told Two-Bit about what went on last night. My friend offering to keep a secret just doesn't happen much these days. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and look forward to forgetting my current situation for a few hours.

oOo

"Thank you, Rita," Cowboy says, taking a cup of coffee from the Mexican woman. "You want a drink?"

"No."

He takes a sip, says something in Spanish and she vanishes. He sets his cup on the coffee table in front of us. "So you want to talk about Ponyboy."

"I don't want to talk about him. I want to talk about my mother." Cowboy raises a brow. "How did you know her?"

"I'll tell ya," Cowboy says, a wistful expression on his face. "But I understand you're her son and you ain't gonna like it much." He sighs. "Lara and I met at the stables. I was working as a farm hand and gave her some lessons on one of the pintos."

I go still. I briefly remember my mom had said she wanted a hobby. On weekends she'd go down to a farm and ride. Sometimes she brought Sodapop with her; it's where my brother first fell in love with horses. I rub my palms on my jeans, the couch beneath me suddenly uncomfortable.

"Eventually, well, I'll spare you the details but…" He shakes his head. "It wasn't right and I ain't proud of it – neither of us was – but it happened. We called it off about six months after it started. Lara said she felt too guilty and I respected her decision. But then she found out she was pregnant with our son and—"

"Wait a minute," I warn, my face getting hot. "There's no proof of that. All this proves is that you and my mom…" I trail off, unable to say it. "The other thing – Pony – Mister, you're making a claim you got no right to."

"If photos aren't working for you, I can get you letters."

"Letters?"

"A whole bunch of 'em written in your mama's hand."

oOo

There are about a dozen letters in my mother's familiar script and with each one I read warning bells begin to ring in my head.

Thomas, thank you for the lighter. It's a very pretty thing, although it is taking me back the bad habits I used to have as a girl. My mama always told me not to smoke and happily, I broke that rule. Thank you. I'll treasure it always…

Dearest Thomas, you wrote last week about what you wanted. I'm sorry, so sorry to have done this, but I can't be what you want. I have a husband and two little boys who mean the world. I'll never forgive myself but don't regret meeting you…

…What are we going to do? There should have never been an us…but now it looks like…well, it looks like I'm pregnant Thomas. We were so careful and now…

The last letter seals it – and as much as I want to resist – it slaps me in the face. "Take it," I say, giving the letter back to the Cowboy. Disgust and hopelessness clouds my vision, all I see is red.

"Darrel, I respected Lara's wishes that I'd never say anything or approach your brother. She wanted your father to raise him. But it was mighty hard seeing them all over town. So I moved away."

Rita comes and takes his cup. Cowboy removes his hat. "I moved back after I heard about your parents. I am truly sorry for that. I still can't believe that Lara—" He clears his throat. "I wasn't planning to say anything to Ponyboy but when I saw him…well hell, I just wanted to meet him…"

"My brother is not your son. You hear me?"

"Darrel—"

"No."

I stand; look down on the man I'm so close to taking a swing at right now. "I catch you around my brother and so help me god you'll answer to me." I bang the front door open and storm down the steps, the mangy dog bounding at my heels.

oOo

Two-Bit walks me home after the movie. He's chattering non-stop about Steve's grumpiness these days, why he still thinks the earth is flat and what if every woman in the world was blonde. "My god," he says, "it'd be like a smorgasbord."

"Do you even know what that word means?"

"I like to imagine it involves food of some sort." Two-Bit pats his stomach. I shrug; I'll give it to him.

We stop in front of my house. No one's home. Darry's truck gone, Steve and Soda still at the DX. "You, uh, wanna come in?" I ask. "Stay for dinner?"

"Might as well. Got nothin' better to do."

"Gee, thanks."

"It's just a picture, Ponyboy," Two-Bit says as we climb the steps.

"What?" I turn back. An awkward grimace lines his face.

"The photo of your ma and that—that guy. It's just a picture."

"Yeah, and you know what they say about those."

Nervous, Two-Bit chews his lip. "Just hang tight, kid. It'll be okay."

I smile, hoping my friend's right. "So who told you?"

"A little birdie named Stevie."

"Figures." We go inside and I shut the door against the chill brewing in the air.

oOo

I feel like a failure. I couldn't fix this for Ponyboy, for Sodapop; for us. If anything I've made it worse by opening up a can of worms. I know more than I ever wanted too. My mouth tastes like cotton. I punch the steering wheel. Once, twice, and continue until my knuckles are bloody. Just when things are going right everything falls apart.

Of course it would. This is what I get for trying to live a normal life. For trying to do too many things at once. Take care of them, go to school, juggle a girl. A rage flies through me.

The truck veers off down the interstate, pushing hard toward 70 mph. I think of my brothers. What'll I tell them? Soda will never believe it, Ponyboy will. Hell, I barely know what to think myself. My hands tighten around the wheel remembering the words my mother wrote to that sorry son-of-a-bitch.

I keep the truck at a steady speed, whipping through town. The familiar feeling descends, the one I've felt only three times in my life: once, when I lost a six-year-old Sodapop at the grocery store for a good hour and the second when my parents died, the third when I hit Ponyboy. The hopeless, claustrophobic despair. I pass the DX, pass my own house and selfishly continue my path out of town, not sure of where I'm going but needing to get away. To be anywhere other than here, pushing my brothers far from my mind at the moment.

oOo

"Something sure smells good," I call out.

Two-Bit's voice floats from the kitchen. "We're making dumplings. Of the soup variety."

"Hey, Sodapop!" Ponyboy's eyes light up. He's at the stove, stirring a pot of soup. I toss my bag down.

"Hey, kiddo," I say, grateful he's smiling; no hint of last night on his face. "How was your day?"

"Two-Bit and I went to a movie," he says.

"Jesus," Steve and Two-Bit swear in unison. Then, Two-Bit exclaims, "Glory, kid! Don't ever let the cops interrogate you; you'll spill the beans in a heartbeat."

"It's Soda," Ponyboy says with a shrug. It's that shrug that makes me want to scoop my little brother up and give him a hug. He points the spoon at me then swings it over to Steve. "Besides, I'm sure he'd find out from Steve anyway."

Steve barks out a laugh and heads to Pony's old bedroom, which he's now crashing in. "Kid, you're a shit."

I pull Two-Bit aside. "Thanks, man. For distracting him today."

Two-Bit holds up a hand. "I'll send you an IOU. And a bill. And a Christmas card. But not Easter. Because I just don't go there." He glances over his shoulder. "You get any news from ol' muscles yet?"

"No," I say. "He should be home soon though."

"You don't think he ran the guy over or anything, do you?"

"Let's hope not. I ain't got enough money for bail."

oOo

Steve sets a bowl of soup in front of me. "Here you go, kid, eat up." It's suspicious Steve Randle waiting on me. Across the room, Two-Bit makes a face, drags a finger across his throat.

"I don't want this."

"What?" comes Steve's curt reply. "Just eat it and—"

"It's too much. Swap bowls with me willya?"

"Kid, I swear—"

"C'mon, Steve. Be a pal." Soda's frozen, his spoon inches from his mouth. He's trying not to laugh and miserably failing.

Steve stands, gives me his bowl and takes mine to the sink. He dumps the contents down the drain. I sit back in my chair, rocking on the legs. Two-Bit hoots. "Too smart for you, Stevie."

"So what was in it?" I ask, unable to contain my smirk.

"Head and Shoulders."

I wrinkle my nose, thinking of how it would have tasted. "Gross."

"Was it hard for you, Steve?" Two-Bit asks. "Uncapping the bottle with one hand?"

Soda and I burst into wild laughter. He's covering his eyes, avoiding Steve's glare. "Screw all of you," Steve snaps. "I hate this damn house."

oOo

I buy a half bottle of Jack Daniels from an old bar out on the highway and park my truck down in the ditch. I take a few chugs, realizing how much I hate hard liquor and chuck the bottle into the truck bed. I decide to calm down before heading home. I rest by head back against the seat and before I realize it sleep takes hold.

oOo

Even though no one says anything we're all keeping watch. Steve's in Darry's recliner, his feet propped up, Soda and I on the couch and Two-Bit's on the floor in front of the TV. I yawn and Soda throws his arm around me.

"Go to bed, kiddo."

Scowling, I try to pull myself out of Soda's headlock. I know he knows where Darry is, but no one's talking. "Is this about mom? The photos?" I ask, sick of everyone pretending. All heads turn my way. "Is that why he ain't back?"

Guilt tugs down deep. Guilt that I should have shut my trap; that I never should have snooped around, talked to the Cowboy. If I hadn't we'd be sitting pretty, nothing this heavy on our minds.

"Oh, hey, Pony," Soda says. "Don't you worry. He's probably just with that girl he likes."

Two-Bit rolls onto his back like a cat. "Darry's got a girl?"

"Where've you been?" Steve says.

"Apparently not here, moochin' off the Curtis's."

"Whatever, man," Steve snaps, Two-Bit apparently hitting a sore spot. He catches me watching him and avoids my eyes.

"And the best part is," Soda continues, trying to deflect tension, "she's blonde, Two-Bit."

Two-Bit moans and begins his woe-is-me lament. I'm too worried to even listen. It feels like a weight's sitting tight on top of my chest. I chew a nail. Wonder what I've done.

oOo

"Shit. Shit. Shit!"

"Not here. Outside," Steve says, shoving me out the front door, Two-Bit following. Inside, Ponyboy's passed out on the couch, a pile of blankets dumped on him. It's three in the morning and my oldest brother hasn't showed.

Two-Bit's pacing. "Darry flipped. He killed him, he probably really killed him and now he's on the lam…"

"Shut up, idiot," Steve snaps. He turns to me. "Darry's smarter than that Sodapop. Like you said he's probably with his girl—"

"He would've called," I say. "No matter what he would have called." I smear a hand through my hair, paranoia taking hold. Darry killed the guy. He was in a car accident. He decided he'd had enough of Pony and I and took off for Mexico—

I shake my head, clearing it. I exhale, calming myself. My breath is white and cloudy in the cold night air of March. "So what should I do?"

Steve and Two-Bit look at each other. "Wait until morning," Steve says. "He'll be back."

oOo

You guys all rock for the reads and reviews. Seriously. You make it easy to keep writing.

Thanks so much and keep it up and I'll keep up the updates.

Pardon typos.

XO,

Feisty