AN: Wow. Been a while, neh? My sincerest apologies, Kats and Kittens. I've been busy with school and . . . things . . . (like watching really bad SciFi movies and buying songs to my heart's content off of iTunes). So, I think I've kept you waiting long enough. Enjoy!
Chapter Six:
"Hey, Grease," an irritating voice slurs behind me. I ignore it, concentrating on the front of the classroom. The bell has not even rung yet, and already I'm being tortured by Socs. "Greeeaaaser." He taunts, letting out a high-pitched, hyena-like laugh, which is followed by a few sniggers from behind him. Other Socs, I'm guessing.
"Hey, Buddy, lay off," Two-Bit says warningly from my right. That laugh again. I'm beginning to really hate that laugh.
"Hey, Grease," he taunts again, this time laying a hand on my shoulder. "Heard you and Randle were goin' at it at the drive-in this weekend."
"I said lay off!" Two-Bit snatches the Soc's hand from my shoulder and slams it onto the boy's desk. "Leave him alone."
"Hey, man, chill," the Soc smiles visciously. "I only wanna know if the kid's taken or on the market." He flicks the back of my ear, and I jump from my seat, hurrying for the door and out into the hallway. Before I leave, I hear the distinct sound of someone's nose crunching and the Soc's wails as Two-Bit runs after me.
"Ponyboy," he tries to stop me, placing a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off, a sour look on my face as I tell him to leave me alone. "C'mon, Pony. Don't be like that."
"Two-Bit, just lay off, would ya?" I demand over my shoulder, turning to barely stop in time as someone appears before me. I almost do not want to look up, recognizing the shirt immediately, but my eyes slowly scan towards the figure's face, and I find Steve's concerned gaze staring into my own.
"Pony?" He asks, raising his hand to gently wipe a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb, cupping my jaw in his calloused palm. I cannot help but throw myself at him, wrapping my arms tightly around his thin torso and burying my face in his chest as more tears threaten to leak from my eyes. He does not hesitate in encompassing me completely, giving me the satisfaction of being surrounded by warmth. His chin rests on the top of my head as he makes soothing noises, rubbing my back and easing my stress.
"What happened?" He says it quietly, and I'm not sure whether the question is directed towards myself or the shocked figure standing not three feet from us, but I'm grateful when Two-Bit decides to answer.
"Some dumbass Soc in class," he replies dazedly, slowly glancing from my shaking form to Steve's stern face and back again. "Don't worry, I took care of it . . . You guys need a minute alone or somethin'?"
"A Soc gave you that?" Steve asks harshly, lifting my face once again to stare at the purple patch on my cheek. He looks ready to pounce, his eyes firey and his lips drawn into a thin line. I avert my gaze, and Two-Bit shifts his weight uncomfortably. "What? . . . What's wrong?"
"Wasn't . . . Wasn't a Soc that hit 'im," Two-Bit replies when I say nothing. Immediately, Steve's complexion pales as he probably recalls the phone call from last night . . . The one I had come upon when Darry was screaming into the receiver.
"Steve, just tell us where he is!"
My brother's angry words send a shudder up my spine, and Steve clutches me tighter.
"Ponyboy, did . . . did Darry-"
"No," I interrupt, shaking my head. Darry learned his lesson that night Johnny and I had disappeared. The bear hug he had given me in the hospital was the last rough hand he ever placed on me. Ever since then, he's been real gentle, almost like he thinks I'll break or something. Not that I mind, but I miss the rough-housing, the wrestling moves he'd teach me.
"No," I repeat, and his eyes grow angry again. "It . . . It was an accident . . . He didn't mean to."
Steve's hand is, suddenly, on my arm, and he's pulling me towards the front doors, down the concrete stairs, through the parking lot and towards his car. I continue to try and convince him that Soda hadn't done it on purpose, but my pleas fall on deaf ears. This morning, I would have given anything to have Steve at my side. Now I just hope he doesn't kill anyone . . . or himself.
The drive to the gas station is fast, and it makes my head spin to the point of nausea. Steve slams on the brakes, not bothering to actually park the car, and jumps out. He yanks my arm hard, and I find myself being dragged toward the garage, where Soda spends most of his time. And speaking of Soda . . .
I avert my gaze as he comes out of the building, wiping his hands on a dirty towel and looking curious about all the noise.
"Pony?" He asks softly, a hint of guilt in his voice. He probably notices that the bruise is getting darker. Damn him for having such hard fists anyway. It's his own fault.
And then we're right in front of him, and Steve's yelling about something, but my ears are pounding so bad I can't hear a thing. He just keeps pointing at my face and screaming into Soda's. Normally, Soda would fight back, and he'd be yelling too, but he's too busy staring at me to really notice Steve. His lips are tightened into a thin, grim line, and his eyes are sad -- sadder than I have ever seen them.
I realize, suddenly, that I've made a huge mistake. Soda hasn't been acting out against Steve and me because he's mad. It's because he thinks he's losing the only two people in the world that truly understand him. Sure, Darry and the others know him as well as anyone on the block does. But Steve and I are the only ones that really know who he is. Steve's been his best friend since daycare ("daycare," of course, being our backyard), and I've shared a room with him my whole life. Steve and I know things that not even our parents were aware of. With us, Soda always had a purpose. Our constant banter made him the buffer between us, a "referee," even. But now that we're actually getting along, actually in love, Soda doesn't have a purpose . . . or at least he thinks he doesn't. I guess losing Sandy made him more dependent on us. So what happens when he thinks he's lost us too?
"God, Soda, I'm so sorry," I whisper. His eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline as he hears my soft apology, but Steve keeps yelling, having not heard me. And then his fist is pulling back, and my eyes widen. I quickly step between him and my brother in hopes that he won't hit him, but Steve realizes too late that I've slipped in between them. His fist connects with my abdomen, and everything sort of slows down.
Spit flies from my lips, all the air in my lungs forced out in a grunt. My fingers tighten around Steve's wrist as I double over, my knees weak and shaking as I fall to the cement. Steve and Soda are calling my name, asking me if I'm all right, but my only thought is on the throbbing in my stomach that is slowly drifting up into my chest and making it hard for me to breathe. I shudder with every weezing breath, and Steve carefully lays me on my back, cradling my head in his lap. His face is panic-stricken, his eyes glazing with tears, and I find it funny that I don't seem to be crying myself.
"S'okay, Steve," I gurgle as something bitter begins to well in the back of my throat. I cough, and a red liquid stains my shirt and splatters across Steve's face.
"Shit! Soda, go call 911!" Steve is shouting, I'm sure, but his voice is slowly fading. Soda's face leaves my line of vision as he, undoubtedly, heads towards the garage's only telephone.
"Excuse me, is everything all right?"
I don't recognize the voice or the face as the woman leans over me, Steve looking up at her fleetingly.
"Mind your own damn business, lady," he spits angrily. "We've got it under control."
"Is . . . Is this Ponyboy Curtis?" The woman asks hesitantly, as if trying to recognize my face.
"What of it?" Steve demands. He looks at her suspiciously, and my eyebrows draw together -- in pain as well as confusion.
"I'm Amanda Spenster. I'm his social worker."
Fuck.
AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?
Well, well. A twist to our plot. And it seems I may be able to finish this story sooner than I expected. I have a few ideas, but I'm always open to yours. Thanks for being so patient, Kats and Kittens. I promise to try and update sooner than last time ... So sorry. /Wince/ And apologies that this chapter is so short. I keep you waiting, and this is what you get? No worries, though. Hope you'll stick with me til the end!