"Who's dead?" I ask, staring into Curly's bloodshot eyes, a chill running down my spine.

Typically, boys don't do much crying on this side of town, not unless something really bad happens. I once watched Mr. Shepard backhand Curly so hard, blood sputtered out of his nose, and though he was only twelve he didn't cry. So, seeing him crying now scares me a little bit.

He stands up and begins pacing around the room again, before stopping at the window. "Mind if I smoke?"

I shake my head and he lights up a cigarette, allowing the smoke to drift out the window.

"You ever hear stories about the reformatory?"

I nod.

He takes a couple of long drags of his weed before going on. "I always thought most were made up. Kind of like the boogeyman story when you're a kid, you know?"

Again, I nod.

"I'd never admit this to anyone outside of this room, but I was scared when I was sentenced. I was scared the whole bus ride there. All I had were stories to go on and the stories I heard weren't pleasant.

I get there with a bus full of boys, some younger, but most a lot older. Bigger. Meaner. Stronger. But they'd be the least of my worries. One of the guards says to me, 'I don't care for that defiant look in your eye, boy'. I shrug and say 'Well, there's not a whole lot I care for, being here one of them.'

He just smiles, a sadistic kind of smile and tells me that he's never failed to break the most rebellious boys.

The first few days aren't as bad as I thought they were gonna be. It wasn't until I got into a scuffle with one of the Brumley boys. It wasn't really any big deal, just a lot of pent-up energy spilling out because my gang never really had any beef with them.

But the guards break us apart, we're cussing, trading insults, again no big deal, but it's that same guard from the first day that gives me a little shake.

'I knew you'd be a trouble maker.' He drags me by the shirt down a long hallway, and some stairs to a basement, I struggle against him, but he's strong and before I can even react he brings something hard down on my back, over and over, the material biting through the fabric of my shirt.

I don't let out even a whimper though, I just grit my teeth and take the whipping. It might have hurt like hell, but I wasn't gonna let him know that.

Opening a heavy metal door, he pushed me inside a small cell.

'Maybe sleeping with the rats will do you some good,' he said and slammed the door, locking me in a room, no bigger than a closet. No way to lie down, unless I curled into a ball. No light. No heat. No window. Not even a blanket. I hurled myself at the door. Shouted, cussed, pounded until I was so exhausted, I sunk to the floor.

It felt like time didn't exist in that room. Sometimes I didn't know when I was asleep or awake. I'd drift between consciousness and unconsciousness, praying for someone to come let me out. I was shocked to learn I was only in there for a day. It felt like a week.

After that I walked around like a zombie. I never wanted to go back in that room again. But the beatings didn't stop. Sometimes they'd starve us as punishment. I had two roommates. Daniel and Seth. Seth was younger and really small. Didn't have any family. His vocabulary was even worse than mine, but he was a good kid. Mouthy though. Mouthier than even me.

If one of us did something to piss the guards off, they'd punish all three of us. We didn't get anything to eat for a few days. I managed to steal some bread and cheese and shared it with Daniel and Seth.

I wouldn't have left Seth alone in the cell if I knew he would have been blamed. When me and Daniel walked in, one of the guards was beating Seth's back with a cane. His shirt was off and you could count his ribs. I threw myself at the guard, but he whacked me a good on across the head.

Then he called to the other guard. 'Anderson, take them outside and leave them there until morning. Perhaps a night in the cold will learn them' We were grabbed like we were nothing more than unwanted kittens and dragged outside.

There was nowhere for us to go. We huddled together on the icy ground. No shoes, no coats. Seth not even having a shirt on. The wind roared in the trees. Eventually we fell asleep and we woke up to Anderson's voice. 'Get up, I ain't finished with you yet.'

Cold and shivering, me and Daniel stood up, but Seth didn't move. 'Get up!' Anderson yelled again, but still Seth didn't move. He nudged Seth with his boot and his body rolled over, staring with sightless eyes. He was dead."

Curly's voice trails off, and I wipe at my cheeks which are damp with tears.

"Curly, it wasn't your fault." I say, finding my voice. "It was the guard's fault and everyone who didn't' stop it."

Every part of me aches for not just Curly, but the boy that I didn't even know. I couldn't imagine someone so young dying. At least Mom and Dad were able to have a life, but he would never grow up. Never change. A sob escapes my lips. Ashamed, I turn away and press a hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the sound. I shouldn't be the one crying right now, but I can't help it. Curly's hand briefly presses against my shoulder.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry."

Shaking my head, I turn back towards him. "Don't be, sorry. I'm glad you told me." I weigh each word as they come out of my mouth and realize that it's the truth. Though it was sad to hear, it made me understand him a lot better. "Have you ever told anyone else?"

"Just you," Curly answers, sitting back down on the bed.

"Have you thought about telling someone? Maybe the police," I venture.

He scoffs. "Oh yeah, sure. I'm sure they would believe me." His words are biting and sarcastic. "And even if someone did who would care?"

"I care," I say softly.

"Why?" He demands, his voice rising slightly, and my eyes dart nervously to the closed door, hoping that nobody will hear. "Why do you suddenly care, huh? It sure was funny to you when it was my dad knocking me around but now that it was a guard, it's not so funny?"

"No, I didn't think it was funny." I bite down on my lower lip to keep it from trembling, more tears spilling from my eyes. "It was a rotten thing to say and I said I was sorry! You can't throw that in my face whenever you're mad. It's not fair."

He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. "Shit, Cassie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have," I sniffle. "Because I do care about you."

"Why?" He stares at me with that intense gaze.

Instead of dropping my gaze though, I stare back at him. "Because you're worth caring about."

His face is so close to mine I can smell peppermint and cigarette smoke on his breath. His breathing is shallow. "Thank you." Are his simple words.

I fall asleep with Curly Shepard next to me, but I don't wake up with him next to me. Great, now I slept with both Shepard boys. One figuratively and one literally.

Pushing myself out of bed, I walk over to the window and see the screen is back in place. If it wasn't for the way my head throbbed from crying and the sadness, I feel deep in my chest I would have wondered if I dreamed the whole thing.

Curly doesn't show up later that day and I can't help but worry. Last night he was so broken, vulnerable, open. I shouldn't have been so nasty to him when he first started to come around. I shouldn't have taken out what Tim did on him.

He eventually does show up though. Late that night, like the night before he works the screen out and climbs in. Wordlessly he lays down on the bed. Either of us say anything and it's not life before his breathing evens out and I know he's sleeping. That becomes a pattern for the next week.

Curly hasn't typically been showing up during the day, so I'm surprised when he shows up while I'm packing. The night before Darry announced that we were going camping for Ponyboy's birthday. I know he's doing it because he jumped all over Pony about my nose, but could he just apologize like a normal person? Of course not.

Now I had to arrange time off of work and work three extra days next week all because Darry is too stubborn to apologize.

"Going somewhere?" Curly asks, leaning again the wall.

"Camping," I say with no enthusiasm.

"I've never been camping." he smiles. "Unless you count the time we lived in a car."

I force a smile back, even though my heart once again aches for him. I always took for granted how good I had it, especially in this neighborhood. Both my parents genuinely loved us and loved being parents. There were a lot of things we couldn't afford but we always had a stable home and never went to bed hungry.

"How long are you going to be gone?" He asks and though it's hidden I can still hear something in his voice. A hint of panic.

"Only a week." I zip up the duffle bag. "Why? Are you going to miss me?" I work to make my voice come out light and teasing.

"Miss what exactly? The snoring?"

"I do not snore!"

He grins. "Sounds like a chainsaw."

"That's a lie!" I playfully push at his chest. "Anyway, even if I did, which I don't, it's impolite to tell me."

"Okay," He holds up his hands. "Your snores don't sound like a chainsaw; it sounds like a hundred angels singing."

"That's better." I sit back on the bed. "You know that the doors is still going to be unlocked, so you can still crash here while we're gone."

"Thanks, he starts backing towards the door. "Guess I better leave you to pack."

"Curly…" I stare down at my chipped nails before looking back towards him. "Stay out of trouble, okay?"

"I'll do my best," he replies then he's gone.

As soon as we get to the camp site, Ponyboy set to work getting the hammock stringed up between two trees and now is swaying in it, his hands folded behind his head. I grab the side of it and pull it towards me, before letting it go, making it swing wide. With a loud creak one of the ropes holding it up, snaps, sending Ponyboy to the ground with a thud.

I stifle my laughter at the startled look on his face and make sure he's okay. He looks embarrassed but not hurt.

"Sorry," I giggle out.

Ponyboy stands and brushes himself off. Sodapop wanders over from where he was helping Darry set up the tents to see what all the commotion is.

"What happened?" Soda asks, examining the rope.

"I pushed Pony a little too hard and it broke," I explain.

"It didn't break," Sodapop says. "The knot must have just come loose." Sodapop worked quickly to resecure and gave it a couple of hard tugs to test it. "Good as new."

I climb into it carefully and make myself comfortable. Golden rays from the sun, break through the trees, warming my whole body.

"Scoot over," Sodapop nudges me. "I'm coming aboard."

Holding the hammock steady, he settles in next to me. With the gentle rocking of the hammock and Soda's soft breathing in my ear, I'm instantly lured into a deep sleep.

When I wake up the lighting has changed, the sun dipping lower behind the trees, making it cooler. Rolling out of the hammock, I look around the campsite and realize that nobody else is around.

"Darry? Ponyboy? Soda?" I call out, but no one answers.

Shivering I go to the truck and grab my sweatshirt and pull it on. Something on the tree catches my eye. There's a piece of paper, that's secured to the tree with a pocket knife. Taking out the knife I read the note.

We went for a hike. Left you a weapon in case the deranged man that lives in the woods pops up. Hopefully he doesn't get it before you.

"That's great you guys, just leave me all by myself," I mutter, closing the knife and dropping it into to my pocket.

I only let my feelings of abandonment last a few minutes and start collecting wood to build a fire. Dad started taking us camping even before we could walk and made sure we knew how to start a fire.

I got one going fairly quickly and it warmed me up considerably. I hear footsteps and I turn, ready to lecture the boys about leaving me behind for such a long time, but the footsteps don't belong to any of my brothers. They belong to a man wearing a plaid hat.

He's carrying a string full of medium sized fish and greets me in a language that sounds like Italian.

"Ciao," I answer back in an expressionless voice, hoping that if I act like I'm meant to be alone and know what I'm doing he'll keep on walking.

But he doesn't and speaks again in Italian.

"I-I don't understand." My hand goes to my pocket, where the knife is and I pray, I won't have to use. "Please leave me alone."

The man just steps closer though and rambles off more words, with hand gestures this time, and removes two of the fish from his line and lay them on the tree stub, then points to a sweater that is hanging on one of the tree branches.

"I don't understand," I say again and shrug helplessly and the man sets two more fish down.

Thinking that maybe he's being kind and sharing his catch with me because it's clear I have no dinner going I say thank you. I remember I know how to say thank you in Italian and say "Grazie."

"Prego," The man says, walks over to the tree with the sweater on it, takes it and he's gone. I stare at the place that he just was, then at the tree limb where the sweater has been hanging. Unknowingly I traded one of my brothers' sweater for fish.

"Hey, Cass, you awake yet?" I hear Soda's voice yell.

I run down the trail and meet him halfway, throwing my arms around his neck, but it only last a few seconds "Why did you leave me alone for so long?" I demand, smacking his chest. "Some guy came and traded me fish for a sweater. I had no idea what was going on!"

"What guy?" Darry demands, coming up behind Soda. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I wrap my arms around myself. "It just shook me a little bit."

Sodapop wraps an arm around shoulders. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't think we'd be gone so long and we all thought that we were secluded enough that nobody would stumble across the campsite."

I lean into Sodapop. "Where were you guys?"

"We got a little turned around," Darry answers.

"You mean you got lost?"

"A little."

"How can you be a little lost, Darry? You're either lost or you're not."

Darry just shrugs and starts walking up the trail. "Clean the fish yet?"

"No," I reply following him.

"It's actually a good thing you got the fish, Cassie," Ponyboy says. "Imagine how long it would take to catch some for dinner?"

Ponyboy starts to tell stories about their hike and how they must have walked at least thirty miles. "You made the right choice in staying behind and sleeping."

I want to point out that I didn't make the choice to stay behind, that they left me behind, but I don't. Soon the smell of fried fish fills the air though I'm still a little miffed they left me behind I know I need to let go. Sodapop said he was sorry and Darry seemed apologetic.

Later that night I lay shivering in my sleeping bag. Ponyboy started complaining about being cold without his sweater so I gave him mine to shut him up which leaves me cold. It has to be after midnight and I just can't seem to fall asleep.

I can hear Darry's heavy snoring and I'm glad that I'm not sharing a tent with him and feel bad for Sodapop.

Outside the tent there's a rustling noise and panic grips me. What if the fisherman came back to rob us or something worse? Quietly I slip out of the sleeping bag and go kneel down next to Ponyboy.

"Pony," I shake him. "Wake up. Someone's outside the tent."

"It's just Darry snoring," Ponyboy grumbles. "Go back to sleep."

"No." I shake him again. "Someone is out there."

Signing, he grabs the flashlight from beside him and turns it on.

I take it from him and shut if off. "We don't want to draw attention."

"Would you knock it off?" he grabs it back. "If someone is out there, we want to scare them off."

He makes his way to the front of the tent and unzips it peering out.

"Cassie, you're not going to believe this."

"What is it?" I make my way towards him and peer over his shoulder, where Ponyboy is shining a flashlight. There's at least a dozen racoons, eating the fish guts.

Ponyboy twirls the light around, but the racoons are unbothered by the light and continue on their snack.

"They're sure mean looking," he comments.

"Maybe you shouldn't get them all nervous with the light," I suggest.

Ponyboy laughs. "Why? Do you think they'd prefer human guts to fish guts and claw there way in here?"

I give him a dirty look. "I just think we should leave them alone and zip the tent back up. It's freezing!"

Ponyboy complies and zips it back up, then goes to his sleeping bag. "Do me a favor and don't wake me up again unless Jack the Ripper is outside."

I wish I felt warm enough to sleep. Soon Ponyboy's breathing turned rhythmic, indicating he fell asleep. I lay awake, shivering. Thoughts of Curly parading into my mind. Every time I close my eyes I see him in a small cell and I see a small boy, laying cold and dead.

The next night doesn't go much better. Despite swimming and hiking for a majority of the day I still can't sleep. Tonight is even colder than last night. Rain drops start to fall outside and I curl tighter in my sleeping bag, trying to get warm. I shift uncomfortably on the hard ground. Camping isn't as much fun as it was when I was younger.

Wind picks up outside, shaking the tent. There must be a hole in the corner of the tent because with the wind, comes rain flying into and it's wasn't long until the sleeping bag was completely soaked.

"That's it!" I shout, jumping up. "I've had it!"

"Cassie," Ponyboy snaps. "Ignore the stupid racoons."

"It's not the racoons," I snap back, unzipping the tent. "It's raining, I am soaked and I'm sleeping in the truck."

I run through the downpour to the truck, yank open the door and climb inside. Rain pelts the roof of the truck, but already I feel much warmer. I get ready to stretch out on the seat, but the doors pulled open again.

"Our tent is flooded," Ponyboy says, springing inside and in the process he smashes my index finger again the metal part of the seat.

"Ow!" I cry out.

"What happened?"

Before I can answer, the drivers side door opens and Darry and Sodapop wedge their way in, soaking wet.

"Guess you guys had the same idea." Sodapop says.

Tears stream down my face and I purse my lips together, cradling my smashed finger against my chest.

"Hey, you okay?" Sodapop asks and all I can do is shake my head.

"You hurt your hand?"

I nod and he reaches for my hand, while Darry shines a light on it.

All three of my brothers move in closer to peer at my finger, but it's unmarked. It isn't swollen, bruised or bleeding, it just throbs painfully.

I take it out of the light, feeling like a big baby. "I'm okay," I say quietly.

Ponyboy makes himself comfortable, leaning his head against my shoulder, but I didn't want anyone touching me right now. The cramped quarters were starting to get to get on my nerves and the truck smelled like wet wool socks.

"We can turn on the radio," Sodapop suggests. "Or tell ghost stories."

Sodapop is acting like this is some impromptu slumber party.

"Let's attempt to get some sleep," Darry says and I'm thankful. I just hope the rest of the trip goes a lot better.

The rain didn't stop when morning came and in a miserable group effort, we broke down the soaking tents and packed them up. I notice that my finger had turned an ugly purple color overnight, my spirits feel bruised a deep purple as well.

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