By the time they reach his neighborhood, Johnny has decided he's headed to the Curtis house instead. Even though the place is not exactly fancy, Darry is house-proud. He repaired the porch beams only last month, and added a fresh layer of green paint to the entire outside of it over the summer. He rakes the leaves and burns them on Sundays. Darry's actually kinda crazy about keeping up with that house. He's always assigning Pony and Soda chores, too. It's like he thinks there's something of his folks left inside the woodwork. Johnny can't blame him. He kinda feels the ghosts of them, too.

Even though it's been over a year, every time Johnny walks inside their home, it feels like something's missing. Only four months ago he nearly asked Soda where his mom was when he entered the living room and she wasn't there to great him. Somehow, in that split second, he'd forgotten they were gone for good.

But even if it is missing its essential core, the Curtis house is a house Johnny can be proud of. And it's the only house Johnny has ever really belonged in. If Randy insists on following him, Johnny will let him believe that place is his home. It's close enough to the truth. And besides saving him from complete humiliation, heading there comes with a bonus: Randy won't want to come in when he sees the gang loitering around. Johnny thinks of how his friends must look to clean-cut, perfect Randy. Like a bunch of no-count hoods. For once, he's glad about that.

Of course, the best laid plans of mice and men...Johnny's not a hundred percent sure what that phrase means, but Randy's used it before, and he thinks it applies to him just now. Because he has to pass his home first to get to the Curtises' and his parents are standing on their porch.

Screaming at each other.

"Get the fuck outa this house! You liar! You cheater!" his mom screeches. She has a glass in her hand–of water maybe, but more likely liquor–and she throws it at his dad, who ducks just in time. The glass shatters against the wall of the house. She's in her nightgown.

His dad, who is shirtless, his hairy, stretched-out stomach open for the entire public to view, lunges at her, but she grabs a wooden chair and holds it out in front of her like a shield. The chair has one leg missing, and as long has Johnny can remember, it has sat alone, crookedly propped up and alone on his porch.

"You crazy bitch!" his dad cries as he grabs the chair and tries to pull it down. He's definitely been drinking. Johnny can hear it in his slur. Johnny has stopped to stare.

Randy gives Johnny an awkward look, like he's embarrassed for these two strangers who don't have enough pride to be embarrassed for themselves. "Wow," Randy says, an uncomfortable smile on his lips. Like he doesn't know whether he's amused or disgusted. "Just...wow. I have no words." He gives Johnny one of those buddy-buddy looks, like Johnny should be sharing in the entertainment. Johnny's dad grabs the chair. He lifts it over his head.

Johnny's out of breath, standing in front of his mom, pushing her behind him.

She shoves him. "Git out of my way!" Johnny now knows, judging by the stench of her breath, that she's been drinking, too. "This is between me and your loser of a father! You just git!"

Johnny ignores his mother's warnings, and keeps in front of her.

"Come on, dad, put the chair down." His voice is shaking. He hates it when his folks are at each other's throats, which is often. He does his best to stay as far away from the house as he can when they're going at it. But he can't stand by and exchange smug glances with Randy as he watches his Ma get pummeled with a chair. That's a whole 'nother level of avoidance and denial he's not ready for.

"Don't you tell me what to do, you little shit," his dad says. "You heard your mother."

"Come on, dad. The neighbors are gonna call the cops if you two keep this up. Can't you take it inside?" Johnny pleads.

His dad drops the chair. Johnny breathes a sigh of relief, until the old man steps towards him. "I'm sick of your insolence, boy." His dad tries to point at him, but his aim is off slightly, so he points at the broken love seat behind him that's hanging off of one long chain. "Goddamn sick of it. You're a little shit. That's what you are."

"Dad-"

"Don't you Dad me!" Johnny's father may be too drunk to have good aim, but he's close enough that Johnny's impossible to miss. He backhands him so hard that Johnny crumbles to the ground, knocking into his Ma.

When Johnny tries to stand, his dad lets in with his feet, kicking him in the chest, the shoulder, and finally the crotch, although Johnny guesses he'd been aiming for his gut each time. Johnny doesn't fight back. He never does. And after that last kick, he can't. He curls into himself on the floor, grabbing at his crotch and seeing black.

"Get your hands off him."

The darkness recedes, and in his line of vision are recently shined brass-colored penny loafers, gray tartan socks, and the double-stitched hem of expensive floods. Randy.

Johnny sits up and sees all of him. His cocky, All-American, golden boy face is furious. His perfect jock body is hovering menacingly over Johnny's dad.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" his old man asks.

"My name is Randy Adderson. You know, of the Tulsa Addersons. We're pretty well know. And I meant what I said. Don't you dare touch him."

Johnny doesn't know if he's more humiliated or grateful. He tries to pick himself up, and he does, but the pain in his body is still throbbing, starting from his crotch and working its way to his fingertips and toes. Humiliated, Johnny decides. He's definitely more humiliated.

"Look here, you smug sonofabitch, I can discipline my son however I want."

"Actually, your behavior falls under the criteria for assault and battery. This is domestic abuse and it is punishable by law for up to twenty years in prison." Randy's normally annoyingly know-it-all tone is a godsend. "You had better hope I don't report it. My dad's a lawyer who locks up ten people like you behind bars before he finishes lunch. And he's friends with powerful people. Let me correct myself. He is the powerful people. You know who was over my house for dinner last night? Judge Clemming. The same judge you're going to have to explain yourself to if you so much as pat him on the back too hard ever again. You hear me?"

"Are you kidding me?" Johnny's dad asks, incredulous.

"Does it sound like I'm kidding?"

Johnny's dad kicks at the broken chair on the floor and aims a finger at Randy. Or slightly to the left of Randy. "This ain't none of your business, you nosey little prick. What has the world come to when I can't even discipline my own son? Huh?"

But Mr. Cade goes back in the house, defeated, muttering and cursing Randy and the whole world that has gotten out of hand and doesn't understand how to bring up children anymore and can't a man have privacy in his own home?

Johnny's mom brushes past him. "Now see what you did? I told you to go away. You always make things worse. Because of you the cops are gonna be harassing this family." She gives Johnny a contemptuous glare, then she gives Randy the same look, and then she follows her husband inside.

There is a long pause. Randy breaks it. "Are you oka-"

"I'm fine." Johnny hardens his voice. He hardens his face. He hardens his heart. It's the only way he can get through this.

"So your dad's some hot-shot prosecutor, huh? Puts thugs like me in prison?" Johnny asks, to change the subject.

"Actually, he's a contract lawyer who works in the financial sector. Big business type stuff. I don't really understand it. So yeah, I was kinda bluffing. But we did have the judge over for dinner last night." His voice is shaking when he speaks. It's strange, because he sounded so strong only seconds before.

Randy tugs at his collar. Don't do it, Johnny begs internally. Just keep your mouth shut for once.

"Johnny, I'm so sorry..."

"About what?" Why can't Randy just pretend it didn't happen? "You didn't do nothing wrong."

"Anything. Don't use a double negative," Randy corrects out habit. "Anyways...I'm sorry you have to come home to that."

And then Randy does something entirely unexpected. Even more unexpected than pushing Johnny up against the stop sign. He gasps a few times, and sniffles, and he cries. He cries right there on the porch. Kind of loud, too.

"Randy, Jesus..." Johnny starts, irritated. He doesn't need this now. He doesn't know how to handle tears. He turns away so he doesn't have to see it. "Come man, pull yourself together. What the hell?"

"Why didn't you hit him back?" Even though Randy's voice is strangled between his sobs, Johnny can clearly make out what he asked.

Johnny shoves his hands in his pockets. "He's my dad."

"That man is no father," Randy lets out bitterly. "And that woman is no mother."

"Don't talk about them that way. They're my parents."

"They don't deserve a kid like you. Not when they abuse you like that."

"Look, Randy. It ain't abuse, okay? For it to be abuse I'd have to be a victim. And I'm not a victim. I'm a bad kid. A hood. I kinda have it coming to me, you know?"

"You have it coming to you?" Randy mimics. "Are you serious?"

Johnny raises his voice. "I don't care if he hurts me. He's my dad. If he wants to holler at me, I let him holler. If he wants to beat me, I let him beat me. So mind your own business. I don't need you to save me. I'm fine."

"Johnny, that is so screwed up. Listen to me-"

"I'm the one who's screwed up? Look at you. What a wimp. You're crying and meanwhile I'm the one who just took the beating. And it wasn't even a beating. It was a few slaps that would have been over soon enough even if you didn't get all meddlesome.

"You know what? You've been so spoiled your whole life so you don't know how ignore the small things like this. That's what your problem is. Just get over it, okay? It don't bother me none."

"I'm crying because it should bother you."

Johnny turns away. "Just go. Get away from me."

"Johnny, please. Listen. I can help you-"

"I said go away."

So Randy does.

TBC