A/N: S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. This Johnny (Johnny 2.0) is my own creation (along with Mikey, Dave, Shane, Pat, & Neil), though he was unashamedly inspired by Ms. Hinton's Johnny. Sorry that this chapter gets a little heavy, I felt that some grievances needed to be aired.
Life went on despite my illness, and I was bogged down with homework for what felt like a millennium. Three math assignments- two to three pages each, a science project that everyone else had already made considerable headway on, a history report on the importance of the Great Schism, an English essay on the symbolism within Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and studying for an oral exam in Spanish were all on the agenda, along with current homework. Needless to say, I pulled many late-nighters.
"Maybe we should put you in remedial math, kiddo, I don't even understand half the mistakes you made." Dad chewed on a thumbnail, scowling in frustration at my latest completed make-up assignment.
"That makes two of us." I laid my head on my arms, really wishing I could go to bed. I'd had nightmares again for the past few nights, and I needed sleep.
"I'll try to set up an appointment with your guidance counselor. Maybe she'll know what to do. For now, get going on that English paper. I want it in the basket first thing tomorrow morning."
"Okay, Dad." I yawned. This was gonna be fun.
I had English for my first class, which meant that Dad and I usually walked together. I hated having him as my teacher, so I kept my mouth shut and prayed that no one noticed. The rest of school was torturous enough without having other kids think I was the teacher's pet. I dropped the finished essay into the basket as I walked to my desk. Dad was on the phone with someone; a parent most likely, but I never socialized much with him at school anyway. At school, he was my teacher, not my dad. I took Gone with the Wind out of my bag, and cracked it open to where I'd left off. The letter greeted me , folded into the crease, with the faded handwriting barely visible on the back side. I took it out to read instead. My hand trembled as I held the delicate paper, marveling at the words written within. They sounded like something I'd have said, honestly. I carefully stowed the letter back into its place, shutting the book so it'd be safe. I wouldn't want to lose it.
Dad had watched the whole scene unfold in quiet fascination. Our eyes met briefly, a look of understanding flickering between our gazes. We said nothing, though I could tell he wanted to, because a few more students entered the room. He slipped an old notebook into my bag as I left for my next class, making it look like I'd dropped it. I wondered about it for the entire day, even to the point of not realizing I'd been called on in history class. She's never called on me before, why'd she have to start now? I mentally balked while I muttered a half-hearted "I dunno," much to the class's amusement. If they wanted to think I was stupid, I'd let them, but I was mortified when they laughed at me.
On the drive home, I didn't bring anything up. Dad seemed distracted, and I disliked car conversations. I was much more comfortable talking things over without the threat of veering into streetlights. Once we got home, however, it was the same song, second verse. Dad was enveloped in another phone call and I couldn't talk to him. I shuffled off to my room, feeling lonely. My science project was coming along nicely and I had no other homework, so I decided to read through the notebook Dad had given me. It turned out that his handwriting had actually gotten worse with age. I was surprised at the quality of the penmanship, since it looked more like doctor's writing now. "'When I stepped into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I only had two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home…'" Yep, that sounded like Dad all right. I read on until I noticed him sitting on my bed.
"Oh! What are you doing here?" I'd gotten to the part where Johnny had killed that Soc, and I was a little jumpy.
"I live here, and I thought you might like to talk. Sorry for freaking you out, I didn't mean to surprise you." Dad smiled apologetically.
"It's okay, I just got lost." I bookmarked the page with a paperclip.
"So, you wanna ask me any questions?"
"Why'd you pick me out of all the other kids in that orphanage?" I knew I reminded him of Johnny, but I wanted to hear him say it.
"Mom wouldn't quit raving about you after she first saw you. I figured she had good taste, and I was right."
"But there were plenty of other kids just like me there. You chose me for a reason, and I wanna know why. Is it because I remind you of your buddy?"
Dad didn't answer me, he just stared at his hands for a long time. "You know, I always thought I could fly when I was little. I thought that if I just took some rope, a laundry basket, and a picnic blanket, I'd go sailing away the next time the wind blew. Now I realize that isn't the case at all."
"I'm not mad at you." I mumbled, knowing it wouldn't have mattered anyway. He hadn't heard me.
"I also thought that if I adopted you, it'd be like Johnny never left. Like he hadn't killed Bob, and everything would go back to normal. But for all your similarities, you're a completely different person. I should've realized that in the beginning; and for that, I'm sorry. We set ground rules before adopting you, your mom and I did, and broke one right away. I've lived with you for twelve years, never once admitting to myself that you were just a replacement for my dead friend; and I know that a simple apology won't even begin to cover something like that, but it's all I've got." He looked at me with tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Johnnycake."
Now it was my turn to be speechless. He'd treated me differently than everyone else for all those years, and I hadn't known. No wonder my cousins hated my guts. I fished a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and lit one. I'd been spoiled to the point of being mollycoddled, and I hadn't figured it out until he told me so. I was even smoking in front of him, and he didn't seem to care. I dropped the cigarette in a glass of water. "You know, I've always wondered why the rest of the kids couldn't stand me. Now I know why, but we can fix it." I studied the pack of cigarettes in my hand. "You really shouldn't let me smoke."
"Maybe I should force you to go make five new friends as punishment." He'd started to laugh.
"How about I start small? I'll try making friends with Mikey."
"Good luck with that, he's kind of a brat, bud."
"So were you." I tapped the notebook with a smirk.
"Don't you speak to me that way; I'm your dad, for God's sake!" He scolded, but he fought to keep the laughter out of his voice.