AN: Sorry y'all! This is kind of a filler chapter but it had to be done! I'm sorry it took me so long to post!
Disclaimer: l don't own anything!
Ponyboy's POV
My shower was nice. Awfully refreshing. The last time I cleaned myself was about a week ago, in a shower that I was lucky enough to find in a public bathroom. I usually just wash my arms and face as best I can in sinks, but I can't get some of the more … private areas with that method. And you could never catch me stripping in a public bathroom. That's just not fair to everyone else. I really struck out in finding that bathroom.
When I was finished cleaning myself, I dressed in different clothes, figuring I could clean my other ones with the money I recently acquired, if only I could find a laundromat. I made sure to avoid looking in the mirror. I knew that all I would see is a starving boy with a huge scar running along his right hip.
After I'd dressed, I combed some grease into my hair. It'd been a while since I'd greased my hair but I found myself desperately wanting to impress the guys.
Walking out into the front room was much more difficult than I imagined it would be. I mean, what would we talk about? Have I overstayed my welcome? What if they never really intended for me to stay this long and now they're gonna call social services 'cause they figured something out? I never should have told them my name! I should have left the first chance I got! I am going to walk out there and just leave. But what if they think that means I'm not thankful for what they've done? What if they come after me again? Oh God, what am I gonna do?
My hand is hovering above the bathroom door handle. I'm staring at it, trying to force my hand to just move. I look behind me, looking for a window or another way out. I find none. I need to get control of myself. I just need to go out there and start a conversation. Maybe start with 'thank you'? I just need to find the nerves to start the talk. Then, I'll read the room and most likely just leave. That's probably what they'll want anyways. First, opening the door. I swallow. This shouldn't be so difficult. It's just a door. After everything I can open a door and thank someone. That's nothing. I look down at my hand to see it still poised, unmoving, above the knob.
Before I know what's happening, the door is open and I'm standing in the living room. The others are still there, in almost the exact same positions I left them in. I've clearly just cut someone off with my abrupt entrance. They're all staring at me. They all have the same look on their face. Pity mixed with curiosity. I don't have to ask to know they were talking about me. Suddenly, I forget my entire plan. What am I supposed to say? I should just leave!
"Uhhh … you, um, have a nice bathroom." I say to Darry. Oh my god, what am I doing? 'You have a nice bathroom'? What is wrong with me? "I mean…" I just need to organize my thoughts. Thank you! That was my plan! "Thank you. For letting me stay here. And for letting me use your shower. And for feeding me. That was awfully kind of you." I let out a breath. Glory, why can't I just talk like a normal person?
"Of course," Darry says with a soft smile. "You're welcome here any time. If you need food or a place to stay or if you're just bored, you can come here. We'd love to have you," he adds. He reminds me so much of Jack that I shiver.
"Alright, kid. Yesterday, when you were eating, I told you that you'd have to answer some of our questions. You answered one, and that's great, but we want to know more. Most of us have grown up together. Or at least we've gotten to know each other well since we've met. We know next to nothing about you, which means it's Q & A time. You don't have to answer all of our questions if you don't want to, but you'd better have a legit reason to not," Steve says.
I hesitate. "Look man … I have a messed up past, as I'm sure a lot of you do. It's not exactly something I want to get into with, let's face it, a bunch of strangers." I say, hoping to deter them from any further questioning. I try to convince myself that I don't want them to know anything else about me, that I don't want to spill my guts to them and tell them everything, but I know that I'm lying to myself. I do want to talk to them. It's been so long since I've been able to talk to someone. I've never told anyone what I really need to talk about.
"C'mon kid. We don't need to know your deepest, darkest secrets. We just want to know basic things. Like your age? Or your parents' names? Do you have siblings? Glory, kid, this ain't an interrogation," Dally says, rolling his eyes.
"Besides! We don't have to be strangers! If you have questions for us, just ask them!" Soda says, flashing a smile.
The others nod along with him, some more enthusiastic than the others.
I decide to start with an easy question. "What exactly are 'Socs'?" I ask what's been on my mind for a while.
"Socials. West side rich kids," Two-Bit says. "They like to pick on us. You know, taunt us, jump us, beat us up. Some people think it's 'cause they don't like us, but I know the truth. They're jealous. Of me mostly. I mean, who wouldn't be? But I'm sure there's also some hard feelings because of Soda's looks or Darry's muscles or Steve's mechanicalness or Dally's reputation…" he fades into silence, rolling his eyes. "You know what? Scratch that. It's me. They're just jealous 'cause they can't do this." He cocks one eyebrow, wiggling it up and down and grinning like a madman when he sees the looks on the others' faces. Darry's pinching his nose like he already has a headache. I just blink and look at the rest of them, hoping for an actual answer.
"The first part is true," Darry cuts in. "They are rich kids from the west side, but they don't only have a problem with Two-Bit. They don't like people like us because they think we're 'infecting' their precious town. What happened yesterday, when you and Steve met, was just them being jerks. They jump us because of the way we look, the way we dress, the way we walk. Regardless of the fact that you've just moved here, you practically scream Greaser."
"And … what are Greasers?" I ask.
"That's us. East side kids. They call us Greasers because of our hair. It's common to find people living on the East side with greased back hair. As you can see, the name has absolutely no merit." He gestures to the others in the room, all with greased back hair, even at such an early hour. Darry himself doesn't wear any grease. I wonder why. Then he points at me and it takes me a moment to remember that I put grease in today.
I'm using a can that I stole about a month ago. I don't usually bother but I used to wear it a lot and it brings an odd sense of normalcy to comb my hair back with a dollop of hair grease. Besides, this can was on a display outside just waiting to be pocketed. I don't like stealing, but I've gotten quite good at it over the years.
I take another moment to soak in the fact that he included me in the description of Greasers. It feels oddly refreshing to be a part of something. It's been a while since I've been included in any sort of group thing. I miss it.
"It's completely stupid, but it's not like we leave them alone either. It's a mutual dislike," Darry pauses, looking expectantly at Steve.
"Okay. We've answered two of your questions, now it's time for you to answer some of ours. First off, how old are you?"
"13," I say, breathing easy at the first question. Until I realize that I've answered truthfully, making it way too easy for them to learn the other things about me. The bad things about me. My heart starts to pound. "And you?" I ask, successfully masking the squeak in my voice.
"I'm 16," Steve says. We look to the others, waiting. Sodapop catches on first.
"Oh! Me too! 16!" He says with a smile.
"19," says Darry. We go through the circle, hearing all the ages of the other Greasers there. I learn that I'm the youngest. What else is new?
"Parents?" Johnny says. "You said something yesterday about them not being the best?"
I swallow. This is definitely not something I wanna talk about. The others must notice my hesitation because they look at each other and Johnny steps forward a tad.
"If you don't wanna talk about it, that's okay. You don't have to. But, just so you know, my parents are abusive alcoholics." He says it with a shrug, like this is the most normal thing in the world. In our lives, it kinda is. I suppose this is what I noticed about him last night. How he looked like he was expecting a punch from any direction. It makes sense now. I see the others looking at him like he's lost his marbles. He sees too. "What? Might as well be honest with him!"
Steve nods. "My dad isn't as bad as Johnny's parents, but he also drinks a lot. And he kicks me outta the house on a nearly weekly basis," he says. "My mom's long gone."
I wonder how he means. Is she dead? Or did she abandon him? I'd relate to either one.
"My dad left when I was ten. My mom works night and day to keep our family afloat. I take care of my sister when she's at work," Two-Bit chimes in.
"Our parents were amazing. Our mother was an angel. Our father was a saint." Darry takes a breath. "They died in January. Car crash." he whispers.
There's a moment of complete silence from the boys. I get the feeling the Curtises were parents to all of them. Not just Soda and Darry.
After the moment passes, they all look to Dally. He's the only one who hasn't said anything. He lets out a sigh. "Do I have to?" he whines.
"YES!" the others say to him.
He sighs again. "It's the same old story. My mother's in prison, father's been dead since I was 4. They both drank like fish."
The six all look to me then. This is the part I've been dreading. No matter how much I want to, I just can't tell them about my parents. At least … not the full truth.
"Um … my turn, I guess?" I stop to clear my throat. Why is this so difficult? "So I lied yesterday ... My parents wouldn't care where I am today. My mom was a druggy, my dad was a drunk. They're both long gone."
The others are quiet for a moment. They look at each other, clearly having a conversation that I'm not a part of. I don't really mind. I need a moment to swallow back the tears in my eyes. This is definitely not the time or place to start crying.
My eyes are dry when Johnny steps forward another inch. He looks like he's dreading the next words out of his mouth. "Did they … did they ever … hit you? Or anything like that?" The genuine concern in his eyes just about knocks me off my feet. Suddenly, the tears spring back into my eyes.
"I mean … whose parents haven't?" I say, clearing my throat. The house goes silent once again. I see that the others are all staring at the floor. It's like they're afraid to look at me. I shouldn't have told them that. I definitely should have kept my mouth shut and just left. It would have saved us all from this horrendous conversation.
I'm leaning toward the door, about to bolt, when something makes me stop.
It's Dally. Like the others, his eyes are glued to the floor. He's clenching his hands at his sides. His face is twisted in anger. He's working his jaw like he's trying to not explode. He's muttering under his breath about 'terrible parents' and 'not another kid' and 'what is wrong with people?'. His anger, I realize, is not directed at me but at my parents.
Well that was unexpected. That's certainly never happened before. I've never actually met someone who's taken my side over that of my parents. The sight itself is enough to keep me from going anywhere. I look away from Dally to study the others. Their facial expressions range from extremely angry to pitifully sad. Their emotions are understandable. However, I find it odd that none of them have kicked me outta the house yet. None of them are even looking at me with a disgusted look.
I'm snapped from my thoughts when I hear someone clear his throat. We all look at Soda.
"Do you have any siblings?" he asks, clearly trying to change the subject. I don't have the guts to tell him that this is almost as sore a subject as my parents are.
"Uh … I had an older brother. Jack." I almost smack myself at the words that come out of my mouth next. "He was killed three years ago." What in the world is wrong with me? Why am I spouting my life story to these absolute strangers?
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I don't know what I'd do if I lost Soda. He's practically my life now that Mom and Dad are gone." Darry looks down, a scared look on his face. It's like he's just now realizing that he might lose his brother one day. "No, scratch that. I don't know what I'd do if I lost any of you. You're my family." He looks at the others. He folds his arms like he's fighting the urge to give them all one big group hug.
"How was he killed?" Two-Bit asks.
"I already answered one of your questions. Now it's my turn to ask one."
"Shoot!" Dally says.
"Why did you let me in?"
"Hmm?" Soda says.
"Why did you let me in? Why did you let me stay here? I'm a total stranger. And you just willingly took me in and fed me, then you let me sleep here. I could be a thief! I could be a murderer! You could all be dead right now if I was someone else!" I pause for just a moment. "What made you take me in?"
"Well, first of all," Two-Bit says. "I'm the best thief in all of Tulsa and they let me into their house every. Single. Day."
"Second of all," Dally starts. "We're a gang of Greasers. We definitely wouldn't go down without a fight."
"Third of all," Steve says with a smirk. "You're a scrawny thirteen-year-old kid. I think we could handle you."
"Hey!"
"Fourth," Johnny says. "We're incredible judges of character. We can always tell when there is good in people. You definitely have a lot of good in you." He gives me a smile. I can't help but smile back.
"Fifth," Soda says. "You only have to take one look at yourself to know that you need help. Besides, you are a misfit and our group is full of misfits."
And sixth," Darry says. "It's my house. I can do whatever I want. Not to mention, the world we live in is dangerous enough already. What's one more risk?"
I scowl for a moment. Fine.
"Okay. I feel like that is enough questioning for now." Darry says after a pause. "What do you guys want for breakfast?" The others call out their orders while Darry walks into the kitchen. The boys all settle into a place in the living room and Two-Bit turns on the television. I stay standing near the door, unsure of where to go from here.
"Pony." Johnny says softly from his spot on the couch. "Come sit."
The cushion between him and Soda is empty. Soda pats it with a smile. I take a moment to consider my position. I chew my lip. I look at the door. I look at the seat. I sigh.
I sit down.
Almost as soon as my butt touches the cushion Darry walks into the doorway between the kitchen and living room.
"How do you like your eggs, Pony?"
"Um … fried. Hard."
He nods and walks back into the kitchen. I settle in to watch the show.
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