Chapter Text
When did his life become so miserable? Maybe when his parents died. That was when it started to go downhill for him. Newly orphaned, the bullying worsened, and people changed. Darry was one of them. Ponyboy used to have a great relationship with his eldest brother—used to adore him—but now his strictness has become insufferable. He was on him about anything and everything, to the point where it was maddening. Nothing was ever good enough anymore, and soon, it felt like Pony’s life was being served on a platter.
But maybe those reasons weren’t enough to make the colors of the world dull. He hadn’t noticed it until he began to realize that his life wasn’t his anymore. There was no more Ponyboy to be Ponyboy (or maybe there was too much of him; he didn’t know). It was like an eraser had failed to erase him and left behind an ugly smudge.
So, he guessed the better question was: When did he stop feeling happy? And maybe the following question could be: What did happiness feel like? He had forgotten. Maybe the eraser succeeded in one thing.
But you know what? Everything fucking sucked. He hated that his life was like a zoetrope: a repeated sequence that made it appear like he was moving, but, in reality, he wasn’t. But, most of all, he hated how trapped he felt; how suffocating everything was. So, one day, he did something about it. His life (and personality) turned around a full 180 degrees—golden boy to the worst of them all. Anything to chase after that lost happiness.
He didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did. It just happened. He wanted things to go back to how they were before, but the trail he took had faded away like snow had covered his footprints. He didn’t think he would ever be able to return. Did he regret his decision to deviate? Multiple times. Would he be able to stop? He didn’t know.
But anyway, he met the guy who throttled him forward—for good or for bad—during the winter before his 16th birthday. He was already having a bad day at school but when his teacher randomly called on him, he couldn’t stop the cold sweat that spread across his back. He looked forward with his mind buzzing.
“Hm?” he hummed.
The teacher groaned as they repeated themselves, “As I asked before, what is rhetoric, and can you give me an example of it?”
Ponyboy bit his tongue. Truthfully, he hadn’t been paying attention. For some reason, it had been hard to these days. A fog had clouded his mind as he tried to remember any detail of the lecture. Nothing. Panic started to seep in as the time ticked by.
How long had he been sitting there without an answer? It felt like several minutes had already passed. Surely, everyone was getting annoyed with him. Ponyboy shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his anxiety became unbearable. Everyone was staring. The teacher was disappointed in him.
He needed to say something, but what? It was like his voice had been stolen from him. He was silent for too long now.
“I…” he squeaked out. He didn’t know! Why did the teacher have to call on him? Stars started to dance across his vision as his chest tightened. When had he stopped breathing?
The final bell of the day rang and everyone shuffled around to pack their stuff. He had been saved by the bell. Ponyboy let out a deep breath and looked down at his hands to ignore the disappointed look from the teacher.
“What a waste of time,” a Soc behind him grumbled.
“Yeah, how stupid could that greaser be?” another taunted. “He was placed in this class because he was supposed to be different than those other hoods, but it looks like he’s going to end up like the rest of them: drugged up and in jail.”
“You’re right on that. Imagine if this was a test. He would have failed and his parents wouldn’t have been able to put it on the fridge.”
“No, his parents are dead. His brothers take care of him, but they won’t put it on the fridge either. They’ll probably be so disappointed in him and wonder what the point was in giving up everything to a useless, no-good brother who can’t even define ‘rhetoric.’ I mean, we’ve spent the entire period talking about it.”
“Golly, if I were one of his brothers, I would hate him. I wouldn’t even want to look at him.”
Ponyboy bit hard into his tongue until he could taste iron. Didn’t they know he could hear them loud and clear? That was probably the point. He shoved his notebook into his backpack. Their words stung, but he knew better than to listen to them. It still didn’t prevent the lingering thoughts though. Honestly, it probably wouldn’t have hurt as much if they said that to his face.
They started to walk past him and one of them purposefully shoved his shoulder along the way. He laughed, “Whoops. You were in the way.”
Rage cleared up his mind. Ponyboy grabbed his backpack and swung it wide until it slammed into the Soc’s gut, causing him to double over. He grumbled, “Whoops.”
The Soc glowered at him. “Seriously? Did you seriously just do that?”
“You were in the way.”
With a growl, the Soc grabbed his collar and brought his face close. His smelly breath wafted across his face. The tobacco scent made Ponyboy’s nose crinkle. “Don’t play smart with me, kid. I hate smart alecks.”
“Thank you for calling me smart, but you should probably stick with your arguments. If you don’t, you’ll fail all of your essays and your parents won’t put them on their fridge.” Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut and perhaps he shouldn’t have engaged him in the first place, but there wasn’t going back now. His comeback wasn’t the best, but it didn’t take much to offend someone like the Soc in front of him.
The grip on his shirt got tighter and Ponyboy started to get nervous for his wellbeing. Luckily, the teacher finally noticed them and asked, “What’s going on over there?”
The Soc glared at him for a long moment and before he shoved Pony away, he hissed, “You’re dead. Just you wait.”
Ponyboy swallowed the lump in his throat, gathered his stuff, and pushed himself out of the classroom before anything else could escalate. He didn’t slow down until he was a block from his house. Golly, he thought he was going to get socked.
Steve and Soda were already there by the time he got home. They were moving around and getting ready for something they had planned. Soda grinned when he saw him.
“Hey, Pony,” he chirped. "How was school?"
"It was okay," Ponyboy lied. "Where are you guys going?"
"Going to the drive-ins. Want to come?“
His brother liked to invite him along whenever he wasn’t going on a date. Ponyboy loved to spend time with him even though Soda was never able to sit through a movie. The problem was Steve. The other greaser glared at him—a silent warning not to accept the invitation—and Ponyboy knew that he was going to get an earful.
“Why do we have to bring him along?” Steve complained. Ponyboy could feel the eye roll coming.
Soda, who was used to this by now, wasn’t at all phased and responded without a skipped beat, “It’ll be fun.”
“Maybe for you. He’s just a kid. I don’t want to be stuck on babysitting duty all night.”
Before Ponyboy could argue that Steve was also a kid, Soda persisted, “Come on, Steve. He can come with us.”
There was no correction on the babysitting comment, Ponyboy noted. “Why can’t he go by himself another time?”
So, he needed “babysitting” if he went with other people, but it was okay for him to go alone without supervision? He started to raise an eyebrow but when Soda whispered something to Steve, his gut plummeted to his feet.
“He stays home too much. I’m worried about him,” he had whispered. He wasn’t supposed to hear what he said, but he did.
Although those words were normal, it felt like he had been stabbed in the back. He curled his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms. They were caring words but Soda was almost no different than those bullies from before. Just like with the Socs, Soda should have said it out loud so it wouldn’t have hurt as much because then Ponyboy would have considered it as him doting. However, since he tried to hide it, it didn’t translate that way, causing him to overthink the meaning.
This was a pity invite? Had Soda ever wanted to hang out with him? All of those times he had invited him in the past, were they all lies? Now that he thought about it, whenever he had invited Soda out, his brother often argued that he had something else to do. That realization made his throat tight.
“He should make friends then,” Steve said. “He doesn’t have any. All he does is hang around all of us and demand our attention.”
The world started to spin, making it hard for him to stay upright. Usually, Steve’s words didn’t get to him, but it wasn’t true this time. He really shouldn’t listen to him because everyone in the gang were brothers to him. So why was Steve insinuating that they were only hanging out for him because they had to entertain him? His breath shuttered as he stated, “I have friends.”
Steve scoffed. “Yeah? Then how come you don’t spend any time outside of school with them? Explain that.”
He wasn’t lying. Ponyboy did have friends. They just weren’t as close to him as the gang was. Well, to be more technical, they were more like class friends or track friends. They were good to talk to but only during class or track. He never asked them to hang out with him outside of these periods and, in return, they never asked him. Whenever the year ended, they would go back to being strangers until they were around each other again. Still, they considered each other friends. He also had Curly, at least, though Darry never liked that. “I talk to them at school.”
“I’ve never seen you with anyone, kid. Are you lying?”
“I’m not lying.” His irritation was rising quickly. Ponyboy took a quick glance at his brother who was frowning deeply. He had to keep it together or Soda would be sad. He took a deep breath, forcing his anger back down his throat and into a fragile bottle. “You know what? Whatever. I’m not going to get into this with you. I’m just going to go back to my room and you guys can go yourself.”
But Steve had to push it. “Good. We don’t have to babysit you then.”
And he just had to indulge him. “You wouldn’t have to babysit me anyway.”
“Again, good. We all hate to do it.”
Golly, if I were one of his brothers, I would hate him. I wouldn’t even want to look at him, the Soc’s voice rang out in his head. There was pressure on the backs of Pony’s eyes. He was going to cry, he realized, but he couldn’t unless he wanted to prove Steve’s point.
Steve was just being an asshole, he tried to tell himself, but what did he know? It started to seem like everything he knew was false.
“Steve, you shouldn’t say things—” Soda started but Ponyboy cut him off.
“Do you agree with him?” Ponyboy questioned him with a demanding voice.
Soda’s mouth closed. One second passed. Then two. On the third, he answered, but Ponyboy drowned him out. That took too long for him to answer when it should have been automatic. Whatever he said was probably a lie and thus he accepted Steve’s words as true. Maybe he was some tag-along kid that everyone tolerated. The pressure behind his eyes grew more intense, causing his jaw to clench.
Did everyone in the gang secretly dislike him? Was he just some kid in all of their eyes? He prayed that it wasn’t true, wanting to go back in time so he wouldn’t have to learn this shocking truth. There was a tightness in his chest that was getting tighter and tighter, squeezing so tightly that he could hardly breathe. He was going to break if he didn’t get out of there. A voice in his head was screaming at him to run.
Go. Get out of there, it chanted.
He crossed his arms and dug crescents into his skin to ground himself; distract him from his impending tears. His legs wanted to move but he stood his ground. He had to be strong for one more minute.
“Fine, if you both feel that way,” he said with the most monotone voice he could muster. He was going to regret his next words later. “I’ll start hanging out with other people instead. The next time you’re thinking about inviting me anywhere, do yourself a favor and save your breath.”
With his chest held high, he walked to his room, doing his best not to look at anyone or to crumple.
“Wait, Ponyboy,” Soda called out behind him.
“Let him go,” Steve said. His brother must have tried to go after him.
“But…”
“Just leave that baby to cry.”
“Steve…” Soda said disappointedly, turning to his friend. “Why did you say that?”
“I was just stating what was true.”
Ponyboy closed his door, cutting off their voices and sinking to the ground. He pressed his back against it to make sure that it couldn’t be easily opened and dug his face into his palms.
“Shit,” he whispered to himself, finally letting the tears fall. He cried as silently as he could even though he wanted to scream.
They didn’t like him? All this time?
Useless, no-good brother.
I would hate him.
Fuck.
Did they hate him?
With each intrusive thought, the colder his chest felt. He threw his head back against the door and whimpered. He must have been such a nuisance to everyone. To them, he must have been just some annoying, little kid. Did Johnny not like him around too? They were best friends, weren’t they? He didn’t know what to believe anymore. Everything was a lie, so wouldn’t that mean that Johnny was faking it?
Everything sucked. What was he going to do now? He almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic he was, but only a blubbered sound came out. The ice in his chest was overwhelming him and he would have run back out into Soda’s arms if he didn’t know the truth.
The gang didn’t want him around. His brothers didn’t like him either. For the first time, Ponyboy hated who he was. The problem had to be him. If he were different, would things be better?
It took a while, but he eventually ran out of tears. His nose was clogged and his eyelids felt like sandpaper against his corneas. He didn’t bother to throw on pajamas before he settled into the bed. It was still early in the evening and Ponyboy hadn’t had a bite of food yet. He had skipped breakfast and lunch and had been looking forward to whatever Darry had planned, but, now, he didn’t have any motivation to put food into his mouth. And he wished that he had gone to the spare room because he couldn’t stand the thought of looking at Soda (or anyone in the gang) at the moment. But, worst of all, Ponyboy couldn’t fall asleep. His mind was plagued with their hurtful words and his intrusive thoughts, like blaring alarms in his head. He buried his face into the pillow and grumbled.
At some point, Soda entered the room to check on him. The bed dipped but Ponyboy made sure to stay perfectly still.
“You awake?” he tentatively asked, playing with Pony’s hair. It was still greasy, the younger boy realized. He knew that Darry was going to get on his ass about that later. After a while, Soda let out a soft sigh. “Guess you aren’t…”
Gently, he got up and left the room. He could hear Darry asking about his whereabouts and if he was joining them for dinner. He could also hear the entire gang, who joked boisterously with each other. They laughed and cheered at whatever game they were playing.
Glad they were having fun without him, Ponyboy thought bitterly. He wondered if they were ever this energetic whenever he was with them. There had to be times, but, for some reason, he couldn’t think of one instance. Every time he thought of one memory, his mind seemed to rewrite its script. In an instant, what was once a happy memory was erased into nothing more than a plain recollection. His lips trembled. It was better for everyone if he didn’t go out. He didn’t want to ruin their fun. They were happier without him, after all.
Maybe that was his purpose in the gang: to make them happy at the expense of his own happiness. A purpose was supposed to lift him up, but, for some reason, it only made him feel hollow on the inside.
That entire night, Ponyboy stayed awake. Because of that, he was up before everyone else too. After grabbing his jacket and backpack, he tiptoed into the living room. His chest tightened at the sight of the gang who were fast asleep. He carefully stepped over them and exited the house, not bothering to grab food.
Outside, he slipped on his jacket which had gone through one too many washes. The fleece lining was no longer fluffy and didn’t insulate him enough. Shivering, he stuck his thumb through one of the holes in the sleeves before he started his walk to school. His eyes were still puffy and his nose was still clogged, yet the cool air helped with making it runny. It also helped clear his brain from the gang, but he started to worry about something else. He had to go to school and deal with that guy who had it out for him.
When would he be able to catch a break?
Ponyboy was used to staying at school late because of track practice. Thus, he had the pleasure of experiencing what it was like when empty. Since he arrived so early, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was the only student there. Not knowing what to do, he walked back outside towards the stadium. He wiped down the bleachers with his sleeve before he sat down, resting both feet on the row in front of him. After placing his backpack under his legs, he curled forward and blew hot air into his palms.
His entire body was trembling from the cold, but there was something about a winter sunrise that made the experience worthwhile. As the sun rose, the light caused the frost on the ground to sparkle as if Jack Frost had sprinkled glitter on each and every blade of grass and leaf. Just looking at this view—this practice of mindfulness—caused all negative thoughts to be temporarily cleansed. It made him realize that, although people could be cruel, the world was beautiful.
Eventually, students started to roll in and Ponyboy reluctantly left the stadium with a red face and numb toes. As soon as he entered the school, his anxiety returned.
There wasn’t much cover in the hallway yet since not everyone was there, but there was a chance that the Soc wasn’t there yet. He still had time to grab what he needed from his locker and head to his first class. Too bad his luck wasn’t that good. This guy must have had no life or nothing better to do because Ponyboy found him waiting for him at his locker. Instantly, their eyes locked and the guy sneered at him. Gulping, Ponyboy stuck his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders as he passed by, hoping that the guy would leave him alone. He knew it wasn’t going to work though. Why did he try? He had no idea.
A hand grabbed his backpack and yanked, making it so that Ponyboy had no choice but to follow. The Soc dragged him to a nearby bathroom where he threw him into the first stall locking the door behind him. He hardly had the chance to push himself back up when a foot stomped down between his shoulder blades and forced his chest to slam onto the gross floor.
Ponyboy pushed against the leg but the guy slammed his heel into his hand, causing the younger boy to yelp out in pain as it was crushed. His bones creaked dangerously, threatening to break. Ponyboy had to bite his tongue to keep himself from crying as tears stung the corners of his eyes.
“I said you were going to get it,” the guy growled. “Nobody treats me like that and gets away with it.”
“Maybe they should so you wouldn’t be so uncouth,” Ponyboy bit out and regretted it instantly. The guy’s face twitched and his eyes darkened.
“A greaser like you doesn’t have the right to say that.” He grabbed Ponyboy and threw him against the toilet. Fortunately, it had been freshly washed by the janitor. “Lucky for you, I’m providing a free intro class. This lesson: proper citizens have good hygiene. So, let’s start by washing your greasy hair.”
Ponyboy struggled as much as he could, planting his hands on the gross stool seat to distance himself. Unfortunately, that meant that he had to put all of his focus on that. While his head was inching closer, all he could think about was how many people took a dump in there and how, even though the toilet had been washed, he could still smell the feces.
He was not going to put his head in there, he internally declared. But pushing back was hard, and the closer he got to the bowl, the less hope he had of escaping.
Just when he thought he was going to get a swirly, there was an explosion in the furthest stall down. Ponyboy just about jumped out of his skin. Porcelain flew everywhere, skidding across the tile until they hit his leg. The pressure on the back of his head instantly released as the Soc cursed, “What the hell?”
Both of them heard an amused laugh. Someone else was in there with them. That person must have left the stall and gone to the next because he could hear another stall door being kicked open, which was soon followed by another ear-piercing explosion. Then it happened again and again, getting closer to them. Water was pooling at the bottom of the entire bathroom now, soaking Pony’s jeans.
“One more,” he heard someone say. The voice didn’t register with a face, but the Soc must have recognized it because he paled. Ponyboy watched as a set of brown high-top Converse stopped in front of the stall they were in.
“What the fuck!” the Soc hissed under his breath. “It’s him? Shit, I thought he was still in juvie.”
The stall door slammed open before the Soc could do anything and it was then that Ponyboy recognized who this person was.
The guy’s name was Harley… Well, his nickname was. Ponyboy wasn’t sure what it actually was. But, yeah, he heard of him, and the Soc’s reaction was granted. He never had the chance to interact with him, let alone look at him. His reputation did exceed him though. Ponyboy heard the stories. Like the reason why he got his nickname was because he had stolen a Harley Davidson motorcycle when he was only twelve, though this was probably greatly exaggerated. He had done much worse than that though—enough to send him to the slammer several times as well as different rehab programs. It was a wonder how he was still in school. This guy was allegedly insane and nasty, so much so that even Darry heard about him and told him to stay clear away.
Just looking at him screamed danger. He had this wild look in his dark eyes that could make anyone shiver. It matched his dark hair that had been grown out and mulleted in the back. He gave them a wolfish grin, showing off his sharp canines which looked like he had personally sanded with a nail filer. He was very attractive but his rumors canceled it out.
“Did you like the fireworks?” he asked, voice somehow both velvety and flat. It made him sound sarcastic, yet it was pleasant to listen to.
“Fireworks?” the Soc scoffed, taking a few steps away from him. “What kind of fireworks were those? Those were explosions.”
Harley reached into his pocket and pulled out mini firecrackers and waved them around. “They’re fireworks.”
“Why did you bring them to school? Are you crazy?”
“I wanted a bigger explosion.”
“Then don’t do it in the toilet!”
The guy stepped forward; his piercings jingled as he moved. “Then how about you?”
“Me?!”
“Eat one.”
“I’m not eating that.”
He moved closer. “Say ahh!”
It was obvious he wasn’t going to do anything, but that didn’t matter. The Soc just about had enough and bolted out with a tail between his legs, screaming, “You’re crazy! Get away from me!”
When he was out of the bathroom, Ponyboy could still hear the Soc yelling about how there was a madman in the bathroom. With a click of his tongue, Harley pocketed the fireworks and held out his hand for Ponyboy to take. Not wanting to do anything that would offend him, Ponyboy let him help him up.
“Thanks, man,” he mumbled.
“Don’t know why you’re thanking me,” Harley replied, shrugging. “I was having a lot of fun.”
“Well, thanks anyway.” It was about time for him to go as well. By now, the school was probably panicking and calling the cops. Ponyboy tried to get past him, but the guy didn’t move out of the way. He started to get nervous. He couldn’t read Harley’s eyes yet they stared straight at him, causing his heartbeat to rise again. “What do you want?”
“Do I have to want something?” Harley shot back. Ponyboy raised an eyebrow, causing the guy to laugh—a hearty chuckle that was much nicer than his appearance. “I get it, I’m the bad guy here.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re cautious. Smart. What’s your name, kid?”
Ponyboy’s eyes instantly narrowed, that icy feeling returning. “Don’t call me a kid.”
Harley moved closer and it took all of Pony’s willpower to not back away. Soon enough, he became too close for comfort. At this distance, he could smell the dizzying scent of aftershave. His face was right in front of his and his eyes were narrowed as he examined his features. Ponyboy’s heartbeat was going out of control and his ears were turning red. “What are you? Like thirteen?”
“I’m almost sixteen,” Ponyboy corrected with no strength to back his words. His throat felt strangely tight.
The guy opened his mouth and nodded. He backed away and Ponyboy could finally breathe again. “So… you’re fifteen. We’re the same age then. You look younger.”
“I get that a lot.”
He smiled. “And your name. Haven’t gotten it yet.”
“It’s Ponyboy.”
A snort left Harley’s nose. “How’d you get that nickname?”
Ponyboy sighed, “It’s my name.”
“Your name? You’re fucking with me!” the guy drawled. Realization hit him. “Wait… Are you a Curtis?”
He clenched his hands. Yes, he was the annoying brother that they didn’t like. The failure himself. “What’s it to ya?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Do you have bad blood with them or something?”
“Just had a fight, is all,” Ponyboy said. Even though they didn’t like him, he didn’t want to say anything bad about them. They were still family after all.
“Brothers aren’t the greatest,” Harley said. “Mine is shitty. He once secretly signed me up for military school to get rid of me.”
By how many times he had been arrested, he didn’t think that was the reason why. Golly, he really needed to get out of there. “That sounds awful, but I gotta go now.”
Smooth, Ponyboy. Surprisingly though, the guy waved his hand and signaled him to go. When he walked by, he asked, “Aren’t you going to ask for my name?”
“I know who you are,” Ponyboy responded. “You’re Harley.”
“You got it.” He nodded before he clicked his tongue again. “Anyway, I have things to do, fentanyl to sell to the gym teacher, and places to be. See you around, Ponyboy.”
Fentanyl? You know what? He wasn’t going to ask.
Even though Ponyboy moved first to leave, Harley was the one who ended up going, leaving him standing in the flooded bathroom and wondering what just happened. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he looked down at his soaked clothes. He really needed to get changed.