Chapter Text
It’d been going around the school for a week.
A greaser boy—Johnny somethin’—tried to jump in front of a moving car. The driver had stopped just in time, they had just let the boy out of the hospital after declaring him ‘no longer a danger to himself’.
Just about every greaser hated their life, girls and boys alike. But none of us have ever gone that far. It shouldn’t have been such a hot topic, but not many interesting things happened in Tulsa. Everybody was getting tired of school already, something new to gossip about gave them something to do.
I don’t care much. I don’t know him.
He was also real quiet—he’s in most of Pony’s classes, He’s never even heard him speak—He’s never seen him hang around anyway except for Curly Shepard once or twice.
He always came in with bruises or gashes that no one knew the origins of—again, not a shock for a greaser. But especially after his failed attempt, nobody would own up to them.
Not that he’s ever around enough to get them here. He’s here just as often as Soda is—and he only comes in on Mondays and Tuesday. Soda picks Pony up on those days, saving him a treacherous walk home.
He could see girls turn to whisper, guilty looks on their faces as the boy walked by. Johnny kept his head down, bangs falling over his eyes.
All Ponyboy knew was that the boy was a year older than himself, they shared classes cus’ Pony was ahead while he was behind.
He’s so busy watching after him that he doesn’t see Soda come up behind his locker door, slamming it shut with a smile.
“Hey, Pone!” He smiles, waving goodbye to his girlfriend—Pony couldn't remember her name, it seemed to be a new girl every week.
“Gee, Soda. Don’t scare a guy like that.” Pony breathes out a sigh, clicking his lock shut before following Soda out to the students parking lot.
“Sorry, Sorry.” He laughs. I knew he wasn’t but I smiled too. Pony’s backpack is thrown into the backseat as he climbs into the passenger side, Soda peeling out before he even gets his door shut.
“I oughta warn ya’,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road. “Darry’s waiting for you at home, progress reports just came in.”
Piny let’s out a sigh loud enough for Soda to hear.
We both already know what it’s about.
“Christ…” Pony frowns. “Y’know, that’s like the eighth lecture this week!”
Soda laughs, ruffling his hair. “It’s Tuesday, I highly doubt that.”
Pony sits up to fix his hair, sparing a glance at his older brother. “I don’t assume you could get me out of it…?” He asks pleadingly.
Soda smiles. “Nuh uh, Pony. I can’t help you this time. I told you to get your math grade up—“
“I can't just ‘get it up’, Soda! My brain don’t work that way.” Pony frowns, letting his cheek rest in the cold car window.
“Maybe that’ll work on him.” Soda says, pulling into their driveway. Pony feels anxiety rise in his gut, wondering if he could hot-wire the truck and flee the country.
Pony follows behind Soda with slow steps, using him as a human shield. He can see the disappointment in Darry’s eyes as he cooks, only looking up when he calls him over. Pony sighs and drops his backpack to the floor, leaning on the counter.
“I assume you know what I’m about to ask you about.” Darry raises a brow, moving chicken slowly in the pan.
“Yes…” Pony sucks in a sharp breath.
“Look, I told you to get your grade up—“
“I can’t !” Pony begins, knowing Darry will only get more upset the more he fights. “
Deep down he understands that Darry wants him to do well. Darry couldn’t go to college, they had to dip into his college fund to buy the house and pay the electricity. Not to mention taking care of him and Soda.
“I’m trying , I swear. My brain doesn’t work like that, I can’t do math.”
Darry sighs, taking the frying pan off the stovetop. “Then you make it work that way. You think I was good at every subject? I sat there and studied for hours.”
Ponyboy wanted to comment on where that got him, but knew it wouldn’t end well.
“I don’t like yelling at you,” bullshit you don’t. “But someone’s gotta knock some sense into you. Even with what mom and dad left, your college fund isn’t much, even with what’s left of mine. If you want to get into a good school you’ve got to get better grades.”
“I’ve got good grades! It’s only math—“
“Do you think college administrators will care? They’ll see a D on your report card and immediately go to the next candidate. Even if you don’t need math for what you study, it still brings your GPA down.”
“I’ve still got a 3.4!”
Darry sighs.
“Look, I came to terms with the fact that you want to go to an artsy-fartsy school. Even if there are barely and jobs for—“
“Darry…” Soda muttered from the couch.
Darry shook his head before beginning again. “With your math grade, and the fact that you dropped track—how do you expect to get into a good school? You need good grades, you need extracurriculars.”
Ponyboy couldn’t hold his gaze for long, letting put a shaky sigh. “I’ll find something.” He muttered, picking up his backpack.
“You’d better find a miracle.” Darry scolds, pausing for a second. “I just wanna see you do well, okay? You’re a smart kid, but with millions of other—“
“I get it.” Ponyboy finally bites back, dragging his feet all the way to his bedroom while Darry stammers behind him.
He throws his backpack on the floor—slamming the door shut and falling face first onto his bed.
Darry always acts like he can’t do anything right. Of course he doesn’t know what he needs! Darry played football and was good at everything, he doesn’t understand— Pony’s good at things. He can write, he can draw… he doesn’t give a shit about math! When is he ever gonna need to find the angle of a triangle?
Soda brings in his dinner not long after, kissing him on the forehead and telling him not to take it personally. The same shit Darry spews at him, ‘I’m just looking out for you’ or ‘I know what’s best’.
He’ll show both of them. He’ll get accepted into any school he wants, so fast it’ll make their heads spin.