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Now
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ponyboy peered over at Frankie, searching for an answer in her expression. She had suggested the idea, but he didn’t know how she felt about her late grandparents.
“It’ll be fine. I haven’t looked at her stuff in ages, might as well make some use of it,” Frankie shrugged her shoulders as they both climbed the ladder into her attic. It was hidden on top of an unsuspecting panel in the hallway, indicated by a string.
——
Then
Frances Lee moved to Tulsa last summer when her father got a job at a power plant in a nearby city. Ponyboy remembered rumors circulating that she was loaded, and heard from Scout that she was getting approached by Soc girls. Poor her, but at least it’s better than running into Dallas Winston or Curly Shepard.
“They say her dad’s a higher-up manager at the power plant he works at, so he’s making bank.” She said at lunch, where she, Ponyboy, Mark, Curly, and Cherry sat together. Cherry had a schedule of when to sit with Marcia and Bev and when to sit with her younger friends.
“I wouldn’t assume that, she never specified what position he works in. Frankie only mentioned her dad when people asked her why she moved here.” Cherry said, clearly uncomfortable by the mention of wealth (she stuck out that way in their circle of friends).
Ponyboy didn’t care much. He was working on his essay while Mark was joking about how the new girl had asked him for directions in the hall. Obviously a rookie move to ask someone who spent their school hours selling happy powders in plastic bags in the boys’ bathroom.
“She in any of your classes Pony?” He felt Curly nudge his arm. Ponyboy looked up, thinking. He didn’t even know what she looked like, how was he supposed to know if she was in any of his classes?
Then Ponyboy had to turn in his essay when English class came, and his teacher announced a “fun activity” to relieve the class of having to write thematic analysis on The Great Gatsby.
“Consider it the justice he never had,” Ms. Simmons beamed. Man he missed Mr. Syme last year.
——
Now
“You know, I didn’t know we had an attic until my grandma passed away. I never questioned what that door was for until we had to store her stuff somewhere. I don’t even think I knew this was a door” They were both now inside the cold and dry attic.
It was decently spacious. With the remaining space, Frankie’s family could have made it into another bedroom. Ponyboy didn’t understand why she had to share a room with her brother. He did the same, but it was for different reasons. Regardless, her home looked well-loved. Not messy, but filled. Ponyboy glanced around while following Frankie to a large dusty black velvet box in the corner.
Frankie fiddled with the expensive gold latches as Ponyboy stood beside, hesitating to touch such a sensitive object. She gingerly lifted the velvet lid, revealing the box’s contents.
“Ho~ly crap” He heard her say. Ponyboy was just slack jawed, a soundless “O” on his lips.
Inside the box were various dresses. Colorful, some sparkly, beautiful dresses. Ponyboy had never seen something so expensive in his life.
“Oh my God, there’s suits!” Frankie exclaimed, flipping the folded dresses onto the lid. Every garment looked pristine, untouched, like it was new. They were looking at history.
——
Then
Ms. Simmons pulled out a cup with popsicle sticks that had the students’ names written on them. Ponyboy would look forward to this activity if he hadn’t just come back from a draining lunch period finishing his essay.
“Myrtle will be… Scout!”
Ponyboy could hear her groan from across the room. “Ain’t she dead? We should hold a trial for her.” She said.
“We already know who killed her” Ponyboy reminded. Scout slumped against her chair and threw her head back.
“Daisy Fay shall be… Frances!” Ms. Simmons said with a flourish.
“Please, you can just call me Frankie.”
Wait, Frankie?
Ponyboy whipped his head a little too obviously at the voice behind him. Curly black hair and blue eyes were all he saw before turning back. He was about to dose off while Ms. Simmons was selecting people for the characters.
“Tom Buchanan will be… Ponyboy! ”
He jerked his head up. Seriously? Not only was he required to act as someone other than the jury, he had to act as Tom?
Before he knew it, his classmates were shuffling around and Frankie moved into the empty desk beside his.
“Hi, are you Ponyboy?”
He was snapped out of the clouds and looked at her for the first time, “Yeah.”
He thought about what Scout and Cherry talked about at lunch before. Ponyboy noticed Frankie didn’t have any fancy jewelry, and she wore dark denim trousers with a graphic t-shirt unlike the Socs who had skirts, cardigans, and saddle shoes.
“…and we have to dress up.”
“What?”
Frankie shrugged, “That’s what the directions say.” She seemed to ignore the horror on his face “I’ll have that covered for us though.”
“What do you mean?” Ponyboy only thought to wear slightly nicer clothes (a dress shirt and slacks that were hand-me-downs from Soda) to class, but apparently Frankie had other ideas.
———
Now
Frankie found a dark navy blazer that was smaller than the others, unfolded it, and held it over Ponyboy’s chest. “This looks like it fits.”
She put one hand on his other shoulder and held up the blazer from behind him, walking him to a mirror on the other side of the attic.
It wasn’t until he saw the two of them in the mirror that Ponyboy realized how close Frankie was. Her chin was just shy from resting on his shoulder as her hands held the blazer looped over his shoulders.
Even with it being the smallest out of the bunch, the jacket looked a little too boxy on him.
“Try it on,” she said, before dropping the blazer into Ponyboy’s hands. As he was slipping his hands through the sleeves, feeling the cool, silky lining, Ponyboy heard Frankie rustling through the box. She came back grinning with a dark brown fedora in her hands. Just how big was that box? Ponyboy thought.
“Oh, Pony you gotta-“ Frankie slid her hands under his blazer to his shoulders, fiddling with something. Ponyboy felt himself shiver under her touch. “There, the shoulder pads are in place now,” she stepped aside for him to see the mirror.
“Woah.”
“Yeah woah. You could be Gatsby in this!” Frankie jumped around to plop the fedora on his head, and also conjured a bow tie out of thin air. She wasted no time attaching it to him, her arms looping around his neck. Ponyboy felt his arms twitch to hold her right there. Don’t be a weirdo.
“I’m supposed to be Tom anyway…”
Ponyboy was struck dumb by the boy staring back at him in the mirror, clad in a too-big blazer that made his shoulders bigger than proportionally attractive, and a hat on the verge of falling over his eyes. Not to mention a bowtie hanging loosely from his neck over his t-shirt. It was a pretty abominable outfit, paired with his well-worn jeans and white track shirt that was slowly becoming off-white.
But to Frankie, it felt like the most enjoyable thing to see, and that was enough for Ponyboy. Jay Gatsby would’ve had a fit, but all Ponyboy cared about was waiting for Frankie to come back with whatever artifact she had fished from the black velvet box that possibly doubled as a portal into a 1920s party.
Except she didn’t come back right away. Ponyboy was left awkwardly looking at himself in the mirror while there were shuffles and footsteps behind him.
“Frankie?” He turned around only to see the box left open but his friend out of sight.
“One second! I’m- Ow!” He heard necklaces clash against each other, “I’ll be right back!” The sound was directed from the far end of the attic, where a large wardrobe stood. “Don’t move!”
Ponyboy stood locked in place, startling when he saw the wardrobe shift and out walked Frankie in a gold-pink dress, shimmering with every step. The delicate ruffle that draped over her shoulders made her walk seem like it was out of a dream. Ponyboy couldn’t help but stare, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the way the dress seemed to transform her into a painting come to life, and he suddenly felt small, like an observer on the edge of something too perfect to be real. She smiled sheepishly under his gaze.
——
Then
“Would you like to come over after school tomorrow? We only have two days to prepare.”
“I-uh, have to ask Darry. I just met you.”
Ponyboy didn’t mean for it to come out mean, but he felt a guilt settle in his chest when he saw a flash of hurt across Frankie’s face. She blinked it away and smiled at him.
She changed the subject. “You know, he got a lot of quotes from Zelda’s diary.”
“Who?” Ponyboy asked.
“His wife. No wonder I liked his novel so much. He should’ve given her credit.”
“But he wrote the novel himself.”
“That’s not the point! His wife was a huge contributor and the only reason why she wasn’t credited was because the novel wouldn’t have sold as well. Not that it did better than his other novels.”
Ponyboy was startled by Frankie’s passionate tangent, “I never thought of it in that way.”
She softened, “Yeah. A lot of people still don’t think of it that way.”
——
Now
“Look,” Frankie held out a pocket watch that jingled around when she pulled it out from behind her. “It belongs-“ she took out Ponyboy’s hand and opened it, the sensation of her fingers bending his own sending electric shocks through his veins. “Here.”
Ponyboy stared at the heavy, shiny pocket watch in his hands. “Frankie I- this is too much. I can’t take this-“
“Shhh, consider it a thanks from me” she said, smiling up at him. “Besides, it’s not like my brother would want it.”
And that’s when Ponyboy made a pact with himself to always carry around that pocket watch and never let it out of his hands. He didn’t tell Frankie, but he knew that was why she entrusted him with the artifact. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure what she would thank him for.
Frankie took Ponyboy (who was going crazy with every touch) by the arm and lead the both of them to the mirror.
“Woah,” he heard her say.
“Yeah,” Ponyboy replied dumbly, staring at how right it looked for the two of them together. Their outfits were poorly matched. Frankie still had her grey ankle-socks on and the white straps of the camisole she had worn under her sweater were visible through the shoulder ruffle, but Ponyboy saw how the both of them had transformed themselves. They had traveled into a world that they could never attain, one of wealth and luxury, and he was simultaneously reminded of the pathetic means he had lived by. Not that he was ungrateful, but this was the first time he’d gotten a taste of what it would be like out of the East Side, out of borderline poverty, out of the chasm that ruined the small town of Tulsa.
“We sure do look like the type of people to live in a mansion on Long Island and stare at green lights,” Frankie chirped. Ponyboy laughed at the reference.
He reached for her hand and raised it lightly, feeling a swell of pride when he saw Frankie’s eyes widen in surprise. “Is it too late to repeat my request that you join me for tea sometime?” He said, dropping his voice and putting on his best New York accent from the memories of Dallas Winston coming in bruised and bloodied, cursing about his latest fight with who-knows-what.
Frankie’s lips curled into a full grin, “Oh, Jay, I’d love to.” She said, faking a rich and deep voice. Ponyboy’s smile widened in a poor attempt to suppress a laugh. “I don’t know why we lost each other all those years ago,” she made a face, widening her eyes and raising her eyebrows. She could be an actress, Ponyboy thought. They had gone over the dialogue so many times in class it wasn't a surprise Ponyboy and Frankie had it memorized to heart- by osmosis, of course.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re together now, and that’s all that counts” Ponyboy said, one hand raising Frankie’s and the other resting on the side of her ribs. He stared into her eyes for a moment, a silent question.
Grinning, Frankie put her other arm over his shoulder.
Ponyboy took the first step, and they danced.
He liked to think of it as just an homage to a different, brief scene from the novel.
But seeing Frankie’s content smile and sparkling eyes had him realize something that was inevitable.
In those brief words they had just shared, they were just been Daisy and Gatsby. But there was something unspoken that lingered in the air while they danced.
Whatever it was, it belonged to Frankie and him.