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Sodapop wasn’t home alone very often. When he was, it was usually because he was sick—which was the current reason. Darry had fussed over him for as long as he could before Soda had to push him out the door so he wouldn’t be late for work.
Soda never really enjoyed being alone. Even if he was watching television in silence, as long as someone else was there with him, he was happy. But Darry was at work and the schoolgoers were at school, so Soda was left by himself to his own devices. Lucky for him, he stayed in bed and slept for most of the day.
He had promised his older brother that he would at least try to eat something, so when he woke up at one in the afternoon, he dragged himself up and trudged to the kitchen. He managed to make and keep down a bowl of soup, then returned to his room.
Ponyboy’s room, technically, but they’d shared it for longer than they hadn’t. Soda had his own room if he wanted it, but Pony’s room was always the one he slept in.
Now more awake, Soda found it impossible to get back to sleep. It took more muscles to keep his eyes closed than to keep them open, so he gave up on it. He walked around the room, looking at all of his brother’s things. He skimmed through all the books on the shelf, impressed by the knowledge that Ponyboy had read all of them multiple times; looked at the stray papers scattered across the desk, which were mostly old homework assignments and drawings; wondered why half of the pencils in the cup were dull or broken; and smiled at the array of photos on the wall around the desk. Pony had a lot of little tchotchkes around that Soda also examined. He knew a fair few of them were from their mother, who was hardly able to say no when her youngest son’s face lit up when he saw something special that he wanted. Soda had never paid any mind to any of them—he had no idea where half of them even came from. Some of the trinkets, like a small plastic horse that was missing half its legs, looked like they must have been picked up off the ground or taken out of a garbage can somewhere.
Soda wasn’t meaning to snoop, he was just having fun looking at things. When he opened the desk drawer, he wasn’t looking for anything specific. When he found a card box in the back, he picked it up and assumed it contained playing cards inside. How was he supposed to know it didn’t?
The box looked mostly empty, save for a few papers inside that Soda took out to inspect.
The photo on top looked innocent enough alone. It was Ponyboy and Curly Shepard, clearly in a photo booth. Soda didn’t think he’d ever seen Curly smile as big or as genuine as he was in the photo—even with the two boys sitting as close as they had to be in the small space.
The next photo was unambiguous. Soda stared at the side profiles of both boys, their eyes closed and their lips meeting in the middle.
Soda stared for a while, trying to find any indication that it wasn’t what it appeared to be, that it was literally anyone else in the photo.
He set the photos on the desk, and his attention shifted to a small stack of paper scraps. In pencil, scrawled across the top one, read, “Your lucky your face is pretty or Id punch it,” and a pen had made corrections.
Below that was a small scrap of paper that, in chicken scratch, read, “Your my little prince,” with a small sketch that had been scribbled over. Like the other note, a pen had added an apostrophe and an e, as well as a cleaner drawing of a character.
The next had a back-and-forth conversation between a pen and a pencil. Soda couldn’t deny that the pen was Ponyboy, but he convinced himself that the pencil could have been anyone. It must have been some girl in his class that he was flirting with.
Underneath, there was a single playing card: the two of hearts. With a marker, someone—clearly not Ponyboy, judging by the handwriting—had labeled the two hearts “Ponyboy” and “Curly.”
Soda felt the blood drain from his face and his heart beat fast and loud.
He carefully put everything back in the box and tucked it back in the corner of the desk drawer, hoping Ponyboy wouldn’t notice that he’d gone through it. Soda tried to forget everything he’d seen.
He acted as normal as he could when Ponyboy came home. Pony went directly to his room to start his homework. Soda wanted to confront him, but he was still mulling everything over in his head. How did he feel about it? He honestly wasn’t sure. He knew most people would jump to hating Pony and think he’s disgusting, but Soda didn’t want to think that about his kid brother.
Soda stayed on the sofa, watching television until Darry came home from work. Darry took one look at him and asked if he was okay, placing a hand on his forehead.
“I’m fine,” Soda insisted, waving Darry’s hand off of him. He took a deep breath. “I think I gotta talk to you about something.”
“Okay,” Darry said slowly, sitting down beside him.
“Not now,” Soda added. “Sometime when Pony’s not home.”
Darry looked down the hall to where the door of Ponyboy’s room was shut. “He’s in his room,” Darry said, “he ain’t gonna hear us.”
Soda shook his head.
“He do somethin’ bad?” Darry asked, growing concerned.
Soda shook his head again. “No, I don’t think so.”
Darry raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think?”
“I don’t know,” Soda mumbled. “I’m a bit torn.”
“Alright.” Darry ruffled Soda’s hair as he stood up. “We’ll talk later then.”
Ponyboy watched Soda take his pillow off of Pony’s bed and head to the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked, trying to hide the hurt he felt.
“I still ain’t feelin’ too good,” Soda told him. “I just don’t want to get you sick and make you miss school.”
Pony nodded, still silently upset but believing his brother.
Whether it was the loneliness or the discovery that kept Sodapop awake that night, he wasn’t sure, but the sun rose and he felt like he hadn’t slept a wink. He was thankful that his brothers didn’t try to wake him.
When he finally pulled himself out of bed and joined his brothers in the kitchen, he could tell by their expressions that he looked worse for wear. Darry immediately walked up to him and placed a hand on his forehead. Soda didn’t have the energy to push him away.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, “just didn’t sleep well.”
Darry hummed but removed his hand nonetheless. Soda didn’t feel too sick anymore, so he assumed Darry didn’t feel a fever.
“Sit down,” Darry ordered. “Get some food and water in you.”
Soda nodded and obeyed. Darry brought him a glass of water and a small plate of eggs before sitting back in his chair. The brothers sat quietly, the only sounds being the scraping of utensils on plates and chairs shuffling. They kept looking at each other, like they could read everyone’s minds if they just looked at them perfectly.
“Can I go to a movie today?” Pony asked finally.
Darry studied his face. “With who?”
“Curly and some of his friends.”
Soda choked on his water, but managed to disguise it as a cough. It morphed into an attack and both brothers rushed to his side as he fought for air.
“I’m okay,” he managed, though his throat felt raw.
Pony and Darry’s eyes stayed glued on him but they sat down.
“Maybe I’ll stay here,” Pony mumbled.
Soda shook his head. “I’m fine,” he insisted.
Darry’s eyes flicked back to Pony. “You’ll stay out of trouble?”
Ponyboy promised, and Darry recalled his and Soda’s conversation the previous night—Soda needed Pony out of the house to talk to him—so he gave him permission.
Hours later, the front door opened and the two older brothers saw the youngest off. Once the door was closed behind Ponyboy, Darry turned to Soda. “Conversation time,” he said.
Soda was afraid, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want to do something wrong, but he didn’t know what was right. He led Darry into Ponyboy’s room and went to the desk, opening the drawer and feeling for the card box. He hoped he’d imagined everything, but when his fingers felt the thin cardboard, he knew he hadn’t. He pulled the box out and silently handed it to his older brother.
Darry turned the box around in his hands a few times. “What’s this?”
“Look inside,” Soda said quietly.
Darry opened the box and pulled the contents out. He remained stoic at the first photo, but his jaw dropped at the second. His eyes bulged as he read through the notes until the card was at the top of the stack. He looked up at Soda.
“I don’t know what to do,” Soda murmured.
“Neither do I,” Darry admitted. He returned the photos and notes and card to the box and placed it on top of the desk.
“Do we talk to him about it?”
“I don’t know.” Darry was surprised that Soda kept asking him for advice on how to talk to Ponyboy. That was supposed to be his area of expertise, not Darry’s. But Sodapop was near tears, stressing himself out.
“I don’t know what to think about this,” Soda confessed. “People don’t like people like him.”
“No, they don’t,” Darry agreed.
“Do we hate people like him?”
“I can’t tell you how to feel, Soda.”
A tear rolled down Soda’s cheek. They both ignored it.
“How did you feel about Ponyboy before you found all of this?”
Soda scoffed. “I love that kid more than anything.”
Darry nodded. “Does seein’ this change that?”
Soda thought for a few seconds, then shook his head. “No, it don’t.”
“We’re on the same page, then.” Darry smiled weakly and pulled Soda in for a hug.
“Do we talk to him about this?” Soda asked, his voice muffled by his brother’s shoulder.
“I don’t know,” Darry repeated. “You know him better than I do, what do you think?”
“You’re the guardian,” Soda said, pulling away slightly so he could look at his brother. “You’re supposed to be in charge.”
Darry sighed. “I could read every damn parenting book ever written. None of them would tell me what to do here.”
“I want him to talk to us,” Soda sniffed, “but I don’t think he will.”
“Then we can talk to him,” Darry said calmly. Soda nodded.
“Why’s it gotta be Curly Shepard?” he joked, getting a chuckle out of Darry.
When Ponyboy came back home, Darry was sitting in the armchair as usual.
“How was the movie,” Darry asked, looking up at him.
Pony grinned. “It was good.”
He rambled about the movie for a few minutes, though Darry understood next to nothing of it. He was staring at his brother’s jacket—a maroon one that he’d been wearing for a few weeks. Darry had never paid much attention to it, but he didn’t remember buying it for him, and it looked too new to be one of his or Soda’s old ones.
“Come here for a minute.” Darry steered Pony to the dining table, where Soda was already sitting.
Pony sat down slowly, confused and concerned. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, we just need to talk to you.” Darry didn’t want to open the conversation with a confrontation, but he felt lost. His vagueness fueled Pony’s fear.
Wordlessly, Soda placed the card box on the table and Darry pushed it towards Ponyboy. He froze when he realized what it was and panicked when he realized that his brothers had definitely looked inside.
He grabbed it slowly, then stood up so fast his chair fell backwards. He sprang towards the door, but his brothers had anticipated his attempt to run. They both shot up and Darry caught Ponyboy around the torso before he made it to the door.
Darry’s arms were around his chest, but Ponyboy felt like they were around his throat. He couldn’t breathe. It felt like Darry was squeezing the life out of him, constricting his lungs and making him fight for air. Any words they tried to use to soothe him felt distant.
He thought his brothers were going to kill him.
The card box fell to the ground; no one paid attention to it. Pony thrashed, trying to escape Darry’s grip, but his brother was stronger. There was no way Darry was letting his baby brother run away again—Pony’s struggles only made Darry hold him tighter.
“Ease up on him, Darry.” Soda’s voice was shaky.
Darry loosened his grip slightly.
Soda put a hand on Pony’s shoulder. “You gotta breathe, honey,” he cried. “You’re gonna die if you don’t. Come on, Pony.”
He sobbed. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t get enough air. All that he could choke out was a whine.
“Pony, relax. Stop fighting.” Soda was desperate. “We ain’t mad. Just breathe.”
Pony thought he was going to get killed if he stopped, but he felt like he would die if he didn’t. His body was tired, so he relented and let himself relax. He would have collapsed to the ground if it weren’t for Darry’s arms holding him up. He wanted nothing more than to melt into the touch and hug his brothers as tight as he could, but he couldn’t.
“There you go,” Soda’s soft voice weaved its way through the chaos inside Ponyboy’s head. “Keep breathing.”
Pony’s lungs felt like they were on fire. He simultaneously felt like he was fighting for air and like it was being forced into him. He had no control. He felt powerless. He tried to focus on his brother in front of him, but everything was blurry. His eyes felt like they were drifting.
He was sure he was about to die.
“Let’s go sit him down,” Soda said.
Darry helped Ponyboy walk and sit back in his chair, almost carrying him there. Soda brought him a glass of water that he took with a shaking hand.
Inhale. Sip. Exhale. Inhale. Swallow. Exhale.
By the time the glass was empty, Ponyboy was more or less in control of his breathing. Though his head still felt fuzzy, his vision was clearer.
The card box was in front of him again and his brothers were back in their chairs, eyes glued on him.
“We ain’t mad,” Darry told him, “we just want to talk.”
Pony nodded slightly, his eyes glued on the box. One of his hands unconsciously came up to his mouth and he chewed at his thumb nail.
Darry cleared his throat. “So, what’s goin’ on with you and Curly?”
Pony’s eyes flicked up to Darry, then to Soda, then back down.
“Take your time,” Darry said calmly, “but we do want an answer.”
“We’re goin’ steady,” Pony said quietly.
“Okay.” Darry took a deep breath. “How long have y’all been doin’ this?”
“I don’t know,” Pony shrugged. “It started slow.”
“Make a guess.”
Pony avoided eye contact, contemplating telling the truth or lying to his brothers’ faces. “Officially, since New Year’s Eve,” he said honestly. That was when they had talked about hiding away somewhere and kissing like everyone else did to ring in the new year. His brothers didn’t need to know about the months of shared kisses and secret touches since the end of the summer. They didn’t need to know that some sort of spark had been there for nearly a year.
Darry and Soda’s eyes went wide and they shared a look, realizing that their kid brother—who they thought was still innocent as a lamb—had been sneaking around with a boy under their noses for so long.
“You serious about him?” Darry asked.
Pony’s nod was almost imperceptible.
“Is that his jacket?”
Pony looked down, having forgotten what he was wearing, then gave the same tiny nod as before.
“Look, Pony, we don’t love that you’re going out with Curly Shepard,” Pony’s eyes slowly drew up to look at Darry’s, “but we ain’t mad at you.”
“What if it was Angela?” Pony asked.
Darry sputtered. “What?”
“Are you upset because it’s a boy or because it’s a Shepard?”
Soda spoke up. “Pony, we ain’t mad.”
“But you don’t like it.” Pony felt tears welling up in his eyes again.
Darry reached a hand out and gently took Pony’s hand away from his mouth. “You’re our baby brother,” he explained.
“I’m not a baby, I’m almost sixteen." Pony’s gaze grew harsher. “You let Soda talk about getting married when he was sixteen.”
Darry sighed. “Pony—”
“But Sandy was a girl, so it’s fine. Curly and I couldn’t get married if we wanted to.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” Darry squeezed his brother’s hand as tears cascaded down the younger boy’s face. He sighed. “I promise we ain’t mad that you’re goin’ out with a boy. You know Curly’s record, though. We’re just worried.”
Pony sniffed. “I’m not with him because he’s my only option, I’m with him because…” he bit his tongue and forced himself to choose his words carefully, “I like him, and he likes me, and he makes me laugh a lot, and he likes my drawings, and…” he couldn’t tell them everything he liked about Curly. He liked when Curly stopped trying to look tough when they were alone together. He liked that Curly was adamant that he hated hugs but always leaned into his touch. He liked how Curly never looked at him like he was just someone’s weak kid brother, but like he was the best thing in the world.
An uneasy silence fell over the boys.
“Does he treat you well?” Soda asked.
Pony looked at him across the table and nodded.
“Y’all stay out of trouble?”
Another nod.
“Do you love him?”
Pony’s eyes fell back to the card box on the table. He was vaguely aware that he was nodding. He thought about the first time he told Curly he loved him. They had been going steady for a few months. Pony told Darry that they were at the drive-in, but they were really driving Curly’s stepfather’s car up and down the ribbon. The man was passed out drunk for the night, so Curly swiped the keys. He joked about drag racing and playing chicken, which filled Pony’s head with pictures of car crashes. Words had fallen out of his mouth without passing through his brain and he told Curly that he didn’t want another person he loved dying. He hadn’t meant to say it, but he meant every word. Curly looked at him with a shocked, almost afraid expression. He didn’t say anything, and he drove Ponyboy home in silence. Pony was sure he ruined whatever they had together, but he left school the next day with an extra book that he didn’t notice until he got home. Much Ado About Nothing, something Curly had complained about having to read in English class. There was a piece of scrap paper acting as a bookmark—one that, judging by the handwriting, was torn from one of Curly’s old Spanish assignments. When he opened it to the page, he found that someone had gone in with a pencil and underlined two of the lines.
I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?
I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.
Pony came back to the present when he felt arms wrap around him. He felt Soda’s warm breath on his shoulder and Darry’s chin digging into his head. Pony wished that he could calm his mind for just a few minutes to enjoy the comfort his brothers gave him.
“What would Mom and Dad have thought?” his voice was hollow.
Darry chuckled against his hair. “Well, Mom would have cried because you dating means you’re grown, and you know how sentimental she was.” Pony nodded sadly. “And she always said that us gettin’ old meant that she was gettin’ older.”
Pony’s voice barely squeaked out. “Would they have hated me?”
Darry and Soda squeezed him tighter, like they were trying to wring any doubt out of him.
“Did Dad ever tell you about his brother?” Darry asked.
Pony squinted. “Dad has a brother?” Soda, too, looked like this was news to him.
“Had,” Darry corrected. “He died in the war.”
“Why didn’t we know about him?” Pony asked softly.
“It ain’t a very nice story,” Darry said, running a hand through his hair. “I think I cried when he told me about him. Guess he decided not to traumatize you two.”
The younger two stared at Darry with wide eyes, full of anticipation.
“His name was Kenneth.” Darry took a deep breath, trying to recall the story he’d spent years forgetting. “He was a few years older than Dad. One day, someone came to their house and told their parents that they caught Kenneth kissing their son. Dad said they beat him black and blue and kicked him out that day, then pretended like he never existed.” Darry looked into Ponyboy’s red-rimmed eyes. “But Dad never stopped loving him because he was still his brother. He said they lived together for a few years when he and Mom were dating. She liked him, too.”
Ponyboy took a shaky breath.
“They would never stop loving you,” Darry assured him.
Pony nodded, finally wrapping his arms around his brothers and holding them tight.
“Tell Curly he has to come over sometime,” Soda said. “We gotta talk to him, too.”
Pony leaned backwards and stared at his brother. “Please, no,” he pleaded. He looked at Darry for support.
“I agree with Sodapop,” Darry said, making Pony’s face fall.
“We’ll be nice,” Soda promised, “we just have to make sure he’s good for you.”
“Can’t you trust me enough?”
“I trust you just fine,” Soda said, standing up straight. “It’s Curly that I don’t trust.”
Pony was about to protest when Darry stood up and clapped his hands. “Dinner time,” he announced, flipping everyone’s attention to their hunger. “We’re havin’ beef stew. Dry up your tears so it don’t get too salty.”
Pony and Soda would have rolled their eyes if they didn’t see Darry wiping his own face as they all filed into the kitchen.