Teasing Fate |The Outsiders|

06. Momma's Girl

"BUT ONE COULD NEVER BE TOO CAREFUL. NOT IN TULSA."

***

Just when I thought east-side hoods couldn't get any stupider, he manages to surprise me.

I thought I was prepared when he knocked on my front door, cigarette behind his ear and collar popped to his jaw. His eyes were sarcastic and cold -- just as they had always been. I was anticipating the I'm-too-cool-for-this facade, I even had a few comebacks -- by that, I mean blackmail -- of my own. By the time our hour was up, Tim Shepard and I had successfully made it through a whopping two pages. But now, I had his textbook hidden under my bed, the covers frayed edges barely noticeable from my vanity and taunting me like some sick rendition of The Tell-Tale Heart.

It caught my eye as I sat there, slowly weaving my fingers through my hair and untangling the braids from the night before. I guess my only saving grace was that Tim wouldn't be coming back for it any time soon. Lord have mercy, the idea of Tim coming back for his textbook when the house was full was enough to make my skin crawl.

I found myself raking my fingers through my hair harder than I meant to. The sudden sound of my hair ripping and coming away in clumps stuck to my nails was enough to drag me back to reality just in time to hear a knock at the door. "You awake yet? The boys and I are almost all packed." I could hear the smile in my dad's voice as he spoke, leaning close against the wood so I didn't miss a word. I really do love my brothers -- my dad, too, but there was something nice about November. Hunting season was on, bullets were cheap, and the skies were waiting. Daddy wouldn't let his boys miss it for the world, either. It was perfect timing though, meat was getting expensive as the weather got colder, and the icebox was almost empty.

I yanked the last bit of my hair free and kicked the textbook a little further under the bed before I opened the door. Just as I expected, Daddy was leaning against the doorframe, his rifle hung on his shoulder. His lips split into a smile identical to Sodapop's as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him. The weight of the rifle swinging on his shoulder -- occasionally whacking me between the shoulders -- was enough to keep my arms pinned at my sides and my face turned towards his side while he lead me down the thin hallway. I didn't mind it though, Daddy was one of the decent fathers in the neighbourhood, and I tried not to take that for granted. He didn't drink much, stuck around and helped raise us, he never hit us or Momma, either. Besides, even if he'd only be gone the day, I tried to remember the way he smelt -- old spice, sandalwood, and tobacco -- because he'd smell like gun powder and blood the next time he held me this close.

Momma still had her hair in curlers when we came down the hall. She stood in front of the sink, washing a few apples before dropping them into the boy's lunch bags. Darry stood a few feet behind her, leaning against the icebox with his arms crossed over his chest. Sodapop was rifling through the backpack Daddy sat at the table, chock-full of their knives, bullets, and extra gloves. Ponyboy stood beside Darry, a notebook and pencil in hand. He never enjoyed hunting the way our brothers did, he preferred to sketch the ducks in their flocks before Darry or Daddy shot 'em outta the sky.

"Well well, welcome to the land of the living, Miss Marley," Darry snickered before tugging on a piece of my hair. I gave him a half-hearted shove back, clearly not remembering a damn thing from the last time we bickered. In an instant, my arms were pinned at my sides again, Darry's arms completely trapping me. Fighting back was pointless, so I let my head tip back against his chest. "Can it, it's barely nine o'clock on a Sunday, this is supposed to be our day off."

Daddy and my older brother could pass for twins. Both were tall and strong, Darry's been playing football lately and Daddy's been roofing houses for years now. They had the same eyes, too. They were an awkward mix of blue and green, I liked to think of it as the colour the sky turned when all it could reflect off of was the thin layer of frost coating the ground in late January. It didn't help they were wearing identical green ski jackets, either. The only similarity I had to both of them, was the mousy brown hair -- even if mine reached the middle of my back and theirs' could barely reach their ears.