♡ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀʏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ♡

2 9

(Pony's POV)

The harsh breeze cut across my skin like dull shards of glass as I pushed through the brisk morning to school. I had brought a jacket, but it wasn't nearly enough to hold against these brutal winds. I clutched my books close to my chest and pulled my sleeves past my hands, but still, I shook like a leaf.

It was the second day in a week that I had walked alone to school—the second day in the whole year. It felt weird, and I found myself thinking of something to say to Cary, only to turn and remember she wasn't there.

Johnny hadn't come lately, either. He'd been...off...since we saw Cary the day before. He was quiet all the time, but lately, he was standoffish and distant. I figured that he was probably stressed out about Cary—as we all were—and just didn't hide it as well as the rest of us. He had lost his ability to do that ever since he got jumped. You could read the poor kid like an open book, but still, I had to ask him what was wrong after Darry and Soda dropped us off.

"It's nothin', man," he told me as he lit a cigarette, "I swear."

I didn't believe him, but I knew he wasn't going to tell me if I kept bugging him, so I shut up about it.

So, it was just me walking to school alone, vulnerable to the world. And by 'the world', I mean early-bird Socs looking to catch a quick fight before school started, just to get their spirits up.

I kept my eyes scanning as I approached the school, but thankfully, nobody seemed to notice me.

Nobody noticed me anyways, really.

That was until I reached the top of the steps when the usual berate of 'Greaser!' or 'Take a bath, Greaseball!' hit me. Sometimes, it literally hit me—and by that I mean a paper ball or some other creative item was tossed in my direction. One time, I had a whole case of pencils thrown at me. It was nothing new, though.

The day went on normally. Ancient World History, first period, moved relatively fast. I didn't mind the class, and it wasn't really that hard. Biology was the same, other than the fact that I was the only Greaser in the whole class which resulted in disgusted looks from girls or snickering laughs and smart remarks from the guys.

Then came math—my worst subject. I was more into things like English, math was Cary's thing.

Still, it passed, and soon enough, I was off to lunch.

It was amazing to me how such a seemingly normal day could escalate so quickly, because I found myself in the lunch line behind none other than Bob Sheldon and his little minion Randy.

I don't know what I did—maybe I grazed my hand against the back of his ski jacket or breathed a little too loud—but suddenly, he whipped his head around and started to say something before he smirked.

"Hey," he said, punching Randy in the chest playfully, "isn't this the low-life that tried to pick up on our women the other night?"

Randy smirked, giving a scoffing laugh. "Looks like him."

I swallowed, feeling the color drain out of my face as I remembered Friday night. Even though I knew I wouldn't be sliced in the throat in the middle of the school cafeteria, they could still get a few beatings in before someone intervened.

I rolled my eyes, with the full intention of showing them that I didn't care, even though that couldn't have been farther from the truth—I was scared out of my mind.

"Man, Grease," Bob started, waving his hand in front of his face, "do you ever shower? Smells like you came straight off a farm." By now, everyone nearby was listening in and burst out laughing. Still, I ignored them, out of options for anything better to do.