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"Can't believe I have to read this damned book," Two-bit grumbled, slamming the paperback on the Curtis's counter. "I have better things to be doing."
That earned snickers from around the table – Ponyboy, lounged on the sofa, Johnny with his knees hugging his chest on the floor, Sodapop flickering through the television, and myself, sandwiched between the two. Soda settled on some documentary that I wasn't paying enough attention to recognize what it was about.
"Oh yeah? What could you be doing that's so much more important than getting an education?"
Two-bit shot me an incredulous look. "I don't know, anything?"
I snickered and nodded to the book. "Hand me that, would you?"
He reached over and slung the book my way like a Frisbee. Soda spared the two of us a glance. "Oh, Two just wants to stay in high school forever."
"Please. Seems like a dream, never goin' back to that place."
The book that landed on my lap was tattered and fading at the edges. A vivid orange cover with bold yellowing letters, The Catcher in The Rye. I'd never read it for school myself, but I'd enjoyed it a few years back. It was a quick read.
"Ain't nothing wrong with this book." I threw it back at him. "Quit being a bum and read it."
"I can help ya if you'd like, Two." Ponyboy straightened up, tearing his eyes from the TV.
"Ah, a freshman helping me with my homework? No thank you."
I gave Ponyboy a look and rolled my eyes. "Don't worry Pony, maybe he'll consider it next year when he fails."
Keith stood from his seat and threw the book back down on the table. He glared at me fleetingly, then made his way to the kitchen. He yelled as he opened the fridge, "oh yeah, Holls? How much work you been gettin' done? You being gone all day yesterday, where were you, huh?"
"Maybe I was off readin' like I'm supposed to."
"I'd like to bet money on that."
He carried a few beer bottles along with an opener into the room and sat on the floor, emitting a heavy sigh when he finally settled. Soda used the extra room on the sofa to sprawl out.
"Yeah I'd like to know where you were off to, Steve was fumin'." Soda piped in. "Kinda a coincidence we didn't see Dallas, either."
"Huh." I scratched my chin and looked down. "Weird."
I'd gotten home the night before and Steve was waiting in the kitchen like he always was. I always knew when Steve was mad at me, but I could differentiate between angry and worried more often than not. He held back because he knew I was having a rough time, but I knew he wanted to yell at me. He knew me better than anybody.
