Chapter 4

                                    

                                          

It's going to be a miserable summer. A hot, miserable summer. That much is already clear. It's barely June, and it feels like the middle of July. The living room feels like a hot box, especially since our only fan broke back in spring, and we still can't afford to buy a new one.
The air is still and thick, almost suffocating, without any circulation. I have the front and back door pushed wide open, hoping a breeze will blow through. So far, no such luck.
I sit on the couch with the crossword puzzle from the newspaper open in front of me on the coffee table. I push my hair back out of my face, which is damp with sweat, and study the next question.
Another word for gas. Six letters.
I chew on the end of the eraser, running through all the possibilities in my head. Another word for gas? What did that even mean? Sodapop works at a gas station, and I've never heard him use anything but gas. Except gasoline, which is longer than six letters.
With a frustrated sigh, I close the newspaper and decide to come back to it later.
I head outside, not being able to take the stuffiness of the house any longer. I study the lawn again. My eyes sweeping over every inch, hoping to find a spot Curly missed. Any indication that he hasn't done such a great job after all. There was none. I hated to admit it, even to myself, but Curly really had done a good job. Maybe as good a job as Dad would have done.
In a way, it bothered me. That someone could do the lawn as good as him, I mean. I didn't like the thought that he was replaceable in anyway.
With a sigh, I lower myself to the front step, my eyes still lingering on the grass. When I first stepped out on the porch earlier and saw Curly of all people out here, I was irritated and pretty surprised, but mostly irritated.
Waking up to the sound of the loud engine of the lawnmower confused me, and I lay in bed listening to the familiar sound that I haven't heard in so long. Not many people in our neighborhood have a motorized lawnmower, so for a second I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be convinced that it was Dad out there. That if I walked outside it would be him pushing the mower.
"Beautiful day for cutting the grass, Cassie girl," he'd call out to me over the roar of the engine, and I'd grin at him.
"You think every day is a beautiful day for cutting grass," I would yell back, still grinning.
But when I had opened my eyes, I was in my room, and I knew it wouldn't be Dad outside.
Even though it's been a few hours, the smell of freshly cut grass still lingers, and I inhale deeply. I have always loved that smell.
I never intended to thank Curly. Yell at him for basically breaking into the shed and taking out the lawnmower without permission, maybe. But showing gratitude? No.
As soon as the smell hit my senses though, I felt my anger diminish slightly, and a longing stirred deep inside of me. A longing for when I was young and everything was simpler. A longing for a time when an older brother didn't have to break his back to support three kids and when parents didn't die.
I shake those thoughts away when I see Ponyboy walking down the sidewalk. He pauses at the gate and looks around, confusion written on his face. It really has been too long since the lawn was mowed.
"You mowed the lawn?" He asks, his voice filled with so much astonishment it's actually kind of insulting.
"I can mow the lawn," I say, gnashing my teeth together.
"It looks good," he says, digging out a cigarette from his pocket.
"But I didn't."
"Didn't what?" He asks, lighting up and blowing smoke out of his nose. A trick he recently picked up and is quite proud of.