Seventeen//Blue Moon

                                    

                                          
AMELIA
                          
PONYBOY AND I laid in bed all morning one rainy Tuesday morning. He read me books while I listened. He pronounced the most complex words with grace and no mistakes. He held me close and kissed my head often, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Darry was at work, but Sodapop had a day off since his boss was sick, so he had been trying to get a hold of Sandy all morning. 
                          
I felt worried about him. I thought he would be over her by now, but then I remembered how much he loved her—then, I remembered how much he said he loved me. The feeling made me uneasy when I would find myself touching my lips, remembering how he had kissed me, but not being able to remember the feeling Ponyboy gave me when he kissed me. It's like I couldn't get him out of my head. 
                          
It got worse when, that Tuesday night, I was sat outside, snuggled in a brown quilt, hot chocolate in my hands, and the feeling of Ponyboy's hand on my neck when we cuddled on the swinging chair. The air was light, unlike the rain that poured straight down onto the ground. I heard the door open and close and looked over to see Sodapop standing there with a letter in his hand. He was trembling. I hadn't seen him all day, he was in the garage all day, doing God knows what. 
                          
"She wrote back," he said, his voice cracking like no tomorrow. I threw the blanket off of me and stood up. I saw the tears on his face when he stepped into the light created by the single porch light. I stepped closer. 
                          
"What did she say?" I asked. Soda's trembling hands handed me the letter. I took it gently and skimmed through it. 
                          
"The baby's being born next year. It ain't mine," he said, "but it's a girl. Ain't no man—or boy—is ever going to love her as much as I would. And I may not be the smartest or the richest, but I'm going to fly down to where she's at and see Sandy and the girl. I want to name her." 
                          
The poor boy is out of his mind, and he must know it. I didn't even have to tell him before he started crying again. I opened my arms. He fell right into them. 
                          
"Soda, trust me when I say this—if it isn't your baby, don't worry about it," I said. He pulled away from me. 
                          
"What do you mean?" he asked. 
                          
"Sodapop, get it through your skull, Sandy's only writing you back because she knows that she can't raise a baby by herself. Ain't smart enough to keep her legs closed, let alone to keep a kid alive. She's tempting you, Soda, she doesn't care. She wants you to be there for her benefit, not because she loves you," I said. 
                          
"She does love me, she does!" Sodapop yelled. His anger was like a wildfire, and it was all directed towards me. I've never had someone angry at me for so long that it scared me halfway to death. He looked like he was about to kill me, or hit me at the least. 
                          
"No, she doesn't, Sodapop." 
                          
"No, you don't love me. I wrote you a letter and all you did was shun me away, and for my brother? It took all of the time and energy I had to just muster up the words I had saved for you and you ignored it! What the hell was I even writing to you for? Maybe Sandy was right—maybe you are just another troublemaking slut in this town," he yelled. Tears flooded my eyes. "I think you should go." 
                          
That was all it took. Without a jacket, coat, sweatshirt, umbrella, anything, I walked out into the rain and took my time walking to Buck Merril's bar. Dally would be there, no doubt.