The campana, bell rang loudly, announcing the end of class. The classroom got increasingly louder as the kids got ready to leave.
“I'll see te successivo week, class. Ponyboy Curtis?” My English teacher, called out.
“Yes, Mr. Syme?” I answered, looking up from my desk.
“May I speak with te before te leave?”
“I guess so.” I picked up my libri and headed for the front of the room. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, no. Nothing of the kind. Ponyboy, did te write this all da yourself?”
I instantly recognized the composition notebook in which I had written The Outsiders. I flipped it open to the first page and quietly read the first paragraph, "....When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I have only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home. I was wishing I looked like Paul Newman---He looks tough and I don't---but I guess my looks aren't so bad. I have light-brown, almost-red hair and greenish gray eyes. I wish they were più gray, because I hate most guys that have green eyes, but I have to be content with what I have. My hair is longer than a lot of boys wear theirs, squared off in back and long in the front and side, but I am a greaser and most of my neighborhood never bothers to get a haircut. Besides, I look better with long hair...." I closed it and looked at it for a while, then said, “Yeah, I did.”
“Ponyboy, did all of this really happen?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Syme.”
The English teacher leaned back in his chair and looked at me, then asked, “I knew some of it but......Did te mostra this to your older brother?”
“No.” I shifted uncomfortably.
“You should. Take it on home and have him read it. te can bring it back to me on Monday, I have something I want to do.”
“Okay. Uh, Mr. Syme? Do I get that passing C?”
“No, Ponyboy, I'm giving te an A-.”
“AN A?!” I was shocked.
“An A-, Ponyboy. te could get a better grade if te would just accomplish your work during the actual semester. That is an excellent composition, Ponyboy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Syme! Wait'll Darry hears this!” I left the room, the realized I didn't have the notebook, stepping back in, I took it and said, “I'll see te on Monday, Mr. Syme!”
Outside the classroom, Two-Bit was waiting for me, “Had to stay after, huh?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged and started down the hall.
Two-Bit followed and asked, “You in big trouble?”
“No. Mr. Syme told me to have Darry read this.” I showed Two-Bit the notebook.
Two-Bit wiped his hands on his jeans and took the notebook, flipping through it. “The Outsiders? Hey, this has me in it!”
“Yeah. I wrote it about last month.” I took the notebook back.
“Ah. Hey, Steve, me and some other greasers are gonna head down to the corner store and hang out, te wanna come?” Two-Bit, now outside the building, pulled out a packet of cigarettes.
“Can't. Gotta get home.”
Two-Bit lit a cigarette for himself, “Darry get after te again?”
“No. I've got homework and the house is a mess after te came over.” I detto meaningfully, glaring at him.
Two-Bit ignored my point, offering a cigarette.
“No, I gotta get home. Anyway, Darry detto I'd better quit smoking. It gives the welfare workers something to work off of.”
“Okay, Ponyboy. See te later.”
“See te later, Two-Bit.” Two-Bit headed off down the strada, via and I started home. I wandered down the street, thinking about the earlier month. I knew that it all had happened and I remember all of it clearly, especially in my dreams, but I've never had really thought about it in depth. Passing the DX, I saw Steve working at one of the pumps. “Where's Soda?” I called out.
Steve saw me, waved and responded, “He already left. Darry called and detto Soda was only going to work a half giorno today. te know, that sounds like a good idea. I'll call Buck and see if he can send over a replacement.”
I grinned, Steve never worked a full day. “See te later, Steve!” I called as he stepped inside for the phone and I moved on.
“I'll see te successivo week, class. Ponyboy Curtis?” My English teacher, called out.
“Yes, Mr. Syme?” I answered, looking up from my desk.
“May I speak with te before te leave?”
“I guess so.” I picked up my libri and headed for the front of the room. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, no. Nothing of the kind. Ponyboy, did te write this all da yourself?”
I instantly recognized the composition notebook in which I had written The Outsiders. I flipped it open to the first page and quietly read the first paragraph, "....When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I have only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home. I was wishing I looked like Paul Newman---He looks tough and I don't---but I guess my looks aren't so bad. I have light-brown, almost-red hair and greenish gray eyes. I wish they were più gray, because I hate most guys that have green eyes, but I have to be content with what I have. My hair is longer than a lot of boys wear theirs, squared off in back and long in the front and side, but I am a greaser and most of my neighborhood never bothers to get a haircut. Besides, I look better with long hair...." I closed it and looked at it for a while, then said, “Yeah, I did.”
“Ponyboy, did all of this really happen?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Syme.”
The English teacher leaned back in his chair and looked at me, then asked, “I knew some of it but......Did te mostra this to your older brother?”
“No.” I shifted uncomfortably.
“You should. Take it on home and have him read it. te can bring it back to me on Monday, I have something I want to do.”
“Okay. Uh, Mr. Syme? Do I get that passing C?”
“No, Ponyboy, I'm giving te an A-.”
“AN A?!” I was shocked.
“An A-, Ponyboy. te could get a better grade if te would just accomplish your work during the actual semester. That is an excellent composition, Ponyboy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Syme! Wait'll Darry hears this!” I left the room, the realized I didn't have the notebook, stepping back in, I took it and said, “I'll see te on Monday, Mr. Syme!”
Outside the classroom, Two-Bit was waiting for me, “Had to stay after, huh?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged and started down the hall.
Two-Bit followed and asked, “You in big trouble?”
“No. Mr. Syme told me to have Darry read this.” I showed Two-Bit the notebook.
Two-Bit wiped his hands on his jeans and took the notebook, flipping through it. “The Outsiders? Hey, this has me in it!”
“Yeah. I wrote it about last month.” I took the notebook back.
“Ah. Hey, Steve, me and some other greasers are gonna head down to the corner store and hang out, te wanna come?” Two-Bit, now outside the building, pulled out a packet of cigarettes.
“Can't. Gotta get home.”
Two-Bit lit a cigarette for himself, “Darry get after te again?”
“No. I've got homework and the house is a mess after te came over.” I detto meaningfully, glaring at him.
Two-Bit ignored my point, offering a cigarette.
“No, I gotta get home. Anyway, Darry detto I'd better quit smoking. It gives the welfare workers something to work off of.”
“Okay, Ponyboy. See te later.”
“See te later, Two-Bit.” Two-Bit headed off down the strada, via and I started home. I wandered down the street, thinking about the earlier month. I knew that it all had happened and I remember all of it clearly, especially in my dreams, but I've never had really thought about it in depth. Passing the DX, I saw Steve working at one of the pumps. “Where's Soda?” I called out.
Steve saw me, waved and responded, “He already left. Darry called and detto Soda was only going to work a half giorno today. te know, that sounds like a good idea. I'll call Buck and see if he can send over a replacement.”
I grinned, Steve never worked a full day. “See te later, Steve!” I called as he stepped inside for the phone and I moved on.
Ponyboy’s Perspective
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Scar?” I say, looking away from the football game I was watching. I was holding Ella, she was 4 months old now.
“How did te and Mom meet?” The 12 anno old asked.
“I bet it was an epic Amore story.” Eight anno old Rhett says sarcastically.
“Was Mommy pretty when te met her?” Charlie, who was five now, asked.
“The prettiest girl I’d ever seen.” I smiled down at him. “Until Scar and Ella came along. Now I know the three prettiest girls in the world. Anyways, there’s not much to tell. I saw her one day, and I fell in love. I thought she didn’t like me…”
“Nah, I like te a lot.” (Y/N) grinned from the doorway.
Seventeen.
Seventeen bottles of birra I have drunk in the past 37 minutes.
Seventeen.
I pick up number eighteen, twist the berretto, tappo off, and pour it down my throat. It’s tasteless.
I lean my head back against the bacheca from where I sit on the floor of my basement.
I see a football. Danny’s football. It used to be Danny’s football. Now it’s just some football my son used to hold, used to play with. It probably smelled like him. Part of me wanted to go pick it up, the other part of me didn’t wanted to be reminded of the last time we played football together.
I pick up number nineteen, and out of the corner of my eye see (Y/N)’s old dolls, something we thought we could use for our little girl someday.
But that’s not going to happen.
I know what happened. I saw their mangled, bruised, broken, dead bodies after their accident.
I pick up number twenty.
Oh God how was I going to say this.
The rest of my life depended on this.
She was just perfect. In every way possible. She was beautiful. Kind. Sweet. Funny. Understanding. Just (Y/N).
And I needed to tell her.
Tell her how much I needed her, wanted her, and had to have her. It was a feeling beyond comprehension. It was love.
I needed to tell her I loved her.
So here I am, sitting in the lot, looking at the stars with (Y/N). Doing something I Amore with the one I love.
I look over at her, her eyes gleaming from the light of the fire.
“(Y/N)?” I ask as I grab her hand.
“Yeah?” She turns to face me.
“I-I think…” I start.
“Just say it,” she smiles.
“I Amore you.” I blurt out.
She looks surprised for a second. But then she grins.
“I Amore te too.”
“This was my mom’s,” he mutters. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), will te marry me?”
