♡ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀʏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ♡

3 2

"Don't you worry, Cary," Soda said, "we'll be with you."

I bit the inside of my cheek. The only thing pushing me forward was my mother's voice in my head. I knew that she would be there, too. In spirit. In my heart.

I swallowed, forcing myself to speak. "I'll do it."

As if I had much of a choice.

"That's my girl! "He smiled and opened his arms for a hug. "Just think, Jonathan's gonna be going to prison and it's all gonna be 'cause of you." His voice was cheery and soft as usual, but I knew he was just trying to make me feel better. He wasn't truly happy about it—if anything, he was just as upset as Darry. He just hid it better.

After we separated, the air went quiet and tense. I looked down in my lap, where my hands clasped together and then pulled apart, over and over. It was weird that watching them argue was more comforting than my brothers' pitifully sympathetic gazes.

Maybe it wasn't weird, actually.

After a painfully long time of silence, Darry finally spoke up. "You know when you're leaving?"

I shook my head.

He stood up suddenly, sighing. "They don't tell you nothin' here, do they?" He muttered as he left the room.

We all watched as he stormed down the hall, to which Soda shook his head and followed him out.

The door closed with a click, and Ponyboy looked at me. It was a strange expression, like one of pity, sympathy, and betrayal. I looked back at him and he sighed silently before turning towards the door.

"Pony," I said, to which he turned back and looked at me, a strange look of sadness in his eyes, "how's Johnny?"

He sucked in his breath, and for a brief moment, my heart stopped. "I just...I'm worried about him," I said softly.

"I dunno," he started, "he hasn't really talked much."

"He never talks much."

"I know, but..." he takes a breath, "he just seems off."

I felt myself draw a silent breath. I knew it. I knew he was upset about Nathan, and it was my fault.

As if reading my mind, he spoke up again. "I'm sure it's not anything you did, Cary."

That was the problem. It's not what I did, it's what I didn't do.

"Has he not come to visit you at all?" He asked, to which I shook my head.

He chewed the inside of his cheek. "Listen, I know y'all have got a thing goin' on, but—"

"You do?" My eyes grew wide as saucers, the color draining from my skin. He knew? How? How much did he know?

"Yes, Cary," he said matter-of-factly, "I would've known regardless of whether or not he told me. It's painfully obvious."

"He told you?" I asked, astonished.

"Of course he did. I'm his best friend." He leaned against the wall and hitched his thumbs through his jean loops, "How do you think he got the courage to ask you to homecoming?"

How much did Pony know? For all I know, he could've known about our kiss.

I put my head in my hands. I didn't want anybody to know. Well, later, but not now.

"Relax, Cary," he said, "it's not that big of a deal."

"It is, though, Pony!" I said, no longer able to contain my frustration. "He thinks I like Nathan." I scoffed. "Nathan, of all people!"