「my boy」 | Johnnyboy

Fall.

If only it were that simple, am I right? Once I get enough money, I swear I'll get the hell out of here. It just takes time. Time, and a bunch of effort. I hope I'll get there, but the more time that passes, the more faith I lose. I've always been pessimistic, born and raised. That's one trait I definitely get from both parents, but especially my mom. Nothing had ever worked out for me before, so why would this be any different? I was just burning through the days at this point.

The high school was about ten minutes from my house, give or take some, when driving. Walking, however, took another ten. I didn't have the best time schedule, so I ended up speed walking most days—which turned into sprinting, if it ever got to be too late to mosey around. I had a feeling that I'd never hear the end of it if I showed up late to meet Ponyboy, so I figured I should get out earlier than usual this morning.

It seemed a bit odd to be meeting in such a visible place, but he was all about our peers seeing us together. I guess that was only to be expected. Whatever his reason for choosing me for this little scheme, I didn't feel the need to ask. Yet, anyway. Not that I was complaining—the only thing I was in this for was the money, in hopes of leaving town right after graduation, but it was probably already obvious that we were rubbing our 'relationship' in.

"You're on time," he observed as I walked up. I cocked a brow, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth. He hated when I did that eyebrow thing, simply due to the fact that he couldn't.

"You have that little faith in me?" I mockingly gaped, "I'm hurt."

"Get over it, hot stuff." He sent me a toothy grin, pulling me toward him. Playing the part that'd already been drilled into my head, I leaned in and lessened the distance between us. My hand swiftly rested beneath his chin, lips catching ahold of his in a feverish kiss. If my parents saw me, deal or no deal, fake or real, they'd kill me on the spot...

I felt the eyes on us at every turn and it sent chills of sheer anxiety throughout my entire body. But, not the sensual kind. The kind that meant I was uncomfortable. I pulled away from him, brushing some hair out of my eyes and glancing at the few people scattered about the courtyard. "You want a cigarette or something?" I asked, moving to look at him again. I'd been fine with the idea at first, but the apprehension wouldn't leave me alone. It poked at my skull until my head felt like it was going to explode. I was used to attention like this, negative or nosey; used to my fellow classmates watching me every time I did something or went somewhere, of course. However, it'd never been because I was with someone. Partially because I'd never explicitly been with anyone. Clumsy or drunken hook ups were one thing, but this relationship deal was something foreign all on its own.

He shook his head. "I don't smoke." I shrugged at his words, taking one from my pack and lighting it. It wasn't the first time he'd told me that, but I hadn't ever been good with remembering—well, anything, let alone something as simple as that.

"Why's that?" I puffed on it, shifting to sit at the bottom of the bleachers. He followed in my lead, a little too close for comfort, but I didn't shove him away. I didn't even flinch, sort of just allowing things to happen. It wasn't that he was forceful. He had been the perfect fake boyfriend so far; kind, gentle, considerate, he'd even offered to listen to me when he'd caught me in a bad mood once. It was just that getting close to people wasn't my forte.

"If I did, my family would kill me."

"Must be nice," I thought aloud, quietly.

"Nice?" He sounded incredulous. "They suffocate me. It feels like I'm ten sometimes. I swear, they stand right behind my shoulder at every waking second... just because I'm the youngest." I couldn't fight the urge, nor could I hide my intrigue. I'd mentioned people with functional families above, but that'd been a lie. I never talked to people about this stuff. It always seemed so taboo, so tense and awkward.

( Ponyboy's POV. )

He watched me with what looked like fascination, but I couldn't figure out why. It felt like a full out inspection as he leaned in more. "What's it like?"

"What?" He sighed, rolling his eyes as if I'd just asked the most stupid question in the world. He had a habit of making me feel like an idiot at every open convenience, but to be fair, I don't think he meant to. At least not all of the time.

"Having them around, having them care and look after you. Having them... I dunno, there, I guess."

"Oh. It's, um—it's cool, I guess? I don't know." I shrugged. He sat back, bringing the cigarette to his lips yet again as he looked forward, seemingly staring at nothing in particular.

"It's a simple question, man." He blew the smoke out and I turned my head, as to not inhale it. I was even pulling the extra card and holding my breath until the air around us visibly cleared again. "Calls for a simple answer, y'know?"

"I don't know," I repeated, sternly. "Sometimes it's nice, sometimes I want to run away and never look back."

"Yeah? What is it that makes you run away? Tell me, do mommy and daddy care about you too much, is that it?"

"You don't know anything about me."

"That's why I asked."

"No, you asked to be a dick and that's exactly what you did." I stood up, anger overflowing uncontrollably. What was his problem? Didn't he have a family of his own? Why the hell did he have to pry into mine? My fists clenched st my side, dull nails digging into the soft skin of my palms and rewarding me with a sharp sting. It helped for a second, but then I realized how he was just sitting there, unfazed—watching me calmly as though I'd just told him the weather was nice. That made my blood boil even more, chest tightening with the emotion until it momentarily constricted my breathing. He averted his gaze for a millisecond, sighing lowly. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then seemed to dismiss it and got to his feet himself.

"C'mon, I heard they're serving french toast for breakfast." He cracked a small smile, putting out his cigarette and taking my hand in his to lace our fingers together tightly. He always changed the subject when things got tense, like he could start an argument but he couldn't handle actually being in one. I nodded slowly, a sigh of my own pulling itself free. I grasped his hand a bit tighter before we started walking. I was still upset, but there was no use in fighting. We'd only be around each other for a few months. Why stress about any of this?

"Okay."