Chapter Text
Ponyboy’d been relatively excited for high school, as they had a better track team, classes at his grade level, and a drama club. His parents had been trying to get him bumped up a grade, but it kept being denied due to his poor reading comprehension. He’d always been a good reader, blowing through books in a day, but he could barely recall the plot without rereading it a hundred times. So he was trapped in math classes that he slept through but still got good grades and enjoyed, science he couldn’t care about, and history he also didn’t hate but didn’t love.
He also loved running track. He loved the relief that blew through his veins. It was one of the only times his parents weren’t breathing down his neck, checking homework, wanting to know his location. He could just say where he was going and about how long the run was and be gone. It was sweet relief to be alone. And doing it for an award made it even sweeter.
And theatre. He’d personally not been in a production, but he’d seen something like one on TV, and since then, he wanted to help out. Even though it would be his worst nightmare to act, his mother told him about all the backstage work that goes on for a production. ‘They need people behind the scenes to, hunny. How do you think the props are made or the set put together, It needs lots of helping hands. Crew and cast help each other.’
Ponyboy didn’t know a soul who would want to be in a production with him; none of his friends or his boyfriend would be interested. And it scared him. Ponyboy was ‘shy,’ as his teachers called it, and he agreed. He was anxious when he talked to new people, and he could barely function without his boyfriend around. Now he’s going into a new environment without his emotional support and is alone, and maybe needs to try and talk to people. Blame communication for that. So, before he stepped into the room for the crew, a small group, due to poor funding and not many being interested —the cast was normally twenty, if even —but his sources could be wrong. He would hate Mark if he were lying.
To his delight, Mark was not! Seven people were sitting on the floor, along with a familiar teacher, Mrs. Williams. She gave him a delighted smile. “Hi, Ponyboy, welcome! You can hang around for a bit while we see if anyone else comes.” He nodded, even with the smaller number of people in the room. He surprisingly recognized most of them, as they lived on the poorer side of his neighborhood- not by name but definitely by face. One immediately spoke to him, he had red hair, long sideburns any guy in his neighborhood would be proud of. He had slight stubble on his chin and lower lip, and wore overalls with a white tank, stained black in some areas. “I’m Keith, this here is Marcia.” He said, grinning wide enough to show a silver tooth. And he had to say- she was pretty. Not as pretty as his boyfriend, of course, but pretty. She had short brown hair, curled up to her chin. She had bangs that sat high on her face, showing off her dark green eyeshadow, which complemented her pale green skirt. She had a white button-up and green vest over it- and if Ponyboy had to guess, she might like green. She smiled too. “You’re Ponyboy, I presume?” He froze. Opening his mouth but not knowing exactly what to say. God, what if they find him weird already? “Are you alright?” She asks, as he notices how long he took to respond. “Yes! I’m Ponyboy! He is me! And I’m perfectly fine! Yeah.. Fine.” He sputtered. God, he felt like an idiot. “You're one strange kid, Ponyboy.” Keith inquired. “With a very interesting name.” Marcia chuckled, grabbing Keith’s hand, intertwining them. Oh. Good for them. Even if watching them made his gut tangle because he so desperately wants his boyfriend to be with him. But he told Ponyboy he needs to do this alone. “My dad picked it. Real original guy.” He never liked his name, as it always created conversation he would rather avoid. He’d even thought about going by his middle name, Michael. “That's tuff.” Keith nodded, pulling Marcia away, letting Ponyboy sit.
He let his eyes fully wander, catching on two other boys in the room. One had white hair and blistering blue eyes. He had a medium-sized build, and even better, he knew the guy as a friend of Curly’s. Not that he knew any of his friends’ names. He had a black hoodie with black cargo pants with metal chains hanging off every part of his outfit. His boots were thick platforms that Ponyboy thought his ankles would snap if he wore them. The boy next to him was leaning, with his head resting on the other’s shoulder. He had dark features and curly hair. He had a nasty scar that grossed Ponyboy out; it was deep and pink and ran through his entire cheekbone. His outfit was a striped shirt, a jean jacket, and Converse. Not a bad pick of shoes as Ponyboy wore the same ones. As his eyes kept drifting, Mrs. Williams spoke up. “Alright, kiddos, let's introduce ourselves and I’ll explain what were all about here.” She had a warm smile that made Ponyboy’s breath realse, one he didn’t know he was holding. “Darrel, dear, could you start us off?” She looked over to him warmly. “Lets say our names, grade, experence, and a fun fact about ourselves.”
He nodded. “I’m Darrel Curtis, this is my second show, and a fun fact about me..” He paused, Thinking. “I’m on the football team!”
“That’s amazing, Darry!” The genuine interest never left her eyes. “Let’s keep it going. Who wants to go next?” Keith’s hand shot up as a few wooped. “I’m Keith Mathews, your resident senior-” He sang, bowing. “But I’m not in all those ‘smart’ classes. This is my first and last show. And I personally have been told I’m a pretty funny guy. And I think funny and fun are pretty close, so I say it counts as an amazing fact about me!” He was the only one laughing. “I have no clue who told you that, Two.” He shrugged. “How about you go, Stevie-0?” The guy- Steve, shrugged. “Okay. I’m Steve Randle, I’m a junior, and I’ve never done a show.” He muttered. “They forced me here.” He said, pointing to the kid next to him. “Yep!” He beamed. “I’m Sodapop Hayes. I’m also a junior, third show, and I tore my ACL when I was younger.” he shrugged, but there was a sadness in his tone that Ponyboy noticed. Steve grabbed Sodapop’s hand and held it. Why did everyone make him miss his boyfriend more? It was starting to pain him. But Sodapop spoke, breaking through his thoughts about his favorite boy. “Marcia, we covered your boyfriend, but you didn’t go? Seems suspicious.” She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “I’m Marcia Coleman. Senior as well, first show too. and..” She paused, thinking for a moment. “Oh! I did ballet as a kid!” Keith’s face looks to go through a nice few emotions as he tries to recall her ever doing ballet. ‘You did do ballet! And you looked-” He gets cut off with a loud smack to the arm. “Keith, no.” Mrs. Williams takes a sharp inhale. “Dallas? Could you introduce yourself?” He nodded. “I’m Dallas Winston, he's Johnny Cade. We’re both Sophomores. First time ‘round.” Hus tone was quite, dismissive even as he clung to the boy leaning on him. Mrs. Williams doesn’t seem pleased but doesn’t push. “Alright, Ponyboy. Last but not least.” He watched all seven eyes point to him. So he sputters anything that comes to his head. “I’m Ponyboy. Ponyboy Michael Walters. I’m a freshman, but I’m in some upper-level classes… And I run track.. First year doing it, but I like to say I’m not too bad..” He stopped, a deep red flush covering his entire face. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Nah, Ponyboy, we don’t mind a rambler here! Talkin’ to the biggest one right here! Can’t ever shut my dam mouth!” He let out a chuckle, one that made everyone else in the room start to laugh. The only joy Ponyboy had was that less attention was on him.
“Alright.” Mrs. Williams stated, gaining back all the attention. “There build, costumes, props and painting crews Hwre. You can sign up for as many as you’d like. The sheets will actually be in the main office tomorrow afternoon. If you could get anyone else to join us, it would be a pleasure. And thank you all for coming today.”
The second Ponyboy heard her say they were done, he ran. He needed to feel the tinge in his lungs, the burn in his calves. He didn’t listen to the people calling his name. He ran, but not to his home. To Curly’s. Once he arrived, he was panting, throwing rocks at his window to get Curly to let him in. It was their thing, as Curly’s brother hated them being in a room alone, and so did his parents. He didn’t know why. All they did was talk and lie in bed together. Again, his thoughts were cut short by his favorite voice calling him. “Walters?”