Cathy's father opened the door. He said, "Hi, Bryon" friendly enough--I guess as friendly as any father ever greets the kid who's taking out his daughter--so I figured I was safe. M&M was lying on his stomach on the floor reading a book with a little sister sitting on his back pulling his hair. I stepped over him. When M&M was reading you could blow up the house around him and he'd never notice. I'm that way myself.
Cathy's mother came from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron, and in the kitchen some more little kids were fighting over who was going to rinse and who was going to dry.
"Cathy will be ready in a minute," Mrs. Carlson said. "Please sit down, Bryon. We haven't seen you in a while."
"I've been out looking for a job," I said, sitting down on a rubber duck. "Mark and I run into M&M every now and then."
"How can you tell him and Cathy apart?" Mr. Carlson said dryly. "I can't any more."
"Now, Jim . . ." Mrs. Carlson began nervously. "We agreed not to say any more about M&M's hair."
Even his own family called him M&M. I tried to remember for a second what his real name was, but I couldn't think of it. In the silence Cathy screeched, "You give me that brush, you brat!" I stifled a laugh.
"How have you been doing in school, Bryon?" Mrs. Carlson asked. She was pretending she hadn't heard Cathy.
This was the usual routine questioning you go through when you have to talk to your date's parents, but I didn't mind. At Angela's house her mother and her stepfather were always fighting and screaming and throwing things, and sometimes her brothers Tim and Curly would get in on it, and I'd sort of duck flying objects until Angela came out of her room, cussing and throwing things along with the rest of them. So you can see why sitting in the Carlson's front room answering questions wasn't really bothering me.
"I'm doing pretty well in school," I answered. "Mostly A's and B's." I decided I wouldn't say anything about flunking chemistry. The teacher and I had a personality conflict--and when I want to cause a teacher trouble, you'd better believe I can do it.
"M&M is flunking math and gym," Mr. Carlson said in the same tone he had used when talking about M&M's hair. "How anyone can flunk gym is beyond me."
I could tell that M&M was listening to the conversation but was staring at his book, pretending he wasn't. I understood what he was doing. I have stared at a book pretending I couldn't hear what was going on around me, too. If people think you can't hear them, they talk as if you couldn't. You can hear some pretty neat stuff that way.
"It's not as if M&M was an invalid," Mr. Carlson was saying when Cathy came out of her room.
"I'm ready," she said. She had on a yellow pants outfit that looked real cute on her.
I got up. "O.K., let's go." On the way out she gave M&M a friendly kick.
When we were in the car she said, "I wish Daddy would leave M&M alone. He's so sensitive, it hurts him for Dad to tease him about his hair or bawl him out for his grades. It seems to me they should be glad about his other grades--his English teacher says M&M has the most brilliant mind she's come across in five years of teaching--and be glad he's never gotten into any kind of trouble, instead of picking at him because of his hair." She sighed. "I guess since M&M and I are the oldest, we're the closest. I guess you know about that though. I forgot you have a brother too."
"Yeah, I know about that," I said. Of course, I never heard Mom gripe about anything Mark did--he could get away with things I wouldn't dare try. I never resented Mark for this. I took it as a matter of fact that Mark was different from other people and was therefore treated differently.
Cathy sighed, "Well, I'm not going to worry about it now. I want to have a good time tonight." She gave me a quick, shy smile. She was sitting close enough for me to put my arm around her, which I did. I was intending to have a good time too.
*
We could hear the music even before we got there. The band was supposed to be a good one--it was loud enough, which with a dance is at least half the way to being good. I was really proud of having such a cute date, and I was hoping Angela would be there. I wanted to show her up. I'd gone with Angela for months, longer than I'd ever gone with anyone. I wanted to show her that I had no intentions of going back to her. She had been telling everybody that I would. This was after she had made her big play for this Curtis kid and he had acted like he didn't know she was alive. Then she decided she wanted me back. You can imagine how that grabbed me.
The dance was going pretty good when we got there. I liked to arrive a little late, when things were swinging. I saw a bunch of people I knew. Cathy knew a lot of people, too, but not very well. She hadn't dated before she left for school, and I don't think anyone remembered her. She had been a shy, plain kid. Everybody was staring at us, wondering who she was. I was really feeling great. I liked being the center of attention. Cathy winked at me. She dug it, too.
I really liked her. I liked her a lot.
"Hey, Bryon!" It was Mark. I could tell even before I spotted him across the room, waving at us.
"Come on," I said. "Let's go see Mark."
We weaved in and out of the crowd, sometimes stopping to talk. I wasn't too happy when I saw that Mark and Curtis were standing together. Having had one girl ditch me to try for him, I wasn't thrilled with the possibility that it might happen again.
"Hi, Cathy," Mark greeted her. He had been drinking, but I doubt that anyone but me could tell. "I haven't seen you in a long time."
"I haven't been here to see," Cathy answered sensibly.
"I don't think you know Ponyboy Curtis--this is Cathy Carlson."
"Hi," Curtis said. He didn't look too happy. I think he had heard I wasn't crazy about him. He was a little guy, about the same size as Mark only with a better build. I think he thought I was going to pick a fight with him. I didn't want to. I guess he couldn't help what Angela Shepard did, and besides, I'd heard he was a pretty good fighter even though he didn't have the rep of a tough guy.
I watched Cathy. She didn't seem interested in him. The first time Angela saw him her eyes lit up like a tiger's. So I relaxed. "Where'd you get the booze?" I asked Mark, when Cathy couldn't hear.
He grinned. "Out in the car--Terry's car. He's got six six-packs, and only the four of us to drink them. Go out and help yourself. Terry won't mind, he's already passed out in the front seat."
Terry had always been a drinker. I decided I'd go out later and have a couple of cans. Maybe I'd get a couple for Cathy. I hoped she wasn't a very heavy drinker--Angela had got pretty expensive with her constant boozing.
Cathy and I watched Mark and Curtis as they started toward a group of girls. "Mark is a good kid," I said.
"I'd forgotten how beautiful he is," Cathy said. "I know girls who would give their eye teeth for hair that color."
I stopped breathing for a second. Cathy was looking at Mark, and I suddenly felt like I'd swallowed a spoonful of red pepper. I felt cold and hot and sick and mad all at once. I only felt it for a second, only for a second and then it was gone--but sometimes now I wonder how it would be to feel like that all your life. You know what the crummiest feeling you can have is? To hate the person you love best in the world.
"Hi, Bryon." The voice was familiar and I turned around. It was Angela. I just looked at her. She was smiling with that sassy smirk, and I wondered why on earth I'd ever given a damn about her. She was beautiful, little and dark, and, even when suddenly all the girls had long straight hair, hers hung to the middle of her waist in ringlets and curls. It was blue-black and shiny. Maybe all that heavy mass wouldn't look good on just anyone, but Angela had the kind of face that would probably be strikingly beautiful even if she shaved her head. But since I knew her so well, I could ignore the way she looked. "Hi, Angel," I said carelessly. "You here with Curtis?"
I meant to rub it in; I think he was the first guy she ever went after and didn't get. Her face contorted for a second, and she called me a few names and flounced off. She wasn't famous for an even temper.
"Who was t
hat?" Cathy asked. I wondered if she was jealous. I hoped so anyway. "This chick I used to go with," I answered. Cathy glanced indifferently after Angela. "Certainly uses nice language," she remarked. "A real lady."
It hit me that Cathy wasn't jealous of Angela at all--not for her beauty or for having gone with me. She was the first girl I'd dated who wasn't scared some other chick would show her up. I didn't know what to make of it.
In the end, I decided it showed that Cathy had more sense than most girls. I wasn't worried about her liking Mark any more. I can tell when a girl is interested in a guy--like the minute I saw Angela looking at Curtis, I knew--and I could tell Cathy liked Mark just as a friend, as the brother of the guy she was interested in. Cathy liked me. I could tell that already.
She was a good dancer. We danced almost every dance. We were having so much fun I forgot all about going out to Terry's car for some beer. They had a cop there at the dance--they always did--but he was ignoring the kids who were staggering around obviously drunk. He was there just to prevent people from killing each other.
Apparently he wasn't even doing that much, because, suddenly above the music, we heard a scream from the back parking lot. Immediately everyone started running out there to see what was happening. I didn't. I hate people who stand around at an accident and pry and push and peer. I won't even stop to watch a fight if I don't know either guy who's fighting.
"Let's don't go," I said.
Cathy nodded. "O.K."