So, I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to start this. My psychologist—okay, so he's actually my English professor— said I should write down whatever has been bothering me lately. He said it would help ease a lot of my anger and stress. But that's the problem I'm having. I don't know how to start this because there's been a lot that's been bothering me. Fights, deaths, makeups, breakups... Jesus, you name it. It had been a hectic couple of months, I can tell you that. Of course, this isn't something that happened recently. This was a couple of years ago. But it has been bothering me since it happened.

I guess I should start with the first thing I can remember and move on from there. That sounds good to me, and probably what Mr. Jones wants. "And then what happened, Candice?"

So, here I go. I'm about to pour everything out into this composition notebook. And if anyone reads this, I apologize for any bad spelling. I'm a lot better now than I was then, but I'm still learning.

It was another one of those nights. My mom was angry. On occasion, it was over something that she had the right to be angry over, like the little kids' bedrooms being a wreck or me coming home late. Sometimes, I would just skip over to the Curtises so I could avoid the fight with her. This time, she was drunk angry, angry over nothing. The screaming and the throwing things around was something that happened almost on the daily and I was used to it, sad to say.

There was a glass pitcher shattered to bits in the kitchen, glass everywhere. I told the little kids to go to their room and stay out of the kitchen so they wouldn't get themselves cut up on the glass shards.

To be quite honest, it wouldn't have mattered to my mother if I or Greg or Claire got taken away. That's probably what she wanted. She wanted out. But she wasn't going to leave me alone with her kids in Tulsa. See that as some sort of way she did care about us, but the way I see it, she just didn't want the fuzz on her because she neglected her own children and took off into the sunset with some random stranger in an Impala.

Alright, so my mom did love her kids; it was easier to see when she was sober, which was a rarity. That was the thing, though. She loved alcohol more than her kids.

Even still, whether she loved her kids or didn't love her kids, my kid brother and kid sister were my responsability and I may as well have just let her take off. It would have made things a lot easier on me.

I had a part-time job working in the bakery at the grocery store. I went in after school and worked until the bakery closed at six-thirty. By then, I'd get home about seven-fifteen and make sure the kids were getting ready for bed. I always snooped through their school bags to make sure they'd finished their homework. Johanna was good at making sure they had at least something to eat. That was really the only thing she was good at when it came to taking care of her kids. But the woman loved to cook and she was damn good at it. I didn't know what it was with her, but there was something in me that she hated and I didn't know if it was just me in general or something else. I knew she loved us, but there was still something there that made her look at us with so much disgust, a cockroach could have run to hide.

That night when I'd gotten home, Greg and Claire were still up, sitting in the living room watching TV.

"What are you guys doing? Shouldn't you be getting ready for bed?" I asked, setting down my bag on the table.

"Mom said we could stay up later."

"Oh. Did you finish your homework?"

"Yeah," they said simultaneously, eyes not blinking or moving from the TV.

"Ate dinner?"

"Yup."

"Brushed your teeth?"

At once, they got off the couch and bolted for the bathroom.

"What are you doing here?" a drowsy voice said as the person who matched it sauntered into the room.

I gave her a questioning look.

"I live here?" I said.

"Well, you're home late."

"I was at work," I said. "I always get home at this time."

"Are you sure you were working?"

"Pretty sure. I'd tell you to call the store and check, but they're closing."

"What about your school work, hm?" she said.

"I finished it," I lied. That's what started the fight. Even when she was drunk, she knew when I was lying.

Her eyebrows turned downward immediately in anger; her cold, grey eyes were their own color, indescribable, especially when angry. The worst part was that my mother was such a beautiful woman. She could have been a model.

"I want you out of here!" she screamed.

"What?" I began. I looked to at her like she was crazy. Well, I guess she really was crazy. She picked up the pitcher of water sitting on the counter behind her and chucked it. I knew she'd been aiming for my head, but, thankfully, her drunken stupor made her miss completely. The pitcher, which had been an heirloom passed down since my great-great grandmother, shattered to teeny bits on the floor, destroyed.

"What's your problem?" I demanded, realizing right away that that was a terrible thing to ask an angry drunk.

"My problem is you, you--" She was so drunk, she couldn't figure out what offensive thing she wanted to call me.

"Candice," someone squeaked behind me. I turned to see Claire and Greg standing there, frightened out of their minds.

"Go to your rooms," I said as calmly as I could. "Lock the door, okay? I'll be fine."

"Don't you dare tell them what to do!" Johanna screamed, making the little kids run to hide. "You're not their mother!"

"I may as well be," I said. "Don't worry about kicking me out, Jo. I was just leaving."

"Good," she said, her voice terrifyingly calm. I grabbed my bag up and, coat and shoes still on, made my way to the door. I slammed the door behind me and stomped down the porch steps. I grabbed a carton of cigs from my bag and pulled one out, immediately sticking it between my lips and lighting it.

I shoved my hands back in my pockets and kept walking toward the Curtis'. Over time, this was becoming somewhat of a routine. I wasn't over there every night, but I was on their couch more times than not. I usually only went over there if it was really bad. My mom only ever went after me, not the little kids. Going over to the Curtises had become such a usual thing that I had my own drawer of things in Soda's old room. I had my own toothbrush and various hair products under the sink in the bathroom, and I even replaced groceries if and when I used them.

I may as well have lived there, but I wasn't going to just move in like that. Not after what had happened just a couple months before. It would just make things harder on Darry to have three kids to take care of at home, and he was still picking up the pieces after the untimely deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Curtis. It wasn't like he didn't have the whole gang anyway, five of us not including his own brothers, plus whoever else who just so happened to crash on the couch— sometimes Tim or Curly Sheppard would appear randomly and crash on the sofa— but one more living there full time was just too much. It might not make sense to you, but it makes sense to me, ya dig?

Put it this way, I was taking care of myself and crashing over there every other night. I wasn't dependent on Darry and I didn't need him to worry about me full time like he did with his brothers.

By the time I'd arrived at the Curtises, I was nearly finished with my cigarette. It was so cold, I couldn't distinguish between smoke and my own breath. I stomped on the butt with the heal of my shoe and made my way up the steps. I walked in without knocking. Sodapop was sitting on the couch and Darry was at the kitchen table.

Soda looked up as I closed the door. He smiled at me and I had to grin back, even though I wasn't in the mood to even be thinking about grinning. Sodapop was just good at getting people to smile.

"How goes it," I said.

Darry put down his newspaper to see who it was. "No black eye," he said. "You alright kiddo?"

"Yeah," I said. "I got kicked out. She threw a pitcher at me, but missed. Good thing she wasn't cut out for baseball."

"Wow, good to hear you don't have a concussion," Soda said. I kicked off my shoes and shrugged out of my coat. I hung it up on the back of the rocker and took a seat next to him on the couch, draping my legs across his lap and throwing my head back on the arm.

"You hungry?" asked Darry. "We've got plenty of leftovers from dinner."

"Sounds great," I said. Darry got up and I turned to see what he was doing. "Oh, Darry, I can get it myself. You know I'm not a stranger."

"I know," he said. "But if I gotta do it for my kid brothers, I'll do it for my kid sister."

I rolled my eyes playfully and turned to Soda. "Where's Ponyboy?"

"Working on homework, I think."

"Hope my kids did theirs." I grumbled.

"So what exactly happened?"

"I got home from work and my mom, you know my mom, just started going off at me, asking where I was, why I was home late. I was telling Greg and Claire to go to their room and lock the door and that just made it worse. But I didn't want them in the kitchen because there was glass everywhere and the last thing I needed tonight was a trip out to the emergency room."

Soda shook his head angrily. "I wish there was a way to have the whole gang living here."

"Not possible, little buddy," said Darry as he brought me a bowl of spaghetti.

"Hey, I said wish, didn't I," he smirked, making Darry smile.

"Yeah, kiddo, I know. I do, too."

"It's alright," I said. "The minute I turn eighteen, I'm going to the courthouse and I'm filing for custody."

"Hey, it's a lot harder than ya think, taking care of two little kids."

"What's the difference between looking after them now and looking after them in two years? They're already my responsibility. This way, my mom can get the hell out like she wants to so bad and I know for a fact when I go to bed every night that Greg and Claire are safe and sound in their beds. I won't have to worry about if they've eaten yet or done their homework."

"What about school?"

"Ah, shit, Darry," I groaned. I took a mouthful of spaghetti and hummed in delight. "Damn, Darry, this is good."

"Tell that to Soda. I didn't cook tonight."

I turned to Sodapop with a surprised eyebrow raise. "No shit?"

"Hey, I can do more than pump gas, you know."

"I didn't mean it like that," I said, shaking my head, but still grinning. "I just meant, I didn't know you could cook this well. And I've known you since we was kids!"

"You've just never been around when I have cooked," he defended, shoving my legs off him to stand up. "Anyways, I'm gonna get ready for bed." I noticed he was still wearing his DX shirt. Soda pulled a blanket and a pillow out of the hall closet and tossed them onto the couch beside me, where he was just sitting.

"Jeez, you guys are pampering me. What's up with that?"

Darry shrugged. "Just taking care of ya."

I smiled. "Thanks guys."

"Night, Candy Cane," said Sodapop. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and then made for his and Pony's room.

"See you in the morning, kid," said Darry, giving me a smile and making for his own room.

I finished my spaghetti and washed out my bowl in the kitchen sink. I turned out the lights and set myself up on the couch. It took me a little while to get settled in, but once I was comfortable, I was out like a rock.