So far, your first día at your new school wasn’t going so well.
tu felt your body slam into the cold, metal locker. Your libros fell to the floor with a thud.
“Hey, I’m sorry.” tu hear a boys voice say. “Let me… “He locks eyes with you. “…help you.” He finally finishes.
The campana rings, and the flood of kids seem to have disappeared.
“Thanks,” tu say, feeling the heat of your cheeks. “You’re going to be late.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” he shrugs. He leans down to grab your history book. “Going to Hooper’s?” He asked.
tu nod your head. “I can’t find his room though,” tu admit.
“Don’t worry, Im going there to. I’ll mostrar you.” He says, leading tu down the hallway.
“So what’s your name. I’m Ponyboy?”
”(“Y/N).” tu grin.
“Pretty name… For a girl with pretty eyes.” He says nonchalantly.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Really.”
Ponyboy’s Perspective
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Scar?” I say, looking away from the football game I was watching. I was holding Ella, she was 4 months old now.
“How did tu and Mom meet?” The 12 año old asked.
“I bet it was an epic amor story.” Eight año old Rhett says sarcastically.
“Was Mommy pretty when tu met her?” Charlie, who was five now, asked.
“The prettiest girl I’d ever seen.” I smiled down at him. “Until Scar and Ella came along. Now I know the three prettiest girls in the world. Anyways, there’s not much to tell. I saw her one day, and I fell in love. I thought she didn’t like me…”
“Nah, I like tu a lot.” (Y/N) grinned from the doorway.
Seventeen.
Seventeen bottles of cerveza I have drunk in the past 37 minutes.
Seventeen.
I pick up number eighteen, twist the gorra, cap off, and pour it down my throat. It’s tasteless.
I lean my head back against the muro from where I sit on the floor of my basement.
I see a football. Danny’s football. It used to be Danny’s football. Now it’s just some football my son used to hold, used to play with. It probably smelled like him. Part of me wanted to go pick it up, the other part of me didn’t wanted to be reminded of the last time we played football together.
I pick up number nineteen, and out of the corner of my eye see (Y/N)’s old dolls, something we thought we could use for our little girl someday.
But that’s not going to happen.
I know what happened. I saw their mangled, bruised, broken, dead bodies after their accident.
I pick up number twenty.
Oh God how was I going to say this.
The rest of my life depended on this.
She was just perfect. In every way possible. She was beautiful. Kind. Sweet. Funny. Understanding. Just (Y/N).
And I needed to tell her.
Tell her how much I needed her, wanted her, and had to have her. It was a feeling beyond comprehension. It was love.
I needed to tell her I loved her.
So here I am, sitting in the lot, looking at the stars with (Y/N). Doing something I amor with the one I love.
I look over at her, her eyes gleaming from the light of the fire.
“(Y/N)?” I ask as I grab her hand.
“Yeah?” She turns to face me.
“I-I think…” I start.
“Just say it,” she smiles.
“I amor you.” I blurt out.
She looks surprised for a second. But then she grins.
“I amor tu too.”
“This was my mom’s,” he mutters. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), will tu marry me?”
