★┊[ Flipped AU Chapter Three: Scrambled
"Was I truly scared of hurting her feelings…?”
"The most beautiful eyes."
warnings ~ more asshole pony, but a redemption arc IS coming !! (also i might've accidentally typed loski at some point instead of curtis cuz ive been rewatching flipped all day...)
── .✦ a/n ~ I FINALLY FINISHED IT! prepare for fics and chapters coming more often!!!
Ponyboy Curtis was never a fan of eggs. Not once in his life. The idea of eating something that came out of a chicken's butt was disgusting.
However, you end up playing an awfully big role in his hatred for eggs.
He’d just come downstairs to eat breakfast, ready to start his day with a bowl of cereal, when a knock comes at the door. Huh. Odd. Alas, he’s a good kid, so he goes to answer it without much thought.
When he opens the door, there you stand, your hair intricately braided and smiling brightly. In your hands? A small box. A box of eggs, Pony quickly realizes.
“Hey, Ponyboy! My chickens are layin’ eggs, so I thought I might bring you and your family some.” Glory, do you really have to be so ‘nice?’
“W–What?” He stammers, taking the box you had thrust into his hands.
“You remember Abby and Bonnie and Clyde and Dexter and Eunice and Florence? The ones from the science fair?”
“How could I forget..”
And he knew he never would.
It all started when the yearly science fair came around. Everyone would spend weeks working on their projects, which would range from paper mache volcanoes to a study on plants.
But you? You were a whole other problem.
You didn’t do something normal, something simple. No, you just had to go “above and beyond” and grow literal chickens for your project.
Yes, you heard him right. Chickens.
And what makes it worse? You’d made sure they’d hatch on the day of the fair! You had a whole poster board filled with charts and data, you even had a stupid retractable pointer! Who is sane enough to spend three weeks doing that?!
Of course you won first place.
Despite how it ticked him off, Pony knew better than to dwell. It wasn’t even that big of a deal anyway.
After a little more small talk, he bids you farewell, muttering a polite “see you at school” and cursing under his breath when his ears get hot.
He sets the carton on the countertop without a word.
That night, at dinner, your eggs are the focal point of the conversation.
Pony’s mother praises your kindness, his brothers are merely indifferent and his grandpa doesn’t utter a word, but his father? His father is a whole other case.
“How do we– uh, how do we know there aren't any, uhm, dead chicks in those eggs?” His father, Darrel, grumbles over the clinking of silverware.
“Depends,” his grandpa pipes up. “if they don’t have a rooster, the eggs can’t be fertile.”
“And if they had a rooster, the whole neighborhood would know, that's for sure.” Sodapop quips with a charming grin plastered on his face, shoveling pasta into his mouth.
“You know her well enough, Pony. Why don’t you ask her?” Pony flinches at the mere idea.
“Ask her…?” There’s no way in hell he’s doing that! Voluntarily speaking to you? Not a chance! What gave his dad the idea that he’d like to do that?
“You’ve spoken to her before, right? Won't kill ‘ya.”
And this is how Ponyboy Curtis finds himself spying over your back fence with Curly Shepard. His loophole to get out of talking to you.
“The roosters are bigger, right?” He whispers to Curly, peering through a hole in the fence.
“Yeah, and they've got all that rubbery red stuff ‘round their necks.”
Pony nods.
And then you're coming outside, holding a bucket of feed and dressed in overalls embroidered with flowers. You coo and smile at your chickens, grinning as they exit their little house and come to peck at the ground.
“None of ‘em are roosters.” Curly breathes.
“You sure…?” Pony can’t help being skeptical; Curly isn't the sharpest tool in the toolbox. His response, however, only makes Curly look at him funny. So he shuts up.
“Theyre all chickens.” Pony relays to his family that night. All he gets is confused looks.
“...what?”
“That’s what she said? They’re all chickens?” His father’s tone is nothing short of annoyed.
“God, and she’s considered a genius— of course they’re all chickens! The question I needed answering was if they’re all hens, or if there’s a rooster!”
Ponyboy thinks for a moment, before shaking his head.
“They’re all hens.” He murmurs.
“You’re sure?” His mother pipes up.
However, the trouble was far from over.
One week later, you showed up at his doorstep again – holding more eggs.
“Hi, Pony! I brought you guys some more eggs,” You grin.
“Oh– uhm, hey…” Ponyboy stutters as you thrust the box into his hands.
“Did you and your family like the first batch?” Glory, that smile on your face only makes the guilt worse.
“D-Do you even have to ask?”
“I’ll… I’ll see you at school, I guess.” Pony just wants out of this situation. Your mere presence makes him feel on edge.
“Yeah. See ‘ya.” You walk off with a wave and giddy smile.
Goddamn it. Now he has another batch of eggs and no heart to tell you that he doesn’t want them.
It hurt me to do it. Really, I'm being honest! But I didn't know what to do. I didn’t have the guts to tell her that my family now thinks her lawn is gross and the eggs will give them a disease. So, I did the next best thing. I trashed them. Every week, I’d wait at the door for her to arrive so my parents wouldn’t find out. I’d give her a quick ‘hi,’ take the eggs, tell her I’d see her at school and then trash them the moment she left. But it got me thinking: was I truly scared of hurting her feelings, or was I just afraid of her?
You weren’t all that excited to hatch chickens for your science fair project.
But when you began to see the first signs of life? That made it exciting.
You built an incubator for your eggs, kept them warm 24/7, and managed to time the day they hatched to match the day of the fair!
And it went exactly as you planned.
By the end of the day, all six chicks had hatched. Abby, Bonnie, Clyde, Dexter, Eunice and Florence; your babies, all officially hatched. You presented the data you’d collected with a proud smile, attracting many curious parents.
You may have won first place, but at the end of the day, all you cared about were your chicks.
You couldn’t bear to part with them.
As much as your mother hated the idea, she knew there was no way to force you to let go of your precious chicks. Though, she didn’t even have to do any work.
You fed them, cleaned their coop, changed their hay, all without reminders.
It was nice, having something to care for.
One day, about six months after the fair, you noticed that Clyde didn’t want to leave the coop.
“Clyde? What’s wrong, baby? Don’t you wanna eat?” You coo, picking him up and cradling him in your arms.
Your worry soon dissipates at the sight of the eggs sitting where he once was.
“You aren’t Clyde,” you gasp, “you’re Clydette!” you beam.
You rush inside to tell your parents with a grin. Your beloved chicks, laying eggs!
However, you’d soon discover that your hens seemed to lay a monstrous amount of eggs. They turned out to lay an overwhelming amount, to the point where you could hardly keep up.
After a month of having omelets everyday for breakfast and deviled eggs every wednesday, you found a solution with the help of your neighbor.
Mrs. Anderson, an elderly lady down the street, approached you one afternoon while you were out collecting eggs.
“Hello, dear!” She calls out.
“Huh? Oh, hello Mrs. Anderson!" You reply with a gentle smile.
“If you ever happen to have any spare eggs, I would gladly buy them off you. That is, if you’re willing?” She offers.
“Oh! Yes, of- of course!” Honestly, it really was a good opportunity for you.
“I also happen to know Ms. Matthews would like some as well.” Mrs. Anderson gives you a wink.
‘Thank you! That’s really nice of you!” You can’t keep the smile off your face.
“You bet! Goodbye, dear, have a lovely afternoon!”
Between Mrs. Anderson and Ms. Matthews, my egg overflow problem was solved. Plus, I was making some extra money on the side. But then I realized Mrs. Curtis deserved some too – without charge. She’d always been so nice to us, allowing my mother to borrow her car when ours was broken down, lending us supplies when we ran out. So, one day, I decided to walk a basketful over to their house. And guess who answered the door when I knocked? Ponyboy! It was magnificent; I got rid of eggs I didn’t need, and in return, I got a couple minutes alone with the most beautiful eyes in the entire universe. A bargain, really.
Within the first week of this arrangement, you realized Pony was waiting for you. You could see him peeking out of the window before you’d even made it out of your driveway. He was waiting for you. Ponyboy Curtis, waiting for a moment alone with you? Maybe he really did like you back after all. It was wonderful, really.
It had been a couple weeks after the Sycamore tree was cut down and three since you began giving them eggs. You were just beginning to feel like you had before.
As you did every Monday, you walked you and a carton of eggs over to the Curtis'. Expectedly, Pony answered the door.
“Hey, right on schedule,” He quips
“Yeah, well, I do this every Monday. No point in quitting.” You say, albeit dryly.
The two of you stand in silence for a few moments.
Then, Pony pipes up.
“So… when do you think you’ll start riding the bus again?”
Ponyboy Curtis, asking a question like that? Does he miss you?
“I dunno… I haven’t really been up there since… y’know…” You murmur.
“Well… ‘least it isn’t so ugly anymore.”
You can’t help but give a small laugh at that, a smile appearing on your lips.
You don’t miss the small smile that Pony holds back.
“I guess I’ll see you at school.”
“I guess so.”
You turn away with a small smile and lingering glance.
For several moments, you stand there on his doorstep, thinking. Does he miss you? Does he genuinely miss having you at the bus stop? Maybe you would start going again.
Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the front door swing open. You turn, only to see Pony with a bag of trash on his hands.
“Oh–! What– what are still doin’ here?” His voice is awfully shaky.
“Nothin’... You need some help?” You offer.
“Uhm–” He looks at the bag in his arms. “I’m fine.”
Then you notice it, what’s sitting atop the trashbag.
Your eggs.
“Are those–” you gulp. “Are those my eggs…?”
He looks down with guilt in his eyes.
“Why are you throwing them away?” You ask with an edge to your tone.
He takes a deep breath before he responds.
“It isn’t my fault. My parents think they’ll give ‘em salmonella.” He admits.
What?!
“Salmonella? Why would they think that??” You can’t mask the hurt in your voice.
“Can you blame them? I mean, look at your yard! It’s a total mess! It's– it's covered in chicken turds!” He sounds exasperated, like he’s trying to justify his actions with whatever he can.
“No it isn’t! I clean up after my girls every single day! It might as well be as clean as my bathroom!” You retort.
Tears well in your eyes and blur your vision. Just when you go your hopes up about him liking you, this happens. Perfect.
“How could you?” You spit.
He sighs and looks up at you.
“We didn’t wanna hurt your feelings.” He pauses. “I’m sorry. Truly.”
You stare back at him, pain in your eyes and even more in your voice when you speak:
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