Summary: Darry had an idea to get Ponyboy back to normal after the deaths of Johnny and Dallas. So Ponyboy goes to spend some time with the Towers, a family with sixteen children, cared for by their widowed father. Ponyboy had to learn that sometimes nothing is going to be easy, but no matter what you have to continue living your life.

Story 2

Ponyboy looked out the window as they neared the farm. In one of the empty pastures ten kids were playing. The oldest couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen and the youngest ten. A redheaded boy held a pipe like a baseball bat and a red haired girl pitched a half rotten, wormy apple like a baseball. The boy swung the pipe, smashing the apple to pieces, and took off running. A blonde and a brown haired boy scrambled to get the bigger pieces of the apple before handing it an auburn haired girl who flung it at the red hair boy just before he reached home. It seemed like a hillbilly version of baseball, but the kids seemed to be enjoying it immensely despite the fact that it was. He looked at Darry who had glanced out the window while he drove long enough to see the kids.

"Thomas said they invented apple ball," he said. "They use the apples that fall off too early or rot so that they can't sell or eat them. You'll probably get to play sometime."

Pony said nothing, just nodded. Darry slowed the truck and pulled into the gravel driveway. For a house that was home to seventeen it wasn't that big. It was one story and looked like it had three or four bedrooms.

A man came out of the house wearing jeans and a dirty shirt tucked into his belt. His hands were large and calloused and his skin was tanned. His fiery red hair explained the two red haired children playing outside.

"Thanks a lot for doing this Thomas," Darry said. "We really appreciate it."

Thomas waved it off. "It's nothing Darry," he drawled in a southern accent. "Another young'un running 'round won't bother nobody. We'll put him right to work."

"He'll work hard if you show him the ropes," Darry said.

"Ya know… they grab on pretty fast if you hand them the rope then make 'em jump," Thomas laughed. Darry laughed too, but Ponyboy didn't see anything funny about it.

After Darry had left Thomas pointed out a bed in a bedroom with five lumpy beds crammed into it. "The kids will be done playing in," he glanced at his watch, "fifteen minutes. Brick'll take ya out to the barn and ya can help 'im shovel."

Ponyboy nodded, not wanting to know what he would be shoveling. He put his backpack under the bed and glanced around the cramped room. The beds were twins sized and placed within six inches of each other the room was about twenty feet long and seven feet wide. The beds were placed so that the children slept like sardines in a can. A post it notes was stuck to the foot of each bed with a name written on it.

Trevor

Brick

Todd

Alan

Ponyboy

The kids came back in from playing and they each pulled a bag out from underneath their bed. The oldest, Trevor, looked about fifteen or sixteen. He had brown hair and dark green eyes. The next oldest, Brick, looked to be about twelve or thirteen. His eyes were bright blue and his hair was dark brown. Todd's eyes were hazel and his hair fiery red. Ponyboy guessed him to be barely twelve. Alan's eyes were stormy gray and his hair brown. He looked about ten or eleven.

The boys put on deodorant and wiped the sweat off of their faces. "Dad'll introduce ya to all of us," Brick said. Ponyboy nodded and followed the kids out of their room. As they walked out there was a shrill whistle and a call of 'Fall in' and the boys ran towards the source. The kids all stood in front of their dad, lined up from oldest to youngest. They stood silently with perfect posture. "Introduce yourselves," their father said. The way he spoke was kind of like a drill sergeant giving routine orders.

"Trevor, 15."

"Elizabeth, 15."

"Danielle, 14."

"Susan, 14."

"Bianca, 13."

"Brick, 13."

"Janie, 12."

"Todd, 12."

"Emily, 11."

"Alan, 11."

"Brian, 10."

"Caleb, 10."

"Michael, 10."

"Scout, 10."

"Cindy, 7."

"Dennis, 5."

The kids called in their names and ages quickly in a manner the showed how often this was practiced and stressed that it had to be perfect. Their posture didn't relax even when Thomas continued their introduction.

"We have eight boys and eight girl, three sets of blue eyes, three of brown eyes, four of green eyes, three of gray eyes, two of hazel eyes, and one of silver. There are three blonds, three brunettes, five red heads, three auburns, and two with black hair. Everyone is self-schooling in home school. Grade levels are first grade, almost third, four almost done with seventh, two halfway through eighth, two beginning ninth, four in eleven, and two who have about one more week in twelfth," Thomas said.

Ponyboy's eyes bugged out. Their oldest was only a year older than him and he was almost finished with high school. Even being a grade ahead he was only a freshman. "How do you manage that?" he asked.

"Simple," Thomas said. "There are self-schooling, but a regular school had seven hours a day for nine months. We had eight hours a day with no distractions three hundred and sixty-five days a year."

Ponyboy whistled. "How do you get anything else done if they have to go to school that much?"

"Simple. Dennis does eight hours of schooling, sleeps for ten hours ten hours, he does two hours of work on the farm, and an hour and a half is dividing for breakfast lunch and dinner, then thirty minutes of play. Cindy through Janie gets nine hours of sleep and three hours of work. Brick through Trevor get eight and a half hours of sleep and three and a half hours of chores," Thomas said.

Ponyboy stayed quiet on the outside, but on the inside he was groaning. He would be in the group to get eight and a half hours of sleep and three and a half hours of work.

Great.