Ponyboy Curtis Drawing Novels & Stories

Nica grumbled while sketching something on a cardboard. “Tell me about it. I would prefer he just left than stand there and make it look like we are forcing him,” Cindy whispered. Aimee didn’t say anything, but she wondered why they couldn’t see that he was clearly bothered about something, and that his mind was obviously not in the same place as theirs. “If he is here to help, then he should. He is very good with drawings, and he could help us with these sketches,” Diane whispered. “Toby and the rest of the boys went to get the paint. He could have joined them if he wanted, rather than standing there and making us uncomfortable,” another girl said, and they all secretly glanced at Jayden, w

I didn't even get to keep the picture because I had stolen the canvas from school and they had taken it back along with my work. I didn't know what it felt like to draw anymore. I remember loving drawing comics at some point in a small sketchpad I owned. I wondered where it was. I had been so caught up with chasing my problems that I had forgotten about the things I enjoyed doing. What I wouldn't give to be rich right now and buy all the solutions to my problems. Anxious to go see Avery, I hurriedly signed where it was needed, emptied my purse in the drugs and treatments I could afford right now. And Potty assured, they would start away. I thanked her as she left, leaving a nurse to escort m

“I love you, Curtis. I love you very much and I’m going to take you with me, okay?” “I love you too Dad, but what about School?” Curtis did not want to leave until his friends saw his father. His father was even more handsome than all of his friends’ daddies so the little man wanted to show off his family. “You will attend the same school with your brother,” Garvin said but realized Curtis was not smiling. He instantly got disturbed that Curtis did not want to leave the Poconos and come live with him, which saddened his heart.

“What are you drawing, buddy?” “Us,” he says. Sitting up straight, he holds the paper out to me. When I take the drawing from him, he scrambles to stand up. I crouch down to his level, then he points out, “That’s you. That’s me in the middle. That’s Mommy.” I’m fucking huge. Is that how he sees me? My heart swells to twice its size, and I wrap an arm around him. “This is the best drawing I’ve ever seen. Can I keep it?”

“Hey, angel. You got taller.” She shook her head vigorously. “No, you got shorter.” He grinned. “That’s impossible.” She wriggled free and dug into her backpack. “I made drawings on the plane! Look!” She spread them out on the table — crooked little hearts and stick figures labeled MOMMY, DADDY, and ME. One drawing had a fourth stick figure, taller, in a blue suit. I tried not to look at it too long. Anthony crouched down beside her, admiring each page as though it were a masterpiece. Cameron stood beside me, polite, silent. The faintest strain crossed his face before he smoothed it away.

Brittany sat two tables away—alone, picking at salad. Seras (teasing): “Noah’s in my art class. He draws wolves.” Noah (sliding sketch): “Saw your board. Thought you’d like this.” Sketch: Celeste on her Board doing a switch flip, crown glowing, Remy beside her. Celeste (breath catching): “It’s… beautiful.” Remy (voice tight): “Cool. You draw everyone?” Noah (shrugs): “Only people who matter.” Celeste (glancing at Brittany):

As he open The door opens. The crying subsides. I press the crayon harder against the paper until it snaps. I stare at it for a second. Then I drop it. I don’t fix it. I don’t pick another color. I just sit there. The crying eventually stops. Of course it does. It always does when he goes in there. I look down at my drawing. It’s supposed to be the new house. I tried to draw it earlier, with the big windows and the long hallway and the stairs that make noise when you step on the third one.

Just went back to my normal Saturday afternoon with the twins, the one that now included a small fish grave in the backyard and a bag of contraband snacks in my pantry and the memory of Carter sitting at my kitchen table looking overwhelmed and trying anyway. The fourth visit Carter brought nothing. Just showed up empty-handed and slightly nervous. "No fish?" James asked when he opened the door. "No fish. No snacks. Just me." Carter looked at me over their heads. "Is that okay?" "That's perfect." I let him in, watched him settle into my living room like he'd been doing this for longer than three weeks. "The twins have something they want to show you." August led Carter to a drawing he'd made

"Do you like it?" I wanted to blindly nod without checking the drawing, to tell him he did well, but something caught my eye. "Why are there two men in yours?" I pointed at the men. "Who are they?" "That's Uncle Jonathan and you, Mr. Angelo. You're Mum's friend, so I included you," Powell explained, taking his drawing back. "Why haven't you drawn anything?" He peered at the blank paper. "Can't you draw?" "Of course I can. It's just... I'm still thinking of how to start it." I picked up the pencil a teacher gave me.

After that, Cassian and Tamsin led the big ones outside, where I heard the unmistakable sound of supervised chaos—thuds and yelps and Naomi’s cackling as she yelled instructions that sounded a lot like “hit harder, but with consent.” I stayed with the littles. We colored. We talked about feelings. A small human boy, whose mother had moved into pack territory a few months ago, asked quietly if he could draw his “old house with shouting.” “Of course,” I said. He drew it. Then, unprompted, he drew a little house next to it with trees and a wolf and a stick figure labeled “me” with a smile. “You like it better here?” I asked. He shrugged, shy. “It’s… loud,” he said. “But not the scary kind.”