Chapter Text

The Curtis house was its usual mess. Steve sat on the couch, flicking peanut shells at Two-Bit, who stood by the counter. Soda had Ponyboy pinned to the floor over some dumb comment he'd made, while Darry sat in his chair, arms crossed, his muscles finally getting a rest after a long week of work.

Ponyboy hadn’t noticed the book sitting on the counter.

Two-Bit picked it up, flipping through the pages. That was the first strange event of the night—Two-Bit picking up a book.

“This is weird,” he muttered. “Ponyboy, did you write this? It’s got your name on it.”

That got Ponyboy’s attention. He shot up so fast that Soda lost his balance, falling back with a startled yelp. His heart pounded as he snatched the book from Two-Bit.

The cover read: The Outsiders, by Ponyboy Curtis.

That was the title he had in mind for his English theme—but he had only written one line. He hadn’t even started. So how was it here, finished, right in front of him?

He explained everything he could to the gang.

Steve whistled. “So if this is what you think it is, then it’s got everything from that week—all written out?”

The others murmured, uneasy, but Ponyboy barely processed their words.

Then—the lights flickered.

A sharp gust cut through the room, cold enough to make him shudder. Darry glanced at the window, checking for a draft, but this wasn’t just cold air. It was something else.

The house felt different.

Steve dropped his peanuts. Soda sat up straighter. The room was silent, except for the faint static hum in Ponyboy’s ears.

And then—it happened.

A flicker.

For half a second, Ponyboy swore someone else was in the room.

Another flicker. Longer this time.

Then Johnny Cade was standing there.

Ponyboy stumbled back so fast he nearly tripped over a chair. His breath hitched. Panic clawed at his chest. Was he hallucinating? He thought he was getting better. He really thought he was getting better.

But Johnny was there.

Solid. Real. Impossible.

His dark eyes were wide. His chest rose and fell in quiet, ragged breaths, like he was just as jarred as the rest of them.

Soda sucked in air like he’d been punched. Steve scrambled up off the couch.

“What the—” Two-Bit started, but then it happened again.

Another flicker.

And suddenly—Dally was leaning against the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His eyebrows drew together, his mouth set in a hard line.

For a long moment, nobody spoke.

Johnny looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers like he wasn’t sure they were real.

Dally inhaled sharp, exhaled slow. Then, without moving his head, he muttered, “I ain’t supposed to be here.”

Johnny swallowed hard. Lifted his gaze.

His voice was barely more than a whisper.

“I remember dying.”

Ponyboy heard the words, but they didn’t register. Not really.

Because Johnny was standing right in front of him, and his brain was still trying to catch up. This wasn’t a hallucination—everyone else had reacted, too.

So that meant this was real.

And that thought was even more terrifying.

Soda moved first.

One second, he was frozen—the next, he was crossing the room, throwing his arms around Johnny in a tight hug, like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming.
Johnny stiffened for only a fraction of a second before letting out an exhausted breath—shaky but real—and hugged Soda back.

Ponyboy’s chest tightened.

Johnny—Johnny, who had been gone—was here.

And then Dally let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head. “Damn. Didn’t think I’d see you softies again.”

Two-Bit blinked hard and stepped forward next. “I—Damn. Johnnycake, you actually—you’re real, right?”

Johnny nodded slowly, still uncertain himself.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, eyes flicking between the two of them. “I don’t know what’s going on, but hell, I ain’t questioning it. This is insane.”

Darry, who had been standing frozen, suddenly reached out—pulled Dally into a hug that seemed to surprise him.

Ponyboy couldn’t move.

His feet were glued to the floor, heart hammering.

Dally pulled away from Darry and watched Ponyboy, expression shifting—just slightly. Not pity. Not exactly. Just something softer.
“Cat got your tongue, kid?” he said. Lighter than Ponyboy expected.

Johnny turned to him too, eyes soft. Waiting. Hoping.

And that was all it took.

Ponyboy surged forward, pulling Johnny into a tight embrace—maybe too tight. Maybe desperate. He didn’t care.

Johnny didn’t seem to mind. He just held on.

Ponyboy blinked hard, willing himself not to cry.

“You—you were gone,” he whispered, letting out a dry sob.

Johnny nodded against his shoulder. His grip tightened, just barely. He was scared too.

“I know,” he said.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then Dally cleared his throat. “Alright, alright. Save the waterworks for later. We got bigger things to figure out.”

He nodded toward the book on the table.

“And I think that’s got some answers.”

Ponyboy swallowed hard.

A book about him. No—all of them.

A book that had already been written by him, before he ever picked up the pen.

Chapter Text

The book sat on the table like a loaded gun.

None of them touched it at first.

After Johnny and Dally’s impossible return, the gang had barely managed to piece themselves together enough to sit down. Pony sat himself next to Johnny, not wanting to be separate from him, while Soda stayed on Ponyboy’s other side, holding his brother close partly for his own comfort. They all stared at the book, as if it might spring open on its own.

Darry was the first to break the silence. “Well?” he said evenly, arms crossed. “Are we reading this or not?”

Nobody moved.

Then Two-Bit huffed, reaching forward. “Alright, cowards, I’ll start.” He flipped the cover open with dramatic flair, clearing his throat.

“Here we go… When I stepped out into the bright sunlight, from the darkness of the movie house—”

Ponyboy froze.

His stomach twisted in recognition. That was the only line he’d actually written yet of his English theme.

Two-Bit kept reading, oblivious to the way Ponyboy’s breathing had picked up.

“I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.”

Soda let out a nervous chuckle, “You know, that’s—that does kinda sound like you, kid.”

Darry was bewildered, “It really is like he wrote it.”

Steve shook his head, leaning back against the couch. “Feels like we’re invading Ponyboy’s brain or somethin’.”

Ponyboy was mortified. Of course it sounded like him. He did write it. Just in the future. It was just now dawning on him that they were about to expose all of his inner thoughts about that week to the whole gang. But they had to do it. They needed to know why Dally and Johnny were here, and this book was their only lead. Johnny watched him carefully, concern flickering in his dark eyes.

Dally’s face was unreadable.

Two-Bit didn’t stop. He turned the page, scanning the paragraphs before reading the next lines out loud.

"I was wishing I looked like Paul Newman—he looks tough and I don’t—but I guess my own looks aren’t so bad."

At the same time that Soda said, “Hey Pony, you look plenty tough!” Steve snorted. “Wow, modest.”

Ponyboy couldn't give them much of a response, he felt too exposed, listening to his thoughts laid bare.

Johnny leaned towards him. “This—it’s really all you?”

Ponyboy nodded numbly. “I—yeah. It’s my thoughts. It’s everything.”

Two-Bit slowed down as he heard that, the weight of what they were reading finally hitting him. He glanced at Ponyboy before flipping ahead.

“That means… we’re all in this thing,” he muttered.

Dally scoffed, giving a sardonic grin. “Oh, great. Can’t wait to see how the kid thinks of me.”

Soda nudged Ponyboy lightly. “You okay?”

Ponyboy swallowed hard. “I—I dunno.”

The gang exchanged glances, silent understanding passing between them.

Then Darry nodded toward the book. “Alright. Let’s keep reading.”

Two-Bit continued.

“I have light-brown, almost red hair and greenish-gray eyes. I wish they were more gray, because I hate most guys that have green eyes, but I have to be content with what I have.”

Soda snorted at that. “You hate guys with green eyes?” He turned to Ponyboy, amused. “Since when?”

Ponyboy rubbed his neck, suddenly regretting ever thinking that way as he blushed.

“Soda,” Darry warned, worried at how twitchy Ponyboy looked. “Leave him alone.”

Johnny looked thoughtful. “Didn’t think stuff like that bothered you,” he said quietly.

Ponyboy shrugged, feeling uncomfortably seen. “Guess it did a little.”

Dally finally let out a scoff. “Green, gray, doesn’t matter. You think people give a damn?”

Ponyboy didn’t have an answer for that.

“My hair is longer than a lot of boys wear theirs, squared off in back and long at the front and sides, but I am a greaser and most of my neighborhood rarely bothers to get a haircut. Besides,
I look better with long hair.”

Everyone looked at Ponyboy.

Steve snorted first. “Well, that’s outdated.”

Soda smirked, nudging Ponyboy’s head. “Yeah, kid. You’re a short-haired blonde now.”

As if everyone didn’t already know it. Ponyboy reached up, absently running his fingers through his short, uneven hair. Johnny had hacked it off so long ago, he barely noticed it anymore.

Two-Bit glanced between them all, “I mean, do you agree, blondie? You really think you looked better with long hair?”

Ponyboy wasn’t sure how he felt. “I dunno. Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Steve shrugged. “Not unless you’re growing it back out.”

Ponyboy had never really thought about it, but it's not like he had gone to get a haircut since everything happened.

Two-Bit continued reading aloud after Ponyboy’s lack of response.

“I had a long walk home and no company, but I usually lone it anyway, for no reason except that I like to watch movies undisturbed so I can get into them and live them with the actors.”

“You ‘lone it anyway’?” Darry snapped loudly. “You still do that, or have you since learned to use your head, kid?”

Ponyboy sighed, he had thought that he and Darry were through with all the fights. “I’m not a kid, Darry.”

“That’s not the point,” Darry shot back, eyes narrowing. “Walking around by yourself is dangerous for us, and you know it.”

Soda frowned, watching Ponyboy carefully. “He’s right, little buddy. You got jumped once for it—how many other times did you take the chance?”

Ponyboy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “This was before I got jumped.”

Steve huffed. “Honestly, surprised it didn’t happen more.”

That made Ponyboy flinch a bit.

“…It’s different now,” he murmured.

And they all knew he meant it.

Darry sighed, “Yeah. Let’s hope so.”

Soda, ever the peacekeeper, gave Ponyboy a small nudge, trying to lighten the mood. “Alright, alright, let’s keep going before Darry gives you a whole lecture about the past.”

“When I see a movie with someone it’s kind of uncomfortable, like having someone read your book over your shoulder. I’m different that way. I mean, my second-oldest brother, Soda, who is sixteen-going-on-seventeen, never cracks a book at all, and my oldest brother, Darrel, who we call Darry, works too long and hard to be interested in a story or drawing a picture, so I’m not like them. And nobody in our gang digs movies and books the way I do. For a while there, I thought I was the only person in the world that did. So I loned it.”

Soda was never much of a reader. But he didn’t realize it had ever bothered Ponyboy. He felt a bit guilty. Did Pony think he wouldn’t care about the things that interested him? That he wouldn’t happily listen to his little brother gush on and on?

Steve ran a hand through his hair, eyes narrowed slightly. They all knew Ponyboy was different from their lot—made for someplace bigger than the streets. He’d often joked about it, but seeing how alienated Pony felt, it didn’t feel so funny right now.

Out of all of them, maybe Johnny understood the most. Movies were how Pony coped. And he had felt it, too—that quiet loneliness, the sense of being separate even when surrounded by friends.

Dally barely moved, arms still crossed, but his grip on his sleeve tightened. The youngest Curtis brother had always been a little off-putting to him, perhaps the only reason he wasn’t as close with the kid as he was with Johnny. He figured maybe this was why. Ponyboy always did too much thinking, and Dally didn't like to think.

Ponyboy just listened on, oblivious to the worried thoughts of his friends.

“Soda tries to understand, at least,”

Soda let out a relieved breath at that.

“which is more than Darry does.”

And the worry immediately returned. Soda hated listening to his brother’s fight, and he feared this book may dig up things that were already buried in the past.

Ponyboy grew apprehensive as he realized that all of his thoughts about Darry from back then were going to be read aloud, he glanced at Darry with concern wondering how he would take it.

Darry kept his expression neutral as he came to the same conclusion that Ponyboy had.

“But then, Soda is different from anybody; he understands everything, almost. Like he’s never hollering at me all the time the way Darry is, or treating me as if I was six instead of fourteen. I love Soda more than I’ve ever loved anyone, even Mom and Dad.”

Soda froze as Two-Bit read the words aloud for the whole room to hear. Nothing could have prepared him for that sentence.

His fingers dug into his knee, slightly agitated. Loved more than anyone? Even their parents?

The thought hit him in the chest like an arrow of fear. He wanted to run out of the room. He tried desperately to gulp back the sudden tightness of his throat. He couldn’t cry at this, dammit!
Ponyboy might take it the wrong way.

Darry shifted slightly, his usual firm expression cracking for just a moment. He felt bad as he recognized the jealousy creeping in on him, but he just couldn’t stamp it out. Loved more than mom and dad? Had the difference between him and Soda always been that large? That insurmountable? He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

Johnny glanced toward Soda, and he understood. Knowing someone cared about you that much—that was a lot to process.

Two-Bit wasn’t sure if he should keep reading immediately or give Soda a second.

But Soda finally breathed out a quiet chuckle and when he finally spoke his voice was tight.

“…Didn’t think I rated that high, kid.”

Ponyboy’s chest clenched. He had never really thought about it before, but he knew it was the truth as soon as Two-Bit read the line. Still, it was embarrassing to have everyone—including Soda—know that.

Soda nudged him lightly, before pulling him into a side hug, his smile returning—this time smaller. “Guess I gotta live up to that, huh? You sure know how to put pressure on a man, Pony!”

“He’s always happy-go-lucky and grinning, while Darry’s hard and firm and rarely grins at all. But then, Darry’s gone through a lot in his twenty years, grown up too fast. Sodapop’ll never grow up at all. I don’t know which way’s the best. I’ll find out one of these days.”

Two-Bit snorted the second he finished reading the line. “Sounds like Pony's got you figured out, Soda.”

Soda leaned back, smirking. “Never grow up, huh? Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me.”

Steve playfully shoved him forward and he almost tumbled off the couch. “You haven’t grown up. That ain’t news.”

Darry sighed, but there was a hint of amusement behind his expression. “Glad to know I’m no fun.”

Soda nudged Pony lightly. “What’s the verdict, kid? You figure out which is better yet?”

Ponyboy rolled his eyes at his brothers. “Can we just keep reading?”

“Anyway, I went on walking home, thinking about the movie, and then suddenly wishing I had some company. Greasers can’t walk alone too much or they’ll get jumped, or someone will come by and scream “Greaser!” at them, which doesn’t make you feel too hot, if you know what I mean. We get jumped by the Socs. I’m not sure how you spell it, but it’s the abbreviation for the Socials, the jet set, the West-side rich kids. It’s like the term “greaser,” which is used to class all us boys on the East Side. We’re poorer than the Socs and the middle class. I reckon we’re wilder, too. Not like the Socs, who jump greasers and wreck houses and throw beer blasts for kicks, and get editorials in the paper for being a public disgrace one day and an asset to society the next. Greasers are almost like hoods; we steal things and drive old souped-up cars and hold up gas stations and have a gang fight once in a while. I don’t mean I do things like that. Darry would kill me if I got into trouble with the police.”

Darry muttered his agreement at the last line. Pony better not get involved with trouble like that.

Soda frowned slightly, crossing his arms. The way Ponyboy had written about wanting company but walking alone anyway didn’t sit right with him. Did Pony feel that way often? How many times had he gone off on his own, feeling like nobody in the gang truly got what he was thinking? For the first time, Soda really felt grateful to be reading this book, so he could understand his little brother a bit better.

“Since Mom and Dad were killed in an auto wreck, the three of us get to stay together only as long as we behave. So Soda and I stay out of trouble as much as we can, and we’re careful not to get caught when we can’t. I only mean that most greasers do things like that, just like we wear our hair long and dress in blue jeans and T-shirts, or leave our shirttails out and wear leather jackets and tennis shoes or boots. I’m not saying that either Socs or greasers are better; that’s just the way things are.”

Two-Bit barely finished the sentence before snorting loudly. “Hell, Ponyboy, you really do think too much.”

Ponyboy just rolled his eyes.

“Take a shot every time we catch you going on an internal monologue,” Steve joined in, “We’ll all die.”

“Me and Johnny’ll die again.” Dally laughed at his own joke like it was the funniest joke thing he’d heard.

Somehow it made everyone laugh. Ponyboy didn’t know how, cuz the joke itself really wasn’t funny. Maybe they were all still giddy over the fact that their friends who had been dead for months were back with them.

“I could have waited to go to the movies until Darry or Sodapop got off work. They would have gone with me, or driven me there, or walked along, although Soda just can’t sit still long enough to enjoy a movie and they bore Darry to death. Darry thinks his life is enough without inspecting other people’s. Or I could have gotten one of the gang to come along, one of the four boys Darry and Soda and I have grown up with and consider family. We’re almost as close as brothers; when you grow up in a tight-knit neighborhood like ours you get to know each other real well.”

Soda was a bit miffed at his portrayal, “Alright, alright I get it. I can’t sit still!”

Darry laughed at him.

Two-Bit tapped the book lightly. “Not gonna lie, kid, this makes you sound way too sentimental.” His teasing lacked bite though, cuz knew what Ponyboy meant. They were family, as much as any blood relatives could be.

“Oh, come on,” Steve muttered as rubbed his neck, looking away. He was clearly uncomfortable with the way the book called out their closeness. “You makin’ us sound all soft, kid.”

Johnny absorbed the words quietly, running a thumb along the edge of the couch. Family. Tight-knit. Almost as close as brothers. He thought it was nice—having a family.

Dally scoffed and shook his head. “Too much damn thinking.” But he seemed to carry less tension in his shoulders as he said it.

They all sat with it for a beat longer.

“If I had thought about it, I could have called Darry and he would have come by on his way home and picked me up, or Two-Bit Mathews—one of our gang— would have come to get me in his car if I had asked him, but sometimes I just don’t use my head. It drives my brother Darry nuts when I do stuff like that, ’cause I’m supposed to be smart; I make good grades and have a high IQ and everything, but I don’t use my head.”

“At least he’s aware of it,” Darry muttered, rubbing his temple like the sentence had given him a headache.

Soda couldn’t help but tease his younger brother. “See, kid? You know better, but you still do dumb stuff anyway.”

Steve smirked, crossing his arms. “Man, if I had a nickel for every time you didn’t use your head—”

“—You’d be richer than the Socs.” Two-Bit finished with a grin.

Johnny shot Pony a devious grin. “He’s got a point, Pony.”

Dally eyed Ponyboy. “Smart or not, you were still a damn idiot sometimes.”

Ponyboy huffed. “Gee, let's all gang up on the little guy.”

“Besides, I like walking. I about decided I didn’t like it so much, though, when I spotted that red Corvair trailing me. I was almost two blocks from home then, so I started walking a little faster.”

Darry’s posture tightened thinking about his kid brother in the same position as Johnny way back then.

Soda’s grin vanished. He’d never liked the idea of Ponyboy walking alone. And although he knew this had already happened, the book was just revamping his worries.

Steve frowned, running a hand through his hair. “Damn, kid. You really just spotted ‘em and kept walking?”

Johnny swallowed hard, despite being dead he wasn’t exactly over his own trauma from being jumped.

Two-Bit asked, “You really didn’t run? I thought you were a track star.”

Dally’s voice was rough but lacked its usual sharpness as he pointed out, “You should’ve booked it, kid. Would’ve saved yourself a hell of a night.”

Ponyboy didn’t answer. To tell the truth he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t run that night. Guess he really didn’t use his head.

“I had never been jumped, but I had seen Johnny after four Socs got hold of him, and it wasn’t pretty. Johnny was scared of his own shadow after that. Johnny was sixteen then.”

Ponyboy wasn’t sure what to say to Johnny, as he stammered through an apology, caught off guard by his harsh wording in the book.

Johnny finally spoke—quiet, matter-of-fact. “I mean… that’s what happened.” His voice wasn't upset—but instead it held the kind of acceptance that made Ponyboy’s stomach twist.

Dally breathed through his nose, anger flaring up as he thought about that day Johnny got jumped.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, muttering, “Hate thinkin’ about this.”

“I knew it wasn’t any use though—the fast walking, I mean—even before the Corvair pulled up beside me and five Socs got out. I got pretty scared—I’m kind of small for fourteen even though
I have a good build, and those guys were bigger than me. I automatically hitched my thumbs in my jeans and slouched, wondering if I could get away if I made a break for it. I remembered Johnny—his face all cut up and bruised, and I remembered how he had cried when we found him, half-conscious, in the corner lot. Johnny had it awful rough at home—it took a lot to make him cry.”

Johnny stiffened, refusing to look up even as everyone looked at him with worry.

Two-Bit had mercy on him and continued reading.

“I was sweating something fierce, although I was cold. I could feel my palms getting clammy and the perspiration running down my back. I get like that when I’m real scared.”

From his spot in front of the couch Darry sucked in a breath. He had spent so long trying to keep Ponyboy safe, trying to protect him, and here was written proof documenting his little brother walking home alone, terrified as he was about to be jumped.

“I glanced around for a pop bottle or a stick or something—Steve Randle, Soda’s best buddy, had once held off four guys with a busted pop bottle—but there was nothing.”

Steve straightened up like he expected to be handed a crown.

“Now there’s a damn highlight reel moment!” he announced, jabbing a thumb toward his chest.

Soda laughed, shaking his head. “It was two guys, Stevie.”

Steve waved him off. “Nah, it was four! And one of ‘em was built like a linebacker!”

Two-Bit smirked. “Pretty sure it was two, buddy.”

“So I stood there like a bump on a log while they surrounded me. I don’t use my head.”

Dally narrowed his eyes as he recognized the pattern. Ponyboy had mentioned not using his head at least three times now. He was a smart kid, did he really have so little confidence in himself?

Dally looked at Soda and Darry to see if they had noticed too, but they listened on undisturbed, so he simply filed away the observation for later.

“They walked around slowly, silently, smiling. “Hey, grease,” one said in an over-friendly voice. “We’re gonna do you a favor, greaser. We’re gonna cut all that long greasy hair off.” He had on a madras shirt. I can still see it. Blue madras. One of them laughed, then cussed me out in a low voice. I couldn’t think of anything to say. There just isn’t a whole lot you can say while waiting to get mugged, so I kept my mouth shut.”

Despite the situation Soda barked an abrupt laugh, clapping a hand on his knee. “Man, Pony, you’re real casual about getting jumped, huh?”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, real insightful commentary there—‘not much to say while waiting to get mugged.’ No kidding.”

Johnny chuckled as he pictured Pony standing there like a dear in the headlights. “At least you were self-aware.”

““Need a haircut, greaser?” The medium-sized blond pulled a knife out of his back pocket and flipped the blade open. I finally thought of something to say. “No.” I was backing up, away from that knife. Of course I backed right into one of them.”

Dally whistled low, “Tough luck.”

“They had me down in a second. They had my arms and legs pinned down and one of them was sitting on my chest with his knees on my elbows, and if you don’t think that hurts, you’re crazy. I could smell English Leather shaving lotion and stale tobacco, and I wondered foolishly if I would suffocate before they did anything. I was scared so bad I was wishing I would.”

Soda hated reading this. Hated knowing Ponyboy had been scared that bad—so bad he had wished he’d just suffocate and get it over with. His stomach twisted, and he found himself rubbing at his arms like the tension might bleed out of him.

Darry felt sick. Ponyboy had talked about being jumped, had described the fear, but the way he had actually thought about suffocating instead of facing what was coming—it was something Darry had never considered before.

Johnny, who had been sitting stiffly since the last passage, closed his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling slowly. He had felt fear like that—had never truly shaken it. He never realized Ponyboy had felt it too.

“I fought to get loose, and almost did for a second; then they tightened up on me and the one on my chest slugged me a couple of times. So I lay still, swearing at them between gasps. A blade was held against my throat. “How’d you like that haircut to begin just below the chin?” It occurred to me then that they could kill me.”

Soda practically growled as he punched the couch, unable to restrain his anger anymore, “Damn Ponyboy! We should’ve cuffed ‘em harder!”

Ponyboy just gave him a sheepish smile.

The rest of the gang silently agreed with Soda as they all seethed in anger of their own. Furious at their youngest being threatened like that.

“I went wild. I started screaming for Soda, Darry, anyone. Someone put his hand over my mouth, and I bit it as hard as I could, tasting the blood running through my teeth. I heard a muttered curse and got slugged again, and they werestuffing a handkerchief in my mouth.”

“How many times did they hit you?!” Steve practically exploded, jumping to his feet like he was ready to fight someone.

Soda wore an anxious expression, “Jesus, Ponyboy,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Did they not let up at all?”

Darry’s hands clenched into fists, his whole body tense. “They had you screaming and biting and were still whaling on you?!” His voice was sharp, masking his fear.

Ponyboy felt his face go warm, shifting uncomfortably under all their reactions. He hadn’t exactly expected them to yell about it, especially Steve, and hearing them this angry on his behalf was weird.

Ponyboy glanced down. It had already happened. It wasn’t important.

““One of them kept saying, “Shut him up, for Pete’s sake, shut him up!” Then there were shouts and the pounding of feet, and the Socs jumped up and left me lying there, gasping. I lay there and wondered what in the world was happening—people were jumping over me and running by me and I was too dazed to figure it out. Then someone had me under the armpits and was hauling me to my feet. It was Darry.”

“And Superman saves the day,” Two-Bit declared cheekily. The whole gang was secretly just relieved they didn’t have to listen to Ponyboy getting beat on anymore.

“Are you all right, Ponyboy?” He was shaking me and I wished he’d stop. I was dizzy enough anyway. I could tell it was Darry though—partly because of the voice and partly because Darry’s always rough with me without meaning to be. “I’m okay. Quit shaking me, Darry, I’m okay.” He stopped instantly. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t really. Darry isn’t ever sorry for anything he does.”

Soda leaned forward, his fingers curled slightly on his knee before he forced himself to relax. He didn’t wanna hear Pony talk about Darry that way.

Ponyboy shifted, watching Soda uneasily. He thought Darry would be the one to react first. He thought Darry would get frustrated, maybe even upset. But a quick glance at his eldest brother revealed that Darry was at ease.

Soda’s jaw twitched.

Ponyboy opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Two-Bit hummed, tapping the book. “Well, it ain’t wrong. Darry’s all hands-on, but that’s just how he is.” He glanced at Darry. “No offense.”

Darry shrugged. “None taken.”

Ponyboy blinked. That was it? He had been so worried about Darry hearing his thoughts but Darry barely reacted at all.

Soda let out a slow breath, still sitting on whatever was bubbling under his skin. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I didn’t think you saw him like that.”

Ponyboy startled. He hadn’t expected that.

“I—it’s not like that anymore,” he said quickly, unsure why he suddenly felt like he was on trial.

Soda nodded absently, but he was still simmering.

Dally just laughed. “I dunno why you’re all caught up in this. Wasn’t exactly a mystery how the kid thought of Darry. No offense, Pony.”

Ponyboy was still looking at Soda, trying to figure out why he was the one taking this the hardest.

“It seems funny to me that he should look just exactly like my father and act exactly the opposite from him. My father was only forty when he died and he looked twenty-five and a lot of people thought Darry and Dad were brothers instead of father and son. But they only looked alike—my father was never rough with anyone without meaning to be.”

This time Darry did react, rolling his shoulders anxiously as the accusation that he was nothing like their father jabbed at his heart. Soda noticed his brother’s distress and couldn’t stop his own frustration with Pony from brewing again at the harsh comment even if he knew it was unfair to Pony. It’s not like he’d asked for his thoughts to be shared so openly.

Ponyboy himself was surprised at how his past thoughts were described, “I swear I didn’t mean that, Darry.” he said sincerely.

Darry just nodded.

“Darry is six-feet-two, broad-shouldered and muscular. He has dark brown hair that kicks out in front and a slight cowlick in the back—just like Dad’s—but Darry’s eyes are his own. He’s got eyes that are like two pieces of pale blue-green ice. They’ve got a determined set to them, like the rest of him. He looks older than twenty—tough, cool, and smart. He would be real handsome if his eyes weren't so cold. He doesn’t understand anything that is not plain hard fact. But he uses his head. I sat down again, rubbing my cheek where I’d been slugged the most.
Darry jammed his fists in his pockets. “They didn’t hurt you too bad, did they?” They did. I was smarting and aching and my chest was sore and I was so nervous my hands were shaking and I wanted to start bawling, but you just don’t say that to Darry. “I’m okay.””

Darry didn’t like that. His brow furrowed. He didn’t like hearing that his kid brother would rather lie than tell him something was wrong. He turned to face Ponyboy, “Listen, Pony,” he said firmly, “If not as your brother, then as your guardian, I need you to be able to tell me when you’re hurt, ok?”

“I—uh, yeah, okay,” Ponyboy muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His first instinct was to dismiss it, to say he didn’t need to talk about stuff like that, but now Darry was looking straight at him, like he actually wanted an answer. Like it mattered to him. He knew that Darry cared, but that look—it was still throwing him off.

Soda let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face before dropping it to his lap. “He means it, Pony. You don’t have to tough it out with him or me. We’re your brothers you should be able to rely on us”

Ponyboy shifted uncomfortably, nodding, but something in his chest felt heavy.

“Sodapop came loping back. By then I had figured that all the noise I had heard was the gang coming to rescue me. He dropped down beside me, examining my head. “You got cut up a little, huh, Ponyboy?” I only looked at him blankly. “I did?” He pulled out a handkerchief, wet the end of it with his tongue, and pressed it gently against the side of my head. “You’re bleedin’ like a stuck pig.” “I am?” “Look!” He showed me the handkerchief, reddened as if by magic. “Did they pull a blade on you?” I remembered the voice: “Need a haircut, greaser?” The blade must have slipped while he was trying to shut me up. “Yeah.” Soda is handsomer than anyone else I know.”

“Well, now, would you look at that?” Soda turned to Ponyboy with a wide grin.

Ponyboy groaned. “It’s not like I wrote it—”

“But it’s your thoughts,” Soda said, all smug amusement now. “So while you were lying there, bleeding like a stuck pig, your brain made time to go, ‘Damn. Soda’s still the best-looking guy I know.’”

Two-Bit snorted reaching over to clap Pony on the back. “Priorities, man.”

Steve shook his head, grinning. “Honestly? I respect it.”

“Not like Darry—Soda’s movie-star kind of handsome, the kind that people stop on the street to watch go by. He’s not as tall as Darry, and he’s a little slimmer, but he has a finely drawn, sensitive face that somehow manages to be reckless and thoughtful at the same time. He’s got dark-gold hair that he combs back— long and silky and straight—and in the summer the sun bleaches it to a shining wheat-gold. His eyes are dark brown—lively, dancing, recklessly laughing eyes that can be gentle and sympathetic one moment and blazing with anger the next. He has Dad’s eyes, but Soda is one of a kind. He can get drunk in a drag race or dancing without ever getting near alcohol. In our neighborhood it’s rare to find a kid who doesn’t drink once in a while. But Soda never touches a drop—he doesn’t need to. He gets drunk on just plain living. And he understands everybody. He looked at me more closely. I looked away hurriedly, because, if you want to know the truth, I was starting to bawl.”

“Aww,” Soda cooed, putting an arm around Ponyboy and pulling him to his side. Pony blushed sharply and tried to squirm away, making Johnny laugh on the other side of him.

“I knew I was as white as I felt and I was shaking like a leaf. Soda just put his hand on my shoulder. “Easy, Ponyboy. They ain’t gonna hurt you no more.” “I know,” I said, but the ground began to blur and I felt hot tears running down my cheeks. I brushed them away impatiently. “I’m just a little spooked, that’s all.” I drew a quivering breath and quit crying. You just don’t cry in front of Darry. Not unless you’re hurt like Johnny had been that day we found him in the vacant lot. Compared to Johnny I wasn’t hurt at all.”

Johnny wished Ponyboy wouldn’t compare their pain. Just because Johnny had been hurt so bad, didn’t mean Pony got to use it as an excuse to neglect his own hurt.

“That ain’t right, Pony,” Johnny muttered. “Just ‘cause I got it worse don’t mean you weren’t hurt.”

Ponyboy blinked, taken off guard by the sudden correction. He hadn’t thought much about it.

Soda squeezed his shoulder gently. “Yeah, kid. You were shook up. You got jumped, you got cut up, and you were barely holding it together.”

Dally shook his head roughly, and said. “What, you think just ‘cause Johnny got beat half to death, your scraps don’t count? You were hurt, kid.”

Steve huffed a short breath, nodding. “Yeah, man. You were a mess. No shame in it.”

Johnny still looked troubled, his brows furrowed as he watched Ponyboy carefully. “Just ‘cause I had it bad don’t mean your hurt was nothing.”

Ponyboy hadn’t even realized he’d been doing that—comparing them. He wasn’t really sure how much it mattered anyhow. Soda patted his shoulder again.

Darry’s mind had been dwelling on a different comment, he stared ahead as he addressed Ponyboy, not quite looking at him. “You don’t have to quit crying just because I’m around, you know.”

Ponyboy glanced at him in surprise, feeling called out all at once.

“I—” Ponyboy hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s just—” He gestured vaguely, as if that could explain it.

Two-Bit continued reading when Pony couldn’t find a response.

“Soda rubbed my hair. “You’re an okay kid, Pony.” I had to grin at him—Soda can make you grin no matter what. I guess it’s because he’s always grinning so much himself. “You’re crazy, Soda, out of your mind.” Darry looked as if he’d like to knock our heads together. “You’re both nuts.” Soda merely cocked one eyebrow, a trick he’d picked up from Two-Bit. “It seems to run in this family.” Darry stared at him for a second, then cracked a grin. Sodapop isn’t afraid of him like everyone else and enjoys teasing him. I’d just as soon tease a full-grown grizzly; but for some reason, Darry seems to like being teased by Soda.”

Soda raised an eyebrow at Darry who pointedly ignored him.

“Our gang had chased the Socs to their car and heaved rocks at them. They came running toward us now—four lean, hard guys. They were all as tough as nails and looked it. I had grown up with them, and they accepted me, even though I was younger, because I was Darry and Soda’s kid brother and I kept my mouth shut good.”

Two-Bit huffed, shooting Ponyboy a look. “You really think we’d just put up with you all these years just ‘cause of Darry and Soda? Hell, man, even if they weren’t in the picture, you’d still be one of us.”

Steve added on to that, ignoring the way both Soda and Darry looked affronted by the insinuation that they would ever not be in the picture. “Seriously, kid, you ain’t just some tagalong. Quit thinking like that.”

Dally smirked, just slightly—almost enough to count as reassuring. “You keep your mouth shut good, huh?” He scratched his head. “I don’t know about that. You can be pretty mouthy, brat.”

“Steve Randle was seventeen, tall and lean, with thick greasy hair he kept combed in complicated swirls. He was cocky, smart, and Soda’s best buddy since grade school. Steve’s specialty was cars. He could lift a hubcap quicker and more quietly than anyone in the neighborhood, but he also knew cars upside-down and backward, and he could drive anything on wheels. He and Soda worked at the same gas station—Steve part time and Soda full time—and their station got more customers than any other in town. Whether that was because Steve was so good with cars or because Soda attracted girls like honey draws flies, I couldn’t tell you. I liked Steve only because he was Soda’s best friend.”

Steve blinked, shocked. His mouth hung open in a way that would’ve been comical if not for the situation.

Ponyboy noticed Steve’s surprise at the line, but honestly, he still found it difficult to read Steve. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about Pony.

“He didn’t like me—he thought I was a tagalong and a kid; Soda always took me with them when they went places if they weren’t taking girls, and that bugged Steve. It wasn’t my fault; Soda always asked me, I didn’t ask him. Soda doesn’t think I’m a kid.”

“No, hold on,” Steve cut in, shaking his head. “You don’t still think this right? You don’t really think I’ve spent all these years just—tolerating you?”
His voice wasn’t angry, just genuinely confused, like he had never considered the idea that Ponyboy might see him that way.

Two-Bit let out a low whistle, leaning back. “Well, damn, Pony. Guess Steve just hates your guts.”

Steve shot him a glare. “Shut up, man.”

Soda wasn’t laughing. He was surprised. That’s not what Steve’s like. Steve had been there since day one—the best friend a guy could ask for. And yeah, maybe he griped a little when

Ponyboy tagged along, but it wasn’t because he hated him.

It was just Steve being Steve.

Ponyboy heard the underlying question as Soda stated, “Pony, you know that ain’t how it is.”

Ponyboy wasn’t sure if he believed that or not. But he decided to give Steve the benefit of the doubt, “Yeah,” he said, “I know.”

“Two-Bit Mathews was the oldest of the gang and the wisecracker of the bunch.”

Two-Bit paused reading to give a whoop of glee at his mention.

“He was about six feet tall, stocky in build, and very proud of his long rusty-colored sideburns. He had gray eyes and a wide grin, and he couldn’t stop making funny remarks to save his life. You couldn’t shut up that guy; he always had to get his two-bits worth in. Hence his name. Even his teachers forgot his real name was Keith, and we hardly remembered he had one. Life was one big joke to Two-Bit. He was famous for shoplifting and his black-handled switchblade (which he couldn’t have acquired without his first talent),”

Two-Bit stopped reading, pressing a hand to his chest, eyes closed in mourning. Soda looked like he was fighting a laugh, Steve just shook his head, and Johnny glanced between them, confused.

Dally furrowed his brows. “What are we all looking sad about?”

Ponyboy sighed, giving the thug a pointed look.

Dally blinked, then realization dawned. “Ohhh—oh yeah!” His grin turned downright wicked as he threw up his hands in mock guilt. “Damn, man, guess I took your switchblade down with me, huh?”

Two-Bit let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples. “Unbelievable. My pride and joy. Gone.”

Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “Gone to the grave, man. Hope it’s treating Dally well.”

Johnny huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Can’t believe this is what we’re holding a moment of silence for.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand, Johnnycake,” Two-Bit lamented, gripping the book like it owed him an apology. “It was the most beautiful thing I ever stole.”

Dally rolled his eyes, still smirking. “Yeah, well, looks like I out-stole you in the end.”

Ponyboy sighed again. “Rest in peace, black-handled switchblade. You were gone too soon.”

Soda finally lost it, laughing outright. Darry rubbed his temple as he listened to their banter.

“and he was always smarting off to the cops. He really couldn’t help it. Everything he said was so irresistibly funny that he just had to let the police in on it to brighten up their dull lives. (That’s the way he explained it to me.) He liked fights, blondes, and for some unfathomable reason, school. He was still a junior at eighteen and a half and he never learned anything. He just went for kicks. I liked him real well because he kept us laughing at ourselves as well as at other things. He reminded me of Will Rogers—maybe it was the grin.”

Two-Bit flashed that signature grin like a reward and before Ponyboy could even react, Two-Bit reached over and ruffled his hair with a playful tug, making it even messier than before. “Those were some words of high praise, kid. Gotta say, I’m touched.”

Johnny laughed quietly, shaking his head. “You really do go to school just for kicks, huh?”

Two-Bit stretched, completely unbothered. “What can I say? Some people go to learn, some people go for fun. I provide a valuable service to the education system.” He winked. “Free entertainment.”

Ponyboy grumbled, pushing his hair back into place. “I have some choice words for my future self.”

“If I had to pick the real character of the gang, it would be Dallas Winston—Dally. I used to like to draw his picture when he was in a dangerous mood, for then I could get his personality down in a few lines.”

Dally blinked in surprise, “You did? Why haven’t I seen any of these?”

Two-Bit smirked. “Yeah, Pony. You got a secret gallery stashed somewhere?”

Johnny tilted his head, intrigued. “What kinda drawings? Like—just his face, or the whole dangerous ‘bout-to-make-a-bad-decision’ look?”

Ponyboy rubbed the back of his neck. “I dunno. Just… stuff I noticed. How he looks when he’s on edge. When he’s got that sharp kind of focus.”

Dally raised a brow. “So what, you’ve been studying me?” He smirked, but there was something genuine underneath—like he wasn’t sure how to process the fact that someone had actually been paying attention to him like that.

Ponyboy groaned, burying his face in his hands. “It’s not like that.”

Dally glanced at Ponyboy again, expression unreadable. “You still got ‘em?”

Ponyboy hesitated. “Yeah. In my room somewhere.”

Dally tilted his head. “Show me sometime.”

Ponyboy blinked, caught off guard. “You actually wanna see them?”

Dally shrugged, kicking his feet up from the side couch onto the coffee table. “Hell yeah. If you’re gonna be sketching me in secret, I oughta know how I look.”

Despite himself, Ponyboy kind of wanted to show him. And after Dally’s death, he never thought he’d ever get the chance to.

“He had an elfish face, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, small, sharp animal teeth, and ears like a lynx. His hair was almost white it was so blond, and he didn’t like haircuts, or hair oil either, so it fell over his forehead in wisps and kicked out in the back in tufts and curled behind his ears and along the nape of his neck. His eyes were blue, blazing ice, cold with a hatred of the whole world. Dally had spent three years on the wild side of New York and had been arrested at the age of ten. He was tougher than the rest of us—tougher, colder, meaner. The shade of difference that separates a greaser from a hood wasn’t present in Dally. He was as wild as the boys in the downtown outfits, like Tim Shepard’s gang. In New York, Dally blew off steam in gang fights, but here, organized gangs are rarities—there are just small bunches of friends who stick together, and the warfare is between the social classes. A rumble, when it’s called, is usually born of a grudge fight, and the opponents just happen to bring their friends along. Oh, there are a few named gangs around, like the River Kings and the Tiber Street Tigers, but here in the Southwest there’s no gang rivalry. So Dally, even though he could get into a good fight sometimes, had no specific thing to hate. No rival gang. Only Socs. And you can’t win against them no matter how hard you try, because they’ve got all the breaks and even whipping them isn’t going to change that fact. Maybe that was why Dallas was so bitter.”

Dally couldn’t decide whether he agreed with what was written or hated that someone had put it into words so plainly.

Johnny watched Dally carefully, but he didn’t say anything. He saw something in Dally that maybe Ponyboy hadn’t gotten down in words.

“He had quite a reputation. They have a file on him down at the police station. He had been arrested, he got drunk, he rode in rodeos, lied, cheated, stole, rolled drunks, jumped small kids—he did everything. I didn’t like him, but he was smart and you had to respect him.”

Dally leaned forward, scanning the passage again, and when he spoke, his voice was edged with something just shy of offense. “Didn’t like me, huh?”

Ponyboy swallowed. “I—I didn’t mean—”

Dally tilted his head, watching him now, eyes sharp. “Your future self wrote it down. That means you thought it. You still think it?”

Pony thought he might have nightmares for weeks from the look Dally shot him.

The gang was quiet for a beat. Soda frowned slightly, shifting like the words didn’t sit right with him. Steve muttered, “Damn, kid.”

Two-Bit huffed, shaking his head. “You don’t like Dally?” His tone was more amused than serious, like the idea was ridiculous. But his nonchalant attitude did nothing to quell the rising tension.

Johnny glanced between them, but his focus stayed on Dally—because something was different. Dally wasn’t just brushing this off like he usually did.

Dally exhaled sharply through his nose, his usual cocky attitude ringing more like false bravado. “Never cared much what people thought of me,” he muttered. “Always expected the Socs and the Feds to hate my guts. But I guess so did you.”

“I don’t—I didn’t—” Ponyboy struggled for the right words. “I respect you.”

Dally scoffed. “Yeah, that’s real touching.”

Ponyboy wanted to kick himself. Why would he say that? He did like Dally, it was just…

Dally pushed himself up, stretching like he wasn’t about to dwell on it. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Ain’t gonna lose sleep over it.”

But it was obvious that the comment had really affected him.

“Johnny Cade was last and least. If you can picture a little dark puppy that has been kicked too many times and is lost in a crowd of strangers, you’ll have Johnny.”

Johnny let out a quiet laugh—barely audible, barely anything. “A kicked puppy, huh?” His voice was light, forced. “Guess that ain’t far off.”

Ponyboy stiffened. His stomach twisted. He knew it. His dumb—stupid fucking thoughts—were upsetting everybody. They were all gonna hate him. He felt like bawling. Why was his mind so damn insensitive?

“I—I didn’t mean it like that,” Ponyboy muttered, barely above a whisper. No one gave any indication they heard him.

Steve huffed out a laugh as he sympathized with Johnny, “You got done dirty, man.”

Two-Bit let out a low whistle, leaning back. “Damn, Pony really doesn’t hold back, huh?”

“He was the youngest, next to me, smaller than the rest, with a slight build. He had big black eyes in a dark tanned face; his hair was jet-black and heavily greased and combed to the side, but it was so long that it fell in shaggy bangs across his forehead. He had a nervous, suspicious look in his eyes, and that beating he got from the Socs didn’t help matters. He was the gang’s pet, everyone’s kid brother. His father was always beating him up, and his mother ignored him, except when she was hacked off at something, and then you could hear her yelling at him clear down at our house. I think he hated that worse than getting whipped. He would have run away a million times if we hadn’t been there. If it hadn’t been for the gang, Johnny would never have known what love and affection are.”

The more Two-Bit went on reading, the more Johnny seemed to shrink into himself. Struck with every word reminding him of a home life he hadn’t needed to confront since his death.

The more Two-Bit went on reading the more Pony wanted to bash his head against the wall.

“I wiped my eyes hurriedly. “Didya catch ’em?” “Nup. They got away this time, the dirty …” Two-Bit went on cheerfully, calling the Socs every name he could think of or make up. “The kid’s okay?” “I’m okay.” I tried to think of something to say. I’m usually pretty quiet around people, even the gang. I changed the subject. “I didn’t know you were out of the cooler yet, Dally.” “Good behavior. Got off early.” Dallas lit a cigarette and handed it to Johnny. Everyone sat down to have a smoke and relax. A smoke always lessens the tension. I had quit trembling and my color was back. The cigarette was calming me down.”

Darry narrowed his eyes, Pony had always been more hooked on cigarettes than the rest of the gang. He really should start restricting that behavior so it didn’t come back to bite the kid in the ass later down the road.

“Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow. “Nice-lookin’ bruise you got there, kid.” I touched my cheek gingerly. “Really?” Two-Bit nodded sagely. “Nice cut, too. Makes you look tough.” Tough and tuff are two different words. Tough is the same as rough; tuff means cool, sharp—like a tuff-looking Mustang or a tuff record. In our neighborhood both are compliments. Steve flicked his ashes at me. “What were you doin’, walkin’ by your lonesome?” Leave it to good old Steve to bring up something like that.”

Steve snorted at his portrayal. “Gee, bitter much, Ponyboy?” His voice was lighthearted. He didn’t take the comment personally, knowing it was in the past anyway, “Cut a guy some slack.”

Ponyboy felt stupid. It was embarrassing—having his deepest thoughts and insecurities laid out for everyone to see, only for them to laugh it off, brush it aside and tell him he was wrong about them. And they were probably right.

They weren’t mocking him, not really. But it still made him feel small. Incompetent.

““I was comin’ home from the movies. I didn’t think …” “You don’t ever think,” Darry broke in, “not at home or anywhere when it counts. You must think at school, with all those good grades you bring home, and you’ve always got your nose in a book, but do you ever use your head for common sense? No sirree, bub. And if you did have to go by yourself, you should have carried a blade.” I just stared at the hole in the toe of my tennis shoe. Me and Darry just didn’t dig each other. I never could please him. He would have hollered at me for carrying a blade if I had carried one. If I brought home B’s, he wanted A’s, and if I got A’s, he wanted to make sure they stayed A’s. If I was playing football, I should be in studying, and if I was reading, I should be out playing football. He never hollered at Sodapop—not even when Soda dropped out of school or got tickets for speeding. He just hollered at me.”

Darry sighed, and when he spoke he sounded tired, “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

Ponyboy already knew that. But it didn’t change the fact that, for years, it had felt that way.

He tried to keep his voice even, “Yeah, I know. I get it—you were trying to protect me.”

Soda knew Darry had always nagged on Pony, but laid out like this it seemed worse. Then again, Pony had been unfair to Darry too, and Darry was just trying his best to keep them all together. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He hated when his brothers fought.

Two-Bit began to understand Pony’s frustrations, seemed Darry had nagged on the boy a whole lot.

“Soda was glaring at him. “Leave my kid brother alone, you hear? It ain’t his fault he likes to go to the movies, and it ain’t his fault the Socs like to jump us, and if he had been carrying a blade it would have been a good excuse to cut him to ribbons.” Soda always takes up for me. Darry said impatiently, “When I want my kid brother to tell me what to do with my other kid brother, I’ll ask you—kid brother.” But he laid off me. He always does when Sodapop tells him to. Most of the time. “Next time get one of us to go with you, Ponyboy,” Two-Bit said. “Any of us will.”
“Speakin’ of movies”—Dally yawned, flipping away his cigarette butt —“I’m walkin’ over to the Nightly Double tomorrow night. Anybody want to come and hunt some action?” Steve shook his head. “Me and Soda are pickin’ up Evie and Sandy for the game.” He didn’t need to look at me the way he did right then. I wasn’t going to ask if I could come. I’d never tell Soda, because he really likes Steve a lot, but sometimes I can’t stand Steve Randle. I mean it. Sometimes I hate him.”

Steve shifted at the line. He didn’t react, not really, but Ponyboy could feel the tension roll off him. This was getting more and more out of hand. Ponyboy didn’t know how much longer he could sit and listen to this trainwreck of his thoughts. Sit and listen to them ruin every good relationship he had left.

Soda frowned, looking between the two, he wished there wasn’t so much tension between his best friend and his kid brother, but he didn’t know how to smooth things over.

Two-Bit glanced up briefly, side-eyeing the scene before deciding to continue, his voice just a little more subdued as he continued reading.

No one had the energy to comment on it.

“Darry sighed, just like I knew he would. Darry never had time to do anything anymore. “I’m working tomorrow night.” Dally looked at the rest of us. “How about y’all? Two-Bit? Johnnycake, you and Pony wanta come?” “Me and Johnny’ll come,” I said. I knew Johnny wouldn’t open his mouth unless he was forced to. “Okay, Darry?” “Yeah, since it ain’t a school night.” Darry was real good about letting me go places on the weekends. On school nights I could hardly leave the house.”

Two-Bit leaned back, laughing. “No offense, but I think even your parents let you breathe a little more.”

Soda grinned, nudging Darry with his elbow. “You hear that, big guy? You’re tougher than Mom and Dad.”

Darry rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “I keep you alive, don’t I?”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” Steve drawled, shaking his head.

Two-Bit threw an arm around Ponyboy’s shoulders dramatically. “Ah, but weekends! Weekends are a gift, thanks to your benevolent dictator Darry Curtis.”

Ponyboy finally found his voice, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, at least he’s consistent.”

Johnny gave a thoughtful nod. “Better than not caring at all.”

““I was plannin’ on getting boozed up tomorrow night,” Two-Bit said. “If I don’t, I’ll walk over and find y’all.” Steve was looking at Dally’s hand. His ring, which he had rolled a drunk senior to get, was back on his finger. “You break up with Sylvia again?” “Yeah, and this time it’s for good. That little broad was two-timin’ me again while I was in jail.” I thought of Sylvia and Evie and Sandy and Two-Bit’s many blondes. They were the only kind of girls that would look at us, I thought. Tough, loud girls who wore too much eye makeup and giggled and swore too much.”

“Hah, what's wrong with that, Pone? Not your type?” Two-Bit teased. Ponyboy’s ears turned red and he ducked his head at being called out.

“I liked Soda’s girl Sandy just fine, though. Her hair was natural blond and her laugh was soft, like her china-blue eyes. She didn’t have a real good home or anything and was our kind—greaser—but she was a real nice girl.”

At the mention of Sandy’s name, Soda stiffened.

The gang glanced at each other, and Steve—never one to dance around a moment—was the first to comment. “Damn. Didn’t expect her to show up in this thing.”

Two-Bit, for once, hesitated before making a joke, eyes flicking toward Soda. “You alright, buddy?”

Soda exhaled sharply, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just—y’know. Didn’t think I’d be readin’ about her today.”

Darry moved behind his brother, laying an arm around Soda’s shoulders.

Dally scoffed, leaning back against the wall. “Figures she’s in it, though. She was a big deal to you.”

Ponyboy remembered when Soda had thought he was going to marry her.

Johnny, always in tune to people’s emotions, understood the sting beneath Soda’s casual tone.

Soda laughed—it was short, a little hollow. “Yeah.”

But Ponyboy heard what he wasn’t saying. What none of them were saying.

Sandy had left, and Soda still wasn’t over it.

“Still, lots of times I wondered what other girls were like. The girls who were bright-eyed and had their dresses a decent length and acted as if they’d like to spit on us if given a chance. Some were afraid of us, and remembering Dallas Winston, I didn’t blame them. But most looked at us like we were dirt—gave us the same kind of look that the Socs did when they came by in their
Mustangs and Corvairs and yelled “Grease!” at us. I wondered about them. The girls, I mean … Did they cry when their boys were arrested, like Evie did when Steve got hauled in, or did they run out on them the way Sylvia did Dallas? But maybe their boys didn’t get arrested or beaten up or busted up in rodeos. I was still thinking about it while I was doing my homework that night.”

Two-Bit let out a low whistle as he read the passage aloud.

“Well, well, Ponyboy Curtis, a real philosopher when it comes to girls,” he said, smirking.

Steve snorted, crossing his arms. “Man, do you ever just do your homework instead of daydreaming about chicks?”

Two-Bit made a show of dramatically wiping a fake tear from his eye. “What a romantic tragedy. They look down on us, but Pony still wonders about ‘em.”

“That ain’t what I meant,” Ponyboy muttered, but his face was already burning.

Even Darry fought to hide his amusement at the rambling thoughts of his youngest brother.

Johnny, who had been quiet, offered a small shrug. “Guess it’s natural to wonder.”

Soda grinned, throwing an arm around his brother. “Relax, kid. At least you ain’t blind to the way things are.”

Two-Bit flipped ahead in the book. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find out what happens when Pony actually talks to a girl instead of just pondering her existence.”

Ponyboy groaned again, wishing the couch would just swallow him.

“I had to read Great Expectations for English, and that kid Pip, he reminded me of us—the way he felt marked lousy because he wasn’t a gentleman or anything, and the way that girl kept looking down on him. That happened to me once. One time in biology I had to dissect a worm, and the razor wouldn’t cut, so I used my switchblade.”

Two-Bit let out a sharp laugh as he finished the passage, “Ponyboy Curtis, literary analyst and public menace.”

Soda grinned, turning to Ponyboy. “You really pulled a switchblade in biology?”

Dally laughed at him, “Pretty tuff, kid.” Was all he said.

Darry—who had been quiet—pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Are you serious, Pony?” He looked ready to start pacing. “You could’ve gotten suspended for that! You don’t even use your head in school do you?”

Ponyboy shrank a little in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like I stabbed anyone.”

“That’s not the point!” Darry snapped, then gestured toward the book. “Did your teacher see? Did anyone say anything?”

“Relax, Darry,” Soda said, leaned over to pat his brother’s shoulder. “It was just a worm.”

“Just—please, for the love of everything—don’t bring a switchblade to class again.”

“The minute I flicked it out—I forgot what I was doing or I would never have done it—this girl right beside me kind of gasped, and said, “They are right. You are a hood.” That didn’t make me feel so hot. There were a lot of Socs in that class—I get put into A classes because I’m supposed to be smart—and most of them thought it was pretty funny. I didn’t, though. She was a cute girl. She looked real good in yellow. We deserve a lot of our trouble, I thought. Dallas deserves everything he gets, and should get worse, if you want the truth.”

Dally let out a slow breath. He didn’t want to admit how much this line felt like a betrayal coming from Ponyboy. He’d always been fond of the kid. Hadn’t realized how the kid viewed him at all. He lit a cigarette and leaned back. Did Ponyboy ever have a change of perspective? Or had it taken Dally dying for the kid to care? That possibility stung.

Ponyboy tried not to look at Dally, he knew he couldn’t take it if he saw how his harsh thoughts affected him.

“And Two-Bit—he doesn’t really want or need half the things he swipes from stores. He just thinks it’s fun to swipe everything that isn’t nailed down. I can understand why Sodapop and Steve get into drag races and fights so much, though—both of them have too much energy, too much feeling, with no way to blow it off. “Rub harder, Soda,” I heard Darry mumbling. “You’re gonna put me to sleep.” I looked through the door. Sodapop was giving Darry a back-rub. Darry is always pulling muscles; he roofs houses and he’s always trying to carry two bundles of roofing up the ladder. I knew Soda would put him to sleep, because Soda can put about anyone out when he sets his head to it. He thought Darry worked too hard anyway. I did, too. Darry didn’t deserve to work like an old man when he was only twenty.”

Soda tilted his head, a small smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “Well, hey—looks like someone thinks you’re workin’ too hard, Darry.”

Darry looked a little awkward. “Yeah, well.”

Steve smirked, nudging Two-Bit. “The kid’s got a point—you do act like an old man half the time.”

Two-Bit grinned. “Carrying two bundles of roofing up the ladder? Damn, Darry, ever heard of pacing yourself?”

Ponyboy fidgeted, unsure of Darry’s reaction. It was weird having him hear, plain as anything, that Ponyboy wished things weren’t so hard on him. It wasn’t anything he really shared out loud.

Dally huffed, crossing his arms. “Kid’s got eyes. You bust your ass harder than anyone.”

Soda reached over, squeezing Darry’s shoulder. “You know he’s right.”

“I know,” he admitted.

And just for a second, the warmth of it sank in. It was a quiet kind of love—the kind Ponyboy didn’t always say out loud but had written down all the same.

Darry glanced at his younger brother, his expression softer now.

“Thanks, kid.”

Ponyboy shrugged, feeling a little awkward as he gave his brother a small smile. Johnny smiled too, watching the warm interaction.

“He had been a real popular guy in school; he was captain of the football team and he had been voted Boy of the Year. But we just didn’t have the money for him to go to college, even with the athletic scholarship he won. And now he didn’t have time between jobs to even think about college. So he never went anywhere and never did anything anymore, except work out at gyms and go skiing with some old friends of his sometimes. I rubbed my cheek where it had turned purple. I had looked in the mirror, and it did make me look tough. But Darry had made me put a Band Aid on the cut.”

Soda and Two-Bit both burst out laughing at that.

Dally, ever the instigator, puffed out his chest with exaggerated moxy, squaring up to Darry. “You cramping his style, Superman?”

Darry sighed, flicking Dally on the nose, “Oh, give me a break.”

Johnny, quiet but amused, glanced at Darry thoughtfully. “You really do worry about us all the time, huh?”

Darry shifted, rolling his shoulders like he wasn’t sure what to do with the attention. “Somebody’s gotta.”

Soda laughed even harder at his older brother looking all flustered.

“I remembered how awful Johnny had looked when he got beaten up. I had just as much right to use the streets as the Socs did, and Johnny had never hurt them. Why did the Socs hate us so much? We left them alone. I nearly went to sleep over my homework trying to figure it out. Sodapop, who had jumped into bed by this time, yelled sleepily for me to turn off the light and get to bed. When I finished the chapter I was on, I did. Lying beside Soda, staring at the wall, I kept remembering the faces of the Socs as they surrounded me, that blue madras shirt the blond was wearing, and I could still hear a thick voice: “Need a haircut, greaser?” I shivered. “You cold, Ponyboy?” “A little,” I lied.”

Soda stared at Ponyboy like he’d just been sucker-punched, his expression shifting from confusion to something softer, something hurt.

“You lied to me?” Soda murmured, his voice small.

Ponyboy swallowed hard. He hated when Soda looked at him like that.

Darry’s arms were crossed, his jaw tight. This was the second time since starting this book that Ponyboy had lied about being hurt, about being shaken up, about being not okay. And Darry couldn’t help but wonder—how many other times had there been? How often had Ponyboy kept quiet?

Soda huffed out a short breath, shaking his head. “I didn’t know. I really—I didn’t know you were so shaken up by those Socs, Pone.” His voice was softer now, tinged with guilt.

Ponyboy hated that. Hated that Soda was blaming himself.

Darry glanced at the book, his mind running over the details, connecting dots that he hadn’t seen before. Had Ponyboy always brushed things off so easily? Had he always lied about being fine, just so nobody would worry?

The thought made his stomach twist.

Soda ran a hand through his hair, still looking rattled. “Pony—next time, just tell me, alright? You don’t have to—”

“I know,” Ponyboy interrupted, just a little too quickly.

Soda sighed. So did Darry.

The book pressed forward, but Darry was still thinking about it.

Thinking about how many times Ponyboy had just said, “I’m fine.”

How many times that could have been a lie.

"Soda threw one arm across my neck. He mumbled something drowsily. “Listen, kiddo, when Darry hollers at you … he don’t mean nothin’. He’s just got more worries than somebody his age ought to. Don’t take him serious … you dig, Pony? Don’t let him bug you. He’s really proud of you ’cause you’re so brainy. It’s just because you’re the baby—I mean, he loves you a lot. Savvy?” “Sure,” I said, trying for Soda’s sake to keep the sarcasm out of my voice."

Ponyboy swallowed hard. In hindsight he saw just how much pressure his and Darry’s fighting really had been putting on Soda. He felt like a bad brother for not realizing sooner.

Darry shifted where he stood, jaw tight. He didn’t look at Ponyboy, didn’t look at Soda either. He had known deep down that Soda got stuck between them, but he had told himself it wasn’t that bad. That Soda understood. That Soda could handle it.

Now, in hindsight, it felt different.

Soda must have been tired of it.

““Soda?” “Yeah?” “How come you dropped out?” I never have gotten over that. I could hardly stand it when he left school. “’Cause I’m dumb. The only things I was passing anyway were auto mechanics and gym.” “You’re not dumb.” “Yeah, I am. Shut up and I’ll tell you something. Don’t tell Darry, though.” “Okay.” “I think I’m gonna marry Sandy.”

Everyone tried not to look at Soda as Two-Bit kept reading, the silence speaking volumes.

"After she gets out of school and I get a better job and everything. I might wait till you get out of school, though. So I can still help Darry with the bills and stuff.” “Tuff enough. Wait till I get out, though, so you can keep Darry off my back.”

The Curtis brothers all winced at this.

“Don’t be like that, kid. I told you he don’t mean half of what he says …” “You in love with Sandy? What’s it like?” “Hhhmmm.” He sighed happily. “It’s real nice.” In a moment his breathing was light and regular. I turned my head to look at him and in the moonlight he looked like some Greek god come to earth. I wondered how he could stand being so handsome.

Two-Bit choked on air as he read it, before dissolving into laughter. Steve didn’t even manage a word—he just wheezed, doubling over, clutching his stomach like the sheer force of his laughter had physically taken him out.

Soda turned bright red immediately. “Oh, come on.”

Johnny teased his best friend. “Greek god, huh?”

Ponyboy wanted to cry. Why would he ever write this?

“It was the moonlight!” He defended desperately

Soda opened his mouth to tease Ponyboy as well, but caught sight of Two-Bit and Steve still absolutely losing it—and his own face turned red again, so he promptly gave up.

“Then I sighed. I didn’t quite get what he meant about Darry. Darry thought I was just another mouth to feed and somebody to holler at. Darry love me? I thought of those hard, pale eyes. Soda was wrong for once, I thought. Darry doesn’t love anyone or anything, except maybe Soda. I didn’t hardly think of him as being human. I don’t care, I lied to myself, I don’t care about him either. Soda’s enough, and I’d have him until I got out of school. I don’t care about Darry. But I was still lying and I knew it. I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.”

Ponyboy knew that was true, even back then he had never been able to convince himself he truly hated Darry.

Darry meanwhile felt bad that his little brother had even felt the need to try and convince himself he hated him. Had he really made Pony feel that unloved? If so, then at least this book was bringing it to his attention. Because it wouldn’t happen any more.

Two-Bit slammed the book shut, “Well, that's the end of the first chapter. And I don’t think I’ve ever read that much in one sitting, so who’s next?”

Chapter Text

For a few seconds after Two-Bit spoke, nobody moved.

Ponyboy stared at the closed cover, his heart still thudding from the last chapter. A part of him wanted to call this whole thing off. To speak up—beg them not to read anymore. Before his thoughts ruined everything. Before they all hated him. 

Johnny fiddled with his jacket sleeve, shoulders curled inwards, “It’s kinda weird, man, reading about ourselves like this. Like we’re just… characters in a story.” 

Soda, still sitting next to Pony, leaned closer, concern flickering in his eyes, “You okay, kid?” 

Pony nodded a little too quickly, “Yeah. Just...” He looked down, thumb brushing over a worn spot on his jeans. “I remember how fast everything started falling apart.”

Darry exhaled through his nose, uncrossing his arms from his chest as he leaned forward. “We don’t have to read this, Ponyboy. If it’s too much, just say the word.” He looked over at him—not stern, but steady, almost cautious. “I mean it.”

Ponyboy looked down. Maybe Darry was right, he really shou—

Dally, cut in. “It happened. Nothing in that book’s gonna change what we did or didn’t do.” He shot a meaningfully sharp glance at the youngest, “What we thought or didn’t think.” 

Johnny gave him a look. “Maybe not. But maybe it helps us see it different.”

Dally rolled his eyes and snatched the book from Two-Bit’s lap. “I’ll take the next hit,” he muttered. “Let’s see what else Ponyboy’s been scribblin’ about us.”

“Dally,” Darry warned.

But Dally was already flipping to Chapter Two. And when Darry saw Ponyboy wasn’t stopping him, he let it go—with obvious reluctance.

“DALLY WAS WAITING for Johnny and me under the street light at the corner of Pickett and Sutton, and since we got there early, we had time to go over to the drugstore in the shopping center and goof around. We bought Cokes and blew the straws at the waitress, and walked around eyeing things that were lying out in the open until the manager got wise to us and suggested we leave. He was too late, though; Dally walked out with two packages of Kools under his jacket.”

Two-Bit let out a bark of laughter, vaulting himself over the coffee table and towards Dally. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he whooped, holding up his palm. “A classic move.”

Dally gave the older boy a lazy high-five. “Guy should’ve locked up his smokes tighter.”

“Man, you were always walking outta places like you owned ’em.” Steve recalled, grinning. 

Soda shot Ponyboy a half-smile, keeping his voice low. “You really blew straws at the waitress?”

Pony shrugged, unable to fully hide the pride in his smile, “Dally started it.”

“Sounds right,” Darry muttered as he heard the quiet conversation, not exactly amused with the influence Dally had on his kid brother. “And I’m guessing you didn’t leave a check either.”

Dally threw him a sideways grin. “Wasn’t exactly five-star service.”

“Or five-star behavior,” Darry shot back at him, but the edge in his voice had dulled to something closer to exasperated affection.

Johnny laughed, his eyes flicking to Dally. “Man, you two really were menaces.”

Ponyboy and Dally both looked affronted at this comment. 

Dally reached over, locking Johnny in a headlock, “Hey you were there too, bub !” 

“Then we went across the street and down Sutton a little way to The Dingo. There are lots of drive-ins in town—the Socs go to The Way Out and to Rusty’s, and the greasers go to The Dingo and to Jay’s. The Dingo is a pretty rough hangout; there’s always a fight going on there and once a girl got shot. We walked around talking to all the greasers and hoods we knew, leaning in car windows or hopping into the back seats, and getting in on who was running away, and who was in jail, and who was going with who, and who could whip who, and who stole what and when and why. We knew about everybody there. There was a pretty good fight while we were there between a big twenty-three-year-old greaser and a Mexican hitchhiker. We left when the switchblades came out, because the cops would be coming soon and nobody in his right mind wants to be around when the fuzz show.”

Two-Bit whistled. “The Dingo,” he reminisced lightly. “Place always felt one wrong look away from a headline.”

Darry didn’t laugh. He kept his eyes on the coffee table, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. He remembered the stories Pony used to come back with—fights, break-ins, some kid getting shot like it was nothing. Like it was normal.

He hadn’t said much then either. Hadn’t wanted to be the buzzkill older brother never letting the kid breathe. But listening to Dally read about it now—with Johnny nodding like it was just another Tuesday...

He loved the gang. Hell, they were family. But part of him always hated that this was the world Pony thought he belonged to. A place where getting jumped or pulled into trouble wasn’t an “if,” just a “when.”

“We crossed Sutton and cut around behind Spencer’s Special, the discount house, and chased two junior-high kids across a field for a few minutes; by then it was dark enough to sneak in over the back fence of the Nightly Double drive-in movie. It was the biggest in town, and showed two movies every night, and on weekends four—you could say you were going to the Nightly Double and have time to go all over town. We all had the money to get in—it only costs a quarter if you’re not in a car—but Dally hated to do things the legal way. He liked to show that he didn’t care whether there was a law or not. He went around trying to break laws.”

Dally closed the book slightly, resting his head on the cover like he needed a beat.

Steve glanced over at him and then quickly looked away. He spoke, desperately trying to fill the silence and ease the growing tension. “You did always say rules were for people with less imagination.”

Soda laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. He suddenly found a loose thread on the couch worth tugging at. “It was always kinda funny… back then.”

That sentence echoed in Ponyboy’s head louder than the rest. He went around trying to break laws.

That used to make Dally seem invincible. Now it just made him seem—inevitable.

Johnny’s gaze bounced between them all—their awkward laughter, their averted eyes. The tension felt wrong, like everyone was tiptoeing around something—but he didn’t know what. 

It hit him for the first time that he didn’t know how Dally had died.

He looked at the older boy.

Was that it?

Was that how he…?

“We went to the rows of seats in front of the concession stand to sit down. Nobody else was there except two girls who were sitting down front. Dally eyed them coolly, then walked down the aisle and sat right behind them. I had a sick feeling that Dally was up to his usual tricks, and I was right.”

Steve threw out something about how “Dally couldn’t sit behind a girl without raising hell,” and Two-Bit followed with a grin about his “smooth criminal energy.” But Dally wasn’t listening.

He had figured he was just messing around—turning up the heat, getting a rise out of some Soc girls, maybe making Johnny squirm a little and Pony roll his eyes. He’d known they were uncomfortable—hell, that was half the fun.

But Pony hadn’t just felt annoyed or embarassed—he’d felt sick . That kind of word didn’t come from nowhere. It came from being uneasy, from having something churn in your gut because you didn’t feel safe sitting next to the guy who was supposed to have your back.

And Dally had been too busy playing tough to notice. 

His jaw clenched. Maybe the kid had a right to feel the way he did. Maybe he had crossed a line more than once.

Dally let out a low breath, more like a growl. He dragged a hand down his face, slow, rough, like he was trying to rub out the memory.

“Bitch,” he muttered.

Johnny and Ponyboy were the only ones close enough to hear it.

Ponyboy turned toward him, startled. “What?”

Dally didn’t look at him. Just continued reading like he’d never said anything at all. Unbeknownst to him, Darry was also giving Dally a weird look. 

“He started talking, loud enough for the two girls to hear. He started out bad and got worse. Dallas could talk awful dirty if he wanted to and I guess he wanted to then. I felt my ears get hot. Two-Bit or Steve or even Soda would have gone right along with him, just to see if they could embarrass the girls, but that kind of kicks just doesn’t appeal to me. I sat there, struck dumb, and Johnny left hastily to get a Coke. I wouldn’t have felt so embarrassed if they had been greasy girls—I might even have helped old Dallas.”

Dally forced his tone to stay even as he read the passage. Pony hadn’t just been uncomfortable, he’d been uncomfortable because it was Dally.

If Two-Bit or Steve had done the same thing, Pony might’ve rolled his eyes and shrugged it off. Why was it different with Dally? What was there that made the kid brace instead of laugh?

Even Johnny had left. Not because he wanted a soda, but because Dally made it uncomfortable to stay.

They hadn’t been laughing with him. They’d been tolerating him.

Johnny, glanced over from the armrest and opened his mouth like he was going to say something. Dally didn’t give him a chance.

“But those two girls weren’t our kind. They were tuff-looking girls—dressed sharp and really good-looking. They looked about sixteen or seventeen. One had short dark hair, and the other had long red hair. The redhead was getting mad, or scared. She sat up straight and she was chewing hard on her gum. The other one pretended not to hear Dally. Dally was getting impatient. He put his feet up on the back of the redhead’s chair, winked at me, and beat his own record for saying something dirty.”

Soda let out a startled laugh and turned to Dally, grinning. “What did you say in front of my little brother, dude!” He playfully covered Ponyboy’s ears, nearly pushing him off the couch.

“Quit it,” Pony mumbled, ducking out from under Soda’s arm with a shove, heat creeping up his neck.

Darry shook his head with exaggerated disapproval. “Dallas,” he warned, but he didn’t sound all that mad. “You tryin’ to traumatize the kid or just chase the girls off?”

Steve snarked. “Bet she considered switchin' theaters.”

Two-Bit pitched in with a grin. “Nah, she stayed. Maybe she liked the attention.”

Pony straightened his shirt and gave a dry look at Dally. “More like me and Johnny kept it from blowing up.”

He didn’t say it sharply, but there was a flicker of something in his voice that made Dally shift.

“She turned around and gave him a cool stare. “Take your feet off my chair and shut your trap.” Boy, she was good-looking. I’d seen her before; she was a cheerleader at our school. I’d always thought she was stuck-up.”

Steve leaned back into the front of the couch from his spot on the floor. “Aw, for a second there I thought Pony had a crush.”

Two-Bit perked up with a laugh. “You mean he didn’t? The way he stared at her that night, I thought for sure she was gonna melt.”

Soda grinned and nudged his brother. “We got ourselves a lovesick poet, huh?”

Ponyboy’s throat felt tight.

He tried to smile, to roll with it, to say something —but the words stayed stuck behind his teeth.

He didn’t like Cherry. Not after everything. Not after the way she seemed to truly see him one minute, then the next minute treated him like he was just another greaser . Not after she said she couldn’t visit Johnny in the hospital— because he killed her boyfriend. Like her boyfriend hadn’t tried to drown him.

But he couldn’t explain that. Not when his chest felt suddenly too small. He didn’t want to ruin their fun with his whining.

So he just shook his head, quiet and stiff. “I didn’t like her,” he said, but no one heard him over Two-Bit joking about whether redheads were his type.

Johnny heard him.

He leaned in a little, voice barely louder than a breath. “You don’t gotta explain nothin’. I know how it was, man.” Then, after a beat, he added, deadpan, “’Sides, your taste’s usually worse than your haircut.”

Pony blinked, caught off guard—and a sharp laugh slipped out before he could stop it.

“That was your handiwork.” A little smile tugged at his mouth despite himself.

Johnny just gave him that tilted half-smirk—the one that said you’re okay, even when you’re not.

The others were still chuckling about redheads and poetry, completely unaware.

But Pony just stared down at the page, throat tight in a different way now.

All at once, it hit him: Johnny’s really here. Not a memory. Just Johnny, sitting beside him, lobbing dumb insults like it was any other day. His chest ached with it.

But he was smiling now. For real this time.

The other one turned around and watched us. “That’s the greaser that jockeys for the Slash J sometimes,” she said, as if we couldn’t hear her. I had heard the same tone a million times: “Greaser … greaser … greaser.” Oh yeah, I had heard that tone before too many times. What are they doing at a drive-in without a car? I thought, and Dallas said, “I know you two. I’ve seen you around rodeos.” “It’s a shame you can’t ride bull half as good as you can talk it,” the redhead said coolly and turned back around. That didn’t bother Dally in the least. “You two barrel race, huh?” “You’d better leave us alone,” the redhead said in a biting voice, “or I’ll call the cops.” “Oh, my, my”—Dally looked bored—“you’ve got me scared to death. You ought to see my record sometime, baby.” He grinned slyly. “Guess what I’ve been in for?” “Please leave us alone,” she said. “Why don’t you be nice and leave us alone?” Dally grinned roguishly. “I’m never nice. Want a Coke?” She was mad by then. “I wouldn’t drink it if I was starving in the desert. Get lost, hood!””

Steve was impressed. “Man. Soc’s got guts.”

Two-Bit gave a slow, theatrical nod. “That ‘bull’ line?” He clutched at his heart. “Brutal. I almost felt bad for you, Dal.”

“She had guts,” Darry said, impressed. “It takes a lot to look a hoodlum like you in the eye and tell him to beat it.”

“Yeah,” Soda added. “Most Soc girls just giggle or scoot over. Good for her, she’s got some bite.”

Dally stretched and flashed them all a crooked grin. “Pfft. That’s all for show. She probably dreamed about me after.”

Dally’s tone was casual, but his fingers were tapping an irregular rhythm on the spine of the book.

“Delusional,” Steve coughed.

Dally probably didn’t realize just how close he was to the truth though. Cherry had said it straight to Ponyboy’s face—that she could’ve fallen for him. But Dally would never know it. Or—Pony realized with a start—guess he would now. Pony wondered what it would’ve changed—if anything. Probably nothing. Dally was too used to girls flinching away. He wouldn’t know what to do with someone looking back.

Johnny didn’t say anything, but his eyes lingered on Dally’s hand. The tapping hadn’t stopped.

“Dally merely shrugged and strolled off. The girl looked at me. I was half-scared of her. I’m half-scared of all nice girls, especially Socs.”

Steve snorted. “ Half -scared of nice girls? What’s the other half—cryin’?”

Two-Bit grinned. “They do wear some dangerous perfume.”

Soda slung an arm around his little brother. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll toughen you up before prom.”

Johnny asked in mock severity. “You gonna faint next time one says hi, or just bolt for the hills?”

Pony rolled his eyes. “At least I don’t flirt by bein’ a creep and offering stolen Cokes.”

That got a few oohs and gasps from the group.

Dally, without looking up, “Worked, didn’t it?”

“Are you going to start in on us?” I shook my head, wide-eyed. “No.” Suddenly she smiled. Gosh, she was pretty. “You don’t look the type. What’s your name?” I wished she hadn’t asked me that. I hate to tell people my name for the first time. 

Darry and Soda looked at Ponyboy like he’d grown a second head.

“Thought you loved yer name, kid?” Darry said, brow arched like he was genuinely trying to make sense of it.

Soda leaned forward, eyes sparkling as he grinned. “You used to always say your name ‘sounded like it belonged in a book.’ You’d be beaming , man.”

Pony tried to explain, “I just don’t like introducing it, alright?”

““Ponyboy Curtis.” Then I waited for the “You’re kidding!” or “That’s your real name?” or one of the other remarks I usually get. Ponyboy’s my real name and personally I like it.”

“See!” Ponyboy yelled in triumph as his defense was confirmed. He sat up straighter. “I like my name.”

Johnny just nodded a little. “Maybe it does belong in a book.” He gestured to the book in Dally’s hand, “Technically it's in one right now.” 

“The redhead just smiled. “That’s an original and lovely name.” “My dad was an original person,” I said. “I’ve got a brother named Sodapop, and it says so on his birth certificate.” “My name’s Sherri, but I’m called Cherry because of my hair. Cherry Valance.” “I know,” I said. “You’re a cheerleader. We go to the same school.” “You don’t look old enough to be going to high school,” the dark-haired girl said. “I’m not. I got put up a year in grade school.” Cherry was looking at me. “What’s a nice, smart kid like you running around with trash like that for?” I felt myself stiffen. “I’m a grease, same as Dally. He’s my buddy.””

Surprisingly Darry spoke up first. Still seated across from Dally, he looked up and asked plainly, “That sound like a kid who doesn’t like you, Dal?”

That turned a few heads.

Soda blinked.

Steve sat up straight, as if prepared for a brawl.

Even Two-Bit glanced between them, eyebrows up.

Dally looked away. “Pfft,” he muttered. “Whatever.” Ponyboy had said it himself earlier. The kid respected Dally. That didn’t mean he liked him. 

Johnny wished Dally and Pony would just communicate like normal people. It bugged him sometimes. The way everyone in the gang danced around stuff like that. You’re both trying. Just say what you mean for once.

““I’m sorry, Ponyboy,” she said softly. Then she said briskly, “Your brother Sodapop, does he work at a gasoline station? A DX, I think?” “Yeah.” “Man, your brother is one doll. I might have guessed you were brothers —you look alike.” I grinned with pride—I don’t think I look one bit like Soda, but it’s not every day I hear Socs telling me they think my brother is a doll.”

Dally barely got the words out before the room exploded, once again, at Pony’s fawning.

“'I grinned with pride,'” Two-Bit mimicked, before dropping the dreamy voice. “Ponyboy Curtis, president of the Sodapop Curtis Fan Club!”

Steve groaned, “Here we go. Someone get him a tissue—he might start tearing up again over Mr. Movie Star.”

Soda blushed but leaned back with a smirk like he was soaking in the attention. “Can I help it if I’m the pretty one?”

Steve turned around to give his best friend a light shove, “You gotta stop hoggin’ all the charm, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all very funny,” Ponyboy muttered, ears going pink. “I was just saying, it’s not every day a Soc says something nice about us.”

Johnny chuckled. “You gonna get that framed or somethin’? ‘Socs Think My Brother’s a Doll.’”

Even Darry cracked a rare grin. “Just don’t start autographing DX receipts, Soda.”

Soda raised a brow. “As if you wouldn’t want one?”

Pony leaned forward, burying his face in his legs to hide the smile he couldn’t fight off.

““Didn’t he used to ride in rodeos? Saddle bronc?” “Yeah. Dad made him quit after he tore a ligament, though. We still hang around rodeos a lot. I’ve seen you two barrel race. You’re good.” “Thanks,” Cherry said, and the other girl, who was named Marcia, said, “How come we don’t see your brother at school? He’s not any older than sixteen or seventeen, is he?” I winced inside. I’ve told you I can’t stand it that Soda dropped out. “He’s a dropout,” I said roughly. “Dropout” made me think of some poor dumb-looking hoodlum wandering the streets breaking out street lights—it didn’t fit my happy-go-lucky brother at all.”

Soda had no idea that it bothered Pony so much. Hearing his kid brother think about him like a disappointment was a punch to the gut. 

He was surprised to find it made him angry. No–maybe not anger–more like irritation, the kind that comes when someone points out something you’ve been trying not to think about.

He wanted to snap, What do you know about it, Pony? It’s my life.
Wanted to snap that he dropped out for a reason. That not everyone was wired for honors classes and metaphor quotes. 

But he knew it wasn’t the kids fault he was hearing this. That fact almost hurt more as he wondered if this was what Pony really thought of him. 

Pony felt it instantly—Soda’s shift in demeanor. Pony knew it wasn’t Soda’s fault he’d dropped out. He felt like he’d betrayed his brother by baring open something that he knew was fragile. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he really had any control over what was written.

Ponyboy sank into frustration—into guilt that curled sharp and low in his chest. He thought maybe the part of him that hated the word dropout had said more about him than it ever did about Soda.

Across the room, Darry leaned back in his chair, watching as his two brothers stiffened besides each other.

Then, shooting Pony a pointed look, he spoke up, “You know… funny how some things get written down that don’t sound the same out loud.”

Pony froze.

Soda glanced up at him sharply, then over at Darry.

Darry remembered how the three brothers promised they wouldn’t fight anymore. He knew this book would drag up old wounds of the past, and if he wanted them to get through it then they couldn’t keep letting shit like this fester. “If you’ve got somethin’ to say to your brother, Soda, say it straight. No point stewin’ in silence."

There was a silence—just long enough to make Pony squirm. Then Soda exhaled, long and quiet.

“You really think I’m some kinda screw-up?” he asked, not looking directly at him.

Pony’s throat tightened. “No,” he said quickly. Then, softer, “No. I just… I hate how people see you when they hear that word. Like you’re less or something. And you’re not. You never were.”

Soda ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not exactly how I pictured things either, y’know.”

“I know.”

The quiet between them felt different now. Not fixed, maybe—but open. A thread untangled just enough to breathe.

“It fitted Dally perfectly,”

Two-Bit shook his head in sympathy, “Caught a stray bullet with that one, huh, Dal?”

Dally blanched, shooting him a bewildered look, “Dude. Wording.” 

Johnny’s eyes widened. 

“but you could hardly say it about Soda.” 

A small smile began to return to Soda’s face at his brother’s thoughts.

“Johnny came back then and sat down beside me. He looked around for Dally, then managed a shy “Hi” to the girls and tried to watch the movie. He was nervous, though. Johnny was always nervous around strangers. Cherry looked at him, sizing him up as she had me. Then she smiled softly, and I knew she had him sized up right.”

Steve made a face. “Yikes. I forgot Johnny was even worse than Ponyboy.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Worse than Pony?” He was just close enough to deliver a swift kick to Steve’s unsuspecting shoulder.

“Uncalled for,” Steve muttered, rubbing his shoulder, but really, everyone thought he looked quite content that Johnny was biting back. “The kid’s getting cocky.”

“Nah,” Johnny spit out, “Could’ve hit you harder.” 

“Dally came striding back with an armful of Cokes. He handed one to each of the girls and sat down beside Cherry. “This might cool you off.” She gave him an incredulous look; and then she threw her Coke in his face.”

Soda shook his head in sympathy, “Man. Right in the face?”

Steve winced. “That’s just bad Coke etiquette.”

Despite knowing he’d been asking for it, the gang couldn’t help but feel a little miffed on Dally’s behalf. 

Dally laughed, like that Coke to the face was the highlight of his week, “That’s what I get for doing charity.”

“That might cool you off, greaser. After you wash your mouth and learn to talk and act decent, I might cool off, too.” Dally wiped the Coke off his face with his sleeve and smiled dangerously. If I had been Cherry I would have beat it out of there. I knew that smile. 

Dally silently hated how Pony seemed to be scared of him, but he continued reading, not wanting to give the others a chance to chime in on this one. 

““Fiery, huh? Well, that’s the way I like ’em.” He started to put his arm around her, but Johnny reached over and stopped him. “Leave her alone, Dally.” “Huh?” Dally was taken off guard. He stared at Johnny in disbelief.”

Two-Bit gave a small shout of pride. “That’s my man , Johnny! Going full guard dog? Starting to think we’ve been sleeping on you, Johnny.”

Pony remembered what it was like to watch Johnny stand tall for once. Not for himself—but for someone else. He’d looked cool—heroic even. Ponyboy couldn’t stop himself from smiling now, clapping his friend on the back. “You looked like you meant business, man.”

Johnny blinked, then smirked a little, ducking his head like he wasn’t soaking up the praise—but he didn’t deny the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Dally remembered how it had felt then—how fast it’d thrown him. Not ‘cause of what Johnny said, but that he said anything at all. The kid who jumped at his own shadow… putting a hand on Dally’s arm and telling him to back off?

It had stunned him. Embarrassed him, maybe. Long enough to stare, unsure, for just a moment.

Johnny hadn’t come up in the same streets. He didn’t have to learn fast and hard like Dally had in New York. But the kid had scars of his own—and he still stood up. Shaky and quiet, sure, but he still stood.

And somehow, that messed with Dally more than anything.

Because when the world came down on him, Johnny didn’t get colder. He didn’t get tougher. He just… kept trying to be good.

Dally wasn’t sure he could ever do the same.

“Johnny couldn’t say “Boo” to a goose.”

Johnny gawked at that, looking so insulted that Soda nearly fell off the couch laughing.

“I don’t even know a goose,” Johnny said indignantly, which made Soda truly fall off the couch— landing right on top of Steve.

“Johnny gulped and got a little pale, but he said, “You heard me. Leave her alone.” Dallas scowled for a second. If it had been me, or Two-Bit, or Soda or Steve, or anyone but Johnny, Dally would have flattened him without a moment’s hesitation. You just didn’t tell Dally Winston what to do. One time, in a dime store, a guy told him to move over at the candy counter. Dally had turned around and belted him so hard it knocked a tooth loose. A complete stranger, too. But Johnny was the gang’s pet, and Dally just couldn’t hit him. He was Dally’s pet, too. Dally got up and stalked off, his fists jammed in his pockets and a frown on his face. He didn’t come back.”

Steve gave a low whistle. “Whew. ‘Dally would’ve flattened anyone else’? Speak for yourself, Ponyboy.”

Two-Bit snorted. “Yeah, no offense, but if you ever mouthed off to Dally like that, he’d probably just pat your head and ask if you needed a nap.”

Soda grinned. “Are you kidding, Pony? Dally’d throw someone into a moving train before he let them mess with you, and you think you're one smart remark away from getting your jaw broken?”

“I don’t think that,” Pony muttered.

“You absolutely think that,” Steve said. He was beginning to notice a concerning pattern with Ponyboy. Why did he always seem to think the whole group hated him? That kid needed to knock it off, before Steve knocked it out of him himself. He was starting to worry.

Johnny gave a quiet laugh and shrugged. “You are kinda Dal’s soft spot.”

Across the room, Dally just rolled his eyes and sank deeper into his chair. “I’m not soft,” he grumbled.

“Tell that to your favorite stray,” Two-Bit said, gesturing to Ponyboy.

Dally scowled at the book. “I let the kid live once and now I’ve got a reputation ?”

“No,” Soda said brightly and gestured to the two youngest boys sitting on the couch next to him, “you’ve got two. Both of them sitting right here.”

Pony frowned. It hadn’t even occurred to him before—but now that he thought about it... yeah. He’d seen Dally swing on guys for less than a look. But when he pushed it, Dally had always just rolled his eyes. 

How had he missed that?

Pony felt a twist in his chest—guilt, mostly. Shame, too. He’d spent so long convinced Dally barely tolerated him. Convinced the guy looked right through him. And maybe... maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe Dally had been watching out for him all along in ways Pony hadn’t known how to see.

Not soft. But something like careful. And coming from Dally, that meant more than just about anything.

Pony glanced over at him, still slouched like the book wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.

I need to talk to him, Pony thought.

Not now. But soon.
Before they both went back to pretending none of this had mattered.

“Cherry sighed in relief. “Thanks. He had me scared to death.” Johnny managed an admiring grin. “You sure didn’t show it. Nobody talks to Dally like that.” She smiled. “From what I saw, you do.” Johnny’s ears got red. I was still staring at him. It had taken more than nerve for him to say what he’d said to Dally—Johnny worshiped the ground Dallas walked on, and I had never heard Johnny talk back to anyone, much less his hero.”

Steve let out a low chuckle. “ Worshiped the ground Dallas walked on? What is this, a romance novel?”

Two-Bit grinned. “I didn’t know Johnny had a crush .”

Johnny groaned, slouching low in his seat. “Keep talking and I’m leaving.”

“Relax,” Soda said, reassuring. “It’s kinda sweet. Little hero worship never hurt anybody.”

Steve smirked. “You only think that because your little bro worships you .”

Johnny was spared as the focus diverted from him and landed on Soda and Pony—who both sputtered at the comment.

From the corner, Darry nodded in agreement with Steve. “You’re not wrong,” he said, deadpan, then raised an eyebrow at his brothers. “But if it turns into a shrine, I’m pulling rank.”

Across the room, Dally stayed quiet, eyes on the page a little longer than necessary.

Worshiped? Nah. He brushed off the thought. He wasn’t anyone’s hero—he knew that he was no role model. Still, for a second, it sat with him. The thought that he meant more to people than his record. 

And he wasn’t sure he liked how much that thought mattered to him.

“Marcia grinned at us. She was a little smaller than Cherry. She was cute, but that Cherry Valance was a real looker.”

Two-Bit catcalled and wiggled his eyebrows at Ponyboy, who just rolled his own eyes and buried his face in Soda’s shoulder.

““Y’all sit up here with us. You can protect us.” Johnny and I looked at each other. He grinned suddenly, raising his eyebrows so that they disappeared under his bangs. Would we ever have something to tell the boys! his eyes said plainly. We had picked up two girls, and classy ones at that. Not any greasy broads for us, but real Socs. Soda would flip when I told him.”

Steve snorted. “Hah! That’s a new low, Dally—Pony and Johnny stealing your girls?”

Two-Bit gasped in dismay. “You let two babies walk off with Soc girls? What has the world come to?”

Johnny grinned wide, “We didn’t steal them,” he said. “They invited us. Protection duty.”

Pony rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding his smile. “They were nice. Cherry and Marcia.”

Dally tried to save his dignity with a grumble that landed closer to a pout. “C’mon. I just figured I’d let those two have a little action for once in their puny lives.”

Soda laughed. “Uh huh. Let them. Sure, Dal.”

Even Darry laughed from his seat. “You’re slipping, man. Next thing we know, those two’ll be calling shotgun while you sit in the backseat.”

Johnny stretched out his legs with mock confidence. “Don’t worry Dal, I’ll get ya to school on time.”

Dally scoffed, but his grin cracked through. “Try it. Then we’ll see who’s on protection duty.”

““Okay,” I said nonchalantly, “might as well.” I sat between them, and Johnny sat next to Cherry. “How old are y’all?” Marcia asked. “Fourteen,” I said. “Sixteen,” said Johnny. “That’s funny,” Marcia said, “I thought you were both …” “Sixteen,” Cherry finished for her. I was grateful. Johnny looked fourteen”

Johnny grumbled, crossing his arms, and shooting a glare at Pony who looked a little embarrassed at his thought.

“and he knew it and it bugged him something awful. Johnny grinned. “How come y’all ain’t scared of us like you were Dally?” Cherry sighed. “You two are too sweet to scare anyone.”

Two-Bit clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “Sweet? Sweet?! Pony, Johnny—how could you keep this from us?”

Steve cracked up. “Cherry just clocked you two for being the softest criminals in town.”

Soda grinned wide. “Come on guys, we should be supportive. That’s it—we should get them matching leather jackets for the ‘Sweet Little Hoodlums Club.’ Or maybe they’ll want to knit it themselves.”

Johnny ducked his head, ears going pink. “Don’t test me.”

“Oh no,” Steve said, mock-horrified, “he’s gonna glare at me real hard and make me feel mildly uncomfortable. ”

Pony folded his arms. “We have scared people before. Remember that time—”

Dally interrupted him. “Y’all are lucky I’m the one with the street cred, or we’d be defending you from squirrels.”

Johnny glared. “I can totally scare people.”

“Sure you can,” Soda said, patting his shoulder. “As long as they’re under five and really sensitive to tone.”

“I killed a man!” 

This comment was very much ignored.

“First of all, you didn’t join in Dallas’s dirty talk, and you made him leave us alone. And when we asked you to sit up here with us, you didn’t act like it was an invitation to make out for the night. Besides that, I’ve heard about Dallas Winston, and he looked as hard as nails and twice as tough. And you two don’t look mean.” “Sure,” I said tiredly, “we’re young and innocent.” “No,” Cherry said slowly, looking at me carefully, “not innocent. You’ve seen too much to be innocent. Just not … dirty.” “Dally’s okay,” Johnny said defensively, and I nodded. You take up for your buddies, no matter what they do. When you’re a gang, you stick up for the members. If you don’t stick up for them, stick together, make like brothers, it isn’t a gang any more. It’s a pack. A snarling, distrustful, bickering pack like the Socs in their social clubs or the street gangs in New York or the wolves in the timber.”

Steve leaned back, still grinning—but the look in his eyes shifted, just a bit. He’d never really thought about it that way. Packs. Brotherhood. He always just said they stuck together ‘cause they had to. But maybe Pony saw something more in it… He’d never admit it out loud, but... the kid had a point.

Two-Bit scratched behind his ear, suddenly unsure if he should say something dumb and ruin it. For once, he didn’t.

Soda watched his kid brother and thought, He’s been seeing things. Really seeing them. More than he let on. Maybe more than Soda had ever seen things.

Darry’s brows drew together, faint and almost imperceptible., Different from a pack. Darry glanced at Pony, then nodded once, like something had clicked. “Smart kid,” he said.

Dally didn’t say a word. But he hadn’t turned the page yet, eyes skimming back over the paragraph…

““He’s tough, but he’s a cool old guy.” “He’d leave you alone if he knew you,” I said, and that was true. When Steve’s cousin from Kansas came down, Dally was decent to her and watched his swearing.”

“And I appreciated that very much, Dallas,” Steve said solemnly. “But that didn’t stop you from teaching her to hot-wire a car not ten minutes after meeting her.”

Two-Bit nearly choked on his sudden bark of laughter. “Wasn’t she, like, twelve?”

“Thirteen,” Steve corrected.

Dally shrugged, unbothered. “She asked questions.”

Soda grinned. “What’d she take back to Kansas? A postcard and a felony?”

Johnny snorted into his sleeve.

Ponyboy remembered that. Dally had offered her gum before giving the lecture. Claimed it helped with concentration—like he was running a tutoring program out of juvie. Pony just remembered trying to figure out what planet he’d landed on.

Darry shook his head in disappointment as he recalled, “She sent Dally a thank-you note too, didn’t she?”

Two-Bit lost it. 

“We all did around nice girls who were the cousinly type. I don’t know how to explain it—we try to be nice to the girls we see once in a while, like cousins or the girls in class; but we still watch a nice girl go by on a street corner and say all kinds of lousy stuff about her. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know why.”

Steve, from his spot on the floor, picked at a scuff mark on the wood. “We’re all full of crap,” he said eventually. Nobody argued.

Two-Bit, across from the couch, rubbed the back of his neck. “Huh. Guess I always figured that was just the script, y’know?” he said. “Like, if you didn’t say nothin’, the rest of the guys’d think you were soft. Or worse— interested .” His grin tried to come up, automatic, but faltered halfway. “Didn’t stop to think what it sounded like.

Soda bit at his fingernails. Used to be, he’d joke like that too. Used to grin and go along with Steve when a girl walked by, figuring it didn’t mean nothin’. But then he’d look at Sandy and hope she didn’t hear. Or worse—hope she did , and thought he was like everybody else. Tough. Greaser-cool. 

She’d always smiled at him like he was sweeter than the rest. But maybe she had never really believed that.

Darry just looked at Ponyboy—not to scold him, not to correct him, just… to see if he understood what he’d written. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe that was the point.

““Well,” Marcia said with finality, “I’m glad he doesn’t know us.” “I kind of admire him,” Cherry said softly, so only I heard, and then we settled down to watch the movie.”

Dally’s voice faltered in his shock as he read the line. 

Steve turned fully to look at Dally. “Wait. Cherry Valance said she admired you ?” It wasn’t exactly a jab, but it wasn’t exactly friendly either.

Two-Bit made a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Guess Hell’s finally freezed over,” he remarked. “Either that or she’s got a thing for criminals.”

Pony was curious to find that “told you so” seemed to be nowhere in Dally’s posture. If anything, he looked like the ground had tilted and he couldn’t tell if he liked how that felt.

“Oh, yeah, we found out why they were without a car. They’d come with their boyfriends, but walked out on them when they found out the boys had brought some booze along. The boys had gotten angry and left. “I don’t care if they did.” Cherry sounded annoyed. “It’s not my idea of a good time to sit in a drive-in and watch people get drunk.” You could tell by the way she said it that her idea of a good time was probably high-class, and probably expensive. They’d decided to stay and see the movie anyway. It was one of those beach-party movies with no plot and no acting but a lot of girls in bikinis and some swinging songs, so it was all right.”

Steve practically cackled. “ So it was all right, ” he repeated in a bad imitation of Pony’s voice. “Translation: Pony watched ten seconds and then forgot how words worked.”

Two-Bit leaned into the table like he was seeing Pony in a whole new light. “I thought you were a man of culture over here. But I guess the plot doesn’t matter when the beach is full of legs.”

Darry shook his head, amused despite himself. “Just say you liked the bikinis and move on.”

Pony, face rapidly matching the color of a ripe tomato, tried to defend himself. “It wasn’t—! That’s not what I meant—!”

Two-Bit pretended to be reassuring. “We get it, Pony. It spoke to you. Spiritually.”

“We were all four sitting there in silence when suddenly a strong hand came down on Johnny’s shoulder and another on mine and a deep voice said, “Okay, greasers, you’ve had it.” I almost jumped out of my skin. It was like having someone leap out from behind a door and yell “Boo!” at you. I looked fearfully over my shoulder and there was Two-Bit, grinning like a Chessy cat. “Glory, Two-Bit, scare us to death!” He was good at voice imitations and had sounded for all the world like a snarling Soc. Then I looked at Johnny. His eyes were shut and he was as white as a ghost. His breath was coming in smothered gasps. Two-Bit knew better than to scare Johnny like that.”

There was a beat of silence after Dally finished the line—then he reached across the coffee table and cuffed Two-Bit lightly on the back of the head.

“You idiot ,” Dally muttered, not even bothering to hide the edge in his voice.

Two-Bit just looked sheepish. 

“I guess he’d forgotten. He’s kind of scatterbrained.” 

Steve, still sitting cross-legged by the couch, pointed a dramatic finger. “Scatterbrained? That ain’t even half of it. Two-Bit’s got three thoughts rattling around at any given time and they’re all about beer, girls, or cartoons.”

Two-Bit just sat taller, like he was being honored. “What can I say? I’m just a man of many interests.”

Soda raised an eyebrow at him, “You forgot your own birthday last year.”

“That was one time,” Two-Bit objected, though he was grinning too hard for it to count as actual defense. 

“Johnny opened his eyes and said weakly, “Hey, Two-Bit.” Two-Bit messed up his hair, “Sorry, kid,” he said, “I forgot.” He climbed over the chair and plopped down beside Marcia. “Who’s this, your great-aunts?” “Great-grandmothers, twice removed,” Cherry said smoothly. I couldn’t tell if Two-Bit was drunk or not. It’s kind of hard to tell with him—he acts boozed up sometimes even when he’s sober.”

Soda was shaking his head, grinning wide. “No plot, no plan, and no liquor.”

Two-Bit, thoroughly unbothered, grinned like he’d just been awarded a medal. “Look, sometimes ya don’t gotta ruin a perfectly good personality with actual alcohol. I come pre-fermented.”

Dally, from his chair, muttered, “You come unstable.”

Johnny, soft but smiling, leaned toward Pony. “That’s why he doesn’t need a flask. He just wakes up buzzed.”

Two-Bit gave them a theatrical bow from his spot on the floor. “You love me anyway.”

Ponyboy snarked back, “Keep telling yourself that, Two-Bit. Confidence looks good on you—delusional or not.”

“He cocked one eyebrow up and the other down, which he always does when something puzzles him, or bothers him, or when he feels like saying something smart. “Shoot, you’re ninety-six if you’re a day.” “I’m a night,” Marcia said brightly. Two-Bit stared at her admiringly. “Brother, you’re a sharp one. Where’d you two ever get to be picked up by a couple of greasy hoods like Pony and Johnny?” “We really picked them up,” Marcia said. “We’re really Arabian slave traders and we’re thinking about shanghaiing them. They’re worth ten camels apiece at least.” “Five,” Two-Bit disagreed. “They don’t talk Arabian, I don’t think. Say somethin’ in Arabian, Johnnycake.” “Aw, cut it out!” Johnny broke in. “Dally was bothering them and when he left they wanted us to sit with them to protect them. Against wisecracking greasers like you, probably.” Two-Bit grinned, because Johnny didn’t usually get sassy like that. We thought we were doing good if we could get him to talk at all.”

Johnny felt warmth rise to his chest hearing how much the gang cared about him. Pony was right—what they had was more than just a pack—really they were like family. At least the closest thing to family that Johnny had ever had. 

Ponyboy glanced at Johnny, worried that his words in the book would offend him, but was relieved when Johnny caught his eye and offered him a shy smile.

“Incidentally, we don’t mind being called greaser by another greaser. It’s kind of playful then. “Hey, where is ol’ Dally, anyways?” “He went hunting some action—booze or dames or a fight. I hope he don’t get jailed again. He just got out.” “He’ll probably find the fight,” Two-Bit stated cheerfully. “That’s why I came over. Mr. Timothy Shepard and Co. are looking for whoever so kindly slashed their car’s tires, and since Mr. Curly Shepard spotted Dallas doing it … well …”

Dally didn’t even try to play it cool. As soon as the words “Curly Shepard spotted Dallas doing it…” left his mouth, he was already grinning wickedly—wide and unapologetic. The kind of grin that said yeah, I did it , and I’d do it again with better aim.

“Does Dally have a blade?” “Not that I know of,” I said. “I think he’s got a piece of pipe, but he busted his blade this morning.” “Good. Tim’ll fight fair if Dally don’t pull a blade on him. Dally shouldn’t have any trouble.” Cherry and Marcia were staring at us. “You don’t believe in playing rough or anything, do you?” “A fair fight isn’t rough,” Two-Bit said. “Blades are rough. So are chains and heaters and pool sticks and rumbles. Skin fighting isn’t rough. It blows off steam better than anything. There’s nothing wrong with throwing a few punches. Socs are rough. They gang up on one or two, or they rumble each other with their social clubs. Us greasers usually stick together, but when we do fight among ourselves, it’s a fair fight between two. And Dally deserves whatever he gets, ’cause slashed tires ain’t no joke when you’ve got to work to pay for them. He got spotted, too, and that was his fault. Our one rule, besides Stick together, is Don’t get caught. He might get beat up, he might not. Either way there’s not going to be any blood feud between our outfit and Shepard’s. If we needed them tomorrow they’d show. If Tim beats Dally’s head in, and then tomorrow asks us for help in a rumble, we’ll show. Dally was getting kicks. He got caught. He pays up. No sweat.” “Yeah, boy,” Cherry said sarcastically, “real simple.” “Sure,” Marcia said, unconcerned. “If he gets killed or something, you just bury him. No sweat.””

Any trace of warmth in the room previously was snuffed out in an instant. 

Dally, still holding the book, went still—not unreadable for once, just... hollow. He hadn't expected to hear his own death tossed off like a joke. It shouldn't’ve hit this hard—he didn’t even know Marcia. But the hurt still rose, sharp and heavy, sitting behind his ribs with nowhere to go. 

Dallas deserves everything he gets. Should get worse, if you want the truth. The memory of Ponyboy's earlier words twisted even deeper now, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Ponyboy agreed with her.

Around Dally, the gang shifted, subtle but sharp .

Two-Bit’s smile had faded. He hadn’t thought much of the line when he’d lived it—just another wisecrack in a long string of them. But now, after having felt Dally gone, really gone, the words landed different. He rubbed at his jaw and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

Steve swallowed hard. There was bile in his throat and a pounding in his head. He knew that back then it wasn’t meant to be a big deal. Marcia hadn’t meant any harm. But hearing it now felt like someone spitting on a fresh grave. Who the hell jokes about something like that?

Soda’s hands curled into fists before he could stop them. He felt his nails bite into his palms, sharp half-moons that would be sore later. He didn’t care. Hearing someone talk about Dally like he was disposable—just another lost hood—hit harder than he thought it would. Dally had been loud, reckless, impossible… but he mattered. He mattered to them.

Damn. Darry thought anxiously, putting his head in his hands and tugging at his hair roughly. Dally was just a kid.  

Ponyboy had gone pale. His pulse echoed in his ears. He felt his hands shake, and pulled them into his lap. He still wasn’t good at thinking about death—about their deaths. Hearing it said so casually from a stranger was even worse.

Johnny blinked hard, but it didn’t stop the tears from rising. He hadn’t been there when Dally died. And he had trouble processing the fact now—when Dally was sitting just a few feet away. He wondered, suddenly and with a strange clarity:

Did Dally get a chance to truly watch the sunset like Johnny had wanted him to? Did Pony get him to stop long enough to see something beautiful? He doubted it.

Everybody wondered if they should say something.

Nobody did. 

““You dig okay, baby.” Two-Bit grinned and lit a cigarette. “Anyone want a weed?” I looked at Two-Bit admiringly. He sure put things into words good. Maybe he was still a junior at eighteen and a half, and maybe his sideburns were too long, and maybe he did get boozed up too much, but he sure understood things. Cherry and Marcia shook their heads at his offering of cigarettes, but Johnny and I reached for one. Johnny’s color was back and his breathing was regular, but his hand was shaking ever so slightly. A cigarette would steady it.”

The atmosphere of the room remained heavy but Darry still narrowed his eyes at Ponyboy’s obvious unwavering faith in cigarettes.  

““Ponyboy, will you come with me to get some popcorn?” Cherry asked. I jumped up. “Sure. Y’all want some?” “I do,” said Marcia. She was finishing the Coke Dally had given her. I realized then that Marcia and Cherry weren’t alike. Cherry had said she wouldn’t drink Dally’s Coke if she was starving, and she meant it. It was the principle of the thing. But Marcia saw no reason to throw away a perfectly good, free Coke. “Me too,” said Two-Bit. He flipped me a fifty-cent piece. “Get Johnny some, too. I’m buyin’,” he added as Johnny started to reach into his jeans pocket. We went to the concession stand and, as usual, there was a line a mile long, so we had to wait. Quite a few kids turned to look at us—you didn’t see a kid grease and a Socy cheerleader together often. Cherry didn’t seem to notice. “Your friend—the one with the sideburns—he’s okay?” “He ain’t dangerous like Dallas if that’s what you mean. He’s okay.””

Dangerous . Normally Dally would be proud of that claim. But hearing it from Ponyboy at this point just made him feel…resigned.

“She smiled and her eyes showed that her mind was on something else. “Johnny … he’s been hurt bad sometime, hasn’t he?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Hurt and scared.” “It was the Socs,” I said nervously, because there were plenty of Socs milling around and some of them were giving me funny looks, as if I shouldn’t be with Cherry or something. And I don’t like to talk about it either—Johnny getting beat up, I mean. But I started in, talking a little faster than I usually do because I don’t like to think about it either.”

None of them liked to think about it. 

But Dally kept reading as Johnny put his head down and Pony put an arm around his friend’s shoulder.

“It was almost four months ago. I had walked down to the DX station to get a bottle of pop and to see Steve and Soda, because they’ll always buy me a couple of bottles and let me help work on the cars.”

It had still been lingering in the back of Ponyboy’s mind for a while now—what Steve and Soda had said about Steve not hating him.

He thought about how Steve always grumbled at his presence but still handed him money to buy some pops. And he figured maybe they were right. It sure made Pony feel like an idiot—but maybe Steve really never had been holding some vendetta against him. He glanced over at said boy, who was leaning forward now, chin resting on one hand, elbow propped on the coffee table like he had nothing on his mind.

I should apologize, Pony thought. And thank him. For the sodas. For not hating me like I thought he did.

“Hey, Steve?” Ponyboy’s voice was quiet, a little unsure.

Steve glanced up, caught off guard. “Huh?”

Pony shifted awkwardly. “Thanks for the pops… and I’m sorry I ever thought you didn’t like me. I never hated you or anything.”

Steve blinked at him. For a second, he just stared—then a slow, real grin pulled at his mouth as he understood what the kid was trying to say. His expression softened in that rare way of his—the one that made him look more like Soda’s best friend and less like the guy who always called Pony a pain in the neck.

“Anytime, kid,” he said, voice warm. “Don’t sweat it.”

Then, with no warning, Steve reached up from the floor and yanked Ponyboy into a headlock, ruffling his hair aggressively. “You sentimental now, huh? What’s next—matching bracelets?”

The rest of the gang tried to pretend they weren’t smiling like idiots. 

“I don’t like to go on weekends because then there is usually a bunch of girls down there flirting with Soda—all kinds of girls, Socs too. I don’t care too much for girls yet. Soda says I’ll grow out of it. He did.”

“Oh, he did , all right,” Darry said, ominously.

Soda flushed bright red and signaled frantically for Dally to keep reading. 

Steve and Two-Bit had already burst out laughing, and were seconds from interrogation when Dally, uncharacteristically, had mercy on Soda.

“It was a warmish spring day with the sun shining bright, but it was getting chilly and dark by the time we started for home. We were walking because we had left Steve’s car at the station. At the corner of our block there’s a wide, open field where we play football and hang out, and it’s often a site for rumbles and fist fights. We were passing it, kicking rocks down the street and finishing our last bottle of Pepsi, when Steve noticed something lying on the ground. He picked it up. It was Johnny’s blue-jeans jacket—the only jacket he had. “Looks like Johnny forgot his jacket,” Steve said, slinging it over his shoulder to take it by Johnny’s house. Suddenly he stopped and examined it more carefully. There was a stain the color of rust across the collar. He looked at the ground. There were some more stains on the grass. He looked up and across the field with a stricken expression on his face. I think we all heard the low moan and saw the dark motionless hump on the other side of the lot at the same time. Soda reached him first. Johnny was lying face down on the ground. Soda turned him over gently, and I nearly got sick.”

Dally’s voice slowed at “Johnny’s jacket,” and for a flicker of a second, he looked gutted— scared .

Ponyboy felt his stomach knot. He could still see Johnny’s crumpled body in his mind’s eye, even now—even though it was so long ago.

Beside him, Johnny sat stiff and silent, eyes locked on the book but not really seeing it. Soda’s jaw clenched, fingers digging into his leg. Steve shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at the text.

Two-Bit didn’t say a word. Darry exhaled through his nose like he was holding something in.

No one spoke. Everyone knew what was coming next.

“Someone had beaten him badly. We were used to seeing Johnny banged up—his father clobbered him around a lot, and although it made us madder than heck, we couldn’t do anything about it.”

Johnny found himself touched by their protectiveness. The gang wasn’t one for saying stuff like that out loud, which made it mean even more coming from inside Ponyboy’s head. He felt thankful that Ponyboy had thought it at all.

“But those beatings had been nothing like this. Johnny’s face was cut up and bruised and swollen, and there was a wide gash from his temple to his cheekbone. He would carry that scar all his life. His white T-shirt was splattered with blood. I just stood there, trembling with sudden cold. I thought he might be dead; surely nobody could be beaten like that and live. Steve closed his eyes for a second and muffled a groan as he dropped on his knees beside Soda. Somehow the gang sensed what had happened. Two-Bit was suddenly there beside me, and for once his comical grin was gone and his dancing gray eyes were stormy. Darry had seen us from our porch and ran toward us, suddenly skidding to a halt. Dally was there, too, swearing under his breath, and turning away with a sick expression on his face. I wondered about it vaguely. Dally had seen people killed on the streets of New York’s West Side. Why did he look sick now?”

Johnny blanched. Hearing all this for the first time—it rattled him. Back then, he’d been so out of it he barely even knew they were all there. But now, knowing just how much it had shaken them?

He always knew they cared. But this was proof. And he hadn’t even realized how badly he’d needed it. His eyes misted before he even realized.

He looked over and caught Soda watching him. Soda’s gaze said he understood and he sent Johnny a reassuring nod.

““Johnny?” Soda lifted him up and held him against his shoulder. He gave the limp body a slight shake. “Hey, Johnnycake.” Johnny didn’t open his eyes, but there came a soft question. “Soda?” “Yeah, it’s me,” Sodapop said. “Don’t talk. You’re gonna be okay.” “There was a whole bunch of them,” Johnny went on, swallowing, ignoring Soda’s command. “A blue Mustang full … I got so scared …” He tried to swear, but suddenly started crying, fighting to control himself, then sobbing all the more because he couldn’t. I had seen Johnny take a whipping with a two-by-four from his old man and never let out a whimper.”

Johnny’s voice was low. “When’d you ever see that?” Too quiet. Too calm.

Pony looked up, his heart dropping like a stone. “What?”

“That thing it says. ’Bout my old man. The two-by-four.” Johnny's eyes stayed fixed on his lap, glazed and distant. “You weren’t there.”

Pony flinched. “M-Maybe I wasn’t,” he said quickly. “Maybe you told me once, and I just... imagined the rest.”

Johnny’s mouth twitched—somewhere between a frown and disbelief. “I don’t tell people that stuff.”

Dally leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing like he was trying to read between all the lines. “That’s right,” he said. “Not even to me.”

A beat passed. Soda opened his mouth, then closed it and looked at Ponyboy helplessly—like he wanted to speak, but suddenly wasn’t sure what he could even say.

“I saw it once.” Ponyboy’s voice was barely there, but it shattered the silence. “I don’t think you knew. None of you.”

Everyone stilled with the admission.

“It was real late. I couldn’t sleep, so I went walking. Took the back alley near your place, Johnny.” He swallowed, eyes distant. “I heard yelling. Then the crack of…wood on skin. I looked through the slats in the fence. You were already on the ground.”

Johnny didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Pony went on, barely hearing himself speak. “Didn’t even let myself think about it.”

Maybe before he had been hiding from the memory, but it was too late now—it was out.

“But I remembered.”

His voice broke there, just a little. He pulled in a shaky breath, then dropped his head into his hands, fingers digging into his scalp.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Johnny finally nodded, once. “Okay,” he said. Not forgiving, not angry. Just... accepting.

He didn’t look at Pony, not at first. But a second later—just before the silence settled too deep—he let out a slow breath and glanced over.

It wasn’t much. But Ponyboy caught it. And in that flicker of eye contact, something shifted—like the worst of the weight had been seen, and maybe, just maybe, shared

Darry leaned back as the realization hit him in the gut. He should’ve noticed. Pony must’ve come home a bit off—shaken, quiet, something—but Darry couldn’t recall a single moment that stood out. Not one. He hadn’t even suspected.

The thought made his head churn.

If Pony could carry that and still look fine—what else had he missed? What other moments had Darry missed, too caught up in work shifts and bills? The not-knowing scraped at him—slow, dull, and awful. He kept thinking, He would’ve told me. He would’ve told me. But maybe that was the problem—Ponyboy never did tell him. Maybe Darry never made him feel safe to.

Two-Bit gave a weak chuckle under his breath. “Guess that’s... one way to skip curfew.”

No one looked up. The joke wilted in the silence.

“That made it worse to see him break now. Soda just held him and pushed Johnny’s hair back out of his eyes. “It’s okay, Johnnycake, they’re gone now. It’s okay.” Finally, between sobs, Johnny managed to gasp out his story. He had been hunting our football to practice a few kicks when a blue Mustang had pulled up beside the lot. There were four Socs in it.”

Steve got pissed every time he thought about the odds—how unfair it was. Those cowards . He thought.

“They had caught him and one of them had a lot of rings on his hand—that’s what had cut Johnny up so badly. It wasn’t just that they had beaten him half to death—he could take that. They had scared him. They had threatened him with everything under the sun.”

Soda breathed slowly and clenched his fist to stop himself from punching the coffee table. 

“Johnny was high-strung anyway, a nervous wreck from getting belted every time he turned around and from hearing his parents fight all the time. Living in those conditions might have turned someone else rebellious and bitter; it was killing Johnny. He had never been a coward. He was a good man in a rumble. He stuck up for the gang and kept his mouth shut good around cops. But after the night of the beating, Johnny was jumpier than ever. I didn’t think he’d ever get over it.”

Dally fought back his anger as he was reminded of how much the Socs had affected Johnny. 

“Johnny never walked by himself after that. And Johnny, who was the most law-abiding of us, now carried in his back pocket a six-inch switchblade. He’d use it, too, if he ever got jumped again. They had scared him that much. He would kill the next person who jumped him.”

And now the gang all knew that was true.

They’d never blamed Johnny for the murder—but now, remembering what those Socs had done, they felt something else entirely. Not just acceptance or resignation, but a bitter, undeniable satisfaction in the fact that Johnny had gotten the Socs back. The thought made them feel cold—but also justified—if only a little.

“Nobody was ever going to beat him like that again. Not over his dead body … I had nearly forgotten that Cherry was listening to me. But when I came back to reality and looked at her, I was startled to find her as white as a sheet. “All Socs aren’t like that,” she said. “You have to believe me, Ponyboy. Not all of us are like that.” “Sure,” I said. “That’s like saying all you greasers are like Dallas Winston. I’ll bet he’s jumped a few people.” I digested that. It was true. Dally had jumped people. He had told us stories about muggings in New York that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. But not all of us were that bad.”

Dally once again narrowed his eyes at Ponyboy’s wording. In the worst way possible, he almost expected it at this point.

“Cherry no longer looked sick, only sad. “I’ll bet you think the Socs have it made. The rich kids, the West-side Socs. I’ll tell you something, Ponyboy, and it may come as a surprise. We have troubles you’ve never even heard of. You want to know something?” She looked me straightin the eye. “Things are rough all over.” “I believe you,” I said.”

Steve was a bit surprised by Ponyboy’s show of maturity. Even after reliving his memory of Johnny being jumped—to still be able to see things from both sides? That took a kind of strength that Steve couldn’t find a name for. 

Heart, maybe—the kind that they didn’t teach in schools or the streets.

Steve found himself silently impressed.

“We’d better get back out there with the popcorn or Two-Bit’ll think I ran off with his money.” We went back and watched the movie through again.”

Two-Bit had a quip ready, but that lingering heaviness still filled the room, and he found himself swallowing it back.

“Marcia and Two Bit were hitting it off fine. Both had the same scatterbrained sense of humor.”

And just like that, the mood finally shifted again.

The heaviness cracked, lifted by the gang’s collective instinct to pounce on the rare chance to tease Two-Bit about girls, for once. The opportunity didn’t come around often—and they weren’t gonna waste it.

Steve was the first to jump in. “So that’s your type, huh? Blond and chaotic?”

Two-Bit placed a hand over his heart and corrected him. “Scatterbrained with dimples. I’ve got standards.”

“You were practically proposing,” Soda said, eyebrows raised. “I could feel the secondhand blushing and I wasn’t even there.”

“You’re here now,” Two-Bit fired back. Then, thinking on it: “Which is worse—I’ve got backup commentary.”

Pony couldn’t help it—a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t join in, but watching them gang up on Two-Bit for once felt… familiar. The tension in his shoulders finally began to ease.

“Pony’s narration ratted you out,” Steve added, grinning.

“You were kind of whipped,” Dally said, casual as ever.

Two-Bit turned to him, wounded. “Et tu, Dallas?”

Dally shrugged. “She laughed at your god-awful jokes. You never stood a chance.”

Johnny let out a quiet laugh—the first sound from him in a while.

Steve whistled. “It was pretty bold of you to flirt that hard when her friend had more concession food locked and loaded.”

 Two-Bit seemed to consider that. “You’re right, maybe I should've had a getaway plan.”

“Next time,” Darry said dryly, “bring Steve’s cousin. She knows how to hotwire a car.”

Pony's laugh came easy this time—sharp, sudden, and real. The room cracked—laughter spilling out sharp and sudden.

Two-Bit let it happen. 

Inwardly, he knew—they all did. The teasing wasn’t just teasing. It was oxygen. A release. After everything that had just resurfaced, they needed this—maybe more than some of them would admit, even to each other.

“But Cherry and Johnny and I just sat there, looking at the movie and not talking. I quit worrying about everything and thought about how nice it was to sit with a girl without having to listen to her swear or to beat her off with a club. I knew Johnny liked it, too. He didn’t talk to girls much.”

Two-Bit whistled, making a face, “Yeah, and the sky is blue.” 

Johnny shot him a warning glare—which looked about as scary as an insulted chihuahua. 

“Once, while Dallas was in reform school, Sylvia had started hanging on to Johnny and sweet-talking him and Steve got hold of her and told her if she tried any of her tricks with Johnny he’d personally beat the tar out of her. Then he gave Johnny a lecture on girls and how a sneaking little broad like Sylvia would get him into a lot of trouble. As a result, Johnny never spoke to girls much, but whether that was because he was scared of Steve or because he was shy, I couldn’t tell.”

Johnny was quick to jump in, putting his hands up defensively before Steve could get the wrong idea, “Woah—I ain’t scared of Steve, man.” 

He locked eyes with Steve then, “You just… made me think, is all. Made me realize I should be careful.”

Steve snorted and gave Johnny a little shove on the shoulder. “Good. I wasn’t tryin’ to spook ya—just keep you from lettin’ some girl pick your pocket and your pride.”

“I got the same lecture from Two-Bit after we’d picked up a couple of girls downtown one day. I thought it was funny, because girls are one subject even Darry thinks I use my head about.”

“Hey!” Two-Bit cried indignantly, “How come Steve’s lecture gets to sound all responsible, while mine sounds like a joke?”

Ponyboy laughed at him, “Cause you are a joke.” 

Two-Bit’s eyes narrowed and he reached like he was gonna make a grab for the kid, “You little sh–” 

Dally kept reading.

“And it really had been funny, because Two-Bit was half-crocked when he gave me the lecture, and he told me some stories that about made me want to crawl under the floor or something.”

This had Soda and Steve both wheezing, and even Dally barked out a laugh at Two-Bit’s expense. 

“You can't even— pretend —that was a responsible lecture dude,” Soda said between laughs. 

“I remember that…poor Ponyboy…” Steve wheezed, “his pure and innocent ears…” 

“Hey!” Two-Bit threw up his hands. “I was trying to help the kid out! No one appreciates me.”

Pony shuddered and looked off into the distance, “The things I heard that day…”

“But he had been talking about girls like Sylvia and the girls he and Dally and the rest picked up at drive-ins and downtown; he never said anything about Socy girls. So I figured it was all right to be sitting there with them.”

“That’s my brother!” Soda clapped Pony on the back, “Alway’s look for loopholes.” 

Darry pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Seriously. Who raised these kids?  

“Even if they did have their own troubles. I really couldn’t see what Socs would have to sweat about—good grades, good cars, good girls, madras and Mustangs and Corvairs—Man, I thought, if I had worries like that I’d consider myself lucky. I know better now.”

The unspoken truth of that last sentence hung ominously in the room.

Then Dally leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes like he was exhausted. “Usually I do voices,” he muttered, flipping the book shut. “But I charge extra for that.”

Steve let out a short laugh, and Soda smirked.

Two-Bit stretched like it had personally exhausted him. “Dang. I feel like I just lived a whole day in a dozen pages.”

“Who’s up next?” Steve leaned forward, eyeing the book but not grabbing it yet. “We can’t stop now—it’s just gettin’ good.” Then, after a pause: “Unless… you guys wanna take a break?”

Pony glanced around. Johnny was still quiet. Soda looked thoughtful. Even Dally looked like he was weighing something.

“Based on the order of events…there’s probably gonna be a lot in the next one,” Pony said quietly. “Stuff with me and Darry...”

That got a silence of its own.

“Alright,” Soda said, nodding slowly. “Let’s read one more, then take a break—we might need one more after it gets a bit heavier.”

“Works for me,” Steve said, already shifting a pillow behind his back. “One more chapter—then TV or a game or somethin’.”

Dally looked to Johnny. “You good to read next?”

Johnny shrugged and reached over, taking the book from him. “Yeah. I’ll give it a shot.”

And just like that, they settled in again for the next chapter.

Chapter Text

Johnny squinted at the book. “Okay... Chapter Three.” He cleared his throat and started to read:

“‘After the movie was over it suddenly came to us that Cherry and Marcia didn’t have a way to get home. Two-Bit gallantly offered to walk them home—the west side of town was only about twenty miles away—but’”

Two-Bit perked up. “Oh I know this is about to be flattering,” he said, grinning. “‘Gallantly’? Don’t hold back, future Ponyboy.”

Steve snorted. “Gallantly offered to walk them twenty miles? That’s not chivalry, that’s insanity.”

Two-Bit shot him a look. “I’d do it. I’m committed .”

“they wanted to call their parents and have them come and get them. Two-Bit finally talked them into letting us drive them home in his car. I think they were still half-scared of us.”

“Oh, they were scared of you and Johnny ?” Steve choked out, eyebrows sky-high. 

Pony squinted at him. “We looked tough.”

“Yeah,” Johnny nodded, trying to slick his hair back. “Real mean.”

“You know what I think?” Darry said from the couch. “I think you two were more scared of them than they ever were of you.”

Pony muttered, “Weren’t.”

Johnny gave him a look.

“Okay, maybe a little,” Pony added.

Dally snorted. “You know what’s scary? Ridin’ in that rattletrap Two-Bit calls a car.”

“I’ll have you know she runs smooth,” Two-Bit defended with pride.

“Sure,” Dally muttered. “Right after she threatens to explode.”

“They were getting over it, though, as we walked to Two-Bit’s house to pick up the car. It seemed funny to me that Socs—if these girls were any example—were just like us. They liked the Beatles and thought Elvis Presley was out, and we thought the Beatles were rank and that Elvis was tuff, but that seemed the only difference to me.”

No one spoke for a moment. Then Soda let out a breath, looking thoughtful. “Guess being scared and wanting to belong ain’t just a Greaser thing either, huh.”

Pony met his eyes. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

Pony looked down at the book, thumb brushing the edge of the page. “I kept thinking about that. How we all got told who we were. What sides we were supposed to be on. And then they showed up and didn’t fit the story.”

Johnny listened thoughtfully. Steve looked down and rubbed the back of his neck, like the idea had landed a little closer than he expected. Even Two-Bit looked thoughtful—a rare sight that was becoming weirdly common the more they read.

Soda glanced at Darry, then back at Pony. Like muscle memory, he reached out to ruffle Ponyboy’s hair with one hand, his face curling into a lopsided grin.

“My kid brother sure is smart,” he said with a laugh, but there was something proud threaded into it. “Listen, I know we mess with you about your IQ and all that, but man—you’re really going places.”

When Ponyboy just looked bashful, Soda added for good measure, “I mean it. Darry and I are proud of you.” 

Pony glanced at Darry.

Darry opened his mouth, closed it, then finally said, a smile on his face, “Yeah, we are.”

He’d spent so long watching out for Ponyboy—keeping him out of trouble. Trying to keep the world from taking one more thing away. 

He’d always known Pony was smart—capable. But there was something different about hearing it like this. For the first time, at least to Darry, Pony didn’t sound like his reckless, daydreaming little brother. He sounded like someone seeking answers in the world. Someone asking the right questions—not getting caught up in the superficial ideas of society. 

Someone who could shape his own future. 

Maybe letting Pony find his voice didn’t mean Darry had failed to protect him. It meant he’d done just enough to let him grow into it.

“Of course greasy girls would have acted a lot tougher, but there was a basic sameness. I thought maybe it was money that separated us. “No,” Cherry said slowly when I said this. “It’s not just money. Part of it is, but not all. You greasers have a different set of values. You’re more emotional. We’re sophisticated—cool to the point of not feeling anything. Nothing is real with us. You know, sometimes I’ll catch myself talking to a girl-friend, and realize I don’t mean half of what I’m saying. I don’t really think a beer blast on the river bottom is super-cool, but I’ll rave about one to a girl-friend just to be saying something.” She smiled at me.”

“She smiled at me,” Two-Bit repeated with a dopey grin. “Look out, folks. Pony’s turnin’ on the charm.”

Pony rolled his eyes, but he was quiet.

Dally snorted. “Sophisticated, my ass. Sounds more like they’re all playin’ pretend.”

Steve leaned back. “I mean, we lie sometimes too, right? Just... maybe not to ourselves.”

Johnny picked at a thread on his jeans. “Ain’t the same,” he said softly. “We don’t got the time to fake it like they do.”

Pony finally spoke. “She made it sound so empty. Like nothin’ really matters to them. I don’t get that.”

“‘Cause we ain’t got that luxury,” Darry said. “When everything’s easy, you stop lookin’ close.”

He didn’t say the rest—how he’s had to spend months looking too close, too hard, trying to hold the pieces of their family together before they slipped through.

Soda nodded. “We feel it all—good, bad, whatever. Ain’t always a blessing, but it’s real.”

There was a pause for a while before Two-Bit finally broke the silence.

“Still think greasy girls would’ve flattened those Socs,” he said. “Values or not.”

““I never told anyone that. I think you’re the first person I’ve ever really gotten through to.” She was coming through to me all right, probably because I was a greaser, and younger; she didn’t have to keep her guard up with me. “Rat race is a perfect name for it,” she said. “We’re always going and going and going, and never asking where. Did you ever hear of having more than you wanted?”

Steve snorted, his response bitter. “Does she know who she’s talkin’ to? Greasers don’t get luxuries like that.”

Two-Bit spoke wistfully. “More than you wanted. Man, I can’t even picture that. I’d settle for enough. ”

Dally leaned back in his chair. “If I ever had too much, I’d probably think I was bein’ set up.”

Johnny said it almost to himself, “Must be somethin’, though. Bein’ able to want less.”

Pony looked down at his hands, his voice quieter. “She wasn’t just talkin’ so much about physical stuff. It’s more like... movin’ so fast you forget what you’re even doin’ it for.”

Soda watched him, something somber settling in his chest. Whatever Pony and Cherry had shared, it’d meant something—maybe not romance, maybe not even friendship in the usual way, but they truly had understood each other. He smiled a little sadly, thinking how rare it was for his brother to let someone in like that. The only other example he could think of was Johnny. And that hadn’t turned out either, huh?  

Whether Pony liked Cherry or not didn’t matter much—losin’ someone who saw you, that must’ve hurt his kid brother a lot. Soda slung an arm around Pony’s shoulders and pulled him in, like he could shield him from all of it for just a second longer.

“So that you couldn’t want anything else and then started looking for something else to want? It seems like we’re always searching for something to satisfy us, and never finding it. Maybe if we could lose our cool we could.” That was the truth. Socs were always behind a wall of aloofness, careful not to let their real selves show through. I had seen a social-club rumble once. The Socs even fought coldly and practically and impersonally. “That’s why we’re separated,” I said. “It’s not money, it’s feeling—you don’t feel anything and we feel too violently.””

Dally scoffed. That line— feel too violently— ticked him off more than he liked. He hated how it made him sound soft. Weak. Like maybe all that fire inside wasn’t control or strength—it was just too much of everything, bottled up and shoving against his ribs.

He’d been taught to clamp it down. Don’t cry, don’t beg, don’t hope. Keep your fists up and your mouth shut. You don’t let anybody know when they’ve got to you. That was the only way to survive.

Only—sometimes he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Sometimes he lit a cigarette just to have something to do with his hands. Sometimes he walked into fights hoping they’d knock something loose in him. 

And in the end—

He hadn’t survived had he?

““And”—she was trying to hide a smile—“that’s probably why we take turns getting our names in the paper.” Two-Bit and Marcia weren’t even listening to us. They were engaged in some wild conversation that made no sense to anyone but themselves.”

Soda turned to Two-Bit, and for once, there was no teasing in his voice. “You and Marcia still talk?”

Two-Bit blinked, mid-stretch. Then he shrugged, kind of sheepish. “Yeah. Now and then.”

Pony raised an eyebrow. “For real?”

Two-Bit shrugged like it wasn’t much, but the corners of his mouth tugged up. “She’s easy to talk to. Doesn’t hurt that she laughs at my jokes.”

Steve gave a little grin. “That’s real nice, man.”

Two-Bit just returned the grin. 

“I have quite a rep for being quiet, almost as quiet as Johnny. Two-Bit always said he wondered why Johnny and I were such good buddies. “You must make such interestin’ conversation,” he’d say, cocking one eyebrow, “you keepin’ your mouth shut and Johnny not sayin’ anything.””

Two-Bit leaned back, smirking. “I stand by that. Y’all used to sit there like a pair of spooked alley cats. Dead quiet, starin’ at nothin’. Real lively company.”

Johnny shrugged. “Didn’t need to talk.”

“Yeah,” Pony muttered. “We made it work.”

“Ain’t like you had much to say anyway,” Dally said, mocking.

Johnny leaned toward him. “Yeah? Better than hearin’ you run your mouth.”

Dally snorted. He flicked ash off his cigarette, tone rough like he wanted to rile him. “You’re lucky you’re my shadow or I’d take offense to that.”

Johnny didn’t even blink. “Guess I got privileges.”

Dally’s mouth twitched—almost a smile. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

But the way Dally’s foot tapped lightly against Johnny’s didn’t feel like a warning. More like a reminder: I’ve got you.

“But Johnny and I understood each other without saying anything. Nobody but Soda could really get me talking.” 

That had Soda a little surprised. He’d always figured Johnny and Pony were tighter than him and Pony—but maybe that was just because, as much as Pony loved to yap about his day, he never seemed to really open up to Soda.

It made Soda wonder suddenly if Pony ever truly opened up to anyone. Not about school or movies or what Darry did that bugged him—but the real stuff. Just from this book alone, it was clear he had a lot going on inside.

Soda let out a soft breath. He’d always been the one with the easy smile, the open arms. But maybe he hadn’t noticed when his kid brother started holding things a little tighter to his chest.

“Till I met Cherry Valance. I don’t know why I could talk to her; maybe for the same reason she could talk to me. The first thing I knew I was telling her about Mickey Mouse, Soda’s hors—”

Johnny cut himself off abruptly as he processed the line.

Soda had gone still on the couch, pulling his arm back from where it had been resting on Pony’s shoulders and tucking it closer to himself. The shift in the room was instant.

Steve looked over, brows drawn, and rested a hand on Soda’s knee in quiet comfort. Dally kept his eyes on a chipped spot in the floorboards. Even Two-Bit didn’t try to crack a joke.

Pony watched his brother, throat tight. He hadn’t meant to bring it up—not like that. Mickey Mouse was a soft spot, maybe the softest. One of the few things that ever cracked through Soda’s shine.

“You want me to skip it?” Johnny asked gently, thumb still holding the page open.

Soda blinked, then shook his head. “Nah,” he said, voice easy but quieter than usual. “It’s fine.”

Darry reached over and gave Soda’s shoulder a tight squeeze. He hated thinking about Mickey Mouse too. Hated remembering how his little brother had cried for weeks—how that was the first time the light in Soda’s eyes had dimmed.

And Pony—Pony felt his stomach twist.

He couldn’t help but hate his future self a little for putting this in the book. He knew, logically, that he hadn’t meant any harm, couldn’t have possibly known they would be reading it like this—but that didn’t matter. Not right now. Not when it was hurting his brother. He wished to God he hadn’t included something that made Soda pull away like that.

“I had never told anyone about Soda’s horse. It was personal. Soda had this buckskin horse, only it wasn’t his. It belonged to a guy who kept it at the stables where Soda used to work. Mickey Mouse was Soda’s horse, though. The first day Soda saw him he said, “There’s my horse,” and I never doubted it. I was about ten then. Sodapop is horsecrazy.”

Darry smiled as he remembered—Soda wasn’t the only one who was horse-crazy. Their parents had been too. He could still hear their mom, suggesting the name Ponyboy, and their dad laughing so hard he’d had to lean on the kitchen counter to catch his breath. “That might be the best name I ever heard,” he’d said eventually, grinning wide. “Right up there with Darrel and Sodapop.”

“I mean it. He’s always hanging around stables and rodeos, hopping on a horse every time he gets a chance. When I was ten I thought that Mickey Mouse and Soda looked alike and were alike. Mickey Mouse was a dark gold buckskin, sassy and ornery, not much more than a colt. He’d come when Soda called him. He wouldn’t come for anyone else. That horse loved Soda. He’d stand there and chew on Soda’s sleeve or collar. Gosh, but Sodapop was crazy about that horse. He went down to see him every day. Mickey Mouse was a mean horse. He kicked other horses and was always getting into trouble. “I’ve got me a ornery pony,” Soda’d tell him, rubbing his neck. “How come you’re so mean, Mickey Mouse?” Mickey Mouse would just chew on his sleeve and sometimes nip him. But not hard. He may have belonged to another guy, but he was Soda’s horse. “Does Soda still have him?” Cherry asked. “He got sold,” I said. “They came and got him one day and took him off. He was a real valuable horse. Pure quarter.””

“I’m sorry I told Cherry all about it, Soda,” Pony said, guilt creeping into his voice. “I know it’s personal. I don’t really know what came over me.”

Soda—who’d been blinking back tears earlier as Johnny read—was blinking now for a different reason. His expression shifted, something surprised and soft crossing his face, like he hadn’t expected Pony to feel bad for it.

“That’s just fine, Pony,” he said after a pause. “I never said you couldn’t talk about it.”

He rubbed at his eyes, laughed a little under his breath. “You remembered all that, huh?”

Pony nodded slowly. “Every bit.”

Soda gave a small shake of his head, still kind of amazed. “Mickey Mouse was mine, even if he wasn’t. I guess… I didn’t know it meant anything to you.”

“It did,” Pony said, quiet but certain. “Because it meant everything to you.”

Darry felt his heart clench as he saw Soda had started to tear up again. 

“She didn’t say anything else and I was glad. I couldn’t tell her that Soda had bawled all night long after they came and got Mickey Mouse. I had cried, too, if you want to know the truth, because Soda never really wanted anything except a horse, and he’d lost his. Soda had been twelve then, going-on-thirteen. He never let on to Mom and Dad how he felt, though, because we never had enough money and usually we had a hard time making ends meet. When you’re thirteen in our neighborhood you know the score. I kept saving my money for a year, thinking that someday I could buy Mickey Mouse back for Soda. You’re not so smart at ten.”

Soda pulled Pony close again, arms firm around his shoulders. He wanted to say something—anything—but he knew if he opened his mouth, a sob would slip out instead. Pony had saved up for a whole year. Ten years old, and he’d been trying to fix something no one could.

Darry didn’t have the heart to tell Pony he’d done the same—counted every spare dollar, hoped for a miracle. Their parents had tried too—of course they had realized how much Soda was hurting. But even with Darry and their parents saving, it had never been enough. Darry’s fist clenched against his leg.

““You read a lot, don’t you, Ponyboy?” Cherry asked. I was startled. “Yeah. Why?” She kind of shrugged. “I could just tell. I’ll bet you watch sunsets, too.” She was quiet for a minute after I nodded. “I used to watch them, too, before I got so busy …” I pictured that, or tried to. Maybe Cherry stood still and watched the sun set while she was supposed to be taking the garbage out. Stood there and watched and forgot everything else until her big brother screamed at her to hurry up. I shook my head. It seemed funny to me that the sunset she saw from her patio and the one I saw from the backsteps was the same one. Maybe the two different worlds we lived in weren’t so different. We saw the same sunset.”

Two-Bit scratched behind his ear, eyes on the floor like he was trying to remember the last time he’d stopped long enough to watch a sunset.

Steve leaned back, arms crossed. Same sky. Same sunset. He hadn’t thought about that sort of thing before, but now the words itched under his skin—like a truth he didn’t know what to do with.

Soda glanced at Pony, proud and quiet. He’d always known his brother lived in his head a lot, but sometimes he forgot just how deep . Suddenly, Pony’s thing with sunsets made more sense.

Darry exhaled. He’d spent so long keeping them fed, keeping them moving, he’d forgotten how different the world looked when you actually stopped to see it. The sunset felt like a luxury he hadn’t let himself have. Maybe after they finished reading, they could all just sit back. Watch one together. The whole gang.

Dally didn’t move. Didn’t look up. Just sat there with his arms folded, face blank—like the words hadn’t landed. Like they’d slid right past him.

Johnny glanced over at Dally. Then looked down again. Something in Johnny wilted—shoulders curling in, just a little. He hadn’t expected much. But some part of him had hoped. A flicker. A crack. Something. 

Pony noticed. He’d seen that look before—when Johnny wanted something but didn’t know how to ask.

And then the words from Johnny’s letter stirred in his mind, clear as day:

“Tell Dally to look at one. He’ll probably think you’re crazy, but ask for me. I don’t think he’s ever really seen a sunset.”

Pony blinked, throat tight.

“Marcia suddenly gasped. “Cherry, look what’s coming.” We all looked and saw a blue Mustang coming down the street. Johnny made a small noise in his throat and when I looked at him he was white.” 

Darry knitted his brow in worry. “They didn’t jump you, right, Pony? You said you just fell asleep in the lot.”

Two-Bit jumped in like his life depended on it—which, to be fair, it might’ve. “C’mon, Darry, I was with ’em. You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to your kid brother.”

Pony knew that was true. The whole gang looked out for him, half out of instinct, and half out of respect for Darry and Soda.

But when Johnny let out that small, strangled sound in his throat, the same one Pony had written about, everyone’s focus shifted.

He was frozen.

Soda, without a word, moved a little closer. Rested a hand gently on Johnny’s back, not pushing, just there.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “You’re okay. You’re here.”

Johnny gave the smallest nod, he took a few more shaky breaths and then forced himself to focus back on the book, even as the others looked at him with worry.

“Marcia was shifting nervously. “What are we going to do?” Cherry bit a fingernail. “Stand here,” she said. “There isn’t much else we can do.” “Who is it?” Two-Bit asked. “The F.B.I.?” “No,” Cherry said bleakly, “it’s Randy and Bob.””

Dally spit harshly onto the floor.

“Dally!” Darry snapped, already halfway out of his seat. “Not on my carpet.”

Dally just shrugged, completely unfazed. “Sorry, Mom. Couldn’t help it—the names leave a bad taste.”

Steve, Soda, and Two-Bit cracked up instantly.

Pony remembered the time Dally came back from a fight, knuckles split and grin all cracked up. Darry hadn’t asked a thing. Just tossed him a rag and muttered, “Make sure it doesn’t get on the floor.” Dally hadn’t said thanks. He didn’t need to. That was just how they spoke—sideways.

‘“And,” Two-Bit added grimly, “a few other of the socially elite checkered-shirt set.” “Your boyfriends?” Johnny’s voice was steady, but standing as close to him as I was, I could see he was trembling. I wondered why—Johnny was a nervous wreck, but he never was that jumpy.”

Dally’s voice dropped low, dangerous. “They the ones who jumped you?”

Johnny gave the smallest nod.

Steve let out an aggravated huff, running a hand down his face. “Great. As if we needed another reason to hate their guts.”

Soda reached out instinctively, brushing his fingers against Johnny’s arm like he could pull the tremble out through kindness.

Pony looked down at the book, then at Johnny’s pale face. He didn’t say it out loud, but the weight in his chest didn’t come from hate. Not exactly.

He couldn’t hate Randy. Not even when he saw that look in Johnny’s eyes. He hated that he couldn’t bring himself to be angry, felt like he was betraying Johnny in a way. But still. 

He just couldn’t help but think about sunsets and how maybe, just maybe, even the enemy had their own.

“Cherry started walking down the street. “Maybe they won’t see us. Act normal.” “Who’s acting?” Two-Bit grinned. “I’m a natural normal.” “Wish it was the other way around,” I muttered, and Two-Bit said, “Don’t get mouthy, Ponyboy.” The Mustang passed us slowly and went right on by. Marcia sighed in relief. “That was close.” Cherry turned to me. “Tell me about your oldest brother. You don’t talk much about him.” I tried to think of something to say about Darry, and shrugged. “What’s to talk about? He’s big and handsome and likes to play football.” “I mean, what’s he like? I feel like I know Soda from theway you talk about him; tell me about Darry.” And when I was silent she urged me on. “Is he wild and reckless like Soda? Dreamy, like you?” My face got hot as I bit my lip.”

“She said ‘dreamy,’ ” Two-Bit sang under his breath. “Ooh, Ponyboy Curtis, heartthrob of Tulsa!”

“Shut up, ” Pony hissed, ears red.

Darry just raised an eyebrow. “Big and handsome, huh?”

“I said what I said,” Pony grumbled. “It was a moment of weakness.”

Soda leaned over the couch arm—nearly toppling off—and threw an arm around Darry’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Pony. If I didn’t know him, I’d assume he was a football-playing model too.”

Johnny was quiet, then said, “You do talk more about Soda.”

Pony glanced at him, then at Darry. He remembered what he had said about Darry this night in particular and his heart clenched in regret “Yeah… I guess I do.”

Darry didn’t answer right away. The corner of his mouth tugged down, just a fraction. He wasn’t sure what was coming next—and considering everything he'd already read about himself in the book, he wasn’t feeling too optimistic.

Especially when he saw Two-Bit and Johnny exchange an apprehensive glance from across the room. Two-Bit tried—and failed—not to look directly at Darry again. Darry’s eyes narrowed.

Something was coming, and it wasn’t going to be easy to hear.

“Darry … what was Darry like? “He’s …” I started to say he was a good ol’ guy but I couldn’t.”

Even though he knew whatever came next out of Ponyboy’s mouth would hurt, Darry couldn’t stop the flicker of a grin tugging at his mouth. His kid brother was trying— really trying—to put something messy into words. Honest, careful, a little bit unsure.

Darry didn’t miss the way Ponyboy reached for something easy— good ol’ guy —and stopped himself short.

The kid was just so damn sincere sometimes. It was endearing—and it was painfully Pony.

“I burst out bitterly: “He’s not like Sodapop at all and he sure ain’t like me. He’s hard as a rock and about as human. He’s got eyes exactly like frozen ice. He thinks I’m a pain in the neck. He likes Soda—everybody likes Soda—but he can’t stand me. I bet he wishes he could stick me in a home somewhere, and he’d do it, too, if Soda’d let him.””

The room went dead quiet.

Pony stared at the book in Johnny’s hands. He wished he could tear the words out and shove them back into his chest. His fingers had curled into fists, knuckles white from digging so hard into his palms.

Darry didn’t move. He looked like he’d been sucker-punched. His jaw clenched so tight it was painful. But it didn’t come close to the pain twisting in his chest at the thought that his kid brother—his family, one of the two people he loved most in the world—believed that Darry didn’t want him. Couldn’t stand him.

“I didn’t mean—” Pony started, but the words cracked in the middle and fell apart before they reached the end. Somehow, it always came back to those three words in this family.

Soda sat up straighter, caught between them, looking like he didn’t know who to comfort—or confront—first. “Pony… he didn’t mean it like that—”

“I did mean it,” Pony blurted before he could finish. “That night? I meant every word.”

“Okay,” Darry said finally, but his low voice couldn’t hide how desperately he was trying to keep himself calm. His fists opened and closed, breaths short and uneven. He looked like he was either two seconds away from full-blown rage or a full-blown panic attack. “You thought I hated you.”

“No,” Pony said quickly. “No. I didn’t—I don’t now —I just…”

He trailed off. There wasn’t a neat way to unsay it.

“I messed up a lot, huh?” Darry said, and his voice cracked just slightly at the end.

Pony finally looked up. “You didn’t. I mean—you tried. I just—I didn’t understand. I didn’t try to.”

Soda looked between them, hands on his knees like he was afraid if he touched either one they’d shatter. “You guys were both hurting. That’s what I remember most. You were hurting, and trying not to show it, and it came out—wrong. All the time.”

Pony shifted on the couch. “I’m really sorry, Darry. It wasn’t fair—what I said. Not after everything you did. You were always trying to keep us out of trouble, out of the system. I knew that. I knew it wasn’t true. But…”

He swallowed hard, blinking fast, his words coming faster now, choked and stumbling. “I was so confused. ‘Cause you weren’t just my brother anymore—you were suddenly… in charge. And it was like I lost something and didn’t know how to deal with it. I thought maybe I was the problem. That I made it harder. That maybe if I just wasn’t around, it would’ve been easier for you and Soda.”

The silence that followed was thick and awful. Darry felt his heart drop hearing his brother talk about himself like that. Everyone else besides Soda averted their eyes as Pony began crying. 

Darry’s own eyes were watering too. 

Which said a lot, Soda realized suddenly. Darry hadn’t even cried at their parents' funeral.

Pony wiped at his face quickly, like maybe if no one saw the tears, they wouldn’t count. But they did. Every one of them did. His chest was heaving in quiet, uneven gulps, and his voice was nowhere to be found.

Soda gently placed a hand on Pony’s knee—not pressing, just there. A steady presence in the middle of a storm.

Darry slowly moved out of his chair and crouched on the floor in front of the couch, like any sudden movement might spook his little brother all over again. His throat bobbed once, twice. Then he said, voice calm and steady, “I never wanted it to be easier.”

Pony blinked through blurry eyes, confused.

“I never wanted easier, ” Darry repeated, voice tight. “I wanted you. Both of you. No matter how hard it got.”

His hand moved toward Pony’s back, hesitant for the first time in years—like he wasn’t sure if he still had the right. Pony’s words from earlier in the book rang in his head. Darry’s always rough with me without meaning to be. But Pony didn’t flinch. He leaned into it.

“I didn’t know how to be what you needed,” Darry went on, barely above a whisper. “I tried to be stern. Get you into a good school. Have it all together. I thought that’s what I was supposed to be. I didn’t think you’d see me as cold.”

Pony sniffed. “I didn’t want to. I hated feeling that way. I hated thinking it.”

Darry just blinked rapidly, looking at him sadly.

Soda let out the softest, saddest laugh. He was crying almost as much as Ponyboy. “You two. You break my heart, you know that?”

Pony’s next breath hitched on something like a laugh, too. Just a small one. But it was real.

“You guys done making the rest of us feel like soap opera extras?” Two-Bit said quietly, but there was no smirk this time—just a lopsided little smile and a voice softer than usual.

Johnny offered Pony a tissue from somewhere no one had seen him retrieve it. “Your eyes are leaking all over my book, man.”

Pony let out a breath between a laugh and a hiccup. “Sorry.”

Johnny just patted him on the back.

The room eased back into breathing again. Still fragile, but no longer on the edge of breaking.

Darry glanced at the book still open in Johnny’s lap. His hand was still resting on his youngest brother’s back.

“You wanna stop for a bit?” he asked. “Catch your breath?”

Pony looked down, then up again. He didn’t have to think long. “Nah. Let’s keep going.”

Darry settled where he was beside Steve on the floor, just in front of Ponyboy and Soda. He wasn’t ready to leave his brothers’ sides just yet.

“Two-Bit and Johnny were staring at me now. “No …” Two-Bit said, dumfounded. “No, Ponyboy, that ain’t right … you got it wrong …” “Gee,” Johnny said softly, “I thought you and Darry and Soda got along real well …” “Well, we don’t,” I snapped, feeling silly. I knew my ears were red by the way they were burning, and I was thankful for the darkness. I felt stupid.”

Ponyboy shut his eyes. Oh God.

He could feel them all watching him. Even the ones who weren’t looking—he could still feel it. Like every eye in the room had peeled back the top of his head and was sifting through every ugly, insecure thought he'd ever tried to lock down.

Soda looked at his little brother. “Jeez, Pony…”

“I know,” Pony snapped, voice sharper than he meant. His ears were blazing. “I know. You don’t have to—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “I sound like a brat. I was a brat.”

“Hey.” For once, Darry’s voice wasn’t sharp. It was almost gentle. “You were a hurt and confused kid. That’s different.”

Pony didn’t answer. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead like he could physically push the memory away.

“You don’t have to feel dumb for how you felt,” Johnny said, still quiet but steady. “Me and Two-Bit were just surprised, man. We didn’t know you felt like that is all.”

“Yeah, well… now all of you do,” Pony muttered, bitter around the edges, but more at himself than anyone else.

Steve let out a breath and shook his head. “Ponyboy Curtis, master of emotional repression. You’re gonna give the rest of us a complex.”

Two-Bit perked up a little. “I already had one. Maybe now I can blame it on Pony instead of my childhood.”

That managed to short glare from Soda, even as he struggled to fight his laugh, and, eventually, a small, reluctant smile from Pony too.

“Compared to Johnny’s home, mine was heaven. At least Darry didn’t get drunk and beat me up or run me out of the house, and I had Sodapop to talk things over with.”

Darry went rigid. Even the thought of treating either of his brothers that way turned his stomach. It disturbed him to his core that Pony had ever used that as a comparison—like that was the standard he was measuring them against.

“You shouldn’t have had to feel grateful just for not getting hit,” Soda said firmly. “That’s not a bar. That’s a basement.”

Johnny looked sad—like a wounded dog. “You keep comparing your struggles to mine.”

Pony ducked his head. “It just seemed like… I was lucky. Compared to you.”

Johnny gave him a look—not pitying, just sad. “No, man. You deserved better. Both of us did. You just didn’t know what ‘better’ was supposed to look like.”

Dally snorted softly. “If this is a group therapy session now, someone better pass the cigarettes.”

Two-Bit held up an empty hand. “I got no smokes, but I do have a half-melted candy bar in my back pocket. It’s basically medicine.”

“That made me mad, I mean making a fool of myself in front of everyone. “An’ you can shut your trap, Johnny Cade, ’cause we all know you ain’t wanted at home, either. And you can’t blame them.””

Ponyboy instantly went white, jerking away from where he’d been leaning into Soda’s side.

He’d forgotten he said that. How had he forgotten he said that?  

“I know,” Johnny said quickly. Too quickly—before Pony even had a chance to say anything. He waved a hand like it was fine, like it didn’t still sting. Pony was the one having his thoughts read out loud—he really didn’t deserve anyone getting upset over the stuff he’d said in the past. “I know you didn’t mean it. You were mad. I remember.”

“I didn’t even remember saying it,” Pony whispered, horrified at himself. “I didn’t remember until just now.”

Soda put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Pony. It was a bad moment. You’re not the only one in this room who’s said something they didn’t mean.”

Dally let out a harsh breath. “Still. You say something like that to Johnny, it’s like kicking a puppy. Except worse, ‘cause at least a puppy doesn’t already think it deserves it.”

Johnny gave him a look—vaguely-annoyed by the bluntness of that comment. “Thanks, Dal. Very comforting.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “We hereby sentence Ponyboy Curtis to fifteen years in friendship jail. Ya gotta do everything Johnny wants for a week.”

Pony let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t been shaking. Why were they all so calm? Some of them looked frustrated—sure, maybe even a bit mad—but it didn’t seem aimed at him . Not exactly. Why?

Johnny was the gang’s pet. The sweet one. The one they all looked out for. So how could they let him get away with saying that to him?

“You guys are being way too nice about this,” Pony muttered, voice thick.

Johnny cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, well… we’re used to you being a baby about stuff. Kinda softens the blow.” 

Pony looked at him, incredulous.

Johnny shrugged, almost smiling. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you pay later. Thinkin’ maybe I’ll make you hold my books for a week.”

Two-Bit gasped dramatically. “That’s diabolical. ”

“Hey,” Johnny added, eyes glinting, “maybe I’ll make him brush my hair. Like one of those little toy ponies.”

The absurdity of that statement did draw a laugh from Ponyboy.

Dally smirked. “You’d let him touch your hair?”

“Please,” Steve said. “That’s trust on a spiritual level.”

Johnny leaned back against the couch, content. “Exactly. I’m a generous soul.”

The moment passed, and the air lightened just enough. But Steve—sitting quietly at the edge of the group—kept watching Pony.

The kid still looked like he didn’t quite believe they forgave him. Like any minute now, someone was going to turn on him with a glare and take it all back .  

“Johnny’s eyes went round and he winced as though I’d belted him. Two Bit slapped me a good one across the side of the head, and hard.”

Two-Bit winced as the line came up, looking a bit sheepish. “Yeesh,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really clocked you, huh?”

Pony gave him a sidelong glance, still a little pink around the ears. “Yeah. You did.”

Two-Bit held up both hands in surrender. “Sorry, kid. But c’mon—you kinda had that one coming at the time.”

Johnny didn’t say anything, but his lip twitched—halfway between agreement and trying not to smile. He’d liked how Two-Bit was so quick to defend him.

““Shut your mouth, kid. If you wasn’t Soda’s kid brotherI’d beat the tar out of you.”

The second the words left the page, Steve turned around, hands on his knees, eyes locked on Pony.

“Okay,” he said, low but sharp. “I’m saying something now.”

Pony froze.

“You always act surprised when we’re nice to you,” Steve went on. “Like you think we’re gonna turn on you any second. And this ? This line right here? Is stuff like this why?”

No one said anything.

“Maybe the reason you’re so sure we don’t like you is because we taught you that.” Steve’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean. “Every time we said ‘Shut up, Ponyboy,’ or ‘You’re such a baby,’ or threatened to knock your teeth in—even when we were joking —were we just giving you more ammo for whatever trash your brain was already telling you?”

Pony opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Steve sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I’m not saying you don’t run your mouth sometimes. You do. But the kid in that book? He’s constantly second-guessing if any of us want him around. And it's been really worrying me. But maybe that's not just on him.”

Darry glanced sideways, jaw tight. Soda looked down at the floor like it had just hit him too.

Steve let the silence settle like it was daring anyone to argue with him.

Two-Bit didn’t.

He blinked, looking over at Pony like he’d never really seen him before. His knee bounced once, then stopped. “You mean… you thought I meant that stuff? Kid, I didn’t not hit you ‘cause you’re Soda’s brother—it’s ‘cause you’re the baby of the group. We’d never lay a hand on you, man.”

Pony didn’t answer. He didn’t really need to.

Two-Bit leaned back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling like maybe if he stared hard enough, he’d find a way to take the words back across time. “You really thought…? I never wanted you to feel like that, kid. That’s on me.”

Guilt settled across Two-Bit’s face, quiet and real.

Off to the side, Soda’s mouth had gone tight. His hand rested on Pony’s shoulder, but his eyes weren’t moving—they were fixed on the floor, blank and unreadable.

How did I miss this? he was thinking. How did I let my own little brother feel like he didn’t belong—right here, with us? With me?

He blinked hard and swallowed it down.

Darry hadn’t moved since Steve spoke. He sat stiffly, arms braced against his knees, face blank in that way it got when he was trying too hard not to break.

I was supposed to make sure he felt safe. I was supposed to be the grown-up. But he was sitting there writing a whole damn book thinking we didn’t want him? Thinking I didn’t want him?

He didn’t say any of it out loud. Neither of them did.

But Pony could practically feel the worried thoughts wafting off of his brothers—thick in the quiet. And that was somehow worse.

“You know better than to talk to Johnny like that.” He put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “He didn’t mean it, Johnny.” “I’m sorry,” I said miserably. Johnny was my buddy. “I was just mad.” “It’s the truth,” Johnny said with a bleak grin. “I don’t care.” “Shut up talkin’ like that,” Two-Bit said fiercely, messing up Johnny’s hair. “We couldn’t get along without you, so you can just shut up!”

Like someone had flipped a switch, every head in the room snapped from Ponyboy to Johnny in an instant.

“ What did you just say? ” Soda asked, scandalized, already halfway across the room. “Don’t go pulling the ‘I don’t care’ act, Cade. We care.”

Johnny blinked, caught in the sudden onslaught of affection like a deer in a blinding beam of loyalty.

Dally sat up straighter, scowling. “Don’t smile like that, either. That’s your ‘I’m fine, everything’s fine, I’ve only emotionally imploded twice today’ face.”

Johnny raised his hands defensively. “I am fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Two-Bit declared, pointing at him with a dramatic gasp. “You’ve got the ‘bleak little cowboy on a dust trail’ look again.”

Darry shook his head, muttering, “I swear, you could set yourself on fire and still say you’re just a little warm.”

Johnny swatted at him but didn’t stop smiling.

Pony, finally recovering his own composure, blinked at the sudden shift. “So… we’re just not mad at me anymore?”

“You’re on probation,” Steve said, waving him off. “Johnny’s on emotional suicide watch. Priorities.”

““It ain’t fair!” I cried passionately. “It ain’t fair that we have all the rough breaks!” I didn’t know exactly what I meant, but I was thinking about Johnny’s father being a drunk and his mother a selfish slob, and Two-Bit’s mother being a barmaid to support him and his kid sister after their father ran out on them, and Dally—wild, cunning Dally—turning into a hoodlum because he’d die if he didn’t, and Steve—his hatred for his father coming out in his soft, bitter voice and the violence of his temper. Sodapop … a dropout so he could get a job and keep me in school, and Darry, getting old before his time trying to run a family and hold on to two jobs and never having any fun—while the Socs had so much spare time and money that they jumped us and each other for kicks, had beer blasts and river-bottom parties because they didn’t know what else to do. Things were rough all over, all right. All over the East Side. It just didn’t seem right to me.”

Everyone in the gang was a little caught off guard by the righteous anger in Ponyboy’s thoughts on their behalf. So far, most of what he’d written about them had been filtered through frustration, fear, or distance—it was less than flattering—and nothing like this. Not this raw loyalty. Not open compassion.

To hear him defend them so fiercely in his own head—listing their sacrifices, their wounds—was unexpected. And more than that, it was quietly devastating.

Because beneath all that fire was this quiet, aching truth: he’d been carrying them the whole time. Watching. Noticing. Loving them, even when he wasn’t sure they loved him back.

It was sad, in a way none of them had quite been ready for. To see how much he cared , how deeply he saw them, while meanwhile he seemed to have been under the impression that most of them didn’t give a rat’s ass about him.

Not one of them had meant to make him feel that way.

““I know,” Two-Bit said with a good-natured grin, “the chips are always down when it’s our turn, but that’s the way things are. Like it or lump it.” Cherry and Marcia didn’t say anything. I guess they didn't know what to say. We had forgotten they were there. Then the blue Mustang was coming down the street again, more slowly. “Well,” Cherry said resignedly, “they’ve spotted us.” The Mustang came to a halt beside us, and the two boys in the front seat got out. They were Socs all right. One had on a white shirt and a madras ski jacket, and the other a light-yellow shirt and a wine-colored sweater. I looked at their clothes and realized for the first time that evening that all I had was a pair of jeans and Soda’s old navy sweat shirt with the sleeves cut short. I swallowed. Two-Bit started to tuck in his shirttail, but stopped himself in time; he just flipped up the collar of his black leather jacket and lit a cigarette.”

Dally raised his eyebrows at that. Pony he could expect to be self-conscious—the kid was all nerves and second-guessing lately—but Two-Bit ? Mr. "nothing phases me" trying to tuck in his shirt when a Mustang rolls up?

Interesting.

Apparently, even the class clown had his tells.

“The Socs didn’t even seem to see us.”

“Better than the alternative,” Steve muttered.

““Cherry, Marcia, listen to us …” the handsome black-haired Soc with the dark sweater began. Johnny was breathing heavily and I noticed he was staring at the Soc’s hand. He was wearing three heavy rings. I looked quickly at Johnny, an idea dawning on me. I remembered that it was a blue Mustang that had pulled up beside the vacant lot and that Johnny’s face had been cut up by someone wearing rings … The Soc’s voice broke into my thoughts: “ …just because we got a little drunk last time …” Cherry looked mad. “A little? You call reeling and passing out in the streets ‘a little’? Bob, I told you, I’m never going out with you while you’re drinking, and I mean it. Too many things could happen while you’re drunk. It’s me or the booze.” The other Soc, a tall guy with a semi-Beatle haircut, turned to Marcia. “Baby, you know we don’t get drunk very often …” When she only gave him a cold stare he got angry. “And even if you are mad at us, that’s no reason to go walking the streets with these bums.””

“Pathetic,” Steve spat, arms crossed tight. “Can’t even defend themselves to their own girlfriends, so they start swinging insults at us —classic.”

Dally lit a cigarette. Which he got from who-knows-where considering he just came back from the dead less than 2 hours ago. “Yeah, nothing screams ‘respectable gentleman’ like showing up drunk, flexin’ your daddy’s money, and callin’ the rest of us bums.”

Two-Bit leaned over the table to glance at the line again. “So Bob was the guy. The one who sliced Johnny up.” His voice wasn’t teasing now. It was low. Cold. “Real funny how they only act tough when they’re outnumbering somebody.”

Soda was watching Johnny now, worry pinched around his eyes. “He okay?” he asked Darry quietly, leaning forward in his seat.

Darry didn’t answer right away. He was watching Johnny too, just as carefully. That look—that kind of stillness—he recognized it. It wasn’t fear, exactly. It was memory. It was waiting .

Johnny blinked fast and scrubbed a hand across his mouth. “I’m fine.”

Nobody believed him. But nobody called him on it—yet.

“Two-Bit took a long drag on his cigarette, Johnny slouched and hooked his thumbs in his pockets, and I stiffened. We can look meaner than anything when we want to—looking tough comes in handy. Two-Bit put his elbow on Johnny’s shoulder. “Who you callin’ bums?” “Listen, greasers, we got four more of us in the back seat …” “Then pity the back seat,” Two-Bit said to the sky. “If you’re looking for a fight …” Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow, but it only made him look more cool.”

“Hah! Thanks , Ponyboy,” he said, clapping him on the back like he'd just gifted him a medal. 

Pony rolled his eyes. “It was hardly even a compliment.”

“You would be proud of mouthing off to a car full of Socs,” Steve taunted, but he was grinning a little.

“And with Johnny as your armrest, no less,” Soda added, reaching behind Ponyboy to nudge Johnny, who ducked his head with a tiny smile.

“You were trying pretty hard to look tough,” Pony said, half-laughing now.

“Please. I was tough,” Two-Bit replied, flicking imaginary ash.

““You mean if I’m looking for a good jumping, you outnumber us, so you’ll give it to us? Well …” He snatched up an empty bottle, busted off the end, and gave it to me, then reached in his back pocket and flipped out his switchblade. “Try it, pal.” “No!” Cherry cried. “Stop it!” She looked at Bob. “We’ll ride home with you. Just wait a minute.” “Why?” Two-Bit demanded. “We ain’t scared of them.” Cherry shuddered. “I can’t stand fights … I can’t stand them …” I pulled her to one side. “I couldn’t use this,” I said, dropping the pop bottle. “I couldn’t ever cut anyone. …” I had to tell her that, because I’d seen her eyes when Two-Bit flicked out his switch.”

Everyone had expected a teasing remark from Two-Bit at that interaction—some snark about Pony being a soft-hearted Romeo, dropping the bottle just because Cherry batted her lashes. But no comment came.

Two-Bit and Steve were too busy remembering what had happened behind the store just a few days ago.

They had been chilling with Ponyboy during lunch when the Socs had come up to pick a fight. 

They remembered the way Pony had stood there—tight, silent, absolutely still —with that busted bottle in his hand like it was nothing more than a natural extension of himself. No words, no threats. Just that look in his eyes. Empty. Final.

Steve didn’t say anything, just stared a little harder at the page and shifted in his seat. He’d never said it out loud, but something about the way Pony had moved that afternoon still stuck with him. It had scared him—not because he thought Pony might snap, but because it’d looked like he already had .

Two-Bit had to admit that back then he’d shrugged it off. Ponyboy had scared off three Socs with nothing but a broken bottle and a dead-eyed stare. He’d even been impressed. But now, seeing this moment unfold again, through the lens of Pony’s own thoughts—how desperately he didn’t want to hurt anybody—it was different.

He hadn’t been bluffing that time. And it hurt how that had changed about him.

““I know,” she said quietly, “but we’d better go with them. Ponyboy … I mean … if I see you in the hall at school or someplace and don’t say hi, well, it’s not personal or anything, but …” “I know,” I said. “We couldn’t let our parents see us with you all. You’re a nice boy and everything …” “It’s okay,” I said, wishing I was dead and buried somewhere.”

Soda winced. Not dramatically, just that small, involuntary flinch people do when they hear something they’re not supposed to ignore. 

Steve glanced at Pony out of the corner of his eye, jaw tightening. “Man, why’s that even in your head?” he thought, but didn’t say aloud.

Even Two-Bit, who’d been mentally gearing up for a crack about Cherry being the world’s worst prom queen, let the moment slide. His fingers drummed against his knee. Not nervous, just… bothered.

Darry tried not to make his worry as a guardian too obvious. He didn’t know what to say either—he knew that Ponyboy probably hadn’t meant it, but still—he just hated that Pony even thought that way. Even in passing.

Dally muttered, “Dramatic,” but it was more to fill the silence than anything else. His eyes lingered too long for him not to care. He didn’t like that kind of thought just lying around in his brain like it belonged there.

Johnny didn’t say anything at first. But something about that line— wishing I was dead and buried somewhere —pulled a thread in his brain. It felt… familiar.

A few chapters back, there’d been that line about suffocating. “I was scared so bad I was wishing I would.” He’d barely clocked it at the time. But now?

Johnny glanced sideways at Pony, brow furrowing a little.

“You good, man?” he asked under his breath, quiet enough that it didn’t draw attention.

Pony looked over, confused. “Yeah? Why?”

Johnny shrugged, like it wasn’t anything. “No reason. Just… you say stuff sometimes.”

Ponyboy blinked, not following. He’d already forgotten what he’d just read.

“Okay…” he said slowly, a puzzled look on his face. 

Johnny didn’t press it. He kept a side-eye on Pony for a few beats longer after that before he went back to reading.

“Or at least that I had on a decent shirt.” “We aren’t in the same class. Just don’t forget that some of us watch the sunset too.” She looked at me quickly. “I could fall in love with Dallas Winston,””

“...What?”

“she said. “I hope I never see him again, or I will.””

“…What?!”

The room exploded .

“ Fall in love with—?”

“ With Dally?! ”
“She’s gotta be outta her—”
“Did she hit her head on the Mustang door?!”

Everyone was yelling at once, talking over each other in various shades of disbelief. Soda’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Steve had thrown his hands in the air like the laws of gravity had just stopped applying. Even Darry looked like his brain was buffering.

Dally looked vaguely horrified. “ What the hell? ” he muttered, like someone had just told him he’d been nominated for prom queen.

Johnny blinked hard. “Wait, so—she liked you?”

“No,” Dally said flatly. “Absolutely not. That ain’t real. I was screwin’ around earlier. Don’t make it a thing.”

Two-Bit wheezed with laughter. “But–but–’I hope I shall never see him again or I’ll fall in love?’ That’s full Shakespeare! Tragic-heroine shit!” 

“She did not say that,” Steve groaned, then twisted himself to lean over Johnny, reading the line again just to be sure. “Nope. There it is. She really did.”

Pony buried his face in his hands. “I lived through this and I’m still not over it.”

“Man,” Soda said, still trying to catch up. “You know what this means? Dally Winston is officially a romantic lead . ”

Dally pointed at the book. “Burn it.”

Pony lifted his head just enough to deadpan, “Bit late.”

And just like that, the laughter rolled on.

But when it started to fade and Johnny kept reading, Dally leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, hardly paying attention to the next few paragraphs.

She can’t love me. 

That’s not how this works. That’s not how he works.

Love’s for people with clean slates. People with backyards that had Christmas lights, and people with straight-A report cards. Dally Winston? He was scraped knees and handcuffs and making sure no one ever got close enough to aim right.

He’d flirted with Cherry because it didn’t mean anything. Because she was outta reach. She was safe that way.

But now— now —the idea that someone like her could actually feel something? Want something from him?

Yeah. No.

That ain’t love. That’s a mistake.

But for half a second, some part of him hoped she meant it. And that thought made him a little sick.

“She left me standing there with my mouth dropped open, and the blue Mustang vroomed off. We walked on home, mostly in silence. I wanted to ask Johnny if those were the same Socs that had beaten him up, but I didn’t mention it. Johnny never talked about it and we never said anything. “Well, those were two good-lookin’ girls if I ever saw any.” Two-Bit yawned as we sat down on the curb at the vacant lot. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and tore it up. “What was that?” “Marcia’s number. Probably a phony one, too. I must have been outa my mind to ask for it.””

Steve squinted at him. “But you said earlier that you still talk to Marcia.”

“I do!”

Soda leaned forward, grinning. “So what, she chased you down?”

Two-Bit stretched out like he had all the time in the world. “Nah. Ran into her a couple weeks after…everything happened. We hit it off, and once I admitted I’d trashed her number, she gave me the real one. Said I was fun.”

Johnny blinked. “So she did like you?”

Two-Bit beamed. “Obviously.”

Dally snorted. “The bar must’ve been low that day.”

“She likes guys who can make her laugh,” Two-Bit said, tapping his temple. “Not my fault I’m devastatingly charming.”

“Devastating,” Pony muttered. “That’s one word for it.”

““I think I’m a little soused.” So he had been drinking.”

“So much for all that ‘pre-fermented’ crap.” Steve scoffed at Two-Bit with a wide grin, “I knew it was all bullshit. Only Soda’s the one who comes like that.” 

Soda gave a little mock bow from his seat. “Blessed and buzzed by nature.”

Two-Bit squinted at them both. “Listen. It’s not about the liquor, it’s about the vibe. ”

“Two-Bit was smart. He knew the score. “Y’all goin’ home?” he asked. “Not right now,” I said. I wanted to have another smoke and to watch the stars. I had to be in by twelve, but I thought I had plenty of time.”

Darry exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. He knew Pony hadn’t meant to be late. He knew it. But that didn’t make it easier.

All he’d had to do was walk home.

Just once, follow the clock. And maybe everything after that never would’ve happened.

He didn’t say it out loud—Ponyboy didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t really his fault. If anything it was Darry’s fault for hitting him. 

But the thought sat heavy in his chest anyway, same as it had the night he’d realized Pony wasn’t coming through the door on time.

Pony felt the weight of that line. The almost. The version of the night where nothing bad happened, just because he’d walked home when Two-Bit asked.

““I don’t know why I handed you that busted bottle,”Two-Bit said, getting to his feet. “You’d never use it.” “Maybe I would have,” I said. “Where you headed?” “Gonna go play a little snooker and hunt up a poker game. Maybe get rip-roarin’ drunk. I dunno. See y’all tomorrow.” Johnny and I stretched out on our backs and looked at the stars. I was freezing—it was a cold night and all I had was that sweat shirt, but I could watch stars in sub-zero weather.”

“That’s Ponyboy,” Soda said, shaking his head with a soft laugh. He ruffled Pony’s hair like he always did when the mood got too heavy. “Always watching either the sunset or the stars.”

Johnny smiled faintly. “He’d still be out there even if it was snowing. Sorry, man—I had my jacket. Didn’t think you’d be cold.”

Two-Bit just shook his head and muttered, “Kids these days. They don’t wanna have any real fun.”

Pony ignored him with a roll of his eyes. The sky had always been the one place no one could tell him what side of town he belonged to.

“I saw Johnny’s cigarette glowing in the dark and wondered vaguely what it was like inside a burning ember…”

“That’s a… weirdly specific thing to wonder about, Pony,” Soda said, one brow raised.

Pony tilted his head at the page, frowning faintly. “You know, I don’t even remember thinking that.”

There was a short pause as he stared at the line again.

Then he blinked. “Do you think my future self put it in there for, like... foreshadowing?”

Johnny made a face. “Jeez, man.” He sat up just enough to give Pony a half-hearted shove. “I die , and you use it to swipe a good grade in English class?”

Pony snorted. “I’m just saying it sounds a little too symbolic, okay?”

“Next time just underline ‘Dramatic Irony’ and keep walking,” Steve muttered, still flipping pages.

Two-Bit grinned. “He’s not wrong though. You do get kinda spooky with your metaphors.”

Soda ruffled Pony’s hair again. “You’ve got the soul of a poet and the memory of a goldfish.”

Pony just kept staring at the page, now more unsettled by his own brain than anything else.

““It was because we’re greasers,” Johnny said, and I knew he was talking about Cherry. “We could have hurt her reputation.” “I reckon,” I said, wondering if I ought to tell Johnny what she had said about Dallas. “Man, that was a tuff car. Mustangs are tuff.” “Big-time Socs, all right,” I said, a nervous bitterness growing inside me. It wasn’t fair for the Socs to have everything. We were as good as they were; it wasn’t our fault we were greasers. I couldn’t just take it or leave it, like Two-Bit, or ignore it and love life anyway, like Sodapop, or harden myself beyond caring, like Dally, or actually enjoy it, like Tim Shepard. I felt the tension growing inside of me and I knew something had to happen or I would explode. “I can’t take much more.” Johnny spoke my own feelings. “I’ll kill myself or something.””

“Whoa, whoa—Johnny,” Soda blurted, voice already pitching up. “Man, don’t say stuff like that.”

Darry was already frowning hard. “That’s not something you just throw around, kid.”

Steve closed his eyes, like he wanted to stop reading there. “Jesus.”

Two-Bit, suddenly serious, leaned forward. “Was it really that bad? Or were you just playing it up or something?”

But Johnny didn’t answer.

He wasn’t looking at them. He was staring at the line right before the one that set them off

“Johnny spoke my own feelings.”

His brows pulled together slightly. Did that mean? 

Was Pony also thinking—? Before Johnny had said it out loud?

He wasn’t sure if he was reading into it too much. But it wasn’t the first time this had happened—those offhanded little moments Pony wrote without blinking. The way his thoughts had drifted there more than once already. 

He bit his lip. Everyone else was worried about what he’d said.

But he was starting to worry more about what Pony hadn’t.

Everybody took Johnny’s silence as an answer in itself to Two-Bit’s question as he kept reading.

““Don’t,” I said, sitting up in alarm. “You can’t kill yourself, Johnny.” “Well, I won’t. But I gotta do something. It seems like there’s gotta be someplace without greasers or Socs, with just people. Plain ordinary people.” “Out of the big towns,” I said, lying back down. “In the country …” In the country … I loved the country. I wanted to be out of towns and away from excitement. I only wanted to lie on my back under a tree and read a book or draw a picture, and not worry about being jumped or carrying a blade or ending up married to some scatterbrained broad with no sense. The country would be like that, I thought dreamily. I would have a yeller cur dog, like I used to, and Sodapop could get Mickey Mouse back and ride in all the rodeos he wanted to, and Darry would lose that cold, hard look and be like he used to be, eight months ago, before Mom and Dad were killed.”

Darry leaned back slightly, resting against Ponyboy’s legs where they hung off the couch, just listening to the quiet, wistful thoughts of his kid brother.

Soda reached over and drew Pony closer. He let a hand settle gently at the nape of his neck, guiding him in until Pony’s head came to rest on his shoulder.

“Since I was dreaming I brought Mom and Dad back to life … Mom could bake some more chocolate cakes and Dad would drive the pickup out early to feed the cattle. He would slap Darry on the back and tell him he was getting to be a man, a regular chip off the block, and they would be as close as they used to be. Maybe Johnny could come and live with us,”

Johnny blinked hard and snapped the book shut on his knee for a second like it needed a pause.

“Okay,” he said, voice cracking just slightly, “nobody warned me you were gonna go and adopt me in your dream sequence.”

Soda let out a low “aww” and wrapped an arm around both of them without ceremony. “You are family, dummy. You think we’d leave you out of the cowboy fantasy?”

Darry’s expression softened too. He wordlessly reached out and gently squeezed Johnny’s shoulder.

Johnny ducked his head, not quite hiding the smile that broke his face in half. “I mean. I wouldn’t say no to a chocolate cake and a yeller dog and not sleeping on a busted mattress every night.”

Pony flushed a bit, sort of embarrassed by his childish thoughts. He knew he couldn’t have any of this—he didn’t want the gang to think he was whining about it.

and the gang could come out on weekends, and maybe Dallas would see that there was some good in the world after all, and Mom would talk to him and make him grin in spite of himself. “You’ve got quite a mom,” Dally used to say. “She knows the score.” She could talk to Dallas and kept him from getting into a lot of trouble.”

Dally blinked at the page, jaw ticking once in surprise.

Pony had included him. Not just included—he’d imagined a version of the world where Dally got peace. Where he got a weekend spot at the Curtis place—Mrs. Curtis looking after him like she used to. A version of the world where he grinned in spite of himself.

He swallowed hard and leaned back, arms crossed like usual, but it felt more like a hug this time—something to hold himself together.

“Your mom,” he said, aiming for casual, but his voice caught at the end, soft and cracked. “Hell of a lady.”

Across the room, Darry glanced up. A look crossing his eyes that usually only surfaced for Soda or Pony.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t crack a joke or soften with sympathy. Just met Dally’s eyes and held them for a beat longer than anyone else ever did.

A beat passed.

Around Darry, Dally always felt younger. Not in a bad way. Not weak. Just… safe. Like for once, he didn’t have to be the hardest guy in the room.

Dally’s shoulders dropped a fraction. 

And that was the whole exchange.

No words. No drama. Just two boys who grew up too fast, understanding each other from opposite sides of the same storm.

“My mother was golden and beautiful …”

His mother was golden…  

Johnny shook his head sadly. 

Ponyboy really was poetic to a fault. 

““Ponyboy”—Johnny was shaking me—“Hey, Pony, wake up.” I sat up, shivering. The stars had moved. “Glory, what time is it?” “I don’t know. I went to sleep, too, listening to you rattle on and on. You’d better get home. I think I’ll stay all night out here.” Johnny’s parents didn’t care if he came home or not. “Okay.” I yawned. Gosh, but it was cold. “If you get cold or something come on over to our house.” “Okay.” I ran home, trembling at the thought of facing Darry.”

Darry hated the fact that in this case Ponyboy was right to be scared.

“The porch light was on. Maybe they were asleep and I could sneak in, I thought. I peeked in the window. Sodapop was stretched out on the sofa, sound asleep, but Darry was in the armchair under the lamp, reading the newspaper. I gulped, and opened the door softly.”

Most of them had already pieced it together.

They knew what night this was.

And now that the moment which set it all off was about to play out before them they felt themselves tense up.

And Dally—Dally realized with a start that this was the first time he was actually seeing it from the inside. He didn’t know what had happened that night. Not what set it off. He’d just found the kid at Buck’s door soaked and shaking and saying he couldn’t go home.

Listening to how Pony tried to slip back through the door without being noticed—he felt a weird apprehension.

“Darry looked up from his paper. He was on his feet in a second. I stood there, chewing on my fingernail. “Where the heck have you been? Do you know what time it is?” He was madder than I’d seen him in a long time. I shook my head wordlessly. “Well, it’s two in the morning, kiddo. Another hour and I would have had the police out after you. Where were you, Ponyboy?”—his voice was rising—“Where in the almighty universe were you?” It sounded dumb, even to me, when I stammered, “I … I went to sleep in the lot …” “You what?” He was shouting, and Sodapop sat up and rubbed his eyes.”

Steve whistled at his friend. “Hell of a way to wake up.” 

Across the room, Darry’s jaw clenched. He knew what was coming. The moment he wished he could take back a thousand times, even as it still burned behind his eyes.

Pony was deathly still.

Dally glanced between the two brothers, feeling the heat coil in the space between them. “You really thought he wasn’t comin’ home?” he asked Darry.

Darry didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Pony’s fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the cushion as his gaze flicked toward the next lines in Johnny’s lap. 

An old fear crawled back up his spine—one he’d packed away, but never quite forgotten.

““Hey, Ponyboy,” he said sleepily, “where ya been?” “I didn’t mean to.” I pleaded with Darry. “I was talking to Johnny and we both dropped off …” “I reckon it never occurred to you that your brothers might be worrying their heads off and afraid to call the police because something like that could get you two thrown in a boys’ home so quick it’d make your head spin. And you were asleep in the lot? Ponyboy, what on earth is the matter with you? Can’t you use your head? You haven’t even got a coat on.””

Pony’s throat tightened.

It was painfully obvious, now, how Darry’s anger was coming from worry and concern for his wellbeing. God he must’ve been blind. He felt a flush of shame crawl up his neck, blinking back the tears building up. 

“I felt hot tears of anger and frustration rising. “I said I didn’t mean to …” “I didn’t mean to!” Darry shouted, and I almost shook. “I didn’t think! I forgot! That’s all I hear out of you! Can’t you think of anything?” “Darry …” Sodapop began, but Darry turned on him. “You keep your trap shut! I’m sick and tired of hearin’ you stick up for him.” He should never yell at Soda. Nobody should ever holler at my brother.”

No one hid their shock.

They’d all been bracing for the explosion between Darry and Pony—it was inevitable. But that ? Turning on Soda?

That wasn’t something any of them had ever seen. Or even imagined .

Johnny stiffened, eyes darting between the lines and the real-life Darry across the room. “You yelled at Soda ?” he asked, barely above a whisper, like the idea didn’t sit right in the air.

Two-Bit let out a low breath. “Man… I didn’t even know you could yell at him. He’s, like, un-yellable.”

Steve looked at Darry sitting next to him like he was a stranger.

Soda didn’t say anything. It had stung. When Darry yelled at him. He understood for the first time how Pony must’ve felt always getting hollered at. And then suddenly he realized—with a soft, stunned breath—that Pony had been slapped that night for trying to defend him.

Darry didn’t defend himself. He just kept his eyes down, the memory alive and sharp in his posture.

Even Dally was silent.

Pony felt it all rushing back—the way the heat and shouting had folded over itself. The way everything seemed to shake, not just from the shouting, but from the fact that Soda had been caught in it too.

Johnny’s voice barely held steady as he read the next line:

"‘I exploded. “You don’t yell at him!” I shouted. Darry wheeled around and slapped me so hard it knocked me against the door.’”

Ponyboy flinched. 

For a minute—time seemed to stop.

Soda, who had already been looking down in preparation for what was coming, sucked in a breath and held it. 

Steve’s face was white as he looked from Darry to Pony like he was expecting someone to punch back.

Ponyboy wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Two-Bit look so angry–except maybe when Johnny was jumped. 

Darry had known it was coming. But knowing didn’t make it hurt less. He’d brought pain—real pain—to his kid brother, and he knew it. It was unforgivable. Not just the slap. All of it. Everything that came after.

He’d never told anyone—not even Soda—how every time he closed his eyes, he saw that split-second flash of betrayal in Ponyboy’s face. How he couldn’t forget that the dominoes had started with him. Johnny and Dally’s deaths were because of him.

Dally stood. Straight up. No casual stretch, no smirk—just sharp movement.

“You hit him,” he said—accusatory.

Darry finally looked up. “Yeah.”

“No,” Dally said again, louder this time. “You hit him. You slapped your own kid brother. Was that supposed to be discipline?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Darry snapped, rising to meet him. It came out rough, deflective—because if he didn’t stay angry, if he didn’t stay loud, the guilt would crawl right up his throat and choke him.

“You’re right,” Dally said, voice low and seething. “Cause I don’t hit family.”

“You don’t have family,” Darry shot back before he could stop himself. It was instinct—firing back just to keep Dally from aiming closer to the truth. But the second the words were out, he knew what he’d done.

It landed like a punch. 

Dally didn’t yell. He didn’t flinch. That might’ve been easier. 

He just stood there, jaw set, like someone trying to hide the fact that he was bleeding out in front of strangers.

“…Yeah,” he said finally, voice hushed and brittle. “Maybe not.”

There was a beat. Then Dally glanced at Pony. His voice cracked on the edge of rage and disbelief.

“But I thought maybe I did.” He  motioned to the rest of the gang in a wide arc—Johnny, Soda, Steve, Two-Bit. “Is that what you all think too? That I’m just… some stray dog hangin’ around? Just some dangerous hoodlum on the edges.”

Nobody answered. Nobody knew how. Even Two-Bit was quiet, the usual grin gone without a trace. 

Ponyboy shivered. He hadn’t wanted Dally to bring it up—because he wasn’t wrong. There had been moments. Moments when Pony didn’t understand Dally’s temper, when he’d written Dally off as something rough and angry instead of someone hurting and afraid.

He knew better now though. Seen deeper. Understood more.

He’d known this conversation was coming, but his mind couldn’t help wishing—

Not now!

But no one really planned the best time for these things, did they? 

Dally laughed once, short and sharp. “Hell, maybe we oughta pull out books from all your perspectives. See how many times I show up just to threaten somebody’s peace of mind.”

“Dally—” Pony started.

Dally turned on him like the words had burned.

“No, don’t. It’s all in there.” He jabbed a finger at the open book. “Every time you looked at me sideways, or braced yourself like I was about to explode. You were scared of me, weren’t you?”

“I was scared of a lot of things,” Pony said quietly.

“But not Johnny,” Dally snapped. “Not Soda. Not even Steve. Just me.”

“That’s—”

Dally’s voice was rising now, fast and rough. “I get it. You see me the same way the rest of the world does—some angry burnout you keep around ‘cause he’s good in a fight. Ain’t that right, Darry?”

Darry, who had stood frozen through it all, suddenly stepped forward, blocking Pony from Dally’s view. His voice came out low, dangerous. He was furious, “Don’t put this on him.”

“ You already did,” Dally shot back.

“Don’t act like you’ve been some shining example,” Darry snapped. “You taught a thirteen-year-old how to hot-wire a car!”

“She asked! ” Dally barked.

“Oh, and that’s your moral compass?”

“Don’t talk to me about morals when you’re out here laying hands on your own brother.”

“And don’t talk to me about family. Like hell you know what family means!”

That shut everything down.

Darry knew it wasn’t true. Not really. But he couldn’t take it back, and he wouldn’t explain—not now, not while his throat felt full of shattered glass.

He knew Ponyboy deserved a proper apology. A reason. Even if it didn’t fix a thing. He wanted to say I didn’t mean to , I was scared , you were slipping away and I didn’t know how to stop it .

But all that came out was silence.

Soda stepped between them. “Stop it. Both of you. None of you mean what you’re saying right now.”

But Dally had already turned away. Not storming out, not dramatic—just... retreating. Quiet. Final.

The bathroom door clicked shut seconds later.

Johnny stood. He didn’t say anything. Just moved to sit in the hall, cross-legged beside the door, his back resting against it. He didn’t knock. Didn’t ask anything.

Just let Dally know—he wasn’t alone in there.

Pony swallowed hard and looked around. No one met his eyes. No one met anyone's eyes.

The silence sat too long.

Johnny worried at the edge of his sleeve, having moved back to the couch after Dally told him to Fuck off . “You think he’s okay?”

Two-Bit ran a hand through his hair, unusually grim. “I think if he were okay, he’d still be sitting here tellin’ Darry to go screw himself.”

“Maybe someone should talk to him,” Steve said, glancing at the bathroom door.

“Maybe someone shouldn’t have been a huge bitch,” Soda muttered, shooting Darry a quick glare.

Darry didn’t respond. He stared at the floor, jaw set like it was wired shut.

A moment passed. Then another.

Finally, Pony stood up. “I’ll go.”

Darry did look up at that. “Pony—”

Pony turned back. “You want to say something? Say it.”

Darry looked like he might. Like the words were there. But they didn’t come.

So Pony turned again—not wanting his disappointment to show—and walked towards the bathroom. 

The bathroom light was off.

For half a second, Pony thought maybe Dally had climbed out the window or wedged himself under the sink to disappear. But then—

A figure in the dark, sitting in front of the shower, head in hands. Breathing—quiet but ragged. Like trying not to choke on the silence.

Pony hesitated in the doorway, finally closing the door behind him. “It’s me.”

Dally didn’t look up. “What, they send you in for recon?”

“No one sent me.”

A beat.

Then Dally snorted. “Surprised Darry let you near me. Figured he’d think I’d throw you through the mirror.”

Pony stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” He said dangerously.

Pony didn’t want to admit how much Dally’s tone really did scare him. He crouched down to sit on the floor by the sink. “You really think none of us care?”

Dally didn’t answer.

“You think if we didn’t, we’d still be here? Reading this book? Trying to make sense of why you and Johnny are back, why everything happened the way it did?”

Still silence.

Pony stared at the tile floor. He tried again. “I was scared of you. You were right. Back then.”

That got Dally to look up—just barely.

“I didn’t get it,” Pony went on. “You were loud, and angry, and… kinda reckless. And I figured that’s all there was. But I know better now. I know there’s more.”

Dally’s voice cracked like a worn-out hinge. “Took me dying for you to figure that out?”

Pony flinched. That wasn’t fair, but he let it pass. “No. It took growing up.”

Another long pause.

Then Dally sat back against the wall, voice low. “I’m not good at this, kid. I don’t do feelings. I do fights. Getaways. Screwing things up.”

“You didn’t screw this up,” Pony said quietly.

Dally just looked at him dryly.

“You were trying to stand up for me. That means something.”

Dally scoffed, but softer this time. “Yeah, well. I still think your brother wants to skin me.”

And with a jolt Ponyboy was reminded that Dally was only seventeen. The mask had cracked—just a bit—and Pony saw that Dally really was just a kid. And even though they’d both shouted hurtful things: He was still just worried that Darry was mad at him. 

Pony almost smiled. “He doesn’t. He just… doesn’t know what to do with guilt when it’s too heavy to hold.”

Dally let out a breath. “Why’d you really come in here?”

“I didn’t want you to think we saw you the way the rest of the world does,” Pony said honestly. “Because we don’t. I know Darry was a jerk. And maybe I’m not one to talk, but he really didn’t mean it. You’re our family.”

Dally suddenly felt like he was in an alternate dimension. Since when was Ponyboy so…mature? He sounded like an adult. Maybe he’d always been smart, but he’d certainly never shared that side of himself with Dally.

Dally looked down at his boots. “You’re a weird kid.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Pony said, voice a little lighter. “Am I at least your weird kid?”

That startled a laugh out of him. Brief. Real. “You just lost any dignity you might’ve gained from this conversation.”

Then Dally reached forward and flicked the light on.

“You tell anyone I cried in here, I’ll deny it.”

“You cried?” Pony said.

Dally nodded. “Good man.”

Back in the other room, Soda was pacing in slow circles and Johnny had started rereading the page like if he just understood every word, maybe the moment wouldn’t hurt as much. Two-Bit chewed on the edge of a poker chip, and Steve was pretending not to glance toward the bathroom every ten seconds.

Then the door opened.

Pony stepped out first, followed by Dally, who squinted at the light like he was seeing the world for the first time in days.

Nobody said anything.

Then Soda tossed a bag of pretzels at him.

“Bout time, tough guy. You missed Two-Bit starting to cry.”

“I did not!” Two-Bit sputtered.

“Did too.”

Dally dropped into the nearest armchair without a word, stretched his legs out, and put his feet on the table like nothing had ever happened.

Darry looked over at Dally, slouched back in the chair like nothing could touch him.

“Hey,” Darry said.

Dally raised an eyebrow. “You trying to schedule a second slap?”

“No,” Darry said, voice steadier than before. “I’m sorry.”

Dally didn’t reply, but he didn’t look away, either.

“I shouldn’t have said that stuff,” Darry went on. “About family. About you. I never really meant it anyway, I was just lashing out—I knew it would hurt you.” He looked down again, “Sorry.”

Dally crossed his arms. “Well. You weren’t wrong.”

“I was,” Darry said simply. “You are our family.”

There was a beat. Then Dally leaned back and muttered, “You’re still a tightass.”

Darry snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

And just like that, it was over. Not forgotten, not undone—but the bitterness was gone.

Pony looked happy as he sat down cross-legged and asked Johnny. “Where were we?”

Johnny found the line. “Right after the slap.”

Dally rolled his eyes. “Great. Let’s relive it.”

Pony looked over. “You staying?”

Dally lifted one shoulder. “You’re my weird kid. Guess I better see how you fare with the rest of this.”

Pony smiled faintly at Dally’s reply, then turned and caught Darry watching him.

Not judging. Not looming.

Just... there.

They both reached a wordless understanding and stepped out quietly into the kitchen.

They didn’t sit. Darry leaned against the counter. Pony leaned against the fridge.

And for a second, neither spoke.

Then Darry said, softly, “I guess we should talk, huh?”

Pony looked down.

The room fell again into silence, neither of them knowing what to say. They really didn’t have a lot of practice with this kind of stuff. 

“I did think at the time that it meant you didn’t care,” Pony finally said. “But I didn’t think that for long. Not really.”

Darry’s eyes flicked over. “No?”

“I kind of realized that you were drowning, same as me. Maybe even more than me. And then I felt bad for a while, cause I always thought about Soda so fondly, but not really about…you.”

Darry blinked once, hard. “Well that’s more my fault than yours,” he said.

“I know,” Pony replied, and he meant it.

Darry blinked at the brutal honestly, before he exhaled slowly. “Still. Hitting you was unforgivable. As a guardian I never should have raised a hand towards you.”

“I know you’re my guardian, Darry,” Pony said, a childish whine finding its way back to his voice—which Darry was a bit grateful for because hearing Pony talk all mature was starting to make him uncomfortable. “But why do you have to be all the time ? I just want you to be my brother sometimes.”

Darry looked at him, really looked, and finally he felt like he understood something. That last piece of the puzzle he’d been missing clicked into place. He reached out and gently squeezed the back of Pony’s neck—an echo of all the things he’d never said. And then he grinned at his brother. “Yeah, I can do that. You, me and Soda—we can all hang out more. I promise I’ll take off work more too, kid. I’m sure we can figure it out.” 

“Thanks,” Pony said, almost surprised at how easy his response was. “I’d like that.”

Darry gave him a nod, then ruffled his hair in a way that made Pony roll his eyes but secretly kind of love it.

They stepped back into the living room.

No one said anything, but Soda’s shoulders dipped a little with relief.

Two-Bit tossed Pony a bag of pretzels. “Figured we should hold off until you two finished your heart-to-heart.”

“Where are all the pretzels suddenly coming from?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

Two-Bit looked devious. “Don’t worry about it.”

Pony caught the bag, grinning despite himself, and flopped back onto the couch.

Darry took his seat again on the carpet, right by his brothers. Soda ruffled his hair as he sat, glad his brothers had made up. He really couldn’t stand when they fought.

Johnny picked the book back up from the coffee table. “We finally ready to keep going?”

Pony glanced around at all of them—his family, messy and patched-up and trying—and nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s finish it.”

“And then take our break.” Two-Bit chimed in.

“Suddenly it was deathly quiet. We had all frozen. Nobody in my family had ever hit me. Nobody. Soda was wide-eyed. Darry looked at the palm of his hand where it had turned red and then looked back at me. His eyes were huge. “Ponyboy …” I turned and ran out the door and down the street as fast as I could. Darry screamed, “Pony, I didn’t mean to!””

Ponyboy tilted his head, lips twitching with something between amusement and disbelief.

“You ever notice,” he said, slowly, “that you yelled ‘I didn’t mean to’ right after hitting me?”

Darry blinked.

Pony leaned back a little, voice deceptively light. “The same words you tore into me for saying five minutes earlier.”

Darry gawked. “You—you little—”

“Irony,” Pony supplied helpfully. “It’s a literary device.”

Soda laughed at his older brother’s expense. 

“but I was at the lot by then and pretended I couldn’t hear. I was running away. It was plain to me that Darry didn’t want me around. And I wouldn’t stay if he did. He wasn’t ever going to hit me again.”

Darry at least could agree with that last statement.

““Johnny?” I called, and started when he rolled over and jumped up almost under my feet. “Come on, Johnny, we’re running away.” Johnny asked no questions. We ran for several blocks until we were out of breath. Then we walked. I was crying by then. I finally just sat down on the curb and cried, burying my face in my arms. Johnny sat down beside me, one hand on my shoulder. “Easy, Ponyboy,” he said softly, “we’ll be okay.” I finally calmed down and wiped my eyes on my bare arm. My breath was coming in quivering sobs.”

Two-Bit flopped onto his stomach, chin in his hands. “Aww, Pony, if I’da seen baby you crying on a curb I’d have wrapped you in seven coats and made you a snack.”

“Please don’t say ‘baby you,’” Pony muttered.

But he was smiling a little.

“Hey, Johnny?” Pony said next, a small grin on his face. “Thanks for running away with me by the way. You didn’t even ask why.”

Johnny gave a tiny, sheepish shrug. “Didn’t need to. I just… wanted you to know I was there.”

And Dally, who’d been silent through most of it, ran a hand over his face and muttered, “You’re all too sentimental.”

“You cried in the bathroom not twenty minutes ago,” Soda said dryly.

“Shut up. Did not.”

““Gotta cigarette?” He handed me one and struck a match. “Johnny, I’m scared.” “Well, don’t be. You’re scarin’ me. What happened? I never seen you bawl like that.” “I don’t very often. It was Darry. He hit me. I don’t know what happened, but I couldn’t take him hollering at me and hitting me too. I don’t know … sometimes we get along okay, then all of a sudden he blows up on me or else is naggin’ at me all the time. He didn’t use to be like that … we used to get along okay … before Mom and Dad died. Now he just can’t stand me.” “I think I like it better when the old man’s hittin’ me.” Johnny sighed.”

Two-Bit felt horrible that his first reaction was wanting to laugh at Johnny’s lack of tact. 

Don’t get him wrong—the content of the words was gutting. Like, rip-your-heart-out, kick-it-while-it’s-down sad. But seriously, Johnny, ever heard of timing?

Still… that’s what got him, wasn’t it?

That Johnny could say something that bleak— that real —in a tone so calm it sounded like he was talking about the weather. Like he didn’t even realize it was the kind of sentence that should make the whole room wrap him in blankets and never let him go outside again.

“Jesus, Johnnycake,” Dally muttered. “You can’t just drop stuff like that.”

Johnny blinked, confused. “Like what?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Looked to the others for help.

Steve threw a poker chip across the floor like it had personally offended him. “Swear to God, next time I see your dad…”

Johnny shrugged. “Ain’t nothin’ new.”

And that— that —was what made them all want to scream a little.

Because to Johnny, it really wasn’t.

But to the rest of them? That kind of hurt should never have felt normal.

““At least then I know he knows who I am. I walk in that house, and nobody says anything. I walk out, and nobody says anything. I stay away all night, and nobody notices. At least you got Soda. I ain’t got nobody.” “Shoot,” I said, startled out of my misery, “you got the whole gang. Dally didn’t slug you tonight ’cause you’re the pet. I mean, golly, Johnny, you got the whole gang.” “It ain’t the same as having your own folks care about you," Johnny said simply. “It just ain’t the same.””

They’d all tried so hard to love Johnny in the ways they knew how. But they knew he was right. It was no real replacement for the love of one's parents. Johnny had never gotten to be loved like a kid should be . No bedtime stories. No arms wrapping around him after a nightmare. Just the gang—patching up his wounds from constant beatings.

Soda leaned across and nudged Johnny with his shoulder. “If I could’ve signed adoption papers, you’d be stuck with me already.”

Two-Bit nodded. “Like it or not, we kinda are your folks.”

Johnny half-smiled, eyes shining. “You’re not exactly the parental type.”

“Speak for yourself,” Steve said, mock-affronted. “I’ve got a nurturing side.”

“Yeah, I saw it once,” Dally deadpanned. “Lasted a full three seconds.”

“I was beginning to relax and wonder if running away was such a great idea. I was sleepy and freezing to death and I wanted to be home in bed, safe and warm under the covers with Soda’s arm across me.”

“So maybe you do have a head on your shoulders after all,” Darry remarked.

“I decided I would go home and just not speak to Darry. It was my house as much as Darry’s, and if he wanted to pretend I wasn’t alive, that was just fine with me. He couldn’t stop me from living in my own house.”

“Sounds to me like you were the one who was planning to pretend Darry wasn’t alive.” Steve pointed out. “How do you think you would’ve handled the silent treatment, Superman?” 

Pony flushed. “I was thirteen! Emotional intelligence wasn’t really my thing. ”

“Still isn’t,” Soda coughed behind his hand.

“Fourteen for a month,” Johnny coughed at the same time.

“You’re still fourteen,” Two-Bits cough joined the mix.

Pony shot them all glares.

He cursed his future self for making him sound so childish. Okay, sure—he may have been ready to ghost his brother for life, but he had feelings too, okay?

Darry just rolled his eyes. “Please. I could’ve handled a week of quiet. It would've been a vacation even.”

“He couldn’t stop me from living in my own house. “Let’s walk to the park and back. Then maybe I’ll be cooled off enough to go home.” “Okay,” Johnny said easily. “Okay.” Things gotta get better, I figured. They couldn’t get worse. I was wrong.”

Nobody even had the energy to be truly concerned on that last note. They were all emotionally wrung out.

Soda groaned softly, flopping back with both arms over his face. “Okay, okay. Break time. My soul needs, like, five minutes and a milkshake.”

“I second that,” Two-Bit said, reaching blindly for the pretzel bag like it contained the meaning of life.

Steve cracked his knuckles. “I need an hour-long nap.”

Johnny set the book down on the coffee table without another word and leaned back against the couch, eyes half-closed.

Dally didn’t say anything—still sprawled out in his chair like a lazy cat. 

Which, of course, is when Ponyboy struck.

“Hey, Dally?”

Dally gave him a sideways glance, wary.

Ponyboy hesitated, then casually— too casually—said, “You still wanna see those sketches I did of you?”

Dally perked up. “You got ‘em?”

The rest of the room perked up as well.

“ Finally, ” Soda groaned dramatically. “I’ve been waiting three chapters.”

Steve leaned over the back of the couch. “Okay but, like—how intense are these? Are we talking full-on ‘tragic antihero’ aesthetic or more ‘moody side-eye in charcoal’?”

“Both,” Johnny said helpfully.

Dally tilted his head. “So they do exist.”

“Of course they exist!” Pony protested.

Soda chimed in. “Look, we’re not saying we want a private Ponyboy art museum. We’re just saying exactly that.”

Ponyboy sighed again, giving his brother a playful shove as he sat up. “Okay. I’ll dig them out then.”

The gang settled back like they’d won a long campaign.

Even Darry, who hadn’t said a word, glanced over—extremely curious, but not about to admit it out loud.

Dally, still lounging, gave a rare half-smile. “Hope you got my good side, artist boy.”

Pony muttered, “You don’t have a good side,” but his smile said otherwise.

Across the room, Soda was already turning to laugh with Steve about something, and Two-Bit had started humming circus music for dramatic effect.

They’d earned this break.

And apparently, a gallery viewing.

Chapter Text

After a bit of rummaging, Ponyboy returned to the living room, clutching a plain file folder as though it held more of his secrets than even his school report. Dally’s head shot up the quickest as Ponyboy entered, before he quickly tried to reschool his features of eager anticipation into a more unbothered thug look.

Ponyboy set the folder down on the coffee table like it might bite.

Two-Bit leaned in, eyes narrowing at the unassuming object. “Hold up—is this it? Did we just uncover Ponyboy’s mysterious art vault?”

“Do not call it that,” Pony muttered, settling cross-legged on the floor as he flipped the cover open.

Soda gasped like someone had handed him a treasure map. “Wait! I need one of those little gallery plaques—‘Dallas Winston: Dangerous in Graphite. Estimated emotional value: off the charts.’”

Steve cracked a grin. “Do we get audio guides? ‘Observe the subtle exquisite Greaser glare rendered in charcoal—’”

“No audio guides,” Ponyboy cut in sharply, pulling out the first sketch before his nerves could take over. This felt too personal—especially with Dally in the room. Pony had only ever shown Johnny one of the drawings before, and that was just because Johnny had literally watched it come to life on the page. But still, a part of him really wanted them to see it.

The gang leaned in, none of them bothering to hide their curiosity.

Pony held up the first drawing.

It showed Dally, leaning against a brick wall, arms crossed, jaw set. His eyes were fierce—like he was challenging someone to blink first.

The room went still.

Johnny let out a low whistle. “That’s you, alright, Dal.”

Dally stared at it. Quiet. Then, after a beat: “Huh.” His voice was rough around the edges. “That’s weird.”

“Why, ‘cause Pony actually managed to make you look handsome?” Two-Bit teased, leaning in as if to study the page closer. “That is weird.”

But Dally didn’t bite. His gaze stuck to the sketch—more specifically, the eyes. Pony had drawn them sharp and narrowed, but not cold. Watchful. Alive. It didn’t feel like looking at a picture; it felt like someone had caught him off-guard and held him there, frozen in graphite.

He almost asked Ponyboy why he’d bothered—why he’d studied him, why he’d spent time getting the shadows of his jaw just right. But the words felt clumsy—too dumb in his mouth.

Across the couch, Darry was silent as he looked over the sketch.

Soda patted his older brother on the back. “Hey, you’re quiet. You getting emotional over there, Superman?”

“I’m reading the line work,” Darry replied, absently. He remembered Pony as a kid in the living room, tiny fist clenched around a pencil, sketching whatever their mom placed in front of him. But as he got older, Pony had started hiding his art—maybe from embarrassment. Drawing late at night, tearing out pages before anyone could see.

Now Darry could finally see just how much Ponyboy had grown into his talent. 

And it was… impressive. Darry to himself. His kid brother was the real deal.

The next sketch showed Dally lighting a cigarette, posture lazy, gaze a million miles away. Ponyboy had drawn the exact flick of the lighter mid-spark, like Dally’s mind hadn’t quite returned to earth yet.

Dally stared for a long moment. It was flattering—not just because it looked good. It felt seen. His eyes didn’t look like they did in school photos. Not like mugshots. They looked like someone knew him—whether he liked it or not.

He reached forward and picked up the first page off the table. The one with him against the wall. “Can I keep this?” he asked Ponyboy.

Pony froze mid-wrestle with Steve over a page he had labeled an “artistic crisis.” Everyone else paused too.

Then Ponyboy smiled, maybe a little shy. “You can keep them all, if you want.”

He hadn’t expected Dally to ever be interested in his drawings at all. Much less want one. He always assumed Dally would laugh at his hobby if he knew. But instead, there was this look on Dally’s face. Not guarded. Not smug.

Just... touched. Like he didn’t know what to do with the feeling, but didn’t want to let go of it either.

Dally nodded once. He set the drawing in his lap like it might slip through his fingers otherwise, “The public may kill me if I steal the entire gallery from their viewing. This one’s enough.”

From the arm of the couch, Darry chimed in, voice dry but unmistakably fond. “Just don’t tape it to your wall like some middle school crush.”

Dally looked up, brows raised. “You think I hang pictures?”

“Only of yourself,” Steve muttered.

Darry added. “Your criminal record is taped on your fridge like a school report. At least get a frame for this one.”

That earned a full-on snort from Dally—and a root beer can lobbed across the room that missed Darry by a mile.

Darry caught the lid of the sketch folder with one hand and gave it a glance. “You ever draw me, Pony?”

“Not a chance,” Pony said immediately. “Too many wrinkles. It’d be exhausting.”

“Any wrinkles that I’ve got? They came from you, kid.” Darry shot back, eyes narrowed, even as Soda and Two-Bit cracked up at his expense. Steve gave Pony a rewarding clap on the back.

Behind them, Dally still had Pony’s sketch in hand, now folded neatly between his fingers like he wasn’t quite ready to put it down. He didn’t say much—but his eyes kept shifting between the page and the guys. Like he was trying to reconcile one with the other. How they saw him. How Pony saw him.

He hadn’t expected to care so much. Now he didn’t know what to do with the fact that he did.

Soda glanced toward him and puffed out his shoulders. “You better frame my brother’s masterpiece, or I’ll make you pay.”

Dally waved him off. “Don’t worry. It’ll go right next to my mugshots.”

“You better not lose it,” Darry said, rising from the floor to grab a soda from the kitchen. “Pony’ll cry.”

“I would,” Pony called, moving across the room to flop onto a pile of cushions.

Steve raised a hand from where he was now lying on the floor. “Same.”

For a while, nobody said anything else, slowly spreading out across the room. Some wandered to the kitchen to get snacks or make themselves lunch while others were content to just lounge in the living room for a bit. The room breathed quietly. Too much had happened in too few chapters. The gallery viewing was over, but no one was quite ready to get back to reading. 

As Steve, Soda, Two-Bit, and Pony got locked in a poker game, Johnny made his way over to where Dally was sitting still by the coffee table, resting his eyes. 

Johnny settled on the rug beside Dally, voice quiet but deliberate.

“Hey, Dal?”

Dally didn’t move. Just rested with the sketch still folded between his fingers.

“You all right if I ask something?”

“Shoot.”

Johnny didn’t cut corners.

“How did you die?”

Dally froze. Not a twitch. Not a blink. Just… stillness.

He exhaled once, slow. “Don’t matter,” he said. Voice flat. Calm.Trying to brush off the conversation.

Johnny frowned. “Course it does. You came back, it had to be for a reason.”

Dally opened his eyes, gaze sharp but not angry. “So let the book tell it. What’s the point in me spelling it out when we’re gonna read it anyway?”

“That’s not the same,” Johnny said, pushing just a little. “I don’t wanna read it like some school assignment—I wanna hear it. From you.”

Dally’s fingers clenched around the sketch before he could stop them, frustrated by Johnny’s insistence. “Why?” he asked, not snapping, not yet. “So you can say ‘sorry it happened’ and pat my shoulder like it means anything? So you can look at me different?

“No,” Johnny said, frustration creeping in. “I’m not asking to pity you—I just wanna understand. ”

There was a beat of silence. Dally’s jaw tensed so hard it looked painful.

“Well don’t,” he said, voice slicing through the space between them like a hiss. His tone wasn’t raised—but it had teeth. 

“You don’t wanna know,” he muttered. “You think it was noble? You think I went out swinging or some other righteous crap?”

Dally’s jaw was set hard, as his voice dropped, low and tight. It sounded almost painful. There was definite panic curling beneath the surface—like whatever he had felt back then hadn’t gone away, just gone quiet.

Johnny looked at him, gaze steady but hurt creeping into his features.

“I thought… I thought maybe it was because of me,” Johnny admitted quietly. “Because you couldn’t take me being gone.”

Dally flinched—eyes going wide before his expression shifted to one of fury.

“Don’t put that on yourself,” he snapped. And this time it was a snap—low and fast and cutting. “Don’t go rewriting it to sound poetic. I was pissed off and tired and stupid, all right? End of story.”

Johnny recoiled a little at the intensity, but he didn’t back down. “I’m not trying to rewrite anything—I just thought you trusted me enough to tell me the truth.”

“I do trust you,” Dally shot back, eyes blazing now. “I trust you to not ask me stuff I don’t wanna talk about.”

Johnny’s jaw clenched. “Then maybe you don’t trust me at all.”

Dally stood up suddenly, Pony’s sketch still clutched in his hand. “We’re gonna read it, aren’t we?” he said. “That’s what this whole thing’s about, right?”

Johnny didn’t answer. Didn’t look at him, just glared pointedly at the floor.

“Then wait for the words,” Dally snapped. “I’m not giving you a sneak peek.”

Without another word, Dally turned and walked to the kitchen, jamming the sketch into his jacket pocket like it was burning his fingers.

Johnny sat frozen for a moment, heart hammering, mouth pressed into a bitter line. 

Behind him, the poker game had devolved into Steve accusing Two-Bit of psychic cheating, and Soda claiming he was reading the cards’ “auras.” Johnny was pretty sure that Ponyboy was the only one of them not cheating.

Ponyboy—glancing up from the game—clocking the shift in atmosphere from across the room. His brows furrowed as he realized that Dally had left. And he tried to make questioning eye contact with Johnny.

Johnny avoided Ponyboy’s gaze as he finally stood, brushing his hands off on his jeans, and sitting back down near the others to watch the rest of the poker match.

Two-Bit pulled all the chips his way as he claimed his victory. “I’d like to dedicate this win to the fallen kingdom of Soda’s bluffing strategy.”

From the kitchen, Dally reappeared, rubbing his jaw like he’d just had a staring contest with his own mood. He dropped a fresh root beer in Soda’s lap and reclaimed his seat without fanfare.

Soda clutched the root beer Dally had just dropped into his lap and groaned theatrically. Then, resigned, he lamented. “You’re all cheaters.”

“Your bluff had all the subtlety of a car crash,” Steve said, kicking out his legs across the rug. “I saw it coming three rounds ago.”

“That’s 'cause you cheated,” Soda shot back.

Steve just put his cards down on the table, disappointed by his own loss. “We ready to act like literary scholars again?”

Pony glanced at the open folder of sketches still on the table, then at the book sitting beside it. He nudged the folder closed, taking it from the table, and grabbed his same spot on the couch.

“All right,” he said. “Time to read my innermost thoughts and feel things. Let’s do this.”

Soda raised his hand. “I volunteer as tribute. I also reserve the right to do dramatic readings and sob audibly when necessary.”

“Can you sob on key?” Two-Bit asked. “We’re trying to keep this classy.”

“I’m the classiest crier this gang’s got,” Soda declared proudly, flipping the book open like it was a script and he was the lead actor. Or the director.

As Soda flipped to Chapter 4, everybody else settled back down around the coffee table. This time though, Darry didn’t bother going back to his chair, simply settling himself on the floor in front of his brothers.

Soda cleared his throat. “Prepare yourselves,” he intoned. “Chapter 4 is upon us.”