Archive of Our Own ^beta

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?”