Hey, it's SoulBeat! This is my first fanfic, so it could be bad, but… I hope you enjoy!

I quietly work out the problem on my worksheet, as Soda charges into our bedroom.

"Whatcha doin', Ponyboy?" Soda asks as he looks over my shoulder.

"Just doing homework," I reply, keeping my eyes focused on the problem. I imagine Soda giving a bored expression from behind.

"Aww, Pony, can't you do that later?" Soda whines. "Let's go play a game of football with the gang."

I turn to look at him, and shake my head. "Sorry. This is due tomorrow, and I still have a lot more problems left to complete.

Soda sighs. "I don't get it. How do y'all survive through all that homework and lectures?"

"It's not hard. You could do it, if you worked harder," I tell him.

Soda shakes his head. "No way, Ponyboy. I'm too stupid to do all that."

If I had a dime for everytime I've heard him say that.

I lightly smack his arm. "No you're not! Anyone can do it. Really. Even you," I encourage.

Sodapop rolls his eyes, not believing me at all. "Yeah right."

"No, really!" I slide the worksheet across the desk where Soda could see it better. I lie my finger underneath one of the problems. "What is the square root of thirty-six?"

"Squares? Since when has shapes been in math? There are only numbers!" Sodapop exclaims while raising his hands in the air.

I shake my head. "For a long time, Soda. And the problem isn't really asking about squares. It's asking what number is multiplied by itself to get thirty six," I explain to him. Hopefully my explanation got through to him.

"But why ask it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like ask what the square root is. Why can't they just say, 'what number is multiplied by itself to get thirty six' or something like that?" Soda asks, expecting an answer.

I facepalm. "I don't know, Soda. Just answer the problem!"

"Do you think they want us to make them sound smart?" Soda asks again. He's now getting on my nerves.

I sigh heavily. "I don't know, Soda. Please… just answer the problem!"

"I'm sure the government uses this smarttalk to make us not know what they are talking about, and we think they'll be a good president or something, so we'd have to vote for em!" Soda theorizes. "Boy, was I wrong!"

"Soda..."

"Thanks, Ponyboy! You've taught me somethin'!" Soda thanks, and then starts looking around the room.

"Now to more important things. Where is that football?" Soda ask himself looking through our belongings.

I get up from my seat and speed walk out of the bedroom. I quickly enter the kitchen, grab my jean jacket that was hanging on one of the diner chairs, and slip it on.

Darry, who just got done with yelling at Two-bit for getting mud in the house, glances over to me. "Where are you going?"

"Out. I need some fresh air," I tell him, about to walk out the door.

"Why? Is it stuffy in here or somethin'?" Darry asks.

I turn back to him. "No. I've just learned somethin'. Never try to tutor Sodapop." And with that, I walk out the back door, ready to go get a new pack of cigarettes.

Darry chuckles. "You've got that right."

So? What did you think? Again, sorry if it was bad; it's my first fanfic! Please review, but no flaming please!