I just want to briefly express how grateful I am for your kind reviews on my other one-shot I recently published. They lifted me up when I truly needed it. I appreciate all your sweet words! I smiled ear-to-ear every time I read one. It inspired me to write another one, so here we are.

Enjoy! & apologies in advance for the curse words ;)

He could see her Mustang slow down at a stop sign, then turn left onto the road. He smiled. The car was a light, powdery blue color. Light and sweet. Like her. Nobody else in town owned one like it. Her father had bought it for her for her sixteenth birthday and he happily brought it back to its glory. She slowed the car into the driveway. It raised his spirits a bit. After all this time, he was still crazy about her. Just seeing her put him in a better mood. It was funny to him how other people could have that effect.

Sodapop slung the dirty rag over his shoulder and wiped his calloused, oily hands on his jeans. Darry had complained about a weird ticking noise that clicked every time he pressed the brakes in his truck. Sure, Sodapop could've had Steve fix it for him - God knows that he was more talented with cars. But Soda needed something to ease his mind. He was anxious and worried sick and felt like a caged animal in that house. He hadn't worked in days. He needed to occupy himself. There was something methodical about working on a truck.

He leaned up against the car as Sandy hopped out. She looked hurried. Frantic. He furrowed his brows, unsure of what to make of it. She was wearing her red skirt – a favorite of his. He thought about how it matched her eyes; red-rimmed and swollen. Like she had cried over something.

She took a good look at him and cocked her head to the side. "Sodapop," she said slowly. "You don't look good at all. Have you been sleeping?" He turned his head and caught his reflection in the window. He stared at himself in all of his blood-shot, dark-circled, unkempt glory. He wore his anguish like a polished medal.

He scoffed, shaking his head. Ironic. She was preaching to the choir here. "Ponyboy is still gone and we haven't heard anything in a while. We can't get in touch with him and it's killin' me. It really is."

She nodded once, understanding the emotional toll Pony's absence was inevitably taking on him. She had gotten a sob-ridden earful a few nights before. She had gathered the courage on the way here to say what she needed to say. No going back now. Just say it, she thought. Just get it over with.

He stepped closer to her. He reached his hand out to touch her face and stroke her cheek like he always did. She winced under his touch. "Where've you been?" Soda asked softly. It sounded whiny and petulant. "I called you every single day. Your mom said you were out and your dad said you were at a friend's house – I called Cindy and she said you were-"

"I'm pregnant, Soda," she said curtly. It came out quick, as if it were one syllable. Like ripping a Band-Aid off. She didn't want to cover up her failures. She looked at Soda for a split second, then back to her feet. Her mind was instantly reeling.

He stood there for a moment. Shocked. Confused. Excited. Everything else in between. In hindsight, he figured that he also looked pretty foolish. His eyes lit up instantaneously. Sandy may as well have told him that he won the lottery. But that was just Sodapop's way.

She worked over the look on his face and stepped backwards cautiously. A look that said, No, you're not getting the point.

"Sandy!" he shouted excitedly, throwing the rag onto the ground and rushing towards her. "Do you know what this means?"

She shook her head vehemently. "Sodapop, no- it's not- I'm not… what I'm trying to say is you're not-"

"I mean, we're both a little young, but everything happens for a reason, right? You can move in with us. You can finish high school and by the time the baby comes-" he rambled rapidly.

"Sodapop, will you listen to me for a second? I can't-"

"And if it's a boy we can name it after my dad. And Steve can be the godfather. And-"

"You're not the father."

He stopped in his tracks. "What?" he managed out in a betrayed, weak voice. She saw the liveliness drain from his demeanor. Like popping a balloon with a sewing needle. Quick. To the point.

This time, she was the one stepping closer to him. As if the limited space would make the point clearer. She reached her arm out and he recoiled. His eyes bore holes into her.

"What do you mean?" he asked again in a louder, more demanding voice.

"It was a mistake, Sodapop," she said. "I didn't think this would happen."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. A classic Darry reflex. "Who was it?" The idea of violence crossed his mind then. He wasn't above a fist-fight.

"Soda, I don't think-"

"Who, Sandy?" he asked, an awful mix of sadness and anger in his voice.

"It doesn't matter, Sodapop," she said quietly. "It doesn't change anything."

"Did you tell him?" he asked. "That you were pregnant? Did you tell the father?" The words hurt coming out of his mouth. They just plain hurt.

She paused for a moment. Looked him, at her feet, then him again. Took a breath, tried to say something, then lost her words. She noticed his face and weakly mustered out, "No. And I'm not going to."

"Then let me do it."

She shook her head, confused. "Sodapop, I don't understand. What do you mean?"

He put his face close to hers. "If you don't tell the guy, then no one will know, Sandy. You can have the baby and I can raise it like my own. As far as anyone has to know, it's my kid." It seemed brilliant. Fool-proof. He commended himself for coming up with such an ingenious plan. Could it be that simple?

She turned away from him, towards the car. He wasn't getting it. He never would. To him, it wasn't about her cheating or being unfaithful. He would forgive her for her infidelity. It was about her living a disadvantaged life as a single teen mother – a life he didn't think she deserved. And she would never be worthy of someone like that.

"And what, Sodapop? Live here with your brothers? Live off of your paycheck at the DX? It wouldn't be enough."

"Then let's get married," he said. "Get our own place. I'll get a better job. You can graduate."

She opened the door to her car. "My parents would never approve, Soda. You know that."

He threw his hands up in the air. "Who gives a shit what your parents think? I bet they weren't too hot about you gettin' knocked up. Who the hell are they to tell you what to do with your life?"

"Soda," she said, urging him to lower his voice. "You're making a scene."

"Well, hell, Sandy! What else are you going to do?"

"I'm moving to Florida. To live with my grandmother. Tomorrow. I'm going to raise the baby out there." She gripped the top of the door.

"You can't do that," Sodapop pleaded. "You'd have a better life here. With me."

She scoffed incredulously. Her eyes filled with tears. "C'mon, Sodapop. Wake up and take a look around. We both know that's not true."

He rubbed his eyes. Hearing this news – especially now – shot his emotions to shit. He couldn't control it. Sadness wracked his whole body. She started to climb in her car. He walked towards her. Was it really worth the pleading? Her mind was already made up. It was painfully obvious that his feelings were not considered in her decision-making. He was merely collateral damage.

"So this is goodbye?" he asked, trying not to choke on his tears.

She rubbed her eyes. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Sodapop propped his elbows on top of the car. He covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," he murmured into his palms.

"I can't mess up your life, Sodapop," she said. "This is my problem, not yours. You don't deserve to get dragged through the mud for my mistakes."

He stepped away and looked at her. He shook his head in disbelief. "Did you ever even love me?"

She started the car. "We're sixteen, Soda. Did we even know what love was?"

He started to walk towards the house. He thought about Darry's selflessness when he took custody of him and Pony. He thought of his parents – how they lived together and died together. Unified. He thought of his dreams of marrying Sandy - having kids and growing old together. Was he too naïve? He had known what love was. Did he anymore?

"Goodbye, Sandy," he said blankly. He ran his fingers through his hair and watched her buckle her seatbelt. She put her hand on the door and turned towards him.

"Thank you, Soda. For everything. I know you'll never be able to forgive me, but I couldn't leave without telling you. I'm sorry."

He nodded once. He wouldn't look her in the eyes. He had lost so much this week. He could almost laugh at his misfortune. Not bothering to see her out, he walked back inside. Had he been brought back down to Earth in that moment, he may have gotten one last glance at her. He didn't realize it would be the last time he ever saw her. Perhaps he wouldn't have looked back.

The lights were on when he walked in. Darry was hanging up the phone in the kitchen, probably calling someone about Ponyboy and Johnny. He had left no stone unturned. Two-Bit swore he could be the F.B.I's most valuable tool in a crisis. For how bad Sodapop looked, he figured that Darry looked twenty times worse. He looked three times his age.

He had the sudden urge to give him the tightest hug he could physically muster. Instead, he stood in place, frozen. Astonished.

"Hey, Soda," Darry said bleakly. He was worn out and distracted. "Did you fix that damn clicking?"

"Yeah." It sounded faraway. Absent-minded.

"I saw Sandy pull up to see you. What'd she have to say?"

He cringed at the question. Innocent coming from Darry, but painful nonetheless. He planned to fill him in when it didn't hurt so much to think about. He exhaled, leaning his back against the wall. He shook his head, fighting tears. "Nothing that I didn't already know about myself."

Darry looked at him, confused. Before he was able to open his mouth and pry, the shrill ring of the phone pierced the room. He rushed over to it, gripping it with white knuckles. Soda watched from the living room.

"Hello?...Yes, this is him….Are you sure?...Are you sure?...Of course….He's there now?...Oh, thank God….Yes….Yes…We'll be right there." He slammed the phone onto the receiver and turned towards Sodapop, beaming.

"They found him, Sodapop," he said. Soda was ripped out of his misery for a split second. For a brief moment, he forgot. Ponyboy is alright, he repeated to himself over and over again, like a mantra. He's alive.

"They're at St. Michael's Hospital downtown. Let's go," Darry boomed, rushing to pull his boots on. But Soda didn't move. He stood plastered to the wall, like he was nailed there. Darry looked at him skeptically.

"Did you hear me, Soda? Let's go." He walked over to him, touching his arm gingerly. "Are you okay, bud?"

Sodapop looked in his eyes. He was jittery and panicky; roaring with anxiousness. The room spun with the gravity of his broken heart. Did knowing Ponyboy was safe change that? No, he thought. His heart still stung. It was a different kind of heartbreak.

"I'm gonna puke," he hollered, quickly pushing Darry to the side and racing to the bathroom just in time to empty his guts into the toilet.

Darry followed him into the bathroom, patting his back as he coughed. "Alright," he said sternly. "You're telling me in the car."

In honor of the most undeveloped plotline in all of fiction…

Maybe I'm giving Sandy too much credit. Or not enough. This is how I envisioned it going down in my head. I'm toying with the idea of continuing this or leaving it as a one-shot. If you'd like to weigh in, I'd appreciate it. It could go either way. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.