A/N: What can I say? I have a bad habit of starting stories before I finish my other ones. Anyway, this is a 'what-if?' of the possibility of the gang not hearing Ponyboy when he got jumped in the beginning of the novel. It could happen!

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own the song Gloria, nor do I own any of The Outsiders. That honor belongs to S.E. Hinton alone. #longingsigh

Rated T for violence (nothing too graphic, but better safe than sorry, right?) and a few choice words courtesy of our lovely Socs. Enjoy!

Comes a-walkin' down my street
When she comes to my house
She knocks upon my door
And then she comes in my room
Yeah, an' she make me feel alright

Gloria - Them

PONYBOY'S POINT OF VIEW

"How'd you like that haircut to begin just below the chin?"

"Darry! Soda! Ste-"

"Shut him up, man!"

"Dar-"

"For Pete's sake, shut him up-"

Some rag was shoved in my mouth and a hand covered my lips over that, rendering me silent. I could only breathe through my nose. The smell of tobacco was overwhelming, and I wished again for suffocation. My arms and legs were still pinned down, the only difference being that I was silent as well as out of breath now. Great. Perfect.

I wiggled my foot out from underneath one of the Socs and jerked my knee up instinctively, knowing full well where I hit and smirking beneath the hand that silenced me as the guy on the receiving end of my blow groaned and stumbled back.

"Think you're so tuff, huh, grease?" one of the Socs growled.

"Tuff enough," I mumbled unintelligibly through the rag.

The blade was at my throat again.

"Not so talkative now, are you, grease?" one of the Socs spat. I was at least smart enough to keep my mouth shut and stay still. Where are you, guys? "You make a peep and you're gonna wish you'd never been born." I was terrified, but I tried with all my might not to show it. Maybe they could scare me to death, but I'd never let them have the satisfaction of knowing it.

Then he ran the knife over my throat again, not drawing blood but effectively scaring the wits out of me all over again. I went stock still and the taunts continued. They said some pretty nasty stuff, too. Stuff that Darry would skin me for saying and make even Dally blush. I wanted more than anything to make a sharp retort, but there was the blade-

I gasped in pain as it finally broke skin, and I felt blood begin to slither down my neck and stain the collar of my shirt. Glory, but it stung! The Socs just laughed and snickered, and one of them socked me a hard one in my stomach. I sucked in air desperately, having lost my wind, but they hadn't noticed. They were busy giving me the first and what seemed like the worst beating of my life. Since it was the first real jumping I'd ever been treated to, you can imagine I was scared to death. The fact that they were all at least five inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than me didn't help much.

I fought awful hard, but I was outweighed, outnumbered - pretty much out-anythinged. Except outsmarted, I thought as some Soc landed a mean left hook on my jaw. Think, Pony, I coached myself. What did the gang- a switch flicked out, followed by four others- teach you? Think!

Then I remembered something Dally had taught me a few years back when everybody was teaching me how to hold my own in a fight or, if needed, how to get away quick. I twisted my bruised face to look as relieved as possible and strained my blood-smeared neck to scan the empty area behind the Socs, shouting as best I could with the rag still clogging my mouth. Sure enough, they all whipped around, expecting the gang. Of course there was no one there, but they fell for it and let their grips loosen. I managed to slip out of their grasps for a second, just long enough to stand up and turn around. But as I lifted my foot to run off, someone seized my ankle and I hit the dirt hard. Within a minute, I was under their holds yet again. As I looked up, my eyes locked with those of a very angry Soc.

"What the hell, grease? I thought I told you not to try anything!" They hadn't, but I figured now wasn't the best time to bring that up. He sure looked mad, though, like he had a personal grudge against me for trying to avoid getting beat on. The rest of them didn't look too happy, either. If this is what they look like when I haven't even done anything to them, I'd hate to see them when I've actually offended them. I had a feeling they'd be going a whole lot rougher on me than they were now, and that was saying something. I could barely breathe in between the punches they were getting in.

They had me pinned down again, but they hadn't crammed that blasted rag into my mouth again, so I shouted out wildly, "Darry! Soda! Steve! Two-"

But I was cut off by a painful kick to the chest that left me wheezing. Before I could catch my breath and call out again, they muted me with jabs and punches and that ever-present rag. It tasted awful in my mouth. And try as I might, I couldn't get my tongue to force it out. I was having a hard enough time as it was trying to dodge the blows raining down on me - and boy, was it pouring punches.

At some point the blades came out again, and I noticed with a sort of absentminded interest that they reflected the light off the rings they guy sitting on me had been wearing. I really can't catch a break, huh? Then I remembered Johnny's scar and trembled more than I'd like to admit. Nothing stopped them, though. At that point I'd have been surprised if the guys' coming would have made them get off me. Maybe not. I didn't know. I felt kind of delirious, almost out of it. Don't get me wrong - I was aware of the pain. I just sort of zoned out and away from it. I had weird reactions to pain.

I jerked instinctively out of my trance as I felt a stinging pain slide down my arm and cursed internally. I squirmed and flailed under the Socs as hard as I could, but it was no use. They had me good.

"Stay still!" one of them grunted as he ran a knife down my face. I yelped. I won't -can't- let them beat me, I told myself, even though in a sense I guess they already were.

I felt blood trickle into my mouth through the cloth, coppery and bitter. I couldn't do anything about it, though. I could only try to resist the blows until I was overswept by darkness, and the last thing I saw before I blacked out was a switchblade disappearing into my side.

What do you think - continue or not? I know it's a little short, and in time it may be edited. For now, though, please review!