I'm on the receiving end of a hit for the first time when I'm 11, and throw my first punch the same day.

He's a smartass and he knows it. Darry and Mom disapprove, but the rest of the gang is proud of him- even Steve, though Pony's snippy responses are often directed at him. The gang is glad that Pony isn't some dumb hood like Curly Shepard; Pony's a smart kid. And he's a good kid.

But that doesn't stop him from sticking up for himself when someone is giving him a hard time. And that's how this story starts.

I recently skipped a grade, going from sixth grade to seventh grade, 'cause supposedly I'm pretty smart. I don't know if that's the case, or my fellow classmates are dumber than doorknobs, but here I am.

I'm one of the shortest boys in my grade, but I have a wiry muscular build from rough-housing with the gang. I sure am glad they made sure I wasn't some scrawny-ass kid, because if I was, I would surely get picked on more than I do.

So I'm sitting by myself during lunch in the grassy field underneath a tree. I wish the rest of the gang was here, but they all go to Will Rogers. I'm pretty jealous that they all are together there and I'm left by myself, but I'll be with them in another 2 years, so it ain't too bad.

I turn to my right and see a couple of socs sitting not too far away from me. They can't be older than 8th grade; bigger than me, but not big enough to be in high school.

One of them has sandy blond hair, a stocky build, and beady eyes sunken into a block head. Now, I don't mean to make assumptions or nothin', but he seemed pretty damn stupid to me.

The other one has brown, straight hair, and he is taller and skinnier than the other kid. He's holding a Pepsi bottle loosely in his hand, and I find myself wishing to be at the DX, with a cold Pepsi in my hand and instead of in this situation.

I quickly turn my head away from them before they notice me staring, and feel relieved that I seem to be off the hook. But I guess I spoke too soon, because the next thing I know my ass is being hauled off the ground by a fist gripping the collar of my shirt.

It the blond haired soc. His face is twisted into a sneer, his beady eyes challenging. The brown haired soc is still sitting, apparently not feeling like two people are necessary to take me on.

"What're you lookin' at, grease?"

I eye him coolly, not showing how nervous I really am. "Not much."

I'm pretty proud of myself for that comeback, but I only have a split second to praise myself before I feel his Pepsi bottle crack over my head, the brown fizzy liquid trickling down my face. I sputter, clear my eyes and act on instinct; I sock him hard in the face, feeling the crack of my nose underneath my fist. His pig eyes widen, and he lets go of me to put his hands over his nose, where blood is seeping through.

I scramble away from him and start running, my shoes kicking up dirt behind me. I go the only place my feet lead me- the DX.

When I finally reach my safe haven, I see the rest of the gang through the window. Soda is sitting on the counter with Steve, Two-Bit, Dally, Johnny, and Darry surrounding him. I push the door open forcefully fully, the bell ringing. They all swivel their heads to see me standing there with blood dripping from the long cut on the side of my face, still panting from the sprint here.

I must seem small in the large doorway, wearing a hand-me-down shirt that is way too big. But, to be honest, I feel pretty big in that moment. I feel like I could take on anyone.

It was that day that I realized two things.

One, is that I can be pretty tough when I want to be.

And two, I should watch my mouth, because it will probably lead me into more trouble in the future.

(It does.)