Author's Note:

It must have to do with the fact that my computer is now fully functional again, but I am INSPIRED. Yes. Feel my wrath, and beware of horribly grotesque spelling errors that lie in your wake. Unless you turn back now. And if you do that, then you're a little bugger, aren't you?

So I took a little whack at the CathyxPony romance that made us all trip over our dogs, and have them bite us on our calves, and having to fear rabies until the test came back. Or maybe that was just me. But at any rate, I found it very difficult, to say the least. Did it seem out of the blue for Hinton to make them like each other? I don't think she thought through it very well at all, to tell you the truth. But that's not my business. Who owns "The Outsiders? Not fucking me, that's who.

Thanks, to NittanyLizard who gave me all the technical shtuff that I needed for this. The book altogether was confusing, okay? It's not my fault for being dumb, for once. I thank mais. CAPITALS for … sparking the idea, which was half a year ago (which gives y'all an idea about how fucked up I am), and … to my buddies who helped me write from a boy POV when dealing with girlies. =3

Disclaimer, I own everything. Susie and I are lyk, bffls, and all that shit. Cool, huh?

Lyrics ~ James Blunt.

Title ~ Bon Jovi (or West Side Story. Whatever floats your boat, really.)

And … onward.

My life is brilliant / My love is pure.
I saw an angel ... Of that I'm sure.

I was making my way home from track practice after school one fall day - we actually didn't start till the Spring, but Coach could be a real hardass when he wanted; 'stead of having us all come back in Spring, swearin' under God that we practiced "we really did", and pantin' like dogs by the end of practice one, he kept us under a new program. I didn't mind though - I liked running.

I guessed that I had a good ten minutes to get home, and decided to light one up. I flicked my lighter, smilin'at the fwwwk sound, lit my cigarette and placed it in my mouth gratefully. This was just practice, anyway. It wouldn't hurt none - I'd stop when track came rollin' in, and 'sides, I hardly even smoke anymore. On the weekdays.

I found myself casually glancing up and down the block, not just for anyone itching to jump me, but I wondered if the cigarette made me look tough, or just like some dorky kid trying to act tuff.

Being a greaser was starting to mean less and less as far as "tough" went. Was a time where all you had to do was slick back your hair and leave your shirttail hanging out, and people avoided you like the bubonic plague - now everyone wanted to look more tough, and when everyone's tough, no one is.

I let out a sigh, and thought of what I had to show for the year. September had come and gone, and I thought how I had nothing to show for the year, 'cept good grades, my hair growin' back, and gettin' on with my life.

I hadn't really s'pected it to blow over so quickly - I guess I floated through most of it; Not like I was in any real danger with Two-Bit and Steve around, but the Socs all seemed to just let us brood over what happened. I guess that's what happens - something hurts you, like having a buddy die, you don't want anyone knowing you're hurting. Sure, you can let your friends know, but by retaliating? By getting your feelings out there? What's that good for? I guess that's how we're all the same.

I really didn't mind getting through school last year with my head in my books, and just keeping it low - it didn't bother me none, I thought, but then something happened.

Something real bad.

You know how it is, when something works one way your whole life, and suddenly, before you can even blink, it just changes. It's kind of like being blindfolded and shoved onto a moving train - and after a while, you get shoved off, wondering where the hell you are, and knowing that there's no way back.

I guess all that can be said is … Soda was right. I was in school one day, and I had to be paired up with a girl in History. She was real cute, with dark eyes and dirty-blonde hair, and normally I'd think that, and just go back to work. But it didn't happen that way. I was distracted through the whole class, wondering what it'd be like to kiss her - if she'd kissed a guy before, or if she'd giggle, and blush. I wondered what would happen if I asked her out, if she'd say "no" …

And it seemed like I had been put on a battlefield that I had no training for.

And boy was I screwed over.

But I got through it. I started payin' a little more attention to myself - if my face was too round, or my ears sticked out any; I thought about asking Sodapop for advice, but felt it too embarrassing. God, how must it be to not be able to tell Soda? But no matter what I did, nothing seemed to work. I'd volunteer to help a girl, and she'd talk to me in a clipped, reserved tone, as if she would rather be anywhere else but with me at the class.

I had a couple of buddies that I'd hang out with after school, and if there ever happened to be a girl, her eyes would get all wide, and make some dumb excuse to leave.

Actually, it seems like the last girl I had a real, full-fledged conversation with was Cherry, and I learned a while ago that she's not just a girl for any guy; I could never "score a fulltime gig" with her, as Terry might say. I know that doesn't make any sense, but you should hear the other things Terry says - not to be mean or nothing, but he's not the brightest of the bunch.

I guess Soda got all of the charm in our family. I reached my house, and turned into the door, feeling a lot more lousy than I had before the cigarette.

"Hey, Ponyboy, how was school?" Darry asked me, not looking up from a paper, a small frown gathering in the corner of his mouth.

"Good," I chimed in monotonously, grabbing an apple from the fridge.

"And track practice?" he called out, as I made my way to my room.

"It's not track, Dare," I informed him, "it's just drills. It was okay."

"You have homework?"

"Yes, I'm getting to it now, Darry," I told him in a slight biting tone.

"Alright, good," he said, holding out the 'gooood'.

I looked at the last letter we'd gotten from Sodapop - it was pretty recent, and that wasn't too surprising. He was still stationed in the States, until December, 'just in time for Christmas', he said. I think he was tryin' to be good-natured and all, making sure I didn't worry, but I could tell he was getting nervous about being put in Nam.

- - -

"So there, Baby Curtis, whaddya say?"

I rolled my eyes at Greg Willamson's 'nickname' for me. He'd originally been a buddy of Soda's, but after Soda left, I guess we just got a little closer. He was only a year and a half older 'n me, and was already talking war talk - He sure wasn't my most favorite person - he kinda treated me like a little kid, but he wasn't much like Steve had been. He was more brotherly and teasing, kinda like Two-Bit.

"Well," I started, "We'd all be going together? I 'unno, man … don't y'all have dates?"

"Well, I'd think that'd be obvious, Ponyboy." Mark Jenning's turned his face to me, as he rummaged through the car, "I'd take the best lookin' person to the dance, but why would I go alone? So I'll settle for the next best, even if he is a Curtis." He made a grotesque face, and I laughed.

"You're full of it, Mark," I chuckled. I looked at the hood curiously. I was reminded of Steve and Soda suddenly, seeing Terry and Mark work on the car, arguing.

"Don't you put this one in the right side, Mark?" Terry asked, his round face looking unsure.

"You don't know shit, man," Mark told him, punching him lightly, "It's left. Always left."

But wait … Was that right? It was a four-cylinder engine, not a six, so to hotwire it, you put it on the right. Still. I guess Mark did know best.

He plugged it in, "See? Voila. Now, Curtis, you comin' or what? It don't get much better 'n this. Maybe I'll rope Bryon in it too. I'll sweeten the deal by telling him you're coming."

"Oh, sure," I said sardonically, "He'd jump at the chance to find some way to get me, right?" I smirked. Bryon Douglas was a buddy of Mark's. A great buddy in fact; they made like brothers, and even lived together. I was always filled with a pang of loneliness seeing them. God, I missed Soda. Even Johnny. We were like brothers; I hope Mark or Bryon didn't do something stupid to let their friendship go like mine had. I wish I could tell them …

Anyway, Bryon didn't like me a whole lot. He'd left one time I'd come with Mark, and Mark just told me, "he don't like you too much, Curtis". I never really understood why, 'cept that maybe I talked to his girl once or something - that's what Mark's brother was like. Always datin' girls, and he had a hot temper. He was a pretty big guy, too - but I think I could take him, if I ever needed to.

"Ow! Motherfucking bastard! Shit!" Mark yelped, cursing a blue streak, apparently after being electrically shocked by the car. "Dammit, Terry!" he growled, "why didn't you tell me I plugged the wire in the wrong fucking place?"

I started laughing. It wasn't that funny, but the angry fire in Mark's eyes combined with him waving his hand up and down was too funny to pass up for a good laugh.

- - -

I figured I had nothing to lose. I mean, I was going with Greg, Terry, and Mark to the dance, and maybe I'd meet someone there. Bryon had a date with yet another girl which actually kinda made me angry. Sure, I'm not a ladies' man like him, but least I didn't go hating people whom I've never said five words to. I kinda wondered why they all drew to him so much.

I was sitting at home, about fifteen minutes before I got picked up, absent-mindedly watching some old sitcom on TV.

"Hello, Curtis … o's." I turned down the TV, and looked up to see Two-Bit making his way through the door. He seemed to be in a good mood. Lately, he hasn't been hanging 'round much, but I've seen him on his way to Buck's, or some raunchy place that I probably couldn't go to. Here he was, though, smiling dopily, bobbing his head to the TV's music.

"Hey, there, Two-Bit," I greeted him, moving over for him to sit.

"Oh, there he is. Young Ponyboy Curtis getting all spiffied up for the dance, I see," he said cheerfully.

"Hmm," I grunted. "You going, too?" I kinda hoped he wouldn't - not like I had enough problems trying to get a girl; last thing I needed was to be Two-Bit's punch line for the evening. Still, I missed Two-Bit, and there were times where I wished we could be good buddies again, like we used to. Sure, he came over now and then, but it wasn't the same, really.

I'd see him around school, and we'd be friendly, just the same, but it was odd how we didn't really know what was going on with each other anymore - I never realized how different we are, and without everyone here, Darry, Two-Bit, and me just didn't seem to be able to keep it together.

"Nah." He waved it off with his hand, "I'm beyond high school parties. Such a waste of time. And you know how I feel about time-wasters." He scoffed at me. I snorted.

"It's gonna stay clean for all of two seconds, Two-Bit. When the booze come rollin' in, and the hippies come to stir things up, it's all probably gonna go downhill, I think," I laughed. It was weird, because Two-Bit'd finally gotten to his senior year, but there'd be days where he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else than at school.

"Then get out of there as soon as it does." Darry came striding into the room. "You need a place to stay tonight, Two-Bit?"

"Yeah," he answered, pondering over it, "Eventually, I s'pose. Just wanted to give y'all a little heads-up 'fore I do." We knew what he meant. It's been a while since people came and went. After all, it was usually just Steve or Johnny, and with Steve gone off to training, and Johnny being gone, it wasn't that common anymore.

"Alright. That's fine. Ponyboy, make sure you're in by eleven, do you understand?" Darry told me, taking me in with his impenetrable, firm gaze.

"Okay, Dare, I promise." A car honked outside.

"Hey, come on, Baby Curtis, we're waiting," Greg's voice came out. Two-Bit laughed.

"They really call you 'Baby Curtis'? That's great!" His eyes gleamed, smile wide.

"Glad to oblige. See y'all later," I told them, walking out the door.

- - -

"So, Mark, what's been happenin'?" Terry asked him as soon as I got in. Terry only lived a couple of blocks away. I figured he just got here too.

"Hmm." His golden eyes never left the road, his smile crawling onto his face, "What hasn't been happening?"

I looked at Mark curiously. If I had to place him somewhere in a book, it'd probably be from A Separate Peace, with that main character, Phineas, who was always hatching these new, trailblazing ideas, dazzling everyone with that quirky intelligence, and always busting with that incomparable, matchless mind - hypnotizing those to do his bidding, no one knowing that without everyone else's support, he had nothing.

He turned back to me, where I'm looking out the window, gripping the side of the car. I'm used to fast drivers, but Mark's 'bout my age; it'd be like me driving that fast, and that sure don't ease me none. "We're meetin' Bryon and his girl at the dance."

"She cute, Jennings?" Greg asked. I knew he'd do that. He's what Terry'd call a "wanna-be-never-gonna-be-ladies'-man". It's not that he's ugly or anything; I guess Bryon's just better connected or something.

"Who, Cathy?" Mark snorted. "God, man, she's always wrinkling her nose, and talkin' like I'm an idiot, and has a ruler shoved up her ass." I cringed a bit. I don't really like hearing the guys - even my friends - talk about girls that way. It just bugs me.

"So, that a no?" Greg persisted.

"That's a 'no'. Man, Bryon had it better with Angel; least she was good for something."

Angel was Angela Shepard. I knew Curly pretty well, but not Tim so much. The Shepards and I were civil to each other, which is more than I can say for Greg or Mark or Bryon. Terry and I lived near Tim, though, so we stuck together. Angela had a reputation as a real greaser girl - she was only nice to me because I was friends with her brothers; Tim and Curly knew the score: Don't burn out your allies. So she left me alone.

I looked out the window, as the other guys talked - I wonder what I'd be doing today if the gang was still together. I might've gone to the dance. Hell, I might've had a girl to go with. I'd like to think that I'd have a nice girl, but the whole mess last year pretty much ruined my chance at being liked, or talked to. I still heard whispers … Still heard rumors. I wish Johnny was here to go through it with me, though.

I closed my eyes, and let the wind run it's smooth, cool hands across my face, feeling lonelier than ever.

- - -

By eight thirty, Terry'd passed out in the front seat of his old Buick, and Mark and Greg were laughing and gulping down the six-packs that Terry brought.

I decided I'd just take one, to get the guys offa my back. I tried not to drink so much, mostly because the last couple of times I tried, I liked it so much, that it kinda scared me. So I laid off of it.

"Hey, guys, let's get goin' into the dance, alright?" Greg told us, beckoning us to follow. Mark didn't seem to like being told what to do by Greg, so instead of walking down the normal way, he jumped up onto the bike rack, runnin' cross it, and flipped off.

"Tada!" he declared. I laughed. Mark was a good buddy to have. I loped back to Terry, and made sure to turn him over on his side. I didn't want him throwing up, or anything, and then having him choke.

"Let's go," he said jauntily, "Man, I wanna show the nose on this girl of Bryon's." He motioned his hand out from his face. I guess she had a big nose. "Geez, Bryon's gonna flip his lid when his girl gets a look at you, hotshot!" He grinned, and I rolled my eyes.

"Quit it, Mark," I snapped. That was the problem. I was okay looking, and people like Bryon still got all the girls. It really steamed me up. "I couldn't get her if her nose was the size of Texas, and you know it."

"Jesus Christ," he mumbled, looking at me, the sun freckles on his cheeks visible in the sudden spot of light under the streetlight, "You really don't know. Man, you're a fucking riot, Curtis."

"Know what?" I said through my teeth. But Mark just waved me off.

"Hey, get back here, Mark! Know what?"

I ran up to catch him, and he laughed when I did. We reached the dance, and I realized how loud and dark it was in there.

"Hey, Bryon!" Mark called out. Shit. I looked up to see Bryon, with his arm around this girl I hadn't seen before. I really didn't give a hang whether or not Bryon Douglas hated me or not - I already knew what that was like - but when some big, confident guy's glaring at you like that, you sure don't feel so hot.

"Hi, Cathy," Mark pressed ecstatically, his smile large. It was like Mark to taunt every girl of Bryon's. Kinda like the kid brother with his older one. Or maybe he was just above it all. "I haven't seen you in a long time!"

"I haven't been here to see," the girl answered prudently.

"I don't think you know Ponyboy Curtis - this is Cathy Carlson."

"Here it comes," I thought boredly, but it never did. Not even a chuckle. I looked over the girl, and thought, "What was Mark's talking about?" She was beautiful - even in the dark, I could see she had this long, dark hair framing a heart-shaped, small face - and eyes … eyes like the clouds at sunrise; gray and calming … I felt my heart skip a little.

"Hi," I said, trying not to look at Bryon. Jerk like him even gets the beautiful girls. I sighed. Cathy looked away after a quick nod, and small smile (Golly, even her teeth are nice.) , and I heard Bryon turn to Mark, a smirk on his face, "Where'd you get the booze?"

I felt real annoyed just then, and started walking away. Seems like all Bryon had to do was ask the girl out, and they accepted. He could be a booze-hound, oafish, dumb kid, and I got to be the victim.

I walked away, looking at Cathy one more time. Maybe Mark was right.

Maybe she does have a big nose.

I saw your face ... in a crowded place;
And I don't know what to do.


'Cause I'll never be ... with you.

Author's Note:

None of you can convince me otherwise - Hinton completely made TwT while her subconscious was locked onto A Separate Peace. Think, all of you who have read both books, and …

I KNOW, right? Isn't that fucking insane, how ALIKE they are?

If you haven't read A Separate Peace yet, you're probably deprived of something deep and symbolic, but I'm not altogether sure what it is just yet. (Oh, my? Is my ignorance showing?)

Pfft. Yeah, that's about it.

Oh! Wait.

In this story, Sodapop has JUST left for "boot camp" [November]. People went over for a certain amount of weeks, and spent about a year in Nam. Nifty, huh? Steve's gone, too. Not necessarily with Soda - but that part's not altogether important. Um … what else? Neither of us knew when TwT took place - I said autumn, she said August, but I put it as November because I already wrote it with Sodapop gone.

I think I did well with Mark; what did you think? Do you guys think Pony's too whiny and/or reflective upon events from a year ago? I referenced a lot of the gang, but I felt that they were important. This may be TwT - TiN, but it IS about "The Outsiders", right?

Happy November 21st, my readers! Read, review, flame; do what you must, and do it well.

P.S. - Look back at the first part of my disclaimer, and tell me if I tricked you, or not. I don't own "The Outsiders". Haha. ;)