Chapter One

I knew Cherry wouldn't be in this mood for any longer.

Okay, I'll admit I've been watching her whenever I could. But just hear me out.

I'm a greaser. She's a Soc. I can't exactly say hi to her in public, for too many reasons to say.

Anyways, it had been a few months since Bob had been killed by Johnny. About half a year. Johnny was still hanging in there at a hospital, clinging at the last strings of life. He had died, yeah, his body couldn't operate on its own. But he was still hooked up to the life support machine.

We weren't ready to let him go.

We didn't see Dally anymore, but we knew that he was still recovering from half a dozen gunshot wounds. He wouldn't let the doctors see him, even claimed that he could fix it up himself. I didn't believe him, but nobody had invited me to his funeral yet. I stayed hopeful.

Cherry obviously was in love with Dally more than ever. She had told me that she was in love with him. She probably was back then.

She definitely was now.

Cherry never even pretended to mourn Bob—which I found awful. Not only was he one of her friends, but they were in the same gang and had dated for who knows how long.

I guessed that she was going to end her "it's too soon to date anyone" faze soon enough.

I shook my head and looked up. I was in Soda's bedroom, his head resting on my lap. He lightly snored. Drool was spread around the lower right half of his face. His golden-brown hair was cut slightly above his shoulders, silky and for once – greaseless. His brown eyes were half-open, which I found creepy.

I averted my attention from his face. What time was it?

I glanced at the clock. It was still egg-stained, but I could still see the time: 2:34. It occurred to me that someone should clean that.

Darry walked into the room. "Hey Darry," I said lightly. Sure, I said it quietly because of Soda, but he could sleep through a bombing. I was quiet mostly because things were still awkward between us.

We hadn't actually fought since Sodapop had started crying and ran out of the house, but we tried to keep conversation between each other to a minimum—just in case.

Darry nodded. "Ponyboy." He didn't smile, but he never really did. I could tell he was happy anyways.

"What happened?"

"Someone wants to see you. Sherri Valance, the spy. She came to report what the Socs were doing, just in case we wanted to use her information to our advantage. She said she wanted to see you. Just talk." Darry didn't explain. He didn't roll his eyes when he said just talk. He didn't emphasize or exaggerate anything. His voice was smooth, fluent, and emotionless.

"You can just call her Cherry, you know," I told Darry. "Everybody does."

Darry fixed his ice cold eyes on me, except now his gaze wasn't as cold. It was naturally like that, but I could still sense some warmth. "And what good would that do? Classifying a girl on her hair color? Calling someone who betrays her own people by what she wants to be called?"

I was taken aback. I pushed Soda's head off my lap and crossed my legs. "It's just a nickname, you know."

Darry opened his mouth to say something, but didn't for a count of ten. Then he closed his mouth and took a breath. "Call her whatever," he said softly, and left the room.

I got up and headed towards the front door. Cherry was standing in the front, her long red hair piled up on top of her head, as if she was going to attend a ball or dance and did her hair beforehand. It was thick with products.

"Ponyboy," she said when she saw me.

"Cherry," I replied, watching her piercing green eyes.

"Can you meet me at the smoothie store tonight? At eight?" She grinned brightly and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Uh, yeah, sure . . . I guess," I said.

Cherry bounced on her heels giddily. "Yay! Okayyy, I'm gonna go now . . ." Her words slurred. Then, all of a sudden, she put a hand against her head and put all her weight on the wall next to her. "Ohhhh God . . ." she said. "Ponyboy!" she shouted gleefully, at least an octave higher than her usual voice. "Hiiiii Ponyboy. Your hair's so pretty . . . I wish I had long hair like that!" She laughed. "My hair goes up!" Cherry gestured to the hair piled on top of her head. "It's sooooooo . . . heavy." She stood up straight and tilted her head from side to side. "So heavy," she murmured.

And then she fainted. Her face fell against my chest and her weight collapsed on me. Before I knew it, I was on the ground, struggling to get her off me. Her hair added at least ten pounds.

"Gosh, Cherry, what happened?" She usually didn't act like this at all, so the only explanation was that she got drunk.

But Cherry didn't drink, and it was about 2:45 on a Sunday afternoon. Who drank at that time?

I shook my head. "Darry!" I called. Darry rushed into the room at once. He must not have had anything better to do at the time. "Was she like this when you talked to her?"

Darry laughed—a rare happening. "Not really. She was awake."

"I mean was she all boozed up?"

"Yeah, but that didn't affect her giving information, did it?"

"No, I guess not. You still let her see me?"

"Pony, you're fourteen. I think you can handle one stoned Sherri. What did she want to say, anyways?"

My face turned red. "Asked me out. Smoothie shop at eight."

Darry pursed his lips. "Are you going?"

I chewed my lip for a second, then nodded. I didn't let Darry respond.

I left the room.