"No, Soda, you can't come with me," I said for the umpteenth time as I slid into my jean jacket. I grabbed a comb off our dresser and ran it through my hair.

"Why not?" Soda whined. "I wanna see that movie, too!"

"Because I'm going with my friends."

"C'mon, Darry, I don't want to be stuck here all day. Pony's still sick."

"Then go hang out with your friends," I said, exasperated.

"But I want to hang out with you," Soda said, folding his arms. "I never get to see you anymore."

I rolled my eyes. "You see me every day. We share a room. I spend more time with you than anyone else on the planet. And right now, I'm going to a movie with my friends, and you ain't comin'."

I nudged the kid aside and headed to the kitchen to let Mom know I was leaving. Soda followed me. Mom was finishing up a phone conversation with our family doctor. I waited patiently by the doorframe.

"Yes. Thank you, Vic. We'll see you at three."

As soon as she hung up, I said, "I'm heading out, Mom," at the same time Soda said, "Dr. Stanley is coming?"

Mom looked exhausted. She acknowledged Soda's question first while she ran her fingers through her hair. "Yes, sweetie. Ponyboy's fever spiked this morning and he is still having trouble keeping liquids down."

I noticed how Soda's face fell at the news. Ponyboy had been awfully sick the past couple of days. I was glad Mom had finally decided to get him checked out by a doctor.

She put her hands on her hips and turned to face me. "And what did you say, hon?"

"I said I'm heading out. To the movies, remember?"

"Oh, that's right. I forgot you told me that yesterday."

"He won't let me go with him," Soda grumped, folding his arms across his chest.

"That's because I'm going with my friends," I said, exasperated. He was really starting to get on my nerves. "You don't even know them, and none of them are going to have their little brothers tagging along." I looked to Mom, hoping she would back me up on this.

Mom started to say something, but was interrupted when we all heard Ponyboy run to the bathroom and crash down in front of the toilet. Mere seconds later we heard the unmistakable sounds of his stomach betraying him.

"Oh dear," Mom said, and dashed to our tiny bathroom to help my youngest brother through yet another bout of sickness.

Soda and I followed and watched as Mom rubbed Ponyboy's back while he rode through the nausea. We crinkled our noses at the smell of sickness that had permeated our house the last couple of days.

I couldn't wait to get out of there.

"You okay, Pony?" Soda asked shakily, hovering by the door.

"Yeah," the kid croaked. He reached up to flush the toilet then turned his head into the crevice of Mom's neck, sweaty hair clinging messily to his forehead. I heard him sniffle and my chest tightened.

Poor kid.

I had empathy, but definitely not enough to stick around.

"So… I'm gonna take off…" I said, backing away slowly. "Okay, Mom?"

"Actually, Darry hon, it would really help me out if you could take Soda with you," she said, rocking Ponyboy gently. "I've got my hands full here. If your Dad wasn't at work—" She met my eyes pleadingly.

I knew Mom wouldn't be asking unless she was desperate. She was a little out of sorts ever since Dad had started working weekends. I decided I needed to give in. "Fine," I sighed, chagrined. "He can come."

"Yes!" Soda's fist flew up into the air in victory. "Feel better, Pony!" He bolted to our room to grab his jacket.

Thank you, Mom mouthed.

I shrugged it off, giving her a half-hearted smile. I knocked on the doorframe and echoed Soda's sentiment. "Get some rest, Pone. Try to stop hurlin', huh?"

I didn't want Soda to come for several reasons. Three of them were major.

The first was that Soda never had the patience to last through a whole movie. The kid was notorious for getting bored about 20 minutes in and had been known to start throwing popcorn at other paying customers. Granted, he was usually in cahoots with Two-Bit during such escapades, but I didn't doubt his ability to carry the act out solo.

The next reason was that I had just gotten an "in" with these friends. The guys were on the football team and the gals were cheerleaders. They weren't exactly the kind of crowd from our side of the tracks.

Ever since I had started high school in the fall and joined the football team, I was always trying to fit in with them.

Soda was just going to make it that much harder.

The last and most crucial reason was Joan. Joan, the sweet-as-pie blonde looker that I'd had my eye on since the second we met in third-period geometry. I was hoping to sit by her during the movie, talk to her a bit before it started.

But I definitely didn't want Soda to catch on to the fact that I was interested in a girl. He'd tell Mom and Dad, Pony, and the gang, and the teasing and prying questions would be merciless.

As Soda and I approached my group of friends who were waiting for me on the benches outside of the movie house, I let out a deep breath.

It is what it is.

"Be cool," I growled at Soda, before I raised my hand in a greeting.

"Curtis is here!" Lowry announced to the group. "'Bout time!"

"I didn't know you had a little brother, Darry," Joan said. She leaned across me to say hi to Sodapop.

I'd gotten my wish. Joan was seated on my right, Soda on my left next to the aisle. I was thankful that Soda seemed to just be along for the ride, sitting quietly beside me. He waved shyly to Joan then looked down at his hands.

"I have two, actually," I told her. "But this one's like my shadow."

Joan giggled. "That's sweet. I don't have any siblings, so I don't know what that's like."

I snorted softly. "It's like bein' a full-time babysitter, 'cept you don't get paid."

"He doesn't seem to be causin' any trouble," Joan said with a shrug.

"Oh, just you wait."

Right before the movie began, I went to concessions and bought Joan and me some popcorn to split, and I bought a cherry slushie for Soda, figuring it would be harder for him to fling slushie at customers than popcorn.

When I returned, Joan was talking with him, asking him about school and what he liked to do for fun. I settled back in between them, handing them each their respective snacks.

"Thanks, Darry," Soda acknowledged.

"He's kinda quiet, huh?" Joan asked, so only I could hear.

"Soda? Not usually." I shrugged. "He's probably just nervous talking to a pretty girl." I grinned and winked at her.

She shoved me playfully. "Oh my gosh, Curtis. That was such a line." She held the popcorn out to me as the lights in the movie house started to dim. "You need to help me eat this," she whispered.

She set the bag in my lap and leaned her cheek against by shoulder, so I took that as my cue to put my arm around her.

That's how we sat, for the first 45 minutes of Ocean's Eleven. And I was in heaven.

Then Sodapop had to go and ruin it, like I knew he would.

Just not in the way I was expecting.

When I got over that Cloud 9 feeling of Joan Peterson is letting me put my arm around her, I glanced over at Sodapop, feeling a sense of gratitude at the fact that he'd been behaving himself for the past 45 minutes.

Only… he wasn't there. The slushie I'd gotten him was barely touched.

Just as I was coming to the conclusion that he'd gone to the bathroom, Tony Donovan hissed my name from the aisle. Hugh Lowry was snickering beside him.

"Curtis," he whispered. "Your kid brother totally just blew chunks in the bathroom. Man, it sounded so gross."

My stomach dropped into my toes. "What?"

Worry dominated every other emotion I was feeling, one of them being anger at the two knuckleheads currently laughing at my brother's suspense. "Joan, I gotta go. Sorry," I said quickly, nudging her off my shoulder.

I pushed past Tony and Hugh and followed the exit sign to the lobby.

I located the men's restroom easily and pushed open the door, greeted by silence and a vague smell of sickness.

"Soda?" I called, hesitantly, eyeing the closed door to the stall at the end of the cramped bathroom. "You in here?"

It remained quiet for a few beats, and then, "Darry?" The sheer amount of misery I heard in Soda's voice made my heart ache with empathy.

"Yeah. It's me."

"I-I… I'm sorry, Darry. I-I got s-sick."

"I know, man." I approached the stall door and tapped on it gently. "I'm comin' in, okay?" I nudged open the door, remembering that none of the stall doors at the movie house locked properly. Soda was sitting, leaned up against the wall of the grimy stall, looking about 15 shades paler than he had that morning. There were tear tracks on his face from the earlier exertion of throwing up.

"Sorry, Darry," he said again, his eyes slipping closed.

I ignored his apology and knelt down next to him to put a hand on his forehead. It was cool and clammy to the touch. I had been expecting that, as Ponyboy had come down with his bug the same way. No fever to start with, but quick and unforgiving with nausea. "Listen, So', we should probably get you home," I told him. "Do you think you're finished in here?"

Soda shook his head and swallowed hard as more tears spilled out of his eyes. "I-I feel really bad, Darry."

I snorted softly. "By the looks of you, I'd say that's the understatement of the century." I shifted positions so I was sitting on my hind end instead of putting pressure on my knees. I beckoned Soda closer to me and allowed him to nestle his cheek against my shoulder.

"Are you mad?" he asked softly.

"Mad?" I questioned, not understanding why he was asking me that. He'd gotten so sick so fast – I had nothing but concern for him right then.

And maybe some dread about the long walk home.

"I begged you to let me come and now…" Soda broke off with a shuddering breath. "P-Please don't be mad."

I closed my eyes. I'd been so adamant about coming alone that it was no wonder that Soda felt guilty about getting sick and ruining my time with my friends. With Joan. But I'm a reasonable guy. I couldn't blame the kid for getting sick – that was out of his control. Sure, I was a little disappointed about having to leave the movie, and I hoped Joan wasn't miffed at me for ditching her, but I definitely wasn't mad. Not at Soda.

"I-It came out of nowhere," Soda continued to mumble. "I'm sorry, Dar."

"Jesus, So'. Quit sayin' that already," I admonished. "I'm not mad, bud. I swear."

"Okay," Soda breathed. Then he hiccupped softly and moaned into my shoulder. "Think I'm going to be sick again."

Soda didn't embarrass easy, but the way he hovered behind me as we emerged from the bathroom nearly twenty minutes later let me know he was embarrassed now.

Joan was waiting for us by the water fountain. "Is he okay?" she asked when we appeared, genuine and concerned.

Not by a long shot. He'd gotten sick a couple more times and now he was lightheaded and dizzy. But at least his stomach had stopped trying to turn itself inside out.

For now.

Soda stayed in my shadow, too humiliated to show his face.

"I think he caught a bug from my other brother," I answered. "I need to get him home. You can go back to the movie."

"Is there anything I can—"

"I have it covered," I interrupted her, cringing at how rudely it came off. But she wasn't making it easy for me to spare Soda's remaining shred of dignity. I reached behind me to ruffle his hair.

When Joan's face fell at my dismissal, I added, "Thank you, really. But I need to handle this."

Joan seemed to understand then that the kid didn't need an audience. She bit down on her lip, tried to give me a smile. "Okay. I'll talk to you later, Curtis." She backed away, giving me a little wave. "Feel better, Soda."

Then she disappeared into the theater.

My heart sank as I watched her go. That so wasn't how I wanted to leave things with her. But I couldn't think about that now. I had to get Sodapop home, which was going to be more difficult than I thought, I realized, when I turned and glanced out the window and was greeted with stormy clouds and fast winds. It was positively pouring down rain outside.

No way was I going to make my sick little brother walk over a mile home in those conditions. I wasn't going to make my sick little brother get on the bus, either. Not when he could toss his cookies at any given moment without warning. It would be cruel to make him use public transportation.

"What're we gonna do?" Soda whispered, voice strained from all the vomiting he'd endured. He was fisting the hem of my jacket, still hovering in my shadows.

I let out a deep breath. There was only one thing I could come up with. It was times like these when I hated that my family only owned one car. I ushered Soda over to the open bench by the payphones. "I'll call Dad," I told him resolutely. "Sit tight for a minute, okay?"

Soda's eyes got wide. "No, Darry!" he said, almost panicked. He grabbed my arm with surprising strength, considering how sick he was. "We ain't supposed to call him at work. 'Cept for emergencies. This ain't an emergency."

"How 'bout we leave that up to him to decide?" I said gently, using my thumb to smooth out the creases of worry etched into my brother's forehead. I squeezed his shoulder and then started digging around in my pocket for loose change.

It took a while to get Dad on the line because I had to go through the secretary, but once I heard his voice, relief flooded over me.

Since we were only to call Dad at work if it was an emergency, I wasn't surprised when Dad asked, "What's the matter, son?" after we'd exchanged a greeting.

I filled him in quickly, letting him know that Soda and I were at the movie house and that the kid had gotten really ill. "It hit him fast, Dad. Same as Pony. I'm sorry to bother you at work, but he's feelin' really lousy and I don't want to make him walk home in the rain."

Fortunately, Dad saw it the same way. "I'll be there in ten."

Back home, Mom and Dad tended to my sick little brothers and I was quarantined to my bedroom. Dr. Stanley had still been visiting with Ponyboy when we arrived and so he took a look at Sodapop too.

He advised that Sodapop bunk with Ponyboy for the next couple of days in order to try and spare me from the bug of doom.

I was lying on my bed, tossing a tennis ball up in the air and trying not to think about Joan and how I left things with her, when Dad knocked on my door.

"Come in," I allowed, and tossed the tennis ball his way without warning, just to test his reflexes.

He caught it easily and grinned before whipping it back at me. "Nice try," he said.

I dropped the ball to the floor and sat up. "How are they?"

Dad's face clouded. He let out a deep breath and took a seat on the foot of my bed. "They're both in pretty bad shape. The doc prescribed Ponyboy an extra-strength fever reducer, so the hope is he keeps it down long enough to work." Dad glanced at his watch. "So far, so good. He's sleeping now."

I nodded vaguely. "And Soda?"

"Your mother's sitting with him in the bathroom."

I swallowed hard. I hated that the kid was still feeling nauseated, especially knowing that his body had very little left to give.

"He thinks he embarrassed you," Dad added quietly. "He's pretty upset about it. Thinks he ruined your day."

I shrugged. "Well, he kind of did," I admitted, flashing him a crooked smile.

Dad chuckled softly and patted my leg. "Yeah, I bet," he said knowingly. He was quiet for a few beats before he said, "You want to tell me about her?"

I cringed inwardly, but couldn't help a smile. I shook my head in mock betrayal. "I knew he'd go blabbin'."

"Pretty sure that's his duty as a little brother." Dad raised his eyebrows at me. "What's her name?"

I felt my cheeks turn pink. I sighed, knowing he wouldn't stop pressing. "Joan. Her name's Joan." I ran my hands through my hair. "But I don't think anything's going to happen. Not after today."

"How come?"

"I don't know. I was a little short with her after Soda got sick. She was hovering and he was embarrassed and I don't know… I kind of told her to… to…" I trailed off.

"To get lost?" Dad ventured.

I snorted softly. "Well, not in so few words, but yeah." I picked at my bedspread. "It was a long shot thinking I had a chance with her anyway."

"What makes you say that?"

I shrugged. "She lives on the west side of town. She's just… way out of my league."

"Hey," Dad said, faltering a bit at my words. He turned his head to look me in the eyes. "Are you ashamed about where we live, son?"

"No, of course not," I rushed to say, because that wasn't it at all. I would always defend where I came from. I was proud of it. But…

"It's just… there's this divide," I told Dad with a sigh. "And now that I'm in high school, I'm very aware of it. You just don't hear about many west side girls going with east side guys."

Dad let out a sigh. "Son, let me tell you something. You are smart, you are talented, you are kind, and you look like me so you must be easy on the eyes." He winked. "That's all that's going to matter. At least, that's all that's going to matter to the ones who matter."

"And," he continued when he could tell I wasn't taking what he was saying with much conviction. "If I were you, I'd use your brothers to your advantage."

"What?"

"Let me ask you a question. When Soda got sick today, did you drop everything to go and take care of him?"

"Yeah, 'course I did."

"And Joan saw all of that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Son, women melt over that kind of stuff. Trust me. Your Uncle Al – God rest his soul – was the best wingman I ever had. Helped me win your mother over."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He did." Dad gave me a sad little smile, the way he always did when Uncle Al came up. He patted my leg again. "Well, speaking of your mother, I should probably go relieve her." He stood up and stretched out his back. "Keep your head up, son. I'd be willing to bet that this Joan character will be waiting for you at your locker tomorrow."

I shook my head and chuckled. I sure hoped he was right.

(He was.)