Dedicated to all the Outsiders fans…and my wonderful editor.

THE INSIDERS

By Ponyboy Curtis

CHAPTER 1

As I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I was temporarily blinded. After I regained my vision, I started thinking about two things: Paul Newman, and French Fries smothered in ketchup.

I was wishing I had some French Fries right about then, but I guess I'd have to be content with the gallon-sized bucket of popcorn [with all the toppings: caramel, butter, fudge, sea salt…the works] and sixty-four ounce soda I'd just consumed…and gotten refills on. Hey, it was a long movie.

Anyway, after my detour to the men's room, I started my trip home. It was going fine, 'til my stomach started growling five minutes later. Don't judge; when you're a teenager, your daily schedule is as follows: Eat, sleep, repeat. You should also probably exercise somewhere in there so you don't get fat, like my older brother Darry did. Oh, he isn't fat now, 'cause Mom and Dad made him get a year membership to the gym; now he's pretty buffed up. But they died a little while ago, so he doesn't really go anymore. But he does go surfing with some of his friends sometimes. I think he likes to dress up as famous people when he does it, 'cause I found a mask of one of the presidents in his closet once.

But anyways, that's why I was walking to and from the movies– it was my daily exercise. A full block-and-a-half! Way to go, me!

So I was on my way home [I figgered I'd get some deep-fried fish sticks or something when I got there] when a snazzy red sports car pulled up beside me and five rich kids got out.

One of them had a cool-looking knife in one hand, and I asked if I could see it closer.

"Sure you can," he said, then handed it to me.

I took it, looked at it, then decided I should have it.

So I ran.

And they chased me.

I was waving the knife madly around, and I accidentally nicked the side of my head.

Rats! I thought as blood dribbled onto the collar of my shirt. This was my only nice shirt…emphasis on the 'was'…

Long story short…I almost died. No, they didn't cut me to ribbons; I got about fifteen feet, then doubled over, gasping for breath. [Going to the movies every day and getting gallon-size buckets of popcorn every time you go will do that to you.]

They caught me within a total of seven seconds. For a whole seven glorious seconds I had that beautiful knife.

The guy was a good sport about it. He smirked at me, and held out his hand for his knife. His friends behind him were doubled over, laughing like it was the funniest thing they had ever seen.

Which it probably was. I mean, could you watch [without laughing] an obese greaser toddle down the sidewalk, trying steal your knife?

For a moment, I thought about pushing them all out of the way and making another run for it, but with the giant stitch in my side, I quickly dismissed that idea.

Still wheezing, I reluctantly handed the knife back to him. He looked it over for a few seconds, then smirked again. "Nice try." His friends all roared with laughter before they turned and walked back to the car, leaving me there gasping for breath.

Just then, I heard feet pounding on the pavement, and someone grabbed me and spun me around.

"Ponychild! Ponychild, art thou alright? Be thou injured?"

It was my bro, Darry. He's Shakespearian. And mean. And he's bald and looks like a duck. Okay, a halfway handsome duck.

"I'm okay-" But then I decided that I might just be able to get some chili fries out of this. I started to cry. "They chased me and stole my knife."

Technically, it had been in my possession for a total of seven seconds, so I figured it wasn't lying…too much.

Just then my other brother, Sodapop, ran up. He's even handsomer than Darry. I realize that ain't sayin' much, but he is good-looking. Like, movie-star handsome. There's only one reason girls don't fawn all over him–

"Yo, Po-nee, U OK? Wut hapind 2 U? R U OK? Gasp!" he gasped, "U got cut!"

Yes, that's really how he talks.

Then, because he's overly emotional, he burst into tears. And yes, that's the reason girls don't swoon. Well, that and the fact that he's got this weird habit of buying shoes for kids that stand in line in front of him. Don't ask me why. He always says 'b-cuz he sed his mom wuz sik!' I didn't see what that had to do with anything, but whatever. Soda's Soda, and nothing's gonna change that. Believe me, Darry and I've tried.

Darry glared at both of us, which made me stop crying, but it made Soda bawl all the more. "I was unaware that thou had in thy possession a dagger. From whom did you acquire the fine blade?"

Oh boy…

"I– um– see– well, I…" my voice trailed off and I couldn't think of anything to say. So, instead, I changed the subject. "Aw, lookit, you made Soda cry again! That's the second time today!"

"Nay," Darry corrected me [oh, yeah; he likes telling me to neigh. I guess he thinks it's funny, since my name's Ponyboy], "tis the fifth time today. And he has scantly been back from his labor at the gasoline-filling station for a quarter of an hour! He is, as they say, a 'crybaby'."

We watched Soda cry for a while, then got bored and told him to man up, 'cause we were going home.

But, of course, that made him sob even harder, so Darry and I picked him up, hefted him home, and tossed him on the couch, where he curled up in a ball and cried himself to sleep.

Then somebody opened the screen door and said, "Greetings, humans, I am about to enter your premises!"

Steve Randle, Soda's best buddy [which is weird, if you think about it, 'cause Soda talks slang, and Steve talks scientific] strutted in.

Soda immediately sat up without a tear in his eye and said, "Hay, Steve! Y R U here?"

"The answer to that appears to be…" Steve thought about that one for a minute. You could almost see the calculations running through his head. "Because my parents were in want of a small human upon which they could bestow their belongings once they perished."

"No, I mea in my house?"

"Ah, that is what you meant! I came in search of a delectable sponge dessert– also known as–" Steve looked around and cupped his hand over his mouth in case someone besides us should witness him saying a non-scientific word, "–cake, hoping I could find it here."

"O…we don't got nun."

"What?" Steve was shocked. "But…but…"

Apparently even science majors are at a loss for words sometimes.

"I am dreadfully sorry, sir," Darry cut in, "But, alas, we have no cake because our younger brother is…how do you say it…tubby, I think is the word."

Steve was upset. "Then by all means, you should consider investing your hard-earned currency in a pass to the local workout facility!"

Darry sighed. "Alas, we are too penniless to afford such luxuries, therefore he will have to make the effort to lose his burden without clearance to the exercise facilities."

"Okay, I'm gonna go play one-man thumb wrestling now," I said, getting bored with the conversation and heading to my room.

"Nay!" I heard Darry say, and I ignored his request for me to neigh. "Thou shall play football, for thou wilst get more exercise doing that!"

"But the young adolescent will gain abnormal thumb muscle if he thumb-wrestles with himself," objected Steve.

"LOL!" Soda LOL'd.

"How 'bout I play one-man Blind Man's Bluff?" I asked.

Darry paused, then nodded. "Occupy yourself with said pastime, and hopefully, thou shalt be thin soon."

I was about to race upstairs when I got barreled over by Steve and Soda.

"Wate!" Soda yelled.

"My peer and I would like to play as well!" Steve shouted.

"But it's one-man Blind Man's Bluff!" I whined.

"Nay, fool," Darry cut in, and I reluctantly gave a quite neigh. "For I hath just remembered that thou hast to do some…how do you say…homework? Thou must finish reading Great Expectations, aye?"

I sighed. "Yeah…"

"Go to, then! Thou must read it before sundown today, or thou wilst get an 'F' in Literature this quarter!"

I gaped. "Who told you that?"

Darry went scarlet. "I…hast some…eh, spies, shall we say."

"Spies?"

"Yes, you know…minions."

"You have minions?" I was shocked, but clearly, Darry wasn't in the mood to talk.

"Go hither to thy room, fool, and read thy book!"

Knowing it was best to leave Darry alone when he was in this kind of mood, I did as he said, and since he didn't call me down for dinner, I went to bed famished and only three chapters through Great Expectations.

I lead a sad, sorry life.

Next thing I knew somebody was shaking me.

"Po-nee? Y dont U wake up?"

And by the bad grammar, I could guess who it was.

"Whaddizit?"

"Im skared!"

"What? Why?"

"Its thundering outside."

I paused, waiting for more. "That's it?"

"Yup. Its 2 lowd. I dont like lowd noises!"

"Well, what do you want me to do about it? Make it stop thundering?"

Soda's eyes lit up. "Ken U do that?"

I sighed. "Man, now I know why you dropped out of school."

Immediately, Soda's eyes got teary.

I sighed again. "Sorry. Here," I got out of bed, walked over to a box sitting in the corner of my room, and pulled out a stuffed bear. I handed it to Soda, and his eyes lit up like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.

"Thnx, Po-nee!" He started towards the door, then stopped. "Do U think Sandee'll marree me?"

"You?" I started laughing and couldn't stop. "Sandy: a cheerleader, actress, and supermodel; marry you? You, a big sixteen year-old crybaby that still sleeps with a stuffed bear?" I'd never actually talked with Sandy, a senior that went to my school, but seeing as she was Homecoming Queen and almost every guy in the school had a crush on her, Soda didn't have a chance.

I was on the floor guffawing at this point, trying to control myself.

Soda started crying again, and ran out of the room.

After I finished my laughing spree, I laid back in my bed and sighed. I'd done it again. Darry and I always seemed to make Soda cry for no reason at all.

He never cried around anyone else in the gang, just Darry and me.

Whatever. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep. It wasn't my problem, after all.