A/N: Hey guys! New story for you here! If you can't tell we love the Outsiders! Hope you Enjoy! Please R&R!
Darry's POV
"Boys! Breakfast is ready and if you don't get down before its cold, you won't get any at all!" Mom yelled from downstairs. We all knew she was serious, it had happened to us many times before. I heard Sodapop's feet running anxiously through the hall, with Ponyboy's following less excitedly after. I groaned as I willed my eyes to open. The morning light streaming in from the small window on the other side of the room was blinding. I turned away as I stretched and walked downstairs groggily. I've never been much of a fan for mornings, especially since I graduated a few months ago. I'd let my sleeping schedule get a little off, okay a lot. I'd been staying up fairly late, reading and watching movies and sleeping in late, to at least 10 a.m. The only days I ever got up this early anymore was Saturday and Sunday's. Mom didn't have to go to work and she always made us pancakes with bacon and eggs.
I glanced at the clock on my way to my seat at the table, in between Soda and Dad. It read eight O'clock. For me, that was early. Everyone else was mostly awake already, but I took a little time. "Morning Sleepyhead." Dad said mockingly as he squeezed my shoulder affectionately. I smiled. My dad was my absolute hero and best friend. I told him everything, and we did everything together. We were joined at the hip. My dad was incredible handsome. He was tall and had dark hair, that complemented his free chocolate brown eyes. He had laugh-lines near his eyes and mouth, but they strangely didn't make him look old. If anything they added an extra sense of youth about him. People often would mistake us for brothers instead of father and son. He didn't look a day over twenty-five, even though he was already forty. I didn't think we looked that much alike, but sometimes people didn't know who was who. I've always thought they were messing. I would never be as handsome as Dad was.
Sodapop, on the other hand, was as handsome as any fifteen year-old boy could be. He had Mom's beautiful dark blond hair and Dad's carefree brown eyes. He had a slim figure and was always smiling. He could make you smile no matter what. He just had a feeling about him. I don't think I've ever seen Soda anything but happy, except maybe when Mickey Mouse got sold, but we don't talk about that. He always seems to be high, but he never smokes or touches a drop of alcohol. He's never needed to. Everything is exciting when Soda is around. He looked over at me and smiled as syrup leaked out from the edges of his stuffed mouth. I couldn't help but laugh. Behind him I saw Ponyboy laughing too.
Ponyboy is small for his age. He's thirteen and the smartest kid I know. Athletic too; star of the track team, with a high IQ and takes higher up classes. He's got a bright future ahead of him, unlike Soda who's barely hanging on. Pony has long, greased-back light brown hair with an almost reddish tint to it, with grayish-green eyes. While Soda and I have very distinct features plucked virtually from our parents, Pony is all his own. Almost a perfect blend of Mom and Dad. Ponyboy is a handsome kid, but not quite like Dad or Soda, he's his own kind of handsome. He isn't much like any other greasers. Most greasers are running around robbing stores and such, while Ponyboy sits and reads all day long, and I'm sure if he could escape into one of his books he probably would. That kid is special, always has been.
Mom finally sat down with us as Soda piled his plate with three more pancakes, and refilled his glass of chocolate milk. Soda, Pony, and I basically live off the stuff. That and chocolate cake, which we always have in the fridge. We ate non-stop. Soda was rattling on about some crazy dream he had last night while we ate, almost choking from laughing so hard. Soda has some pretty crazy dreams, and exaggerated them even more, which made it so funny. Half the time I don't believe that he actually had any of these dreams and that he is just making this stuff up as he goes. Wouldn't surprise me. Nothing like one of Sodapop's 'dreams' to wake you up in the morning.
"So, are you guys ready for the trip to the country next weekend?" Dad asked. Dad took us all up to the country any chance we got. He took me and my brothers hunting, and Mom even came with us sometimes. It had become more of a tradition than anything else. We always made time for our trip up there. We all nodded eagerly, we loved the trip as much as Dad did. He smiled and proceeded to tell us the plan. The plan was always the same. We would wake up at the crack of dawn and pile into the car and take the two hour trip West to our spot. We always rented the same little hunting cabin that may as well be ours anyways considering how much we use it. Then we would go and set up our hunting gear and head out before we even unloaded the car. After we got some game we went to get breakfast at the local diner. Then we went fishing and just enjoyed each others company. It was a comfortable routine, and no one ever complained.
We were interrupted by a knock at our door. Most likely one of our gang, our group of greasers that may as well be family. Every once and a while we would get one of the gang at our door, asking for a place to stay because their folks were being difficult. Johnny's parents beat him, and Dally's just didn't care. Two-Bit doesn't talk about his family much, and Steve doesn't care that much. We all wish we could help Johnny, but there isn't anything we can do about it, and he never says anything about it, so we let it be. "I'll get it."I said as I stood up to answer the door. To my surprise, it wasn't one of the gang, it was Paul Holden, one of my best friends. He generally didn't come this early. "Hey, Paul. What'cha doing over so early?" I asked, curiously. "Well, the team is gonna have an early practice. We need all the help we can get with the newbies." I chuckled and looked back at my father who was watching me and he nodded. "Sure. Just give me a minute to get ready." I replied.
I ran back to my room to get changed. Even though Paul and I had already graduated, we helped with the team a lot. Paul had been the team's halfback, probably the best one our school has ever seen, I reckon. He could run faster than anyone I'd seen, even faster than Ponyboy, which is saying something. You didn't want to go up against him to try to get to the quarterback, he'll tackle you in an instant and you won't have even seen it coming. More like a brick wall than I person. He was tough, and everyone we played knew about him. Everyone knew about the husky-blond kid who was faster than light and meaner than a lion. He wasn't really mean, though. Just on the field. Paul just got fired up when it came to football, it's nothing personal. But if it was personal, you better wish to stay off the field.
Paul didn't scare me, though. I could take him, he hasn't beat me once in a fight, and I plan to keep it that way. I was six feet tall even, and I had a nice build. I was broad-shouldered, and plastered with muscle. My hair was a spitting image of Dad's, dark-brown and kicking out in the front and back. People would tell me sometimes that I had eyes like the sea, and that when I got real worked up about something, they would turn frozen, but I didn't get that way a lot. Some said that I have my mother's eyes, but I'm not sure if I believe that. My mother's eyes were real pretty, just like her, not quite blue and not quite green but the deepest shade of that color. Mine were pale. Maybe the same in between my mother's were, but a lot paler than hers. Personally, I thought mine were more like the sky, and her's were the ocean, but who's gonna argue with a compliment.
I ran back to the front of the house and out the door with Paul. He wasn't quite as tall as I was, but his speed made up for that. He had husky-blond hair and deep brown eyes. Not eyes like Soda or Dad, Paul's had a hardness to them that had never touched Dad or Soda's. Paul was rough on the edges, and didn't like it if you came uninvited to something. He was real picky about who his friends were, and I often wondered how I made the cut. I was as close to a greaser as he would get. I lived on the East side of town, the greaser side, and Paul was a Soc. He lived on the West side, where everyone had fancy houses and Mustangs, while greasers live in beat up old houses and drive souped-up cars. I can't complain about where I live. It's nice enough. We got beds, and running water, and a car that works. We don't need anything fancy to be happy, we just need each other. My Dad told us that on multiple occasions when he would come home from a long days work with little to show for it. He made enough to keep us afloat, and for a while, during my childhood, I hadn't even realized just how deep we were. I never knew how hard my Dad worked each day to put food on the table. When I learned that, he became more my hero than any person in tights and a cape could ever be. My Dad was always happy, no matter the circumstance, and had passed that to Sodapop. I tried to be like that, but I always found at least one thing wrong, so I stopped trying.
We drove to the school practice field in Paul's shiny red mustang. The seats were made of light tan leather with cherry red trim and they were just as shiny as the rest of the car. How shiny it was made me scared to touch anything, in fear of making it's shine go away. My family has never had a shiny car, much less a shiny anything, and sitting in Paul's tuff Mustang made me feel like I was sitting in a jewel.
When we got to the edge of the field, everyone was just standing around, staring into space. The few Juniors who weren't were attempting to run drills, unsuccessfully. There were no Seniors on the team this year, which meant there wasn't any authority. Coaches didn't come on Saturdays and the team only listened to Seniors. That's where Paul and I came in. Everyone seemed to be intimidated by us. Whether it was our looks and age or our legacy as the best duo our school has ever seen that frightened them, I couldn't tell you. I found a particular enjoyment in seeing the fear and worry cross their faces as they shifted their weight when we walked up.
The way we liked to get their attention was to walk up the edge of the field and stare at them while they squirmed under the pressure and tried to get everyone to pay attention. We counted in our heads to two minutes, and if someone spoke we started over. It taut them respect and the right way to act under pressure. It also helped us judge who could take criticism and us watching them that day. Typically the results were consistent. The sam people would break and the same people would stand there straight, staring right back at us. Those were the tougher kids.
We ran drills with them for a while after that, giving them criticism left and right. These kids just didn't know how to play a game of football. Paul and I sighed as we talked about it. Eventually we got tired of watching them humiliating themselves and sent them home. Some of the boys on the team visibly hated me, because I was a greaser. There wasn't a single greaser on the team, so I was alone. It had concerned me when I first joined the team back in freshman year, and I probably wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for Paul. He held off the Socs until they respected or feared me too much to try anything. The Socs always gave me dirty looks as they passed, and I just stared back at them, not letting them win. Paul had never looked at me like that, not one single time. We'd been best friends since middle school. I honestly don't even remember how we became friends, and it really didn't matter. We joked about everything, and we were almost never separated. But when we were, I knew what he was doing. He was out jumping Socs. We had an unspoken agreement, one where he would leave my gang alone as long as I didn't stop him from going after others. I'd do anything to keep my family safe, and the gang may as well be my brothers. We'd grown up together. But they were closer to my brothers, mainly cuz I was friends with a Soc and they all despised Socs. Paul knew I'd do anything to protect Pony and Soda, and I knew he didn't particularly enjoy jumping other Socs. He'd said it was his 'saving grace' though, when I asked him why he did it anyway. He said that he had to do something other than live on the West side to maintain his Soc status. He was already thought bad of because his best friend was a greaser, so the only thing for him to do was to jump the other greasers. Although our own agreement didn't apply with the other Socs. I still had to constantly worry about my brothers getting jumped by the Socs. The other, meaner ones. Paul never laid so much as a finger on my brothers.
"So, how are things on the East side of town?" Paul asked. He always asked me this. "Same as they always are. Never quite as good as the West, but we make due. Johnny's parents are still beating him, and Dallas's still don't care." I replied, the answer would always be the same, but I knew both of us were hoping that one day it would change. Paul told me once, after his buddies beat someone up real bad, that he never really like hurting people, but he felt like he had to. If he could change it, I knew he would. I would too, and I know that if given the chance, no one would waste it. No one on the East side at least. We got the short end of the stick in every situation. We always had to look around like we were criminals or something. Well, some of us are, but even the ones who don't do anything bad are constantly looking over their shoulders, like it would be their last day. And for some, it might be, if a Soc is mad enough. It's happened before. Happens all the time in New York City. Or at least thats what Dally says. He used to live up there, has seen people die.
Neither one of us said a word for a few minutes, thats usually how it is until one of us changes the topic, but not today. "It just isn't right! I shouldn't have to hate you! Shouldn't have to hate your brothers, or your gang, or anyone else who hasn't done nothin' to us! It just ain't right, Darry! And it's never gonna be! I try to change their minds sometimes, I really do! But they don't listen to a word I say, they say I'm biased. I don't know maybe I am." Paul exclaimed. I was caught off-guard. He's never said anything like that. I didn't know what to say to him, so I just stared at him and then out my window, starstruck. I don't think he meant to say that out loud, because he didn't say anything until he dropped me off at the house. "Thanks for the ride, Paul." "No problem." And that was that.
I walked into the house, still trying to figure out what brought on Paul's outburst, but tried not to look to lost. Soda met me at the door. "Hey Darry!" He paused and looked at me after jumping on me. He must've caught my blank stare. I thought I saw worry cross his eyes as he looked into mine. "What's wrong?" He asked, calm. I shook my head and picked him up like I usually do. We're always rough with each other. I flashed him a smile and tried to hide my confusion. "Nothing's wrong, Sodapop! Those kids just don't know what a good game of football looks like." I joked. He laughed, back to normal. "You got that right. They wouldn't know what it was it if hit 'em in the face. Which most of the time the ball does anyway! Ha!" He said, starting to laugh hard. He was always so pleased with himself when he made a joke.
The rest of the day went on as normal, Soda joking about everything and all us laughing. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, nothin' ever did around here. We had a normal dinner and a normal conversation. We packed for the trip to the country, like we normally did nearly every weekend during summer. I fell asleep thinking about the only not normal thing that had happened in a while. Paul's exclamation. It probably didn't mean much, but I couldn't help but feel like there was something hidden in there for me to hear. As almost a warning.
A/N: Let me know what you think, even if it's bad!