I wasn't in a very good mood when I wrote this, so the way its going now,
its not gonna be a happy Johnny and Dally are back story. Sorry.. Hope ya
like it and all that..
The courtroom was cold. I rubbed my arms, but I think it was mainly cuz I was nervous more than cold. I was still wearing the same blue sweatshirt as I'd been wearing a week ago, I probably could've gotten something else, but I hadn't bothered. I straightened up and slouched back down, chewing at my lip. It's a nervous habit I think I got from my Dad, after Mom and Dad were killed I'd sometimes wake up in the middle of the night with my lip practically in shreds. I straightened up again in my seat, looking around at the people sitting in the courtroom. "Relax!" my lawyer hissed at me. "You can't look guilty! If you look guilty, the jury will decide you are guilty!" I glanced at the jury. You could tell they already didn't like me because I was a greaser. Simply getting a haircut wouldn't change that. I sneaked a look at my lawyer. She looked like a mouse, with her thin dirty brown hair and squinty little black eyes, I thought. Even mice don't like us greasers. You could tell she thought I should be locked in a reform school or the cooler for at least a couple of years, if not my whole life, so I wouldn't have to be bothering anyone. She's just defending me for the money, I thought bitterly, looking away from her before I got too mad. Then I saw Johnny. He was slouched in his seat with his eyes closed, like he was trying to shut out the whole thing. His face was as pale as I'd ever seen it, almost as white as paper, and it contrasted with his dark shirt to make him look even paler. He didn't look like a murderer; he looked like a scared little kid. I shivered and bit my lip harder. "I need a cigarette," I mumbled. "Don't say that!" my lawyer whispered at me. "You are not a juvenile delinquent! You don't tell anyone that you smoke! Or drink!" "I don't drink," I told her faintly. "What? Oh, well, don't start, at least not until this trial is over." The fact that I was going to start drinking and become an alcoholic was inevitable to her. "You're just a dreamer who writes poetry and draws pictures that got caught up with the wrong friends." I could have strangled her. Johnny's the best friend anyone could have! I wanted to yell that at her, but I didn't. Instead I sat there, staring at my feet and wishing all this had never happened. ----------------- Me and Johnny had wanted to go look at the burning church, but Dally hadn't stopped to ask us. After he'd realized what was going on, he'd driven by, if possible, even faster than he'd been driving before. "Dally!" Johnny protested. "Hell, kid!" Dally said, gripping the steering wheel so hard it looked like he was trying to strangle it. "You don't want the cops to think you burned down a church, too!" I started to say something, but I couldn't think of anything to say, so I closed my mouth and looked out the window. There was a big van parked along the road by the church, and a whole bunch of people scurrying around in front of the burning church. They looked like nice people, not greasers or socs. I vaguely hoped that none of them were trapped in the fire, but then we pulled on a different road and I was back to worrying about what was going to happen to me and Johnny. I was still trying to figure out any way this whole mess could have a happy ending when we pulled up to my house. I got out of Dally's- Buck's- truck, and walked up to the front door with Johnny and Dally following me. The door banged behind me, and Darry looked up from where he was sitting. "Ponyboy." he said, getting up. He looked horrible, like he hadn't slept for a couple of days, and his eyes seemed to beg forgiveness. "Oh, glory, Pony." He was crying, I realized. Crying because of me. I just stood there, shocked. I'd never seen Darry cry. Then I ran toward him. "Darry!" I grabbed him around the waist, and I remember thinking, like a little kid, that since Darry loved me again, everything was going to be okay.
The courtroom was cold. I rubbed my arms, but I think it was mainly cuz I was nervous more than cold. I was still wearing the same blue sweatshirt as I'd been wearing a week ago, I probably could've gotten something else, but I hadn't bothered. I straightened up and slouched back down, chewing at my lip. It's a nervous habit I think I got from my Dad, after Mom and Dad were killed I'd sometimes wake up in the middle of the night with my lip practically in shreds. I straightened up again in my seat, looking around at the people sitting in the courtroom. "Relax!" my lawyer hissed at me. "You can't look guilty! If you look guilty, the jury will decide you are guilty!" I glanced at the jury. You could tell they already didn't like me because I was a greaser. Simply getting a haircut wouldn't change that. I sneaked a look at my lawyer. She looked like a mouse, with her thin dirty brown hair and squinty little black eyes, I thought. Even mice don't like us greasers. You could tell she thought I should be locked in a reform school or the cooler for at least a couple of years, if not my whole life, so I wouldn't have to be bothering anyone. She's just defending me for the money, I thought bitterly, looking away from her before I got too mad. Then I saw Johnny. He was slouched in his seat with his eyes closed, like he was trying to shut out the whole thing. His face was as pale as I'd ever seen it, almost as white as paper, and it contrasted with his dark shirt to make him look even paler. He didn't look like a murderer; he looked like a scared little kid. I shivered and bit my lip harder. "I need a cigarette," I mumbled. "Don't say that!" my lawyer whispered at me. "You are not a juvenile delinquent! You don't tell anyone that you smoke! Or drink!" "I don't drink," I told her faintly. "What? Oh, well, don't start, at least not until this trial is over." The fact that I was going to start drinking and become an alcoholic was inevitable to her. "You're just a dreamer who writes poetry and draws pictures that got caught up with the wrong friends." I could have strangled her. Johnny's the best friend anyone could have! I wanted to yell that at her, but I didn't. Instead I sat there, staring at my feet and wishing all this had never happened. ----------------- Me and Johnny had wanted to go look at the burning church, but Dally hadn't stopped to ask us. After he'd realized what was going on, he'd driven by, if possible, even faster than he'd been driving before. "Dally!" Johnny protested. "Hell, kid!" Dally said, gripping the steering wheel so hard it looked like he was trying to strangle it. "You don't want the cops to think you burned down a church, too!" I started to say something, but I couldn't think of anything to say, so I closed my mouth and looked out the window. There was a big van parked along the road by the church, and a whole bunch of people scurrying around in front of the burning church. They looked like nice people, not greasers or socs. I vaguely hoped that none of them were trapped in the fire, but then we pulled on a different road and I was back to worrying about what was going to happen to me and Johnny. I was still trying to figure out any way this whole mess could have a happy ending when we pulled up to my house. I got out of Dally's- Buck's- truck, and walked up to the front door with Johnny and Dally following me. The door banged behind me, and Darry looked up from where he was sitting. "Ponyboy." he said, getting up. He looked horrible, like he hadn't slept for a couple of days, and his eyes seemed to beg forgiveness. "Oh, glory, Pony." He was crying, I realized. Crying because of me. I just stood there, shocked. I'd never seen Darry cry. Then I ran toward him. "Darry!" I grabbed him around the waist, and I remember thinking, like a little kid, that since Darry loved me again, everything was going to be okay.