Just a heads up – I don't know what I am doing. I am here as a college student, writing as a means of procrastination and to kill writer's block. I recently re-read the book the Outsiders, and this was born from it. I'm not sure I need a disclaimer, but everyone seems to do it, so here it is. Obviously I don't own the characters. Read at your own risk. Hope you enjoy/don't feel like you wasted your time.

-x-

"When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home." It had been four years since these words had been penned: the introduction to the semester theme that saved my grade and allowed me to pass my first year of high school. It's funny. At fourteen you don't realize weight of your decisions. You live in the moment and choose roads as you happen upon them. You don't realize that these roads could lead you to places you never believed you'd travel.

And that's where I was at. A combination of hard work and an older brother breathing down my neck led me to my high school graduation. I held a diploma in one hand, a scholarship to the University of Oklahoma in the other. The problem was, I still didn't know what I wanted to do. I liked the idea of a degree in something like English Literature. But Darry had other ideas. "Books, books, books, that's all I hear from you," he'd say. "You can't major in books. You need a degree in business. It's more practical."

Of course, he was right. He always was. A degree in business was respectable. A degree in business could get me any job I wanted. There wasn't much use in arguing. It made sense. Darry used his head. Me? Not so much.

I was sitting at our same table, reading my scholarship letter over and over again. It had been a few months since it had come in the mail, but I was still in a state of disbelief. It was a Saturday morning, so Soda was still dead asleep. He had switched jobs about a year ago, and his new job required him to work long weekday hours. By the time the weekend rolled around, he was exhausted. He never complained, though, so he must've loved it.

Oh, Soda still loved cars and girls, but there had been one thing he'd been missing at his job at the gas station. That thing was horses. He'd always been horse-crazy, and I think there was a part of him that never really got over Mickey Mouse being sold. A new barn opened up in town about two years ago, and luckily enough, the owner stopped by the gas station one day. Soda and him hit it off real well—and, really, how couldn't they? Soda could charm just about anyone with his good looks and zeal for life. The man had offered him a job working in the barn, and Soda had accepted. The job required him to wake up at the crack of dawn every morning, get out of bed, and go feed the horses. He'd then have to do basic barn chores like mucking, cleaning buckets, or fixing fences or whatever else needed fixing until the horses' dinner time rolled around. Then he'd feed them their dinner, make sure they were properly blanketed, and turn them out into the pasture. It was hard work—we could all see that. He always had a set of dark rings underneath his eyes during the week. But his dark eyes would be shining, still completely full of life. Everyone could tell that he loved what he did.

Darry still worked at the same job roofing houses. He was tired—you couldn't tell unless you knew him, but he was. He was twenty-four now, and all of his high school buddies had graduated and moved on with their lives. He never let on that it hurt him, but Soda and I could tell. I know that's why he pushed me so hard to get into college. He wanted me to have the opportunity that he never got. He'd worked hard over the past four years to set aside money specifically to put me through college. I had four more years of education because of him, and I was afraid I'd take it for granted. It didn't seem fair that he did all of the work yet I was still the one going to college. It was a lot of pressure.

Darry had walked into the room at this point and sat down with two mugs of coffee. He took a sip of the black coffee before setting it down on the table and handing the other mug to me. I'd started drinking coffee in my senior year, but I couldn't drink it black. It was too bitter. Mine looked like milk compared to Darry's. I grunted my thanks and took a sip. It was sweet, but not over the top. Darry knew exactly how I liked it. Soda always made it too sweet. He'd never been one for coffee. At twenty-one he was still downing a glass of chocolate milk every morning. I didn't know how he could work such long hours without at least a little caffeine, but he seemed to draw energy from just being around horses again.

Darry grabbed the book and pieces of notebook paper that were on top of the newspaper to move them. He paused to examine them briefly before he set them aside. "He could've been a vet," he muttered softly to himself, looking at the diagrams on the papers. The book was on horse anatomy, and the diagrams were of two horses: one rounded and using itself correctly, and the other hollowed out. A few of the muscles were sketched within the diagrams of the horses and labeled accordingly. Handwritten notes of exercises on how to strengthen these muscles lined the bottom of the pages. Darry was wrong in thinking Soda could have been a vet. Soda didn't have any interest in medical stuff. Mechanics, that's what intrigued him. That's what he loved about cars so much, and I don't think it occurred to him that it could apply to horses until he met Romy.

Romy was short for Rosemary. She was five foot ten inches of hard-headed crazy. Her dusty blonde hair fell to her shoulders, and was rarely brushed. She usually wore it up, only letting it down when she was away from the barn. She'd just moved to Oklahoma with the intent to pursue her master's degree in the fall. Her dad and Soda's boss were close friends, and he'd offered to let her live in the house on his barn property for the summer. She'd taken her horse with her. Romy was anal about everything that had to do with the barn, and she made it known to the workers when she disapproved. She had no tolerance for lazy workers, and could chew someone out without a single cuss word if their job had not been done right. Romy had grown up riding dressage, but was one of the few that decided to pursue three-day eventing, a combination of dressage, show jumping, and cross country events. She was good. She had trained her own horse and moved him up through the levels, and could currently compete at the preliminary level. This meant the max height of the show jumping and cross country jumps was 3'7. It doesn't sound too big until you picture a 3'7 fixed height jump on a cross country course that riders hurl galloping horses over. Eventers had to be crazy to do what they did. Or stupid at least.

That being said, Romy knew all the mechanics of training a horse. She knew which muscles needed to be built and how to build them correctly. This is what interested Soda. She began teaching him what she knew about training horses, and Soda began to apply what he learned to the horses at work. After a while, Soda was trusted to work horses on the ground to keep them in shape. Romy liked Soda alright. He did his job well, so she never had to get onto him about it.

I liked Romy alright, too. She seemed hard at first, but away from the barn, she reminded me a lot of Soda. She was overly-enthusiastic about everything, and had a grin so wild that you couldn't help but smile back. Her family was wealthy enough to where she could have been classified as a Soc if she'd been from here, but it was difficult to picture tomboyish Romy in with the Socs. She probably would've been an outsider, so it was a good thing she wasn't from here. She was often at the house drawing out diagrams for Soda and giving him horse training tips. She usually brought us dinner whenever she'd come over. She was pretty decent at cooking, but she lived by herself and always made too much food. The three of us didn't mind. We weren't ones to turn down free food.

"Have you thought anymore about your major?" Darry's question pulled me away from my thoughts. I wasn't sure how to answer. I was only eighteen, and the idea of picking the field I would be in for the rest of the life was intimidating. I stared at the scholarship letter in my hands for a second more before putting it down on the table.

"Yeah, a little," I answered, my eyes fixed on the table. "I was thinking . . ." I paused for a second. I knew what Darry wanted for me, and I didn't want to let him down. I shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "I was thinking maybe business I guess." Darry lowered the newspaper he was reading to look at me. I kept my eyes down, avoiding his gaze.

"That's great, Pony," he said. He looked back at his newspaper for a second, then set it down on the table. He kept his eyes down, as if he were thinking hard about what to say next. For a second I thought I had disappointed him, even though I knew it was what he had wanted to hear. A degree in business made sense. He wanted me to get a respectable job, so a business degree was practical. Finally, Darry looked up at me. "Pony," he began, and paused for a second before continuing, "I want you to know that, well . . . I'm real proud of you, Pony." He smiled gently, and I smiled back. I couldn't help but think back to all of the times I thought I would never be able to please Darry. He was very critical of me throughout high school: if I brought home B's, he wanted A's; if I brought home A's, he wanted me to make sure that they stayed A's. I thought for a long while that he hated me, that he hated that he had to give up everything for me. It took me a while to understand that Darry did everything he did out of concern for me. He wanted to guarantee that I had the opportunities he never got to have. We didn't always get along, but I knew that he would always be in my corner, looking out for my best interests. He was the most sacrificing man that I knew. Hearing him say that he was proud of me really meant the world.

Our front door flew open before I could reply. Darry and I exchanged a glance. We both knew who it was.

"Don't slam the door!" we both called out simultaneously. The door slammed, and Darry sighed. Two-Bit Matthews came running into our kitchen, dressed in his uniform. He must have stopped by on his way to work. Two-Bit hadn't changed much through the years; he was still making wise-cracking remarks and trying to grow his rusty-colored sideburns in. They had stopped growing after a while, but he was still oddly proud of them. Two-Bit had finally graduated high school (it only took him three more years; he graduated the year before me), and had gotten a job at the local comic book store. He'd never had any interest in college and at 22 was still living at home with his mom. I don't think she minded. Since he'd gotten a job, he'd started helping her out with the bills. He'd probably move out eventually, but for the time being, Two-Bit was perfectly content where he was.

"Look at the little high school grad!" he said excitedly, giving me a slap on the back. "What's next? You gonna be president, Pony?" He was laughing, and I smiled sheepishly at Darry, a little embarrassed. I'm not real used to people bragging on me. Darry cocked an eyebrow.

"College first, Two-Bit, then we'll see from there," he said with a smile. Two-Bit grinned and looked over at my scholarship letter. He grabbed it before I could move to stop him and began walking across the room, reading it allowed in a very fake, sophisticated voice. Darry chuckled a little and took another sip of his coffee. I stood up from the table and looked at Two-Bit.

"Alright, cut it out." Two-Bit ignored me, and pretended to adjust his imaginary glasses as he continued reading the letter. I launched myself at him, and the two of us fell to the floor wrestling. I had him pinned in a couple seconds. "Holler uncle," I told him. Two-Bit kept struggling, but I had him pinned. I'd gotten a lot stronger during high school. I made the varsity track team during my sophomore year, and I'd begun working out a lot more to stay in shape for it.

"Fine, fine, uncle," Two-Bit said and I laid off him. Soda was awake at this point and had stumbled out of the bedroom and into a chair at the table. He looked at Darry sleepily.

"Hit me," he said. Darry cocked a smile as he placed a glass of chocolate milk in front of Soda.

"You'd best perk up, little buddy," he said. "Romy mentioned she'd swing by this morning." That would explain why Darry hadn't made breakfast. Usually the first one up makes breakfast and the other two had to do the dishes. Soda groaned a little.

"But I'm tired, Dare," he grumbled. Darry pushed the papers of horse diagrams towards him.

"Better study up." He winked at Soda who let out another sleepy groan.

"But I'm tired, Dare." He laid his head down on the table dramatically. As if on cue, the front door swung open. Soda's head shot back up in the air. "Not today, woman!" he called out. Romy ducked into the kitchen holding a bag in one hand and a chocolate cake in the other. She set the cake on the counter.

"Calm down and eat this cake," she told Soda with a smirk. "It's the weekend." She greeted Darry as he walked over to cut the cake. "I figured since we're celebrating, cake for breakfast would be okay with everyone."

"Jokes on you," Two-Bit said. "They do that anyway." I shoved him affectionately and he retaliated by punching my arm. Soda was chugging his chocolate milk at this point, and Darry began serving the slices of cake. We all sat down at the table and started to eat. "Tastes a little store bought," Two-Bit teased Romy with a wink. She smiled mockingly back.

"Probably because it is. Do I look like housewife material?"

"No sir!" Romy kicked him from underneath the table. Darry smiled into his coffee. We had a running joke that Romy would end up being an old maid. Frankly, she said she would be perfectly okay ending up an old maid, and often joined in on the jokes. Her horses had always been her priority, and she never seemed to mind sacrificing romantic relationships for her equestrian career. It all seemed odd to us until she explained to us that her dad had always wanted a son, and her being a girl didn't seem to change his plans. He raised her to have the career-driven ambitions of a man.

"Anyway," she said, "I have a present for you, Pony." She reached into her bag and paused. "I feel like I should explain—it's nothing big or special, but I think I'm funny so . . ." She pulled out a stuffed animal horse wearing a graduation cap. "I'm sorry," she added as she handed it to me. Soda, seeming to come back to life after finishing his milk, intercepted.

"I'd give my graduation speech, but I'm a little horse!" Two-Bit grabbed it from him.

"Don't stirrup any trouble in college!" My ears were red, but I was laughing. I grabbed it from Two-Bit who was about to fall out of his chair laughing.

After a minute of solid laughter, Romy said, "Alright, rein it in, guys." Soda and Two-Bit stopped laughing immediately and stared at her.

"Did you just. . ." Soda began, but he and Two-Bit erupted back into laughter before he could finish the sentence. I smiled at Romy.

"Thanks," I told her. Her blue eyes were shining.

"I couldn't resist," she explained, "Plus, it kind of looks like Al. I had to." I looked at the little brown horse. It did look a bit like Al.

Al was Romy's meat truck save. She saw him on a trailer bound for slaughter, pointed him out to her dad, and told him 'that's my horse.' He wasn't worth anything to anyone at that point, but Romy's dad at always been a supporter, and he bought the misfit horse for her. After she began working with him, Al built his topline muscles and began to fill out. He was a very capable and enthusiastic learner. It had taken him longer than the average horse to learn the basics and begin showing, but once he had the foundation set, he advanced through the levels quickly. Al didn't have the appearance of a conventional eventer. He was a short 15.1 hand high bay mixed breed with a white stripe down his face. He also had an awkwardly long neck. Al was short for Alpaca.

We'd finished our cake, and Two-Bit had decided that it was time for his morning beer. He sat on the floor of our living room with a crooked smile and an open bottle. Soda, Romy, and Darry were doing the dishes—usually I'd help, but they wouldn't let me today as a graduation treat. I wasn't real sure what to do with myself, so I sat on our couch and watched Two-Bit try to balance his shoe on his beer. I could overhear Darry, Romy, and Soda arguing playfully in the kitchen over which sport was more difficult: football or horse riding. I think Darry had always thought of riding horses as more of a thrill than a sport—I think I did, too, until Romy and Soda began explaining the mechanics of dressage. Soda was really excited about it, and he would explain whatever Romy was teaching him to me. He mainly worked with the horses on the flat, but he was interested in learning the mechanics of dressage riding as well. He wouldn't be caught dead riding dressage—it was like ballet; he considered it too girly, but he was often able to apply the same principles to the western ponies he did ranch work off of. He said having the horses respond to every action with a reaction made them better, all-around horses.

"Well," I heard Romy say, "if you ever have the time to be proven wrong, let me know and I can give you a lesson."

"I'll let you know," Darry responded with a laugh.

"Hey, Dare, you're free next Saturday aren't you?" Soda chimed in. Soda was eager to have his older brother take part in something that meant so much to him. He and Darry had always gotten along, but they didn't really have interests in common like Darry and I did. We'd both played sports in high school and took our academics seriously. Soda had never really understood taking anything seriously, but I think he began to when he started working at the barn. It was something he cared about and was eager to be better at. And I think a part of him really wanted Darry to see that.

Darry was silent for a second, but I think Soda's eager enthusiasm won him over. "You know, I think I am, little buddy."