Chapter 2: New Friends

Bob, his friend Randy, Randy's girlfriend Marcia, and I all decided to go to a movie together late at night. Marcia and I became good friends because Bob and Randy were such good buds. I do not like the fact that boys and girls Bob's age smoke and get really drunk. When we got to the movies, Marcia and I stormed out of the car.

"Cherry! Please come back Cherry! Cherry, come back right now!" Bob yelled.

"No! You know that I do not like it when you get drunk! Especially that drunk! We are leaving!" I stormed out of there in an instant with Marcia right beside me. "I came here to see a movie and a I movie will see. Whether it is or isn't with Bob," I told Marcia. We found a nice place to sit that was a good view of the movie screen and not too far away from the snack bar. A little bit after we sat down, three greasers sat right behind us. They were all very good-looking to be honest. One of the boys started talking awfully dirty and loud. I was getting mad and then pretended that I did not hear him. He started getting impatient, I could tell by the sound of his voice. So, he put his feet on my chair. He said something very dirty right then and there.

I gave him a cool stare. "Get your feet off my chair and shut your trap!"

"Who's gonna make me?" he said to me.

"That's the greaser that jockeys for the Slash J sometime," Marcia said to me. I knew he looked familiar.

"I know you two. I've seen you around rodeos," he said to us.

"It's a shame you can't ride bull half as good as you can talk it," I told him coolly.

"You two barrel race, huh?" he told us, as if he did not feel offended by my statement.

"You'd better leave us alone," I said in a biting voice, "or I'll call the cops."

"Oh, my, my, you've got me scared to death. You ought to see my record

sometime, baby." He grinned slyly. "Guess what I've been in for?"

"Please leave us alone," I said. "Why don't you be nice and leave us alone?"

He grinned roguishly. "I'm never nice. Want a Coke?"

I was mad by then. "I wouldn't drink it if I was starving in the desert. Get lost, hood!"

He merely shrugged and strolled off.

I looked at the boy sitting next to him. He seemed half-scared of me.

"Are you going to start in on us?" He shook his head, wide-eyed.

"No." I smiled.

"You don't look the type. What's your name?"

"Ponyboy Curtis."

I did not want to be mean, so I just smiled. "That's an original and lovely name."

"My dad was an original person," Ponyboy said. "I've got a brother named Sodapop, and it says so on his birth certificate." He seemed like such a sweet boy when he talked about his brother Sodapop. For some reason though, the name sounded familiar.

"My name's Sherri, but I'm called Cherry because of my hair. Cherry Valance."

"I know," he said. "You're a cheerleader. We go to the same school." He cannot possibly go to high school. He seems too young.

Marcia was apparently thinking the same thing. "You don't look old enough to be going to high school," Marcia said.

"I'm not. I got put up a year in grade school."

I just looked at him. How can a greaser possibly be so smart that they were put up a grade? That seemed so strange. "What's a nice, smart kid like you running around with trash like that for?" That came out a little ruder than I intended though.

"I'm a grease, same as Dally. He's my buddy," he snapped back at me.

"I'm sorry, Ponyboy," I said softly. I said briskly, "Your brother Sodapop, does he work at a gasoline station? A DX, I think?"

"Yeah."

"Man, your brother is one doll. I might have guessed you were brothers- you look alike." He really did look like him, I was not just being nice.

He seemed a bit surprised about that complement. It's not every day he hears a Soc telling him they think his brother is a doll.

"Didn't he used to ride in rodeos? Saddle bronc?"

"Yeah. Dad made him quit after he tore a ligament, though. We still hang around rodeos a lot. I've seen you two barrel race. You're good." I just smiled at that.

"Thanks," I said.

Marcia said, "How come we don't see your brother at school? He's not any older than sixteen or seventeen, is he?"

He immediately winced at the question, "He's a dropout," he said roughly. He did not seem to happy about Sodapop dropping out.

After that, the conversation ended for a good fie to ten minutes.

The other boy came back after getting some snacks and drinks then and sat down beside Ponyboy. He asked Ponyboy where Dallas went, then managed a shy "Hi" to us and tried to watch the movie. He seemed nervous, though. I looked at him, sizing him up as I had Ponyboy. Then I smiled softly, and I sized him up right.

Dallas came striding back with an armful of Cokes. He handed one to both Marcia and I and sat down beside me.

"This might cool you off," he said to me.

I gave him an incredulous look; and then I threw my Coke in his face. "That might cool you off, greaser. After you wash your mouth and learn to talk and act decent, I might cool off, too."

Dallas wiped the Coke off his face with his sleeve and smiled dangerously.

"Fiery, huh? Well, that's the way I like 'em." He started to put his arm around me, but the shy boy reached over and stopped him.

"Leave her alone, Dally."

"Huh?" Dallas was taken off guard. He stared at him in disbelief.

He gulped and got a little pale, but he said, "You heard me. Leave her alone."

Dallas scowled for a second. Dallas got up and stalked off, his fists jammed in his pockets and a frown on his face. He didn't come back.

I sighed in relief. "Thanks. He had me scared to death."

The shy boy managed an admiring grin. "You sure didn't show it. Nobody talks to Dally like that."

I smiled, "From what I saw, you do. What is your name?"

"Johnny. Johnny Cade."

"Thank you again, Johnny Cade," he managed another smile.

Johnny's ears got red. Ponyboy was still staring at him. Apparently it had taken more than nerve for him to say what he'd said to Dallas.

Marcia grinned at them. "Y'all sit up here with us. You can protect us."

Johnny and Ponyboy looked at each other. Johnny grinned suddenly, raising his eyebrows so that they disappeared under his bangs.

"Okay," Ponyboy said nonchalantly, "might as well."

He sat between us, and Johnny sat next to me.

"How old are y'all?" Marcia asked.

"Fourteen," Ponyboy said.

"Sixteen," said Johnny.

'That's funny," Marcia said, "I thought you were both..."

"Sixteen," I finished for her.

Johnny grinned. "How come y'all ain't scared of us like you were Dally?"

I sighed. "You two are too sweet to scare anyone. First of all, you didn't join in Dallas's dirty talk, and you made him leave us alone. Aid when we asked you to sit up here with us, you didn't act like it was an invitation to make out for the night. Besides that, I've heard about Dallas Winston, and he looked as hard as nails and twice as tough. And you two don't look mean."

"Sure," Ponyboy said tiredly, "we're young and innocent"

"No," I said slowly, looking at him carefully, "not innocent. You've seen too much to be innocent. Just not... dirty."

"Dally's okay," Johnny said defensively, and Ponyboy nodded. You take up for your buddies, no matter what they do. When you're a gang, you stick up for the members. If you don't stickup for them, stick together, make like brothers, it isn't a gang any more. It's a pack. A snarling, distrustful, bickering pack like the Socs in their social clubs or the street gangs in New York or the wolves in the timber. He's tough, but he's a cool old guy."

"He'd leave you alone if he knew you," Ponyboy.

"Well," Marcia said with finality, "I'm glad he doesn't know us."

"I kind of admire him," I said softly, so only Ponyboy heard, and then we settled down to watch the movie.

We told them that we'd come with our boyfriends, but walked out on them when we found out the boys had brought some booze along. Randy and Bob had gotten angry and left.

"I don't care if they did." I sounded annoyed. "It's not my idea of a good time to sit in a drive-in and watch people get drunk." My idea of a good time was high-class, and expensive. It was one of those beach-party movies with no plot and no acting but a lot of girls in bikinis and some swinging songs, so it was all right.

We were all four sitting there in silence when suddenly a strong hand came down on Johnny's shoulder and another on Ponyboy's and a deep voice said, "Okay, greasers, you've had it" I almost jumped out of my skin. It was like having someone leap out from behind a door and yell "Boo!" at you.

Another greaser named Two-Bit, was grinning like a Chessy cat. "Glory, Two-Bit, scare us to death!" Ponyboy said.

Then I looked at Johnny. His eyes were shut and he was as white as a ghost. His breath was coming in smothered gasps. Johnny opened his eyes and said weakly, "Hey, Two-Bit."

Two-Bit messed up his hair, "Sorry, kid," he said, "I forgot."

He climbed over the chair and plopped down beside Marcia. "Who's this, your great-aunts?"

"Great-grandmothers, twice removed," I said smoothly.

I couldn't tell if Two-Bit was drunk or not. He cocked one eyebrow up and the other down.

"Shoot, you're ninety-six if you're a day."

"I'm a night," Marcia said brightly.

Two-Bit stared at her admiringly. "Brother, you're a sharp one. Where'd you two ever get to be picked up by a couple of greasy hoods like Pony and Johnny?"

"We really picked them up," Marcia said. "We're really Arabian slave traders and we're thinking about shanghaiing them. They're worth ten camels a piece at least."

"Five," Two-Bit disagreed. "They don't talk Arabian, I don't think. Say somethin' in Arabian, Johnnycake."

"Aw, cut it out!" Johnny broke in. "Dally was bothering them and when he left they wanted us to sit with them to protect them. Against wisecracking greasers like you, probably."

Two-Bit grinned. "Hey, where is of Dally, anyways?"

"He went hunting some action- booze or dames or a fight. I hope he don't get jailed again. He just got out"

"He'll probably find the fight," Two-Bit stated cheerfully. "That's why I came over. Mr. Timothy Shepard and Co. are looking for whoever so kindly slashed their car's tires, and since Mr. Curly Shepard spotted Dallas doing it... well... Does Dally have a blade?"

"Not that I know of," Ponyboy said. "I think he's got a piece of pipe, but he busted his blade this morning."

"Good. Tim'll fight fair if Dally don't pull a blade on him. Dally shouldn't have any trouble."

Marcia and I were staring at them. "You don't believe in playing rough or anything, do you?"

"A fair fight isn't rough;" Two-Bit said. "Blades are rough. So are chains and heaters and pool sticks and rumbles. Skin fighting isn't rough. It blows off steam better than anything. There's nothing wrong with throwing a few punches. Socs are rough. They gang up on one or two, or they rumble each other with their social clubs. Us greasers usually stick together, but when we do fight among ourselves, it's a fair fight between two. And Dally deserves whatever he gets, 'cause slashed tires ain't no joke when you've got to work to pay for them. He got spotted, too, and that was his fault. Our one rule, besides Stick together, is don't get caught. He might get beat up, he might not. Either way there's not going to be any blood feud between our outfit and Shepard's, If we needed them tomorrow they'd show. If Tim beats Dally's head in, and then tomorrow asks us for help in a rumble, we'll show. Dally was getting kicks. He got caught. He pays up. No sweat."

"Yeah, boy," I said sarcastically, "real simple."

"Sure," Marcia said, unconcerned. "If he gets killed or something, you just bury him. No sweat"

"You dig okay, baby." Two-Bit grinned and lit a cigarette. "Anyone want a weed?"

Marcia and I shook our heads at his offering of cigarettes, but Johnny and Ponyboy reached for one. Johnny's color was back and his breathing was regular, but his hand was shaking ever so slightly.

"Ponyboy, will you come with me to get some popcorn?" I asked him.

He jumped up. "Sure. Y'all want some?"

"I do," said Marcia. She was finishing the Coke Dallas had given her. I realized then that Marcia and I weren't alike. I had said I wouldn't drink Dallas' Coke if I was starving, and I meant it. It was the principle of the thing. But Marcia saw no reason to throw away a perfectly good, free Coke.

"Me too," said Two-Bit. He flipped Ponyboy a fifty cent piece. "Get Johnny some, too. I'm buyin'," he added as Johnny started to reach into his jeans pocket.

We went to the concession stand and, as usual, there was a line a mile long, so we had to wait. Quite a few kids turned to look at us- you didn't see a kid grease and a Soc cheerleader together often. Ponyboy seemed to notice.

"Your friend- the one with the sideburns- he's okay?"

"He ain't dangerous like Dallas if that's what you mean. He's okay."

I smiled, but my mind was on something else. "Johnny... he's been hurt bad

sometime, hasn't he?" It was more of a statement than a question though. "Hurt and scared."

"It was the Socs," he said nervously.

He started telling me a story. "It was almost four months ago. I had walked down to the DX station to get a bottle of pop and to see Steve and Soda, because they'll always buy me a couple of bottles and let me help work on the cars. I don't like to go on weekends because then there is usually a bunch of girls down there flirting with Soda- all kinds of girls, Socs too. I don't care too much for girls yet. Soda says I'll grow out of it. He did. It was a warmish spring day with the sun shining bright, but it was getting chilly and dark by the time we started for home. We were walking because we had left Steve's car at the station. At the corner of our block there's a wide, open field where we play football and hang out, and it's often a site for rumbles and fist fights. We were passing it, kicking rocks down the street and finishing our last bottle of Pepsi, when Steve noticed something lying on the ground. He picked it up. It was Johnny's blue-jeans jacket- the only jacket he had.

"Looks like Johnny forgot his jacket," Steve said, slinging it over his shoulder to take it by Johnny's house. Suddenly he stopped and examined it more carefully. There was a stain the color of rust across the collar. He looked at the ground. There were some more stains on the grass. He looked up and across the field with a stricken expression on his face. I think we all heard the low moan and saw the dark motionless hump on

the other side of the lot at the same time. Soda reached him first. Johnny was lying face down on the ground. Soda turned him over gently, and I nearly got sick. Someone had beaten him badly. We were used to seeing Johnny banged up- his father clobbered him around a lot, and although it made us madder than heck, we couldn't do anything about it. But those beatings had been nothing like this. Johnny's face was cut up and bruised and swollen, and there was a wide gash from his temple to his cheekbone. He would carry that scar all his life. His white T-shirt was splattered with blood. I just stood there, trembling with sudden cold. I thought he might be dead; surely nobody could be beaten like that and live. Steve closed his eyes for a second and muffled a groan as he dropped on his knees beside Soda. Somehow the gang sensed what had happened. Two-Bit was suddenly there beside me, and for once his comical grin was gone and his dancing gray eyes were stormy. Darry had seen us from our porch and ran toward us, suddenly skidding to a halt. Dally was there, too, swearing under his breath, and turning away

with a sick expression on his face. I wondered about it vaguely. Dally had seen people killed on the streets of New York's West Side. Why did he look sick now?

"Johnny?" Soda lifted him up and held him against his shoulder. He gave the limp body a slight shake.

"Hey, Johnnycake."

Johnny didn't open his eyes, but there came a soft question. "Soda?"

"Yeah, it's me," Sodapop said. "Don't talk. You're gonna be okay."

"There was a whole bunch of them," Johnny went on, swallowing, ignoring Soda's command. "A blue Mustang full... I got so scared..." He tried to swear, but suddenly started crying, fighting to control himself, then sobbing all the more because he couldn't. I had seen Johnny take a whipping with a two-by-four from his old man and never let out a whimper. That made it worse to see him break now. Soda just held him and pushed Johnny's hair back out of his eyes. "It's okay, Johnnycake, they're gone now. It's okay."

Finally, between sobs, Johnny managed to gasp out his story. He had been hunting our football to practice a few kicks when a blue Mustang had pulled up beside the lot. There were four Socs in it. They had caught him and one of them had a lot of rings on his hand- that's what had cut Johnny up so badly. It wasn't just that they had beaten him half to death- he could take that. They had scared him. They had threatened him with everything under the sun. Johnny was high-strung anyway, a nervous wreck from getting belted every time he turned around and from hearing his parents fight all the time. Living in those conditions might have turned someone else rebellious and bitter; it was killing Johnny. He had never been a coward. He was a good man in a rumble. He stuck up for the gang and kept his mouth shut good around cops. But after the night of the beating, Johnny was jumpier than ever. I didn't think he'd ever get over it. Johnny never walked

by himself after that. And Johnny, who was the most law-abiding of us, now carried in his back pocket a six-inch switchblade. He'd use it, too, if he ever got jumped again. They had scared him that much. He would kill the next person who jumped him. Nobody was ever going to beat him like that again. Not over his dead body... " After he finished his story, we were up in the front of the line.

"All Socs aren't like that," I said. "You have to believe me, Ponyboy. Not all of us are like that."

"Sure," he said.

"That's like saying all you greasers are like Dallas Winston. I'll bet he's jumped a few people."

I no longer felt sick, only sad. "I'll bet you think the Socs have it made. The rich kids, the West- side Socs. I'll tell you something, Ponyboy, and it may come as a surprise. We have troubles you've never even heard of. You want to know something?" I looked him straight in the eye. "Things are rough all over."

"I believe you," he said. "We'd better get back out there with the popcorn or Two-Bit'll think I ran off with his money."

We went back and watched the movie through again. Marcia and Two-Bit were hitting it off fine. Both had the same scatterbrained sense of humor. But Ponyboy and Johnny and I just sat there, looking at the movie and not talking. I quit worrying about Bob and Randy because I made new friends with people I never thought I could possibly become friends with, greasers.