Author's Note: This chapter gets a little meta, so beware. And I still don't own anything!

Happy reading :)

XXXXX

Mrs. Locklear smiled at me as she passed me the books I'd checked out. She was easily my favorite of all the librarians, at the public one and the one at school. She understood what I meant by the power you feel when you have a library card; suddenly, the entire world is at your fingertips. The entire history of the world. She was middle-aged, but she dressed older. She dressed like a mom.

"Here you are, sweetie," she said. "Looks like you've got a busy couple weeks on your hands." She winked, and I couldn't help but grin – she knew I'd get through them quickly.

"Looks like I do," I agreed. Of Mice and Men, a classic, and then a couple new ones from last year: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash. Mrs. Locklear said that I might need to read Hamlet to understand the second book, so I picked up that, too. Wasn't like we had the Complete Pelican lying around our house. Then she said that the third was a humor book. I didn't read much of those, but Mrs. Locklear is always showing me new arrivals, so I figured I'd give it a try. That's all you can do, right?

"You know, Ponyboy, you read so much, I'm surprised you don't write stories of your own," Mrs. Locklear said. "Or poems, perhaps? You are just so well-read already. You must have ideas floating around in that big brain of yours."

I could feel my ears heat up at the indirect compliment. When people compliment Sodapop, or Two-Bit, they're always quick to acknowledge, maybe make a joke. I'm not quite so forward. "Well, I dunno. I guess I've never really thought about it before. Writing's pretty hard…."

"It is," she shrugged. "But if you ever want to try it out, you've got a quiet place to work right here."

I glanced around the building. I still vividly remember the day that Dad brought me here to get my own library card. I was pretty young then, but I still can remember his heavy hand on my shoulder, the fall air nipping at us, the smell of his cheap cologne and cigarette mixing together along with that unmistakable library smell. I can't really remember his face, but I remember every little feeling. The library looked the same then as it does now, but things have changed – me, mainly. Mrs. Locklear has been here the entire time, and pretty much all the other librarians. I am the only thing changing in a world of constants.

"It is," I agreed. "It's a good place to do homework, at the very least."

"Oh, it most certainly is. Anything else I can help you with today, sweetie?"

I shook my head. "No, I think I'm good. Thanks again, Mrs. Locklear."

She waved goodbye, and I headed outside. It was one of those bearable summer days, where the incoming storms block out the sun and kick up a good breeze, which carries on it the scent of newly mowed lawns and that very specific smell that hangs in the air right before it rains. So it was humid, but bearable. More than bearable, actually. I know the other day when Two-Bit and I were tooling around I said that I'd seen all the east side has to offer. That's probably true. And I'm not so sure I need to see any more of the west side than I did the other day. But on days like this, being in Tulsa is…it's okay. More than okay. As I made my way home from the library, there was an electricity in the air that was due to more than just the heat lightning. The eerie glow that was cast across this dusty cityscape somehow seemed to be the perfect lighting for a place like this, in all its art deco, cowboy glory. It was like two different worlds were raging against each other, and you could see it in the architecture and the dust in the streets, all illuminated in the eerie early afternoon sun.

"Woah, kid – watch out!"

I stopped just short of running into some guy in funky looking jeans. I felt my face get hot, and I could just hear Darry's voice in my head, telling me to use my head and look out and why can't you walk down the sidewalk like a normal person? What's so interestin' down there that you gotta be starin' down at it the whole time? You'd think having a near-constant running monologue of Darry's complaints running through my head might actually be helpful, but it proves to be more annoying than anything.

"Sorry," I mumbled, making sure my books were okay even though I hadn't dropped them. They were library books, after all.

"Close call," the guy grinned. "No worries, kid."

And then he did a funny thing: he flashed me a peace sign and went on his way. I could envision the confused look on Darry's face, but Sodapop probably smiling and reciprocating.

I returned the gesture, but his back was already turned.

XXXXX

We'd settled into a rhythm in the first couple weeks of summer. Darry and Soda would go to work, usually before I got up, and Steve had picked up some more hours, so he was usually with Sodapop. I could hear all of their commotion early in the morning, but I usually just tuned them out if I was sleeping, or would let them buzz around me as I sat on the couch, watching TV or listening to the agricultural report on the radio. Mornings and evenings were the coolest times of day, and when I was up, I liked to go outside and watch the sun rise – alone, of course, because no one else in the gang would ever want to join me. And then eventually I'd eat breakfast, which was usually a gigantic bowl of cereal with (probably) too much milk. Because it was easy. And then, eventually, Two-Bit would show up, and maybe watch TV or listen to the agricultural report on the radio with me for a few minutes, and then the day would begin. We'd go off and do something, usually something stupid, then come back in the evening when everybody was back.

Then we'd repeat the process all over again.

That was what the first two weeks of summer looked like.

But that was before they all betrayed me.

XXXXX

It all started with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Actually, it all started with Sodapop and Steve and a trip to the DX, but I thought it would sound cooler to say, "It all started with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern" than with my brother and his stupid best friend. But, I mean, it sorta started with them. In a way. I was at the DX one day around lunchtime, library book under my arm (the one about the aforementioned Rosencrantz and Guildenstern) (aforementioned was one of our Words of the Week in English this past year), hoping to get into some air conditioning, and I hadn't really gotten to see much of either brother by this point in the summer, really only on weekends. I could take or leave Steve, though.

"You sure you wanna be readin' a library book in a gas station?" Soda asked.

"Where else am I gonna read it?"

Soda huffed. "Alright, but I ain't gonna be the one to pay for it if it gets damaged…" I just rolled my eyes. Whatever. He could be as bad a nag as Darry sometimes. "Two-Bit ditch ya today?"

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Had to see about a girl."

Had to see about a girl. Pfft. And leave me all alone. Typical. Something fell to the concrete floor back in the shop, and Soda and I both turned to see a swearing Steve Randle come back up front. He raised his eyebrows. "What? Got somethin' on my face?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Soda chuckled. "Here." Soda handed him a rag, which sorta helped in cleaning him off. Steve narrowed his eyes at the notecard I had lying on the counter, and picked it up.

"Hey!" I barked. "That's mine!"

"Oh, really?" Steve shot back, smirking. He read it: "'This above all: To thine own self be true.' Ah, Hamlet."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "You've read Hamlet?"

Steve looked a little offended. Soda shook his head, probably recognizing that we were about to get into something – that something being an argument of some sort. "Yeah, kid. It's eleventh grade English. Two-Bit prolly knows it like the back of his hand! What'd you write this down for?"

I shrugged, feeling sheepish and a bit silly. "Well, I had to read Hamlet to understand this book" – I held it up – "and I just…liked it? So I wrote it on a notecard and turned it into a bookmark?" And now Steve had gotten a smudge on it! Great!

"Rosencrantz and Guildenstern," Soda read slowly from the cover of my book. "Who're they?"

"They're from Hamlet," I mumbled, not really wanting to talk anymore. "Any more questions?"

Soda looked like he wanted to laugh at me pretty bad, but he had the decency to hold back. He knows I get enough of it from the rest of the guys. Steve, however, isn't so reserved. "Ah, Ponyboy, you big sourpuss," he drawled, hissing on sourpuss. I rolled my eyes.

"Can I change the station?" I asked, hoping to just change the subject. I don't know why I was being so sensitive, but I was. Honestly, even I was sorta annoyed by it.

Soda gestured to the radio, "Go ahead," and then headed back into the shop with Steve. I hopped the counter, making sure my book and now-smudged bookmark were safe and secure, and waltzed over to the radio and started fiddling with it. It took a while to find something I liked. It was too hot for Elvis; The Supremes were too girly; I felt like Aretha Franklin was yelling at me; guess we were stuck with Herb Albert. I guess that was fine – I wanted to see Casino Royale anyway. Maybe we'd get lucky with the next song.

I grabbed my book and bookmark again, settling back on the stool Soda had been sitting on earlier, hoping that no one would come in cuz I sure wouldn't be able to help them. I tried to refocus on the words, but Sodapop and Steve were having a very interesting conversation, and having it probably much too loud.

"We're goin' out again Friday night."

"Oh yeah? Sounds fun."

"It will be. Say, Evie knows this gal – comes into her mom's place to get her nails done, like, every other week. Eve thinks you might like her."

"Why? Cuz she's got great fingernails?"

"Nah, man…she just thinks ya might wanna give her a try. Says she's nice."

"I dunno, Stevie."

A sigh. "You gotta get back out there at some point, ya know. I say give it a shot."

I heard the snap of cloth being flung. "And I say I ain't ready."

I was a bit surprised by his tone. We all knew this was a pretty touchy subject for him, but I figured that Steve at the very least would be able to get through to him. And who knows – maybe he will someday. I sure hope so. It was weird to think of my happy-go-lucky flirt of a brother not wanting to go on dates and do all that romantic stuff. I was sick and tired of things feeling weird and off-balance. I was getting the feeling that everyone else felt that way, too.

XXXXX

Soda and Steve gave me a lift home. Steve decided to hang around, at least through dinner. And then, of course, Two-Bit showed up even though he has his own family he could be spending time with. So the gang was all here. Darry was working on dinner in the kitchen, and Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit were trying to teach me how to play Oklahoma poker, which was somehow different from regular poker. I really wasn't much of a cards player; I knew how to play poker and regular gin rummy (not Oklahoma Gin) and some weird game from the Midwest called Euchre that Steve had showed us, but I wasn't very good at any of them. I knew how to be good in theory, but not so much in practice. And even when my brothers and friends weren't cheating, they were still really good at all of them.

"Kid, it's just five card stud," Steve sighed, clearly getting fed up with me.

"It's not just five card stud," Two-Bit said disdainfully. "It's a bit different."

"But not that different."

"Back off, Stevie," Soda said, waving him off.

So far, all I could tell was that we were using the full deck, but no jokers, and that in this version of the game, lowest hand wins, but I really wasn't that good at the strategy. And I didn't exactly have the best poker face, either. Luckily, though, we were just playing a practice hand, which meant that Soda kept looking at my cards.

"Looks like there's some beginner's luck here," he grinned. "Okay, so you have an ace-five straight – twos are wild, 'member – and that's good."

"It is good," Steve snarked, looking down at his own hand. He didn't always have the best poker face, either. And neither did Soda. And when he was drunk, neither did Two-Bit. So I guess Steve wasn't too happy with his hand.

"Alright, so we know Steve's got shit, and so do I," Soda laughed, "so, Two-Bit, what ya got?"

Two-Bit flashed his hand to me and then smirked, though I didn't get why at first. "Ace-five, suited."

I looked at Soda. "Does that mean I lose?"

"That means ya lose."

Two-Bit cackled and collected the ante, which added up to four cigarettes. "Don't worry, kid – you'll get better with time. I m'self have been playin' a long time."

I rolled my eyes. "You're eighteen."

"Four years older than you," he bit back. Steve chuckled.

"Man, Pony, I ain't the least bit surprised Johnny wiped you up while y'all were out in Windrixville."

I guess I really shouldn't be surprised that it was Steve in the end who screwed up and accidentally (indirectly) told me, but when it happened, there was still a faint sting of betrayal – or, something like betrayal because it wasn't like I had trusted him not to read it because I hadn't even known he knew about it in the first place. Everybody went dead silent all of a sudden and kept looking between me and Steve, and suddenly, Darry was in the room.

"What're you talking about?" I asked, not liking how my voice was shaking. "How do you know about that?" Two-Bit rolled his eyes.

"Oh, good goin' Randle. You weren't s'posed to tell!"

"Tell what?" My voice was rising, and so was my heartrate. My brothers looked shamefaced and stunned.

"Pony," Soda sighed, "look, nobody meant anything by it – "

"What're you guys talking about?" I asked. Darry still hadn't said anything, which I found surprising. He wasn't as chatty as the rest of them, but he could keep up in a conversation just fine, especially where my dumb ass is concerned.

"Your theme," he finally said, tentative and authoritative all at the same time.

"Wait…" I pointed at my friends and family. "All of you read it?"

At first, none of them said or did anything; there was just an awkward pause. That was honestly answer enough; they all had guilty looks on their faces, and none of them could hold eye contact with me for longer than a second.

"Ponyboy…" Soda tried to start, but I just started shaking my head.

"That wasn't for you guys to see!" I cried. "I…if I had wanted you guys read it, I would have shown it you! When did you all do this?"

There was a lot of sudden, silent communication between the four of them, little glances and shrugs and pointed fingers. Darry cleared his throat and spoke first. "Pony, I…I read it before you ever turned it in."

"And then he showed it to me," Soda said.

"Then me," Two-Bit said sheepishly, raising a hand. Then I glared at Steve, who tried to play innocent, but we both knew it was too late.

"Uh." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah, kid, Soda showed it to me once they were all through with it."

So that was that. They knew everything. My shoulders, previously tensed, now slumped and my arms dangled numbly to my sides. It did strike me as a bit funny that I would share the story with Mr. Syme, my teacher, but it was for his assignment in the first place! It was never really meant for any of them to see. And they'd all read it before I'd even turned it in! Look – I knew they all already knew the story and were all a part of it, but I hadn't been ready to share it with them. Not yet. Maybe not ever, because what would the point be? But the worst part now was that even though they knew the story, they now knew what I thought.

"Why did you do that?" I asked. I really sounded confused, even though I didn't really think I was.

Darry immediately went on the defensive, saying, "I'm your brother! And so's Soda, so I showed it to him – "

"Well, yeah, but you showed it to me, too, Dare," Two-Bit reminded him, voice softer than I'd ever heard it. Darry glared at him.

"We're all in it! It's about us, we deserve – "

I'd already had enough of this. While they all started to argue, I stormed off to my room and slammed the door, spotting the drawer the nefarious notebooks were in. For a split second there, I considered getting up and just ripping it all to shreds, every last word. I was so angry, and I couldn't quite explain to myself why. Maybe I felt it was some sort of violation of my privacy, but that didn't seem quite right, or as if that was the only problem here. I started to get a better idea of what else might be bothering me when I heard four pairs of feet – work boots, cowboy boots, and two pairs of Converse All-Stars – thunder down the hall and stop in front of my bedroom door, which I had locked and was now sitting up against. Someone started pounding on the door.

"Pony, let us in!" Soda said, and I heard whispering.

"No!" I shouted. "Go away!"

"Aw, Ponykid, c'mon…we didn't mean nothin'…"

"Ponyboy." The last voice had been Two-Bit's, but this was definitely Darry talking now. I wasn't the least bit surprised to not hear from Steve. "Open up."

"No!" I shouted again. "I mean it, go away!"

"We just have a few questions," Soda tried again, voice calm. "Look, you can stay in there, and we'll just ask through the door. Can we just ask you a few questions? If you let us just ask our questions, we'll leave ya alone."

I took a deep breath and counted to ten, something my mother had told me to do a long time ago when I got frustrated, especially with my brothers and their friends. I closed my eyes tight, feeling them start to sting. I swallowed and cleared my throat as quietly as possible, not wanting to tip any of them off that I was starting to cry some. They were always teasing me, always…they always found ways to pick on me…the four of them especially. They sure were good at making me feel like the runt.

"Well, go on then," I said.

I shouldn't have said that.

I really shouldn't have said that because as soon as I did, they absolutely bombarded me.

"You think I treat you like you're six? And what do you mean, I'm not sorry for anything?"

"What the hell did you mean by callin' me 'tacky'?"

"Man, I really can't believe you bought that line 'bout me never drinkin'! And is my spelling really that bad?"

"Hey, I think you should change 'about six feet tall' to 'six-one'…and shoot, maybe I shouldn't'a said that about Johnny…"

It was all too much. Everything they said ran together in my brain, and it was starting to sink in with me that when you write something, and people read it, they're going to have opinions about it. They're not just going to have questions, which would be bad enough on its own. No, they're gonna have opinions, and they're gonna have thoughts about it. And I realized that I had really made a crappy situation for myself by writing about them, of all people. This was no work of fiction. It was basically one big sob-story of a diary entry, and it felt like they'd just read my diary (which I don't have, so shut up.)

I was so embarrassed. I hadn't been this embarrassed since….

Well, since that time in church.

"Stop!" I shouted. "I changed my mind! No questions!"

There was a beat of silence. I could picture them out there, all looking at each other and sighing quietly, not saying anything but not having to. "Pony, listen…"

But I had stopped listening. While Darry ranted on the other side of the door, I quietly slid out the window.

XXXXX

AN: So that chapter title was in past tense. ;)

Thanks for reading, and thanks for all of your support!