Disclaimers:

SE Hinton owns the Outsiders.

Cursing in this chapter.

III. Truckin'

XxX

"If Darry thinks this is funny, I ain't laughin," I mutter to myself. The five books I've checked-out from the library are giving me a workout and I really wish I would have rethought Moby Dick.

I pause to rest, switching my backpack from one shoulder to the other.

I waited as long as I could have at the library. When it came time for them to lock up, I rushed out of there like a carpetbagger. I had no change to call anyone and I didn't mind walking but was slightly hurt by the fact that Darry…what? Forgot about me? Left me to learn some sort of lesson? Again?

Whatever it was, I was still clueless.

I continue the walk for a few more minutes, thinking about Darry, until I trip over my feet and land in the gutter. The books are strewn all over the ground, their pages now dirty and tattered. "Shit." Hastily, I scrape the books back in the backpack, stand up and stick my thumb out.

I'm hitchhiking. And if Darry don't like it, there ain't a lot he can do about it…

XxX

I go to a party Darry tells me I can't.

And he doesn't just randomly mention it to me in passing. He flat out tells me I can't – even Sodapop echoes his warning.

It's a graduation party for one of my track buddies – who's a year ahead of me. His name's Jeremy Connors and he's a soc, which Darry considers a big deal. But Jeremy invited me and even though I don't care if I go or not I'm still pissed at Darry and so I think that if he won't listen to me, I won't listen to him.

I have one beer; one beer and that's it. I chat with a few friends from school, talk about track finals, even college, chat with Susie Phillips, the blonde from my English class. The night winds down and I find myself having fun. Everything goes great until they get drunk.

And then I'm the Greaser and they're the Socs and they just want to have a fun old time.

I hold my own pretty well but still. I don't have Soda or Two-Bit or even Steve to get my back. When they're finished, I'm spitting blood onto the sidewalk and my right eye hurts something awful.

At least I knock a tooth out of one of them.

I kick it into the gutter.

My pride's hurt more than I am; it hurts even worse when I find that my ride left.

I hobble to a supermarket down the block and manage to dig a few coins from my pocket. The phone rings about five times and then Darry answers. He barks his greeting into the receiver and it's a miracle I don't hang up right then and there.

"Hey Dar…"

"Ponyboy, where are you? It's nearly midnight." Darry's voice is raspy; making me think I've just woke him up.

"I need a ride…"

"What?"

"Dar, I went to that party…" I close my eyes, practically feeling my brother's blood boil over the phone. I resist asking for Sodapop, knowing this will irritate him even more. "Can you come—"

"That party in Burnham?" Without waiting for a reply, Darry sighs then snaps, "Ponyboy, I have work tomorrow. I can't be driving all across town to pick you up from a damn party you shouldn't even be at."

I frown at the receiver. "But Darry—"

"Are you drunk?"

"No, but these guys—"

"Then find a ride home, Ponyboy. You're on your own, kiddo." He hangs up and all I can do is stare in awe at the phone in my hand.

XxX

"Lookin worse for wear there, stranger." The man pops the passenger side door open and I crawl into the Chevy.

"Thanks." I nestle my backpack on the floor between my feet.

The driver's Darry's age, with long blonde hair and a thin face. He has a twine bracelet on his left wrist and a tattoo on his neck. He looks lost but seems comfortable with that.

"Where to?" he asks, glancing my way.

"Just a few miles down," I tell him and offer him an apologetic smile when he gives me a puzzled glance. "I'm from Tulsa."

His laugh's a low, easy sound. He smears his hair back. "Shoot man, and I was thinkin we were in for an adventure of sorts. Crazy times on Route 66 or something like that."

I chuckle. "No, more like my brother-forgot-about-me-and-I-need-a-lift-home."

"Rough, huh?" When I nod, he stretches a hand out. "Name's Joey."

"Curtis. Just Curtis," I say, not wanting to get into a long explanation about my first name.

Joey nods. "Okay, Just Curtis." His voice is tinged with amusement.

My eyes brush over the car; there's a map spread out across his dashboard, fast food wrappers strewn in the backseat. His wallet is stashed on the floor, next to a six-pack of Bud, which I don't think is such a hot idea but who I'm laying off the judgments.

I rest my head against the window, watching the familiar surroundings of my neighborhood swing into view. "Where are you headed?"

"California," he says. "Maybe LA. See the ocean."

"That'd be nice."

"Right?"

"Yeah…"

"Kid, I mean, take a right here?" I shake out of my daze to see that we're at a stop sign.

"Oh, yeah…" I mumble. "Then the first left and you can let me out."

"Nice neighborhood you live in…"

I'm about to snort when a sideways glance at Joey tells me he's not kidding. I bite my tongue, feeling like a heel. He pulls his Chevy up to the curb and cuts the engine. "There you are."

When I look at my house I feel nothing, just an intense wonder I can't place. I open the door and slide out. "Thanks. I mean it. Thanks a lot."

"No worries," Joey says.

I'm halfway up the driveway when there's a "Hey, Just Curtis!" from behind me. Turning, I see Joey, still behind the wheel, holding my backpack up. He's grinning.

"Idiot," I mutter, rushing back to the car. Joey hands me back the bag through the rolled down window. It's lighter than usual and that's when I notice Joey has Moby Dick in his hand.

"Your backpack's zipper broke," he volunteers. I reach for the book and he stops me. "One second…" Joey whips a pen out, flips the book open and scribbles something on the inside cover of the library book.

"Hey! That's not mine!"

"It is now," Joey says. He plops it in my palm.

XxX

"How could you have forgotten?" Soda keeps asking.

Not used to being on the receiving end of Soda's scolding, my hackles rise. But he's right; I screwed up. Again.

"I know, I know." I run a hand through my hair, scouring the dark streets. Any chance I had of making up with Ponyboy doesn't seem too good at the current moment.

"He wouldn't have waited for us," Soda says, his left leg bouncing up and down. He's smoking again, something he's been doing recently.

"Relax, Sodapop. I'm sure he's at home…" I drive once more down the block near the library and then turn the truck in the direction of our house. Soda's mad at me and this time I can't blame him…

XxX

I wait half an hour and then grab my keys.

Any pretense of letting Ponyboy stick it out in Burnham searching for a ride has long since vanished and I figure I've let him sweat it long enough. Besides, now I'm cooled down enough to realize I acted like a giant jackass. Even Steve would have known better. My stomach clenches, worry and irritation battling it out.

I'm about to walk out when Soda walks in, Two-Bit behind him, smelling like he bathed in a bucket of beer.

Soda eyes my jacket. "Hey, Dar! Where you off to at this hour?"

"Hot date?" Two-Bit asks. "Lady of the evening?"

"Two-Bit, how many six-packs did you slurp down tonight?" I chuckle and turn to answer my brother. "I gotta go get Pony," I say, shrugging my jacket on. "He called me about 30 minutes ago from Burnham. He went to that party and now he can't find a ride—"

"Why are you just now leaving?"

"Thought it'd be good for him to find his own ride home."

Soda shakes his head like there's water in his ears. "Um, you did what?"

"C'mon, Soda. He's gotta learn. He ain't listening to me anymore and it's gotta stop. This nonsense with college…"

"So you just…just left our brother out there in BFE?"

"Soda, I ain't gonna argue—"

"Shit! I'll go pick him up if he's so much fuckin trouble for you." Soda snatches the keys from my hand and storms out the front door, hollering, "Two-Bit, you coming?"

Almost apologetically, Two-Bit slides by me, punching my shoulder. "Boys will be boys…" He shuts the door softly behind him.

XxX

I let out the biggest exhale of relief when I pull into the driveway. Ponyboy's on the front porch, trying to get himself in. He fumbles with the door, drops something and then his face screws up. He kneels down, shoulders sagging. Soda and I slam our doors and are on the porch before he realizes it. We both squat next to him, seeing what's delayed him.

Books.

Books everywhere.

"Are you okay?" Soda asks, squinting at Ponyboy in the dim light.

Ponyboy murmurs something low and then says, "Just help me, will ya?"

I grab two of the books, which seem to weigh 5 tons, and Soda piles two into his own arms, standing up to kick the front door open, making way for Pony and us to enter. When we're inside, Soda flicks the light.

I wish I could stick my hands in my pockets but the books stop me. Instead, I just hold them awkwardly in my arms. "Kiddo, I—"

"I waited for you – for hours." Pony fixes his green eyes on me. "What happened? You forget about me?"

"Kiddo, picking you up just…just slipped my mind." The apology seems lost as Ponyboy's jaw tightens and he glares at me. I'm not good at this and the hurt look on Pony's face makes me feel even worse.

Soda jumps in. "We were out lookin for you, Pone. Figured you made it home yourself when we couldn't find you after awhile."

Ponyboy's eyes move to Soda, flicker once, and then move back to me. "Yeah, some guy took pity on me and let me hitch a ride."

"You hitchhiked?" I can't help it. "Pone, you know how—"

"Look, what did you want me to do? I didn't have any change to call Two-Bit or anyone else and I sure didn't feel like waiting around anymore for you."

"Ponyboy I'm sor—"

Pony sighs, shaking his head. "I'm tired; I just want to go to bed."

XxX

Pardon typos.

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