Another lightning fast update! Though don't expect them to keep coming like this - I won't be able to update until around the 14th after this because I have lots of tests coming up in school. Two big ones this week and a few next week. But then I am on spring break!

Thank you to fourtyfor, One Wing In The Fire, HappierThanMost, BlondeMess, Arsosah, CriminalOutsider'sGirl14, any any others for the fantastic reviews! Keep them coming, they mean a lot!

...

Ponyboy POV

I wake up to a tapping sound coming from outside. I can barely make out the noise through a swirl of thoughts that's clouding my brain. I try to ignore the sound and get back to sleep; I convince myself it's a tree branch.

But the tapping only gets louder. Deciding to check it out, I stumble up from my covers and look out the window.

I find myself eye to eye with Clarke. He stops banging on the window to grin at me.

Shocked out of consternation, I scream "Holy shit!" Clarke's eyes widen. He puts an anxious finger to his lips, telling me to shut up. Open the window he mouths.

With shaky hands I shove the window open. The sounds of crickets and passing cars fill the bedroom. Clarke smiles at me. "Hey Curtis. Didn't scare ya did I?"

"Let me think," I hiss, talking in a harsh whisper. "Well.. you woke me up by banging on my window in the middle of the night…"

"Actually it's early in the morning. Two AM to be exact," Clarke informs me. I give him the finger.

"What the hell are you doing here."

"It's the night before we go to Miami," Clarke tells me. He gestures behind him. "Me and the guys thought that we'd enjoy our last night in beautiful, beautiful Tulsa. We ain't gonna be back for a month, right? Whaddya say Curtis? You in?"

My heart drops. The Miami trip is tomorrow; I'd waited too long. I'm about to tell Clarke that I can't go - that I'm busy this summer - but my conversation with Lowell flashes back into my head.

"Ain't gonna be a trip without you, Curtis. Keepin us from doing all the crazy shit you know well enough that we'll get caught up in."

Well...

I reflect on all that's happened in the past week. Everything had started out with me getting drunk that night then progressively got worse as the week went on. I'd made Darry ground me and I'd hurt Soda. Would it really be too bad for my brothers if I was away for a month?

Hell, maybe it might be good for them; give them a well deserved break from me.

I turn back to Clarke. His smile glints, moonlight cast across his hair. I can't let him down.

"Hell yes, I'm in."

…

I down six drinks without a moment's regret. I get twice as dizzy and bubbly as before; instead of the ground spinning in that pleasant circle like it had the first time, it swirls round and round violently. I can proudly say I get sick twice.

Smith slings an arm around my shoulders and gestures to the sky. "Tomorrow, Curtis, we'll be lookin at that same sky. Same exact one. But we'll be out in the open, headed to Miami."

"We sure will."

I feel myself grinning. The feeling of rebelling in my gut diminishes; now I feel almost normal like this. I'm excited to go to Miami.

Just then I trip and hurl all over the sidewalk for the third time. I'll be lucky if I have any booze left in me by the time I get home, I think wryly. But I love the feeling of puking my guts out onto the street. I make a promise to myself never to get annoyed at Two-Bit for being drunk again, now that I know how it feels.

Lowell is swaggering behind us, bringing up the rear. He isn't sober like he had been the last time, tipsy with the rest of us. I watch as he stumbles to the side and pukes into a storm drain.

Then amidst our nonsense blabbering; in the distance somebody calls out "Grease!" The yell spikes the night. I freeze in my tracks, terrified. Everyone else stops too, their laughter and yelling cut off abruptly.

I glance from each of the guys, praying that to one of them this was their idea of a cruel joke.

But then there it is again; sounding very real. Another voice drawls in "Well will you look at what the cat dragged in."

"Socs," Clark hisses. But we all knew.

Nobody even bothers to stop and find the source of the yelling. We're all too drunk for a fight; so we run.

Clarke turns on his heel and books it down the sidewalk. Quickly I follow, being trailed closely by Smith and Lowell.

"Shee-it," I hear Clarke swear under his breath. I crane my neck to see what he's seeing - two socs right on our tail.

I keep on running. Flying past me is the stench of vomit and alcohol. My heart is hammering up against my shirt. I'm afraid, but somehow I'm having fun too.

I feel one of the socs grabbing me by the shoulder. Before I can wriggle away he flips me around to face him, his hands gripping tightly on my forearms.

Seeing no other option at this point I give him a drunken smile. "Hi."

The soc grins maliciously back at me. "Well I'll be damned, it's a Curtis." he hisses. Then he lays a hard punch to my nose.

I stagger backward and fall back flat on my ass. Weakly with one hand on my throbbing nose, I stumble to my feet again and attempt to kick the soc's shins.

Lowell catches what's going on. His face twists up in anger. "Bastard!" he screams, popping the soc in the temple.

I see Smith struggle out of the other soc's strong hold. He mouths to all of us, Run, so we do. All four of us scamper down the street, breathing heavily. The socs attempt to follow us, but we're smaller than they are and faster.

Clarke shoots them the finger. "Go to hell!" he cries.

"Shit Curtis," Lowell breaths, coming up next to me. "Them assholes break your nose?"

With my luck, probably. I am suddenly sobered by the fight, and well aware of the throbbing in my nose. I wince. "Is it that bad?"

"If you're askin if you think Darry will notice, then that's a yes."

"Shit," I breath, knowing I'm about to be deep in it.

…

Then I make what could quite possibly be the most stupid decision of my life. And that's saying a lot.

After three hours of wasting the night away Clarke has sobered up enough to drive a car. Right now he's parked outside the house, Smith and Lowell in there with him; waiting while I go inside to get a bag. Half of me wants Darry or Soda to be awake to convince me to stay home and half of me doesn't.

It's seven AM on a Sunday, so I'm not surprised when I find that everyone is still asleep. It's as though nothing had happened, that I hadn't crawled out of my window five hours ago. My brothers are blissfully unaware.

But not for long.

I find a duffle bag and toss a few pairs of jeans and a few shirts into it. I can't think of anything else that I'd need.

Besides a toothbrush.

In the bathroom I catch a look at myself in the mirror. I wince, Clarke had been right; it is that bad. My nose is swelled up like a balloon, the purple bruise caused by the blow the soc had taken to my face starting to spread across my face. I touch it gently and hiss at the pain it causes. Definitely broken.

On second thought, maybe I do need something else. I reach up into the medicine cabinet and grab up the bottle of aspirin, dry swallowing a few pills and then tucking the rest into the pocket of my jeans.

That will have to do for now.

My heart is hammering and the rebellious feeling is returning. This isn't sneaking out for a night on the town. This is sneaking out and driving hundreds of miles away to Miami, not planning to come back for awhile…

Looking at myself in the mirror with my nose all bruised, my face streaked with dirt, and my breath smelling like alcohol; I feel suddenly worthless. Wasn't I supposed to be smarter than this? Some job I'm doing with that…

I'm angry at myself. Angry at myself for being stupid enough to go out and let myself get drunk again; and this time I got into some trouble. And now I'm running from it.

Really, how many dumb mistakes can a person make over the course of a single night?

I contemplate leaving a note but decide against it. My brothers would try to find me, and I don't want that. I make a promise to myself that I'd call as soon as I come across a phone.

Just as I'm about to leave I spot the pack of NECCO Wafers Two-Bit had given me lying on the kitchen table. I grab them up and stuff them into my duffle bag; for good luck.

Then I leave. Clarke's car is still out front waiting for me to crawl into it. I cram myself into the back seat beside Lowell; he looks to me and grins.

"Ready?"

"Oh yes."

Clarke yodels from the steering wheel. He has The Beatles blasting so loudly through the speakers it's a wonder that he doesn't wake up the whole street. "Miami, Florida. Twenty one hours and one thousand, four hundred miles to go!"

He guns the engine and we take off, leaving my house and my brothers behind us, nothing but a speck of dust.

…

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