Something was bothering Soda. It was more than obvious, largely because he hadn't said two words since we left the house. And he hadn't said goodbye to Pony, which was more than odd. I tried to give him time, because I could see every time I glanced at him that his mouth was working. He started to say something several times, but either the words wouldn't come or he didn't want to tell me.

Finally, though, I had to prod him.

"Spit it out, Soda," I ordered as I rolled the truck to a stop at the side of the road. If he was going to drop some sort of bombshell on me, I didn't want to hear it while I was driving.

He just opened his mouth and closed it again, shaking his head. An eerie cold feeling crept through me, then raced. He'd been talking about the army a lot lately. Not so much once Pony left for camp, of course. It didn't seem likely that he would have enlisted before we drove to New Mexico, and he sure hasn't had time to do so since then. And there was no way he could keep quiet for that long about it, anyway. Still, it turned my blood cold, just the very thought of it. It would be just like him to get stars in his eyes about all the tuff stuff he'd seen at that camp and go off and do something stupid. I wondered with some horror if he'd somehow been able to sign up while we were there.

"SODA!" I yelled louder than I should have. Louder than I had to seeing how he was sitting less than an arm's reach away.

"Darry," he shook his head, as miserable as I've ever seen him. "I got up to pee last night and Pony was in the bathroom scrubbing the toilet. Just scrubbing away in the dark. And when I said his name and turned the light on, he looked all glassy. Hell, he looked stoned. I asked him what he was doing, and he just went and got in bed." He shook his head again. "Something's wrong, Darry. He wouldn't even tell me, just said he must've had a bad dream." Soda stared out the window, but I doubt he saw a thing.

I pushed a hand through my hair. I didn't know whether to be relieved that he hadn't enlisted or sorry that that wasn't it. Of course I wasn't sorry. But it just confirmed what my gut had been telling me since Pony marched back into camp. It had changed him, and maybe not for the better.

I sighed. "Ok. Everything's going to be okay, Soda. I'll keep an eye on him today. Maybe he just needs a little more time to adjust, put it behind him."

"Think we should take him back to that doctor, like with his nightmares?" Soda's eyes met mine, full of worry. Ponyboy was just about the only thing that could make him look like that. Sometimes I wondered if he ever got that look about me, and even though it irritated the hell out of me, I felt a little stab of envy at the thought that he probably didn't. He and Pony just had something special. Something that no matter if I wanted it or not, I could never have with Pony because I had to be a parent and not just a brother. And that meant that Pony would never completely trust me, because there was just something about authority that did that to a person. Respect, sure. Love, you only hope so. But complete trust, trust over everything he thought and felt…never. I knew there were secrets he and Soda shared. Things Pony would never even think to tell me. Not because he had to think about hiding from me, but because he just did it automatically.

"Darry?"

I blinked. "I don't know," I shook my head, hating that I couldn't figure just what was best. Even worse that I couldn't fix it, didn't know how. "I mean, it didn't really help, did it? He still has those nightmares."

"Yeah, but not as often. Hardly ever. Unless they've been bugging him again. But he'd tell me, wouldn't he?" Part of Soda's desperate worry was that he was going to lose that bond. I could see it all over him. I've always wondered if there would come a day when they eased up on each other a little, found some distance. I alternately hoped so and hoped not with equal fervor. It was dangerous to love anyone that much, because in the end, you lose everyone or they lose you. And when you lost…the getting back up again was torture.

"Sure, he would. He tells you everything. Just keep your ears open, and let me know if he gives you any hints." I hated having to use Soda as a spy. I knew he hated the times when I'd ask him to report back to me on Ponyboy. But it just wasn't natural for him to confide in me. I remember having that when it came to Mom and Dad. The natural holding back of some things. Things you were afraid they'd think was stupid or talk you out of or tell you were wrong even though you knew you were right. Ideas and dreams you didn't want anyone to shoot down, even if only accidentally. Soda never fired those shots, and that's why Pony told him everything.

I pulled back on the road. Soda was done talking, but he wasn't done worrying. When I dropped him off at the DX, I told him,

"It'll be okay, Soda. We'll get through this just like we get through everything else. Okay?"

He nodded, but I knew he wasn't convinced.

I swung the truck back toward home. I'd have to try to talk to Pony, even though it would probably be useless. All he ever gave me was "sure" when I asked if he was okay. Maybe he knew I didn't buy it, and maybe he didn't. But it sure wasn't making him spill anything. I wondered if holding him down and tickling him would work, like it used to bust the secrets out when we were kids. Back in the day when his worst fears were of closet monsters and the shadows that were made in his room at night by clothes left out on the line.

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Two-Bit was just sweeping up the cards to shuffle again when Darry returned from the market. Normally, he'd expect me to help him carry whatever it was he brought home, but I knew if I tried that now, he'd bark at me to get off of my knee, so I stayed on the sofa with a sigh while Two-Bit sauntered outside to help.

He hadn't bought much, just four bags. Money was tighter than ever, what with all the hospital bills and the doctor bills and all. It just made me feel worse about my leg being messed up, because any hope I'd had for working the rest of the summer until school started was out the window. Then I thought about track and felt even worse.

They rustled around in the kitchen putting the groceries away, and I gave up and picked up that L'Amour book. I was almost finished with it. When I finished the other one, I'd be in real trouble, because then I'd have to beg Two-Bit or somebody to take me to the library. No one but Darry can keep quiet in there. It's embarrassing.

Finishing the book took longer than I thought, though, because my mind kept wandering. Two-Bit left right after they put the groceries away. He gave me a smirk on his way out. It was self-preservation. If he'd stuck around much longer, Darry'd put him to work on something. Ol' Two-Bit figures he works hard enough now that he finally took a job.

Darry fussed around the house. We were about due for another visit from the state, and I knew he was feeling like someone had us all under a microscope. When he really gets going, no one is safe. He even brought me the laundry basket and told me to fold. I didn't mind, really. Gave me something else to do. Though I still itched to get up and move around. It was like I had jumping beans in my pants. I felt sort of guilty and jumpy just lazing around when there was so much that could be done. Every time he came back around the living room I felt my heart kick up a little, waiting for him to get on me about still being on the sofa even though I knew he wanted me to stay there.

The folding barely took any time at all. I saw the furniture polish and the rag still on the coffee table and wished Two-Bit hadn't already cleaned it yesterday. Reluctantly, I went back to my book. I kept listening to Darry make his way through the house and couldn't really get into it. When he came out to grab the vacuum, Darry thought to pick up the ice towel, which was pretty cold and soggy now. I waited for him to get on my case for letting the couch get damp from the runoff, but he didn't. He just grabbed the laundry basket full of folded clothes and switched the radio on for me on his way back to his room.

Music was something I hadn't really heard for a while, seeing as how there were no radios at camp and the one in our truck didn't work. The Doors, the Stones, Elvis...they were some of my favorites. Some DJ who thought he was smart played Groovin' because of how it mentions Sunday afternoon. It bugged me when people tried to be hokey like that. I picked up the book again as a form of protest, but I still couldn't quiet my mind enough to get anywhere with it.

I kept thinking of Kurt and how he turned out to be a pretty nice guy. I thought of how it was the same with Randy Adderson. You classify people by who they hang around with. It's automatic. But it doesn't tell the whole story. It doesn't tell you that Darry has a lot of older Soc friends who, now that they've gone away to college and seen some more of the world, come back to Tulsa and seem surprised at how much things didn't change. They're surprised to find out the rumbles and the jumping and all still go on. They try to go have a beer with Darry and talk about old times, but it never works out because if they go to a greaser hangout, everyone shoots Darry dirty looks for bringing a Soc into their territory. If they go to a Soc place, everyone watches the Soc with curiosity and Darry with suspicion and disgust. Darry doesn't accept their invitations anymore. He just acts sorry when he says he can't make it just then, maybe another time.

I wondered if things would work that way for me, too. Would I grow up and away from things like hopping the fence at the Nightly Double, fistfights and rumbles? Would I ever be able to walk by my lonesome without nervously looking out for nice cars full of bored rich guys looking to get their kicks by pounding on any old greaser? Would I ever lose claim to the word greaser? If I did, would the guys still want me hanging around?

Darry wasn't meant to be a greaser. If not for us, me and Soda that is, he'd be a Soc. Everybody knows it, but no one says it. Soda says he can't imagine things ever being different, but if they were, he can't imagine ever living anyplace else but here. I imagine all sorts of different things, mostly about a place in the country somewhere, away from where everyone takes sides. But I don't know if I really believe it's possible. Some days it seems like it. Some days, it doesn't. Mostly, it doesn't.

I tossed the book aside with a sigh, wishing I could figure out what to do with myself that didn't involve thinking myself into a bad mood.