Chapter Seven

I couldn't really remember anything from the night before when I first woke up Saturday morning. I knew I had to go to work: usually Saturdays are days off for most people, but we just aren't most people. We needed the money badly, and if that meant work on Saturdays, we worked on Saturdays. Sodapop works Saturdays down at the DX too, but only for half-days. I didn't mind working full days anymore, and my job paid better than Soda's anyways, and I was feeling kind of bad about only working half-days that week when Ponyboy and Johnny had been in Windrixville.

Ponyboy. Now I remembered everything, and it all came crashing back down on top of me as I lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling. Pony had come back home last night, he and Johnny and Dallas had been in that burning church, they had been brought into town to the hospital, the gang was all together again…

I heard someone moving around in the kitchen, and from the sounds of dishes and the icebox opening and closing, whoever it was was making breakfast. I heard the sound of the screen door opening, and then Ponyboy's voice calling, "In here. Don't slam the door," and then the door slammed and there was the sound of people running. I rolled my eyes a little: that's Steve and Two-Bit right there.

I pushed myself into a sitting position and glanced at the alarm clock on the little table next to my bed. I'm gonna be late for work if I sit here any longer. I stuck my head out into the hall and called Soda's name to get him up, then headed to take a quick shower. I could hear Steve and Two-Bit making the usual racket that they normally made out in the kitchen, and Pony sounding annoyed with them. Sodapop came into the bathroom as I was finishing up shaving and jumped in the shower. I grinned at him in the mirror as he reached for his towel, and when he grinned widely back I knew we were thinking the same thing: we were relieved that our baby brother was home safe and sound.

I was coming down the hall to the kitchen just in time to hear old Steve ask, "...Where's Soda and Superman?" I slipped into the kitchen behind him and lifted him up off the floor and dropped him flat on his back. Soda came in behind me wearing nothing but his towel around his waist, running to the table and grabbing the carton of chocolate milk and gulping some down. I shook my head at him but didn't say anything, because we've all done it at one time or another. "Where's that blue shirt I washed yesterday?" he asked, wiping one hand across his mouth to get rid of the milk mustache he was wearing.

"Hate to tell you, buddy, but you have to wear clothes to work, there's a law or something," Steve said from the floor, still sprawled out on his back.

"Oh yeah," Soda said as he dropped the milk carton back on the table. "Where're those wheat jeans too?"

I glanced up at the clock: was that egg up there? How the heck did egg wind up on the clock? "I ironed, they're in my closet," I told him. "Hurry up, you're gonna be late."

"I'm hurryin', I'm hurryin'..." Soda huffed as he went running back down the hall, Steve on his heels, and then after a minute I could hear them fooling around in my room with what sounded like the pillows from my bed. I went to the icebox and started poking through it for some chocolate cake.

Ponyboy was standing across the room by the table watching. "Darry… did you know about the juvenile court?"

My talk with the fuzz flashed through my head. I couldn't look at Pony. "Yeah, the cops told me last night," I said, fighting to keep my voice even with his. They can still split us up...

"...I had one of those dreams last night," Ponyboy was saying, still watching me. "The one I can't ever remember-"

Now I was staring at him, fearfully as his words registered with me. "What?"

That dream Ponyboy had started having the night of Mom and Dad's funeral was as scary to me and Sodapop as it was him. The even scarier part of it all was that when Pony woke up screaming and thrashing and we ran in to get him, he could never tell us what had happened to scare him as bad as it did. That was when Soda started sleeping in his room with him and he stopped having that dream so much, but it hadn't gone away completely, and after he'd had it a few more times I took him to see a doctor, who decided Pony had too much of an imagination.

I guess we've all just been too busy to know if he's been having that dream again, I thought as I pulled out some chocolate cake and a knife. Even Two-Bit was looking interested. "Was it very bad?" he asked Pony.

"No."

Something in his face told me he was lying. I had just opened my mouth to ask him if he was able to remember anything about the dream this time, but Sodapop and Steve had come running back in, Soda dressed now, to get some cake. I started handing around pieces.

Soda was leaning against the counter stuffing cake in his mouth. "You know what? he announced absentmindedly. "When we stomp the Socies good, me and Stevie here are gonna throw a big party and everybody can get stoned… then we'll go chase the Socs clear to Mexico!"

Steve whooped and Two-Bit was clapping his approval, a wide grin across his face. "Where you gonna get the dough, little man?" I asked, passing cake to Two-Bit and Ponyboy.

"Ah, I'll think of somethin'," Soda said around a mouthful of chocolate.

Ponyboy was looking interested. "You going to take Sandy to the party?"

It got real quiet then. Soda's was looking at the floor, his ears turned red. Steve was glaring at Pony. Two-Bit had lost his grin and was looking uncomfortably at me. And Pony looked confused. "What's the deal?" he asked, looking around the kitchen at all of us.

Soda wouldn't look at him. Steve was still glaring. "No, she went to live with her grandmother in Florida."

Pony was still looking confused. "How come…?"

Steve answered with a scowl. "Look, does he have to draw you a picture?" he snapped. "It was either that or get married, and her parents almost hit the roof at the idea of her marryin' a sixteen-year-old kid-"

"Seventeen," Sodapop corrected in a soft voice, still not looking up. "I'll be seventeen in a couple of weeks."

Ponyboy looked at the floor too. "Oh." It was still dead quiet. I glanced up at the clock again and said, "We'd better get on to work, Pepsi-Cola." That had been Dad's pet name for Sodapop. I hardly ever called him that anymore. Soda didn't even grin like he usually did, he just headed to grab his shoes and his DX jacket.

I turned to Ponyboy. He was still staring at the floor. I looked quickly at Steve and Two-Bit and said, "I hate to leave you here by yourself, Ponyboy… maybe I ought to take the day off."

Pony looked up, surprised and a little confused. "I've stayed by my lonesome before. You can't afford a day off."

The look on his face as he said those words made me feel awful somehow. "Yeah, but you just got back and I really ought to stay-"

"I'll babysit him," Two-Bit jumped in. Pony took a swing at him, scowling, and Two-Bit ducked away, looking at me. "I haven't got anything better to do."

Steve was watching Two-Bit incredulously. "Why don't you get a job?" he asked. "Ever consider working for a living?"

He hadn't. I could tell by the look on his face that he never really had. "Work? And ruin my rep? I wouldn't be babysittin' the kid here if I knew of some good day-nursery open on Saturdays-"

At that Pony jumped up and tipped back the chair Two-Bit was in, sending Two-Bit sprawling onto the floor. They wrestled a minute and then Two-Bit had Pony pinned and was cheerfully saying, "Holler uncle!"

I grabbed my jacket and shrugged into it, watching Ponyboy struggle down on the floor, and then nudged Two-Bit in the ribs with my foot. "You two do up the dishes. You can go to the movies if you want to before you go see Dally and Johnny… Two-Bit, lay off. He ain't lookin' so good." I stepped into my work boots and slung my work bag up on one shoulder, looking down at Pony. "Ponyboy, you take a couple of aspirins and go easy. You smoke more than a pack today and I'll skin you, understood?"

He pushed Two-Bit away and got up and followed me to the door. Sodapop and Steve were already out on the porch, waiting on me. "Yeah… you carry more than one bundle of roofing at a time today and me and Soda'll skin you, understood?"

I had to grin at him. Sometimes he's just like Sodapop… just like him and Dad. "Yeah. See ya'll this afternoon," I said over my shoulder as the screen door slammed shut behind me. Soda and Steve raced to the truck, pushing and poking at each other. I rolled my eyes at the two of them as they went skidding and crashing into the side of the truck, shoving Steve out of my way and tossing my work bag into the front seat. Soda elbowed me in the ribs. "Can I drive us?"

Normally I don't let Sodapop drive the truck, because he's a pretty reckless driver, even with his license: he's always speeding, at least ten miles over the speed limit, and he rides the brakes because of it, which isn't a good thing to do on an old truck like ours (and besides, it isn't safe.) He's probably got more tickets than Mom and Dad ever got together, with me and maybe Two-Bit thrown in, and that's really saying something, because Two-Bit's as reckless a driver as Soda is, and half the time he's drunk when he's driving. But as I looked over at Sodapop, I knew I'd feel bad denying him anything after all that had taken a toll on him the past week.

"Alright, Sodapop, but only down to the station, 'cause I'm gonna need to pick ya'll up later after work. You got your license on you?"

Soda nodded impatiently and jumped into the driver's seat: he'd already had the key in the ignition and one foot over the gas pedal before Steve and I got in. We flew out of the yard and up the road doing near seventy.

"Damnit, Soda, the brakes, watch the brakes!" Steve and I were screaming as Soda took the corner with the brakes screeching. He just grinned and edged it toward seventy-five.

"This ain't the Indy, Soda, damnit, just slow down!" I hollered, slapping Soda across the back of the head as we screeched to a stop at a light.

Soda just grinned wider. "Or what?"

I sighed and shook my head. He's probably just keyed up for tonight, I thought as we pulled into the DX and Soda and Steve jumped out, their eyes on a group of girls hanging around the garage. We're gonna beat the Socs. They aren't gonna mess with us anymore after tonight…

Ponyboy came in late for supper, after the rest of us had finished our food, but I didn't say anything to him about it: it had been another long, hard day at work, and I'd barely had the energy to fix supper and get ready for the rumble, and besides, today was different anyways.

Sodapop and Steve had found a deck of cards and were on their knees in the living room around the coffee table playing a game of poker. I was in my room in front of the mirror beside my closet, the sounds of the radio and Soda and Steve arguing echoing through the house. Pony was down the hall in the bathroom, him and Soda hollering back and forth to each other over all the noise.

"Soda, when'd you start shaving?"

"When I was fifteen."

"When did Darry?"

"When he was thirteen… why? You figgerin' on growing a beard for the rumble?"

I laughed to myself as Ponyboy said, "Oh you're funny… we ought to send you in to the Reader's Digest, I hear they pay a lot for funny things."

Sodapop was laughing out in the living room too. I studied myself in the mirror. I ran a hand through my short hair, with it's cowlick in back. I hated that cowlick. My hair kicks out in front over my forehead too, making me hate it even more. I could've grown my hair out long like my brothers and the gang have theirs- Two-Bit had sideburns -but I didn't want to look like the greaser that I really was, so I had my hair short. I had hair just like Dad, and I had his height, but not his eyes: my eyes weren't brown. I don't know what color my eyes really are. They're kind of blue, kind of green, more blue, I guess. They're more like Mom's eyes were. Sometimes I wished hard that I'd gotten Dad's eyes instead, because maybe then I'd of been more like him, more like Sodapop was, and Ponyboy and I would've gotten on better.

That's dumb, I told myself as I ran a comb through my hair again, trying to tame down the cowlick. It doesn't matter what color your eyes are. I dropped the comb and sighed: it wasn't working. I stretched my arms up over my head and rolled my shoulders back a few times. I've always had muscle: besides six years of football, I work out at gyms pretty regularly. I watched the muscles in my chest and arms bulge as I moved my shoulders back. I know I'm strong and everything and I know the gang all mess with me about it, calling me "Superman" and stuff like that, but I know I'm pretty smart too, and it bugs me that most people only know me for the looks.

I sighed again and looked through my closet for a shirt. I found an old black T-shirt and pulled it over my head, studying how tight it was in the mirror. I could count each muscle in my chest and in my stomach too. I grinned a little as I pictured some poor Soc jumping on me during the rumble and headed down the hall to join the others waiting in the living room. Sodapop and Steve had started another argument over their poker game: I saw the ace poking out of Soda's shoe. Ponyboy was in the armchair, and as I'd been coming down the hall I'd heard him asking Soda and Steve why they liked fights.

"...It's action. It's a contest. Like a drag race or a dance or somethin'," Soda was saying to Pony, looking confused. Steve jumped in, waving his cards around as he talked. "Shoot, I wanna beat those Socs' heads in. When I get in a fight I wanna stomp the other guy good. I like it, too."

I was leaning against the wall behind the armchair listening to them. Ponyboy turned to look up at me and asked, "How come you like fights, Darry?"

I just watched him, not saying anything, my arms folded over my chest. Soda looked up at me too and grinned. "He likes to show off his muscles."

He was too far out of reach for me to kick him. "I'm gonna show 'em off on you, little buddy, if you get any mouthier." Soda and Steve grinned at each other, their argument temporarily forgotten, and Pony was quiet, a thoughtful look on his face. I thought about what he'd asked me: why do I like fights? I'd never been beat either in a street fight or a rumble, and it wasn't like I had much to worry about whenever I did get in a fight anyways (which hadn't happened often since Mom and Dad were killed.) I thought back to that day Ponyboy was jumped, all the street fights I'd been in with Socs growing up. At that time there hadn't been any real clear reason why I'd gotten into those fights to begin with… I'm a greaser, they were Socs, no other reason. We're practically born to hate each other, and it probably won't ever change. I couldn't help being born a greaser, none of us could, that's why we gotta take up for ourselves. Maybe that's why we fight, why I fight. But... what about Ponyboy? He really shouldn't be fighting... him and Johnny both... they're too small and quiet to fight... they only fight to help us out... I studied Ponyboy as I stood there lost in thought. He still looked tired out and a little pale, or maybe that was just because his hair was blonde now. But he had lost a lot of weight and I saw that his T-shirt was real loose around his shoulders: it looked like it was hanging off his body. Usually before a rumble he went right along with Soda and the others goofing around and carrying on, but tonight he just sat in the armchair staring at the floor quietly.

"I don't know if you oughta be in this rumble, Pony," I slowly voiced my thoughts aloud. Soda and Steve looked up from their poker game, their faces blank with surprise and confusion. Pony looked up at me the same way and asked, "How come? I've always come through before, ain't I?" He sounded a little desperate, which seemed weird to me, because out of all of us, Ponyboy had never been the most eager to fight, like Steve and Dally were all the time.

I grinned. Pony was right: he had always come through in any fight, whether he'd been looking for one or not. He was a pretty decent fighter. "Yeah," I said, realizing how proud I was of my baby brother. "You fight real good for a kid your size… but you were in shape before… you've lost weight and you don't look so great, kid, you're tensed up too much."

Soda spoke up from across the room as he struggled to get the ace out of his shoe out of Steve's sight. "Shoot, we all get tensed up before a rumble… let him fight tonight. Skin never hurt anyone… no weapons, no danger," he added matter-of-factly.

Pony jumped in. "I'll be okay, I'll get hold of a little one, okay…?"

I sighed deeply, still unconvinced as I stood there studying him again. Gosh, but that kid was skinny as a stick... and he does look all tensed up, and tired too... It wasn't his hair that was making him look pale, he really was. "Well… Johnny won't be there this time… but then Curly Shepard won't be there either- or Dally -and we'll need every man we can get."

"What happened to Shepard?"

Steve answered him, scowling at Sodapop: he had seen the ace and was kicking at Soda's shoe. "He's in the cooler. In the reformatory."

Pony didn't look as though it surprised him. He turned back to me and begged, "Let me fight, Darry. If it was blades or chains or something it'd be different… nobody ever gets really hurt in a skin rumble…"

He's been in rumbles before... he's a tough kid, and this is just skin against skin... he's right, nobody ever gets too badly hurt fighting skin... "Well… I guess you can, but be careful, and if you get in a jam, holler and I'll get you out."

I could tell as I said this that Ponyboy was fighting not to roll his eyes. He sighed a little and said, "I'll be okay. How come you never worry about Sodapop as much? I don't see you lecturin' him…"

I grinned again, glad that Ponyboy and I had managed to avoid another blow-up with each other. I slung an arm around Sodapop and answered, "Man… this is one kid brother I don't have to worry about..." Soda jabbed me in the ribs. "This kiddo can use his head: you can see he uses it for one thing… to grow hair on," I added, running for the door as Soda took a swing at me.

Two-Bit was on the porch: he had been reaching to open the door as I came flying out of the house. I flung myself off the porch and turned a forward somersault in midair, coming down on my stomach on the ground and jumping to my feet. Two-Bit was still up on the porch. He stuck his head in the house and hollered, "I see we're in prime condition for a rumble… is everybody happy?"

Soda was the next one out the door, screaming "Yeah!" as he too flung himself off the porch in a midair somersault. He walked on his hands a little ways and then turned a no-hands cartwheel. Steve came running out behind him, carrying on like an Indian, leaping across the yard until he reached us, then flipped backward. I heard Ponyboy whoop and turn a no-hands cartwheel off the porch, landing in the grass and scrambling to his feet, his eyes shining with eager anticipation. Two-Bit copied him and they made their way over to us, and we headed up the street to the vacant lot.

We were wild and loud as we made our way in the dark to the lot. Sodapop was chanting at the top of his lungs behind me, "I am a greaser, I am a JD and a hood… I blacken the name of our fair city, I beat up people, I rob gas stations, I am a menace to society… man, do I have fun!"

Steve joined right in. "Greaser, greaser, greaser… O victim of environment, underpriviliged, rotten, no-count hood…!" he sang out, cracking up and shoving Soda's shoulder.

I was growing more and more excited with every step closer to the lot. "Juvenile delinquent, you're no good!"

Two-Bit started then. "Get thee hence, white trash," he said in a voice that I guessed was supposed to mimic some Soc. "I am a Soc, I am the privileged and the well-dressed… I throw beer blasts, drive fancy cars, break windows at fancy parties-"

Ponyboy cut in, fighting to keep from busting up laughing. "And what do you do for fun…?"

Two-Bit screamed, "I jump greasers!" and turned a cartwheel as the rest of us laughed and shoved at each other.

My mind was racing as we came closer to the lot. Yes, I was happy: everything was more or less how it usually was with our gang again. Ponyboy and Johnny had come home, even if Johnny and Dallas were in the hospital, even if Pony and Johnny still had to go to that juvenile court to face punishment for killing that Soc and running away from home… The juvenile court. If the fuzz showed up during the rumble we would all get hauled in if we got caught: no, Sodapop and Ponyboy couldn't get thrown in jail, both of them were underage- and in my custody rather than Mom and Dad's. They would get thrown in a boys' home if they got caught, they can only arrest me and Steve and Two-Bit and the other guys.

I could hear Pony asking Two-Bit why he liked fights. I half-turned to see Two-Bit staring at him, bewildered. "Shoot, everybody fights…"

"Listen, Soda, you and Ponyboy," I cut in, pointing at the two of them. "If the fuzz show, you two beat it out of there… the rest of us can only get jailed, you two can get sent to a boys' home."

Steve was frowning as he interjected, "Nobody in this neighborhood's going to call the fuzz, they know what'd happen if they did."

I shook my head. "All the same, you two blow at the first sign of trouble, you hear me?" I looked over at Soda and Pony again.

"Ya sure don't need an amplifier," Soda confirmed as I turned back around. We were at the end of the street by then. I could see under the streetlamps the outlines of Tim Shepard and his gang, passing around cigarettes and talking in low, rough voices. The Brumly gang was there too, moving among Tim Shepard's gang as if they were one outfit. We headed toward them, nodding silently to the faces we recognized, and looking warily past the ones we didn't. There were maybe twenty greasers there.

I watched as Ponyboy was approached by one of the guys from the Brumly gang. The guy was near twice my baby brother's size and definitely shady-looking: he was a hood, not just a greaser. He said something to Pony and held out one hand- I couldn't hear a thing over the noise of everybody in the lot carrying on -but Pony just pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and passed it to the Brumly guy. I let out a little sigh I hadn't realized I'd been holding in, and then realized something else: for the first time, I was worried about Ponyboy fighting tonight.

He and the guy from Brumly were talking casually enough, though I saw the awfully eager look of anticipation for the rumble on one face, and it's complete opposite on the other. I knew I shouldn't have let Pony fight tonight, he's too tired and weak... but he was okay at the house, he was begging me to let him come, he said he felt fine... and it's too late now, we're all here and the Socs'll be here any minute now... Sodapop and the others are gonna wonder what's wrong if I tell Pony he can't fight-

"Hey Curtis!"

It was Tim Shepard calling from over on the other side of the lot. Ponyboy turned around too, looking a little startled. Sodapop called back, "Which one?" from where he and Steve and Two-Bit were standing smoking some cigarettes with a few boys from Shepard's gang.

"The big one." Tim was looking right at me. "Come on over here."

Even though Tim Shepard was three years younger than me and about half a foot shorter, he had much more authority than me and was the true definition of a hood: and he knew it too. He looked, acted, talked, and thought like the hood we all knew he was, and the only one that really got on with him was Dally, only because they were so much alike, except Tim was a hood, and Dally a greaser. Like I've said, no one in our gang is a hood. I stood rigid, squaring my shoulders and keeping my chin high, and made my way across the lot to Tim. The lot went dead quiet as I passed through all the greasers. They were all staring at me. I stopped in front of Tim and realized I was the biggest guy there.

Tim was eyeing me in his dangerous way. "You gonna do the honors round here tonight?"

He was asking me if I was going to kick off the rumble. How am I supposed to tell him no? I nodded once. "Guess so."

Tim nodded, ashed a cigarette under his shoe, and took a sip from his can of beer. How he could stand to smoke and drink at the same time was way beyond me. There was a flash of car lights at the gate and when we all turned to look, we saw a group of Socs coming toward us. Three more cars pulled up behind the first one and more Socs got out and headed for us. We looked pretty even in numbers. They didn't talk as they lined up in front of us one by one, no clear leader heading them. Most of the Socs were eyeing Ponyboy. Some of them were looking at me, and they looked scared. I fought to keep from grinning, and then I looked over at Ponyboy again and any thought to grin was gone.

We all just stood there watching each other in total silence. I sized up each Soc there: none of them were smaller than Ponyboy, and there was an obvious disparity between the smallest Soc and my baby brother. I groaned inwardly: Damnit, I knew I shouldn't have let Pony fight... A Soc with a face full of hate stepped up to face Tim Shepard. "Let's get the rules straight: nothing but our fists, and the first to run lose, right?"

"You savvy real good," Tim answered. If it was even possible his face was filled with more hate than the Soc.

With one last look at Ponyboy and the gang, I made my way under the streetlamp and stood there waiting, hating more and more as I eyed the line of Socs in front of me. "I'll take on anyone." They eyed me right back, but it was like they weren't really seeing me, in a way. No, they weren't seeing me. They saw just another greaser, saw just another one to hate just because of looks and money. I knew behind me all the greasers were standing in a line watching me and the Socs, and they weren't seeing the real Socs either, just some more guys to hate just because of looks and money.

And then a Soc moved out of the line to face me. "Hello, Darrel."

I raised my chin higher, squared my shoulders back and said, "Hello, Paul."

"I'll take you."

Has it really been this long? My mind raced as me and the Soc glared at each other. We'd slowly started pacing around in the middle of the lot, still under the streetlamp. Damn, we used to be buddies, and now we're here ready to fight…? As I looked at Paul and he looked at me I was getting madder and madder. He's got that football scholarship... he's probably out of school right now on vacation... and he's standing here ready to fight me and he shouldn't be here... none of them damn Socs ought to be here, there isn't one of them that has any cause to fight, they're the ones going around looking to fight us greasers all the time... like that Soc Johnny and Ponyboy killed in the park that night... My hand twitched at my side and just as I was ready to pull it back we all heard somebody shouting from the gate. "Hold up! Hold it…!"

I made the mistake of glancing back over my shoulder to see who it was- none other than Dallas Winston -and that's when Paul's fist connected with my jaw, hard. My head whipped back, and then I lunged at Paul and threw him to the ground. The rumble was on.

I tried to keep in range of Ponyboy as I fought, but it wasn't easy: Pony was rolling around on the ground with another Soc alongside Dally, who was taking a real beating with one messed-up arm. And I had enough to worry about fighting two Socs at one time. Paul had me around the neck and another Soc was punching me in the face. Blood was in my eyes, whose, I didn't know, from where, I didn't know. I yanked away from Paul, spinning to tackle him around the waist. I was getting slugged by the other Soc as Paul dropped to the ground with me on top of him, but as all the jealousy and rage and hate really took over for the first time since Ponyboy and Johnny had been in Windrixville, I could only keep my mind on whipping Paul. I pinned him under one arm and was slugging him in the chest, in the ribs, in the neck, in the face, anywhere I could reach him. He was screaming for help as I slugged him more and more, harder and harder, my whole body shaking with everything I'd been feeling right then. I saw Pony out of the corner of my eye held on the ground, a Soc on top of him, slugging him senseless. I knocked Paul away from me and lunged toward my baby brother, catching the Soc by one shoulder and hauling him up, punching him in the face so hard I knocked him back about three feet from me, whirling to face Ponyboy just as another Soc came running in, hands stretched to tackle me around the waist. I jerked my head out of the way of the Soc's fist in time to see Dally headed to help Pony, and then I couldn't see anything anymore except for blood in my eyes and the blurs of Socs and greasers fighting around me in the lot.

Me and the Soc were screaming and swearing over the noise of the rumble, and I was swinging one fist blindly as I swiped the other hand across my forehead, trying to get rid of the blood. The Soc was half-standing, half-crouching over me, and I rolled on my side and yanked him forward over me, smacking him across the back of the head. I scrambled to my feet and was pulling my foot back to kick him when I saw Soda bolting across the lot, screaming "Ponyboy!" as he reached for a Soc and sent him sprawling to the ground beside Pony, who was limp on the ground, hunched on his side. I kind of gasped and turned to run to them, but the Soc had me by the foot and I was turning to try and kick him again when I heard Two-Bit screaming from the other side of the lot, "They're running, look at the dirty bastards run…!"

The Soc had let go of my foot and was running for the cars parked at the gate: all the Socs were running for their cars. Tim Shepard's gang and the Brumly guys were the only ones who'd seemed to really notice we'd won, them and Two-Bit: they had big grins on their faces as they jumped up and down and hollered with their fists in the air. But the rest of our gang weren't cheering with them. Ponyboy was still on the ground. Dally was kneeling over him, watching silently as the Socs' cars peeled out of the lot and down the street. Steve was lying on his back, his chest heaving, groaning loudly through his teeth, and Sodapop was kneeling at his head, talking to him softly. I sighed as I looked from our gang to Shepard's boys and the Brumly guys. "We won. We beat the Socs," I said, half to myself.

Why aren't I cheering with them? Why aren't any of us over there cheering with them?

We weren't cheering as we said our goodbyes to the other greasers and started for our house again, either. Some of Shepard's gang were headed to some bar and asked us to come with them, but not even Two-Bit felt like going, so we just went on home in silence, the way we'd driven home that one day when Cherry had come to the lot. Me and Soda were carrying Steve between us, I had him by the legs and Soda had him by the arms. We were trying to keep him quiet as we made our way down the street: he was still groaning, sweat and blood dripping from his face. Two-Bit walked on ahead of us, one hand stuffed in his back pocket. I noticed he had a strip torn from his shirt and tied around the back of his hand. He turned around to look at Steve, and I saw that one whole side of his face was a mess of blood: I couldn't see any skin. He was looking sick as he stared at us.

"Two-Bit… what the hell happened to your face?" Soda asked very quietly, as we eased onto our porch, laying Steve gently on the top step as I reached to pull the door open.

"Socs." Two-Bit showed us the hand he'd wrapped in his his torn shirt. "And this…" He didn't finish. I could see the pain in his gray eyes as we lifted Steve to his feet and helped him to the sofa. I flicked on the kitchen light and that was when I realized Ponyboy wasn't with us. I stuck my head into the living room. "Soda?"

He and Two-Bit were crouched beside Steve. He looked up, annoyed, but his brown eyes shifted from annoyed to worried as I asked, "Where's Pony?"

"Dally ain't here either," Two-Bit said, glancing around the living room. He looked up at me, wiping blood out of one eye. "You think maybe they took off somewhere together…?"

"Where would they go?" Steve mumbled. Sodapop hushed him and looked over at Two-Bit. "They could've gone up to the hospital-"

"What's at the hospital?" I asked sharply. The last thing we need right now is Ponyboy running off again... we don't even know if he's okay... and the Socs could be out...

Soda was looking at me like he couldn't believe it. "Johnny," he answered. "Go and get the first-aid kit, we gotta fix them up," he added, jerking his head toward Steve and Two-Bit.

I hunted through the house for the first-aid kit, my mind racing. Johnny, we'd forgotten about Johnny... did Ponyboy and Two-Bit even make it up to see him while the rest of us were working today? I snatched up the kit and carried it to the living room. Soda flung it open and started pulling things out of it: rolls of bandages, a tiny container of medical stitches, some tube of antiseptic cream. He spoke swiftly. "I'll take care of Steve, you stitch up Two-Bit. Make sure you put some of this stuff on him before stitches." He slapped the tube of antiseptic into my hand, grabbed a roll of bandages, and turned to Steve without another word.

I had to stare at him. Soda was so laidback and easygoing all the time, he never got so serious like this. The only time I'd ever seen him this way was that week when Pony and Johnny were in Windrixville. With a jolt I realized he was so much like Dad it was almost scary: he was laidback and easygoing, but when needed, he was there- albeit completely out of character -just like Dad had been.

Silently me and Sodapop fixed up the boys. We figured Steve had ended up with a few busted ribs, and there was really nothing we could have done- he didn't want to go up to the hospital, they would've seen us looking all beat up and they would've asked questions, and besides, there's not anything you can do about busted ribs except let them mend on their own, so Soda bandaged his side up tight to keep him still, and made him take a couple aspirin with a glass of water to ease the pain some. I gave Two-Bit some aspirin and water also, and the tube of antiseptic to put on his face and hand. As he gingerly squeezed some cream on his good hand I went to the window beside the armchair, pushing the curtains back and looking up and down the street a few times for Ponyboy. Nothing. I sighed and glanced behind me at the clock. It was close to nine o'clock, not too late, but I was still worried over my baby brother. I met Soda's eyes from across the room- he was trying to get Steve to go to sleep -and I knew he was worrying too.

By ten-thirty Pony still wasn't home. Steve was passed out on the sofa finally, one arm thrown over his face. Two-Bit had turned on the television, but he wasn't watching it: he kept rubbing the side of his face with his good hand where I'd had to stitch him up, and he'd finally laid down on the floor next to the sofa and gone to sleep. Soda had cleaned up all the first-aid stuff and was stretched out smoking a cigarette. I'd gone to the mirror in my room to check out the cut on my forehead and stick a Band-Aid on it. My eye was black. I dropped into the armchair with the newspaper and had just flipped to the sports pages when I heard the creaking of the screen door, and there was Ponyboy, looking sick and exhausted, blood dripping slowly from one side of his head. Steve and Two-Bit were awake at the sound of the door, and for a second we all just stared at Pony, and then I remembered how worried I'd been.

I jumped up, tossing the newspaper on the floor. "Where have you been?"

If he was annoyed, he was feeling too sick to show it. He looked up at me, and something in his eyes made me stop. He looks... scared. "Ponyboy, what's the matter…?"

He shuddered a little, looking from me to Sodapop, then at Steve and Two-Bit. "Johnny... he's dead… we told him… about beating the Socs… and- I don't know… he just died…"

No, no no no no no... Johnny, please not Johnny, damnit, no... Soda was fighting hard not to start bawling. Steve was lying on the sofa with his eyes shut, and I saw a tear sliding down his face, just one, but it was there. Two-Bit was sitting there with his eyes shut and his jaw tight. I looked slowly back at Ponyboy, who had started talking in a small, soft, shaking voice. "Dallas is gone, he ran out like the devil was after him… he's gonna blow up… he couldn't take it..."

Two-Bit spoke without opening his eyes. "So he finally broke… so even Dally has a breaking point."

Pony was shaking so bad. I looked quickly to Sodapop. "He's in shock," I said very quietly, not wanting to scare Pony anymore than he already was. Soda looked scared too, but he talked in a soft and steady voice as he said, "Ponyboy, you look sick, sit down-"

"I'm okay. I don't want to sit down."

I stepped once toward him, wanting to stroke his hair like that night at the hospital, or put an arm around him and help him to his room, like I'd done with Soda all that week he'd been in Windrixville, but he backed up quick, his back against the screen door. "Don't touch me."

I damn near bawled when he said that. I took a deep breath and nodded once. He's not himself... he's tired and sick and upset...

The telephone was ringing then. We were all quiet. I started to turn, then looked back at Ponyboy, then realized he didn't want me near him, and then turned and answered the phone. "Hello...?"

Dally sounded out of breath and scared out of his mind. "Superman? I'm- the fuzz, they're after me, I robbed a store and they're after me, you gotta come, I'll be at the lot here soon, man, you gotta come, you gotta help me, I'll be there in a minute, Johnny's dead and I-" The line went dead.

I wheeled around to face the boys, my heart thumping, my body starting to shake. "It was Dally, he phoned from a booth. He's just robbed a grocery store and the cops are after him, we gotta hide him. He'll be at the lot in a minute."

Steve pushed up off the sofa and ran out after us: I was surprised he could manage it with his busted ribs. We were all running as hard as we could up the street to the lot, me and Soda in front, Two-Bit and Ponyboy just behind us, and Steve unsteadily bringing up the rear, gasping and swearing through his teeth. Above the sounds of our heavy breathing and our running feet I could hear first one siren, then another, then shouts. We reached one side of the lot as Dallas reached the other, and he shouted something as he yanked what looked an awful lot like a gun out from the waistband of his jeans and pointed it dead at the cops, who were jumping out of their cars with their own guns aimed straight for him.

We came skidding to a stop beside the cop cars. Somebody screamed something, and a gun fired. I jumped in front of Soda and Pony, watching Dallas Winston's head whip back impossibly fast, the gun drop from his hand, his knees give out and his back crumple to the ground.

Damnit, not Dally... first that damn Soc, then Johnnycake, now Dally, what did we ever do to deserve all this? I looked back slowly at the rest of our gang: first Steve, who was sobbing as he watched the cops kneeling over Dally's dead body, and Sodapop, his brown eyes glazed with tears as he held Steve back by the shoulders, and Two-Bit, slowly rubbing his cheek as tears ran down his face, and Ponyboy, his whole body shaking and his eyes rolling back in his head as he swayed forward. He's going to fall-

"Glory, look at the kid!" one of the cops shouted. He didn't really sound all that concerned. Ponyboy was on the ground: he had passed out cold. I threw myself down beside him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him up to rest against my chest. "Ponyboy, Pony! Can you hear me, Pony…? No, no please, please no, Pony…" My shoulders were shaking with the weight of everything that had happened that night, and even the gang kneeling close around me couldn't steady me. Tears started to roll down my cheeks, and I just sat there with Pony's head against my chest, right over my heart, rocking back and forth and crying my brother's name over and over. He could be dead for all we know. Sodapop was on his knees behind me, his forehead pressed against my shoulder, and he was bawling too, his tears soaking through my shirt sleeve. Steve was looking stricken as he looked from Dally's body to Ponyboy's body in my arms. Two-Bit had his head in his hands, tears dripping from between his fingers. I remembered him saying, "So even Dally has a breaking point."

Yeah, Two-Bit, I thought, stroking one hand over Ponyboy's greased blonde hair. I could hear another siren, an ambulance siren, headed toward the lot: the fuzz must've called for one when Ponyboy had passed out. We all have our breaking points.

Ponyboy was immediately rushed to the emergency ward when we got to the hospital. The paramedics only let Soda in the ambulance: there was only room for one other person, and when they'd told us this, Soda had turned to me, still sobbing, his eyes begging me to go with our baby brother, and I couldn't have denied him anything, not then. Steve and Two-Bit and I had sprinted home to get our truck, and I drove at top speed behind the ambulance all the way out to the hospital. We didn't talk. The boys said nothing about my breakdown in the lot. I didn't say anything to them about it either. What was there to say?

We'd just sat down on the same hospital bench where we'd sat last night to wait for news on Johnny and Dallas when a team of doctors and nurses went running down the hall past us, screaming at each other and waving clipboards around. They disappeared behind the double doors at the end of the hall, and the waiting area was silent. Steve sighed and stretched out along the bench, rubbing his side with one hand. Two-Bit was glaring at the floor, tears still slowly falling down his face. Soda leaned his head on my neck and I felt his tears on my collarbone. I heaved a long shuddering sigh and slid an arm tightly around him. We sat there that way for a long time. Two-Bit left the hospital around three in the morning.

"Where're you headed?" I asked through a yawn, glancing up at the clock and then down at Soda, who'd fallen asleep facedown in my lap.

He shrugged, sighing and rubbing his eyes with the back of his good hand. "Somewhere the hell away from this mess… I'll come by tomorrow. You think they'll let the kid out by then?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "Maybe… go home, Two-Bit, get some sleep. We'll see you around." I managed to grin a little at him, and he grinned through the tear tracks on his cheeks and left.

I sighed again and looked over at Steve, who was still sound asleep on the bench. Sleeping isn't a bad idea, I thought, settling back against the wall and closing my eyes, but just then somebody was tapping my shoulder and saying in a low voice, "Mr. Curtis?"

I opened my eyes and looked up: one of the doctors from earlier was standing over me, holding a clipboard. "You're Ponyboy's older brother?"

Didn't he just call me "Mr. Curtis?" "How is he?"

"You're Ponyboy's older brother?"

"Yeah, I am. How is he?" I shook Soda's shoulder gently to get him up.

"He's doing well, given his current state… he's been running a fever for who knows how long, but we've got his temperature down to a hundred degrees now… he's in shock, and he's both physically and mentally exhausted… and to top it all off he's got a minor concussion, though we don't know how it happened, we assume he hit his head after falling. We can discharge him as early as Monday, provided you sign the consent forms releasing Ponyboy from hospital care. Do you understand all this?"

"Yeah," I said through a huge yawn. Gosh, but it was late, and I was tired and the hospital bench was cold and hard and uncomfortable, and my legs had fallen painfully asleep from Soda's head in my lap. The doctor smiled wryly, looking down at Soda sleeping in my lap and Steve sleeping next to me on the bench. "You three don't get home to bed soon, you're going to end up here in the hospital right beside your brother. Go on home and sleep, we're taking good care of your brother, and we'll call you if anything comes up, does that sound good?"

"Yeah… c'mon Soda, we're going home," I said softly, rubbing Soda's head with one hand and reaching over to shake Steve awake. The doctor saw Steve's bandaged side as he slowly sat up and frowned a little, but said nothing. Soda sat up, rubbing at his eyes, and mumbled sleepily, "How's Ponyboy?"

"Later," I murmured, squeezing his shoulder and turning back to the doctor. "Thanks for everything. We'll be in to see Ponyboy tomorrow… or today, I guess," I glanced up at the clock again and sighed deeply. The doctor nodded and patted my shoulder a second, then headed for the double doors again as we headed for the front door.

As we drove home I told Sodapop and Steve what the doctor had told me back at the hospital. Soda balled his fists in his lap when I told him about Pony's minor concussion. "It was that Soc, he kicked Pony in the head. I saw him do it."

I nodded slowly as we turned down our street. I glanced over at Soda and saw he was carefully avoiding looking out the window at the vacant lot. We pulled into our yard and got out. I watched Steve slide slowly out of the back seat. "Need help getting to the house?"

"No," he groaned, leaning against the truck for a second, his body shaking. I raised one eyebrow. He glared at me, then groaned again and nodded. I let him wrap the arm on his good side around my neck, and Soda steadied him from the back and we helped him up the porch and into the house.

"It's okay to hurt, Steve," Sodapop said very softly as we laid Steve on the sofa again. He looked real sad- not bawling -but sad. Steve threw his arm over his face.

"It's not my ribs that hurt," he snapped. "Damn it, ya'll, why did Dallas have to die? Why did Johnny? And that Soc too… what the hell do I care about some damn Soc… it was them who started all this mess, and if they'd left us alone, Johnny and Dally would still- still be…"

He lost it then, just started bawling harder than I'd ever seen even Sodapop cry. Soda slipped his arm behind Steve's head and let him lean on his shoulder, like I'd always done with him, and then he broke down too.

"Hey now, guys, don't cry… it's gonna be okay, it'll all be okay…" I sat down and tried to comfort them, putting a shaking hand on Soda's shoulder. "It'll be okay…"

But will it be okay? Pony back in the hospital, Johnny and Dally dead, and we've still got to go to that juvenile court... the juvenile court... oh God, no, we've forgot, they're not going to give us a hearing, not now, not after this, no... they're gonna take Pony and Soda away from me, maybe when Pony gets out of the hospital they'll take them away, they're going to a boys' home for sure now...

I remembered that week when Pony and Johnny were in Windrixville: the looks Sodapop and Steve had had on their faces when they'd given up hope that they were coming home, Two-Bit's tears after he'd gotten jumped that day at the lot, even Dally showing the tiniest bit of feeling as his cold blue eyes watched our street. I remembered not wanting to give up that hope that Pony was okay and on his way home. I remember holding him in the hospital and bawling and thinking We're gonna be okay.

Will we?