I was tired when I woke up. Tired. But I got up and got ready for school, feeling like I was going through the motions. My mom was in the kitchen making breakfast and for a minute I was surprised to see her, thinking she was dead like she was in my story, my essay. It was playing with my mind.

I grabbed toast and headed out the door, glancing down toward Johnny's house. His house had the look of all unhappy houses, kind of closed up and uninviting. But I stared down toward it, wanting to see him. I wouldn't go to his house and see if he was there, though. His parents scared me too much to do that.

At school I looked for him in the hallways and out in the courtyard, but I didn't see him. I wouldn't see him during my regular day even if he was going to be here, just at lunch. So I shrugged it off, not wanting to think about him or worry about him, feeling kind of helpless.

I went to my classes, trying to concentrate but thinking of dialogue for my story. Thinking of the tense way Darry would talk to me, thinking of the almost motherly affection that Soda would show to me to counter Darry, thinking of Steve being bitter and angry because his father was such a jerk. Thinking of Keith Two-bit wise cracking and impersonating people. Thinking of my sorrow, and my brothers' sorrow that our parents had been killed. Thinking of Johnny hardly talking at all and the way he would flinch away from sudden movements. Thinking of Dallas Winston and how cool he was, how he'd glare at us all with his tiny blue eyes.

At lunch I scanned the cafeteria for Johnny or the commotion and trouble that Johnny's presence so often brought. Nothing. So I ate with my other friends, listening to their middle class problems, nodding while my mind was a million miles away. I had to pass English. I got put up a grade, I got everything so effortlessly. How had this happened?

Toward the end of the day in a study hall one of Johnny's teachers spoke to me.

"Ponyboy? Have you seen Johnny?" she said, and she was young, a new teacher, and I knew so much about her. She probably thought she could help a kid like Johnny. But looking at her nice clothes and her tasteful make-up and even just the way she spoke I knew she was from more money than we had, and I wondered if she knew all the problems that we had, that Johnny had. I squinted at her, thinking that she probably wouldn't be able to help him. He was beyond that kind of help now.

"Uh, no, not today," She knew I was his friend, his teachers had seen us together, and they all knew who I was, with my weird name and being put up a grade and being a greaser. Thinking about it, I realized I was probably his only friend.

"He hasn't been here for two days, is he sick?" she said, and I heard concern in her voice. I shook my head.

"I don't know, maybe," I said.

I walked home alone, kicking at little rocks and bits of glass along the way. I watched the gray clouds gather in the sky. I had a bag full of books and assignments and I was just going to go home and get lost in them. I could. I could read steadily for hours, I could knock out homework assignments like crazy, and I could think of the things in those text books, things like living in ancient Egypt and building the pyramids. I could study the key points of science chapters and think about the osmosis of cells, the beating of the human heart.

So I did it. I read until my eyes felt dry and scratchy, I wrote until my hand cramped up. When I looked out my window it was dark. I stretched, feeling the little bones in my back crack and bend. I was worried about Johnny, I don't know why it took all day for it to occur to me. I thought of the things that might have kept him out of school for two days.

I decided to go out and search for him, and I willed myself to go to his house if necessary. I glanced down my street and didn't see him in the group of kids playing baseball with a stick in the middle of the street, and I didn't see him at the lot. I headed to the diners and the pool halls, hoping he was there and not home. I went into the bar that had all the pool tables and the pinball machines, the smell of cheap beer hanging in the air like a mist.

I saw him, his back to me, playing pinball. I saw his jet black hair against the worn out jean jacket. I stood there, feeling relief and anger. I watched the little ball as it bounced against the sides of the game, listened to the beeps and sirens of the game.

"Hey," I said, walking over to the side of the game. He glanced at me quickly and then looked back at his game.

"Hey," he said, missing the ball and it shot down the hole.

"Look what you made me do," he said.

"Where have you been?" I said, watching him put in another quarter, watching the machine light up again.

"Nowhere," he said, releasing the little ball and pressing those red buttons on the side.

"You haven't been in school for two days," I said, surprised at the steel in my tone.

"What are you, my mother?" he said, but he was barely paying any attention to me. He was focused on the game. And that made me even angrier. I'd been worrying about him, one of his teachers asked me about him, and now he couldn't even pay any attention to me. I closed my eyes, thinking of how I'd practically seen him in a bloody crumbled heap in some corner of his house, and turns out he was just skipping because he didn't give a shit about anything.

"Hey!" I said, grabbing his arm, and through the sleeve of his jacket I felt his muscles tense. He jerked out of my grasp and turned to look at me so fast, his eyes blazing. I had his attention now.

"What the fuck, Ponyboy!" he said, letting the pinball just slide down that hole, the game forgotten.

"I'm talking to you, Johnny, the least you can do is pay attention to me, that's what the fuck!" I suddenly wanted to kill him. I at least wanted to punch him.

"Jesus Christ-" he started to say, but by now the bartender was looking at us and pointing.

"You two, by the pinball machine, get out!" he said, and he was the owner of this pool hall. You didn't mess with him. He'd throw anybody out at the first sign of a fight. Johnny looked at me then with anger, and under it was hurt. We both left like we were told. Outside he shoved me, hard. I nearly fell. But I didn't and I shoved him back and he did fall, because I was a lot madder than he was. Everything felt pent up.

He looked up at me and for a second, just a second, I thought he was going to cry. There was this look that trembled in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as it had come and then he was up and at me. I wasn't sure what happened, it happened so fast. He punched me and I punched him and then we were both on the ground trying to kill each other.

I managed to get untangled from him and I sat up, hugged my knees while he punched me a couple more times, and I felt like I was gonna cry. I didn't know how this fight happened, but it's easy to fight with Johnny. It doesn't take much. But I was coming back to my senses and held him off. And finally he stopped punching me and just stared at me through the blood, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I'm sorry, Johnny, I just wanted to talk to you-" I started to say, but he cut me off.

"Talk! You're trying to kill me, you just come down and start this fight with me-"

"I know! I'm sorry, alright! I just wanted to talk to you, screw it," I said, getting up, dusting myself off, and I walked away.