Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

We used to talk about hopping a train all the time, but it never was anything. It was always late at night, after her parents went to sleep. We'd hide under blankets with a flashlight planning out our grand escape. We never thought it would amount to much. Or at least, I guess, I didn't. I guess that's why I didn't think of it to begin with. But now, it all makes sense.

I hop into one of the boxcars I think Minnie would have chosen after the person checks with his flashlight. It's dark and not particularly comfortable and not the warmest. She would've been better on a bus. And part of me wonders if she took the train because she knew I'd think of a bus first. My mind returns to our conversation the morning she left: What? You think I ain't tough? I'm damn tough!

"You're damn tough alright." I mutter to the empty car. If she hopped a train, maybe she ain't playing it nearly as safe as I thought she would. I don't know if I'd call it smart. Not paying a bus fare would sure save on whatever money she's got stashed, but something about it don't sit right with me. It don't fit her, like how words like ain't and damn don't fit her mouth the way it does mine.

A whistle blew jolting me from my thoughts. The train lurched and I flew into the side. Gingerly, I picked myself up, inching away from the opening as it slowly picked up speed. I didn't want to think about her like this. Probably still crying and all shook up, trembling and cold and probably hungry. At the same time, to think she might've sat where I was currently was somewhat of a comfort. There was the possibility she was here, and if she were here, maybe I could find her. I still don't know what I'd say or do to her. Probably hug her or punch her in the face.

I rummage around the car desperately. I don't know what I'm looking for. Just a sign she were here. And even though all the while I'm doing it, I know it's farfetched, it don't hurt any less when I turn up with nothing. And suddenly there's this mix of things stirring up inside. The old sting and betrayal surface, combined with this bitter disappointment, and this almost overwhelming jealousy. 'Cause she was able to do something I never could. She could hop a train and disappear and never look back no matter what or who. She could stop caring. Even after she just up and leaves and still with no word from her, I can't stop caring about her. And at the same time it hurts, enough for my eyes to itch and my throat to close, that she could do that to me.

I hug my knees to my chest and watch the world blur by outside the boxcar.

I hop out and walk around the town. It's real country with tractors and a lot of the men are sunburned like they've been working in fields. If Minnie were with me, we'd probably try to find some horses so we could watch them. She wasn't allowed to go to the Slash Jay, but I'd take her some time and horses always seemed to mesmerize her.

The town's a bit of a walk and I start to wonder if she'd avoid it all together. I would've thought she'd stop for food and supplies, but then again I never thought she'd hop a train neither. And if she ain't taking a bus maybe she don't want to be seen. Maybe she's hiding somewhere. Maybe she hopped another train or never got off here to begin with. I don't want to think about those last two. 'Cause then it would mean I lost my only damn lead.

After what feels like forever, I get to this little one-horse store. The bell rings when I walk inside. They've got everything lying out in the open and if I was more like Keith I'd walk away with half the store. Hell, Minnie could probably get away with swiping whatever she needed and saving more of her money.

Behind the counter is an old woman. She looks like a grandmother and her smile falters when she sees my clothes and my hair. The forced civility is sickening and her voice becomes strained. She don't trust me and if it wasn't for Minnie and all I'd probably have something to say. I settle for my fists balling and my teeth grinding. I hate the way her eyes follow me, like the people at the stores back in Tulsa. The moment they lay eyes on me, they know I'm from the East side.

I slouch further than I already am. She's the type of woman who probably scolded her children to stand up straight. I can hear the silent tut-tut at such a disgraceful appearance. She wouldn't have done the same thing to Minnie. Minnie didn't slouch unless she was trying to impress me and act tough. She didn't look like she was from the East side. Nobody thought 'trouble' when they looked at her. "I'm looking for a friend." I mumble. She don't say nothing and it makes me angrier. She probably won't tell me the truth even if she knew. I go on to describe her and has she happened to see anyone like that around?

She eyes me uncertainly, lips pursed as she hums like she's thinking it over. I doubt she is. Or she's trying to decide if she should call the cops on me. Finally, she shakes her head. "No, dear. Haven't seen your friend around." I cringe 'cause she sounds a lot like that Hank Williams that always plays at Bucks. She goes back to her work, ignoring me and I turn on my heel. I swipe the candy bar before leaving.

I walk for a little while when the other locals are about as helpful, trying to find any place she might hide out or sleep for the night. My feet are killing me when I finally find the perfect place, an old abandoned church at the top of some hill. The climb doesn't help my feet.

A window in the back makes the perfect entrance. The whole place is covered in cobwebs. It gives me the creeps. I didn't like the idea of her staying here. It would've given her nightmares if she slept at all. It would give me nightmares. And where would she sleep anyway? The floor was stone and hard and the pews looked more uncomfortable than the train.

I sit among the dust and debris, trying to picture her here, but I can't. I get a sinking feeling in my gut. There's no sign she was here. No foot prints but mine. No wrappers or trash. No nothing. I'm sure she wouldn't stay here, no matter how tough she tries to act. A shiver goes down my spine and I just know something bad has happened here or is going to happen. With that discomforting thought, I'm on my feet and running from that place like my life depends on it.