I am updating or else I will forget. Sorry for the short chapter. Kind of sort of cliffhanger. Hehe.

...

The guys are all out in the kitchen. I stay back in the bedroom, a pen and paper on my lap. I chew on the end of the pen, trying to figure out what to say to Darry and Soda. The few phone calls I had made just don't seem to cut it.

Thinking about that, I wince. It feels like I'm completely disjointed from them. I wonder vaguely what they're doing while I'm gone. Hopefully not worrying too much.

I think for a moment then start to write.

I hope everything is ok back home. I'm fine here.

Am I? I almost choke on a laugh—I barely even know myself. I decide on keeping it, though. It may be a complete lie, but if lies will make Darry and Soda worry less, then does it really matter?

Right now isn't probably the best time to be writing this letter either. Though there is plenty going on in Miami to keep myself distracted with, my brain is still clouded over from the nightmare I'd had two nights ago. To my frustration, The Man's Face had slipped from my mind. But I remember him alright. In fact I couldn't forget him.

Just in time to stop me from putting another inarticulate thought down onto the paper, Smith comes pounding into the bedroom. Caught off guard, I jump. The cap of my pen flies across the room.

Smirking, Smith bends down to pick it up. "Jumpy?"

"Damn it," I mumble. I try to stuff the paper into my bag before he can see it. Too late. I watch as Smith's grin spreads across his face and all I can do is groan. "Writing to your girlfriend?"

I snort. "Yeah right. Fat chance."

"True. I'm really not seeing hope for you in the future, Curtis." He sighs, plopping down beside to me on the bed. "The guys are goin out to the bar tonight."

I grimace. "The one you got chased out of?"

Smith grins at the memory. "Yeah. That shitbag damn near killed me."

"I wouldn't say that" I guffaw. But I feel guilty about going to the bar again, remembering Soda's words.

"Ponyboy, Darry assumed the worse. What with what you've pulled before. He was drivin himself mad worrying about you."

"So are you in?" Smith ventures. I look down at the capless pen in my hand.

"No. Sorry."

Stupid stupid stupid.

Smith looks surprised, but shrugs. "Alright. I guess. That's one less person to buy beer for. Or to have get into fights." he grins at his own joke, but stops when I don't grin back. "Are you sure you don't wanna come Curtis?"

I manage a small smile. "Yeah I'm sure. I'll just slow you down anyways with my 'embarrassing alcohol tolerance'."

Smith chews on his lip, a smile breaking through. "Touché."

Turns out, Beatrice had to get groceries at the same time Clarke, Lowell and Smith went to the bar. I'm glad to be alone for once—I hadn't been since I went to bed the night before we left. That seemed longer than just a week ago. It feels good to finally have some time to myself.

I sit down at the table and try to continue writing out my letter to Darry and Soda. I tell them about the zoo trip, but nothing I put down seems to be right. It all sounds too forced, like someone is making me write it.

I call it quits when the phone rings. Not expecting it, I jump towards it, and wonder if I should pick it up.

It rings again. Maybe it's one of the guys. Maybe it's Beatrice. It could be important. Whoever it is, I lunge across the table for the receiver.

I grimace at the final thought that it might be Darry or Soda.

"Hello?"

"Oh thank god," someone answers. I scrunch up my nose, striking me as odd when I hear it's Lowell. "Ponyboy Curtis? Is that you? Puh-Leeze tell me it's you."

The position that I'm in isn't exactly comfortable, stretched across the table just barely reaching the phone. "Yeah." I wheeze.

I hear Lowell mutter a silent prayer. "I was afraid you wouldn't answer." I hear Clarke yell something to him. "Uh yeah. We sort of need you to call Aunt Bea. Tell her we're all going to a movie. Ok? And get your ass down here. To the bar." he says in disjointed spurts.

"Why?"

"Just come."

"But you have the car."

Lowell inhales through his nostrils and takes a long breath. It sounds staticy through the phone. "Yeah. That's the problem."

The table shifts under my weight and I nearly slip. I gasp out a swear. "Well how the hell am I supposed to get to you without the car?" I hiss breathlessly.

"You're on the track team. Right Curtis? "

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