Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

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Nancy raised both her eyebrows, the smirk still on her face. I wanted to sock her across the jaw. If it was bad news, why on earth was she smiling?

"It's Soda."

Suddenly, it felt like wind had been knocked right outta me. And Nancy was still smiling. Grinning…smirking…. It was angering me so much that I stood up, wobbling as I gained my balance, and slapped her hard across the face.

She seemed taken back. She stumbled, but managed to steady herself after a moment. Now she wasn't grinning. She had some sort of incredulous look on her face.

"What the hell was that?"

"What's wrong with Sodapop?!" I demanded. I had her grabbed by the collar now, and I was shaking her fiercely. "What happened to him?"

"So you slap me across the face and then you expect me to—"

"WHAT HAPPENED TO SODA!?" I screamed.

"All right, all right," Nancy snapped, pulling her way out of my grip. "I'll tell ya."

She hesitated. Some sort of 'best friend' I had. She was just savoring the tension.

"It was some of the Soc," she finally admitted. "It happened down at his work. They lit 'em on fire. Threw gasoline on him and used a cigarette."

I was hyperventilating now, and even more so as the tears crept into my eyes. Cigarettes. Nasty cancer sticks. I never smoked 'em—not unless I had a decent reason to.

"Is he okay?" I was half-sobbing now, gasping as I begged for the answer.

Nancy was gnawing on her lip. She seemed guilty now. Maybe she shouldn't have acted like such a jerk when she'd come in.

"I dunno," she murmured, her cold blue eyes glaring at the floor. "They took him to the hospital. I was there when it happened. Right across the street, with Dal—"

I assumed she was going to say 'Dally', but I never knew for sure, because I was out the door in a second.

--

I was running to the hospital now. Barefoot. In my pajamas. My hair frizzing around my head, not brushed. But I didn't care. I had to reach the hospital. I had to reach Sodapop.

When I finally arrived there, after running over broken nails and small rocks and shards of glass on the street for fifteen minutes or so, I pushed the hair out of my face and went to the front desk.

"Where's—Sodapop—Curtis's—room?" I gasped.

The nurse seemed almost frightened by my deranged appearance, but she didn't comment.

"Room two-thirteen. Down the hall." She gestured to the whitened hall on my left, and I nodded and sprinted down it.

I kept running until I reached Soda's room. Two-thirteen. I reached over to open the door, but it was locked, and when I peered inside, I noticed several doctor's, hovering over Soda's body.

I let out a gasp and fell backwards a couple of steps. My heart was thumping hard in my chest. I thought it was going to give out from the pressure, but it didn't. It calmed slightly as I took a seat on a chair outside the wooden door.

God, Soda, don't do this to me…I begged. My head was swarming with petrifying thoughts. What if he d-died ? Where would I be then?

My brain was trying hard to get into more detail, but someone tapping me on the shoulder interrupted it.

I turned shakily, and witnessed my younger brother, Ponyboy, standing beside me.

"Pony?" I whimpered. "Pony, what're you doing out of school?"

My brother shrugged his shoulders. And then I almost died—but of shock. He spoke.

"The hospital called my school." His voice was soft and whispery, as if he hadn't made a sound in months.

"My God, Ponyboy." I couldn't stop my affection. I jumped out of my seat and hugged him, wrapping my arms tightly around his small frame.

Pony was the one to pull away, but only because I was squeezing the life outta him. Then he stared at me, a tiny, almost illegible smile, curled along his lips.

"Where's Darry?" I croaked. "He's gotta come, don't he? He wouldn't—"

"I don't gotta do anything." I looked up. That wasn't Pony's voice, nor a doctor's. It was Darry's. I stared at him from across the hall. He was looking less violent than usual, with his bulky arms crossed over his chest and sweating running down his face. "So what has Soda gotten himself into?" It was clear he was sober, and not willing to make a scene in public. But I was just so surprised that he'd come. I was convinced he didn't care at all. I hadn't actually expected him to show up.

I found myself rubbing my hands along my hair as I peered at Darry. I thought my appearance would make him realize I'd skipped school, but he didn't seem to notice anything unusual.

Once my fear subsided [vocabulary word….], I didn't know what to say. I felt the urge to slug him—but I also felt the urge to embrace him in a hug, like I had Pony. In the end, I did neither.

"A couple of Soc got him," I sniffled, talking as though we never fought. As though he never hit me.

Darry opened his mouth to reply, but a doctor stepped into his sentence, interrupting him.

"Excuse me?" the doctor asked. He looked old, perhaps in his mid-seventies, with bushy gray hair sprouting out of his ears. "Are you three here for Sodapop Curtis?"

We all nodded, even Darry, and the old man braced himself to continue.