Sorry for any update confusion. Long story short-this chapter deleted itself. Oopsie daisy. But now it is up again, so get your typing hands ready to review :) (Also thanks for those who messaged me, concerned. It warmed my heart)

Bigsqueak- Wow. Ok. I helped you make an account, so thank me for that later. Your review made me laugh...glad you say Pony's inner feelings.

MySunnyDisposition- Yes, I was proud of him too. Oh well…

BlondeMess- Glad you picked up on me trying to dig deeper into Pony's thoughts. It's like I can read his mind.

CriminalOutsider'sGirl14- Glad you found that last part funny! I found humor to be necessary.

HappierThanMost- Happy that you picked up on those details! It takes a good reader to find those...I am guessing you are one ;)

Warning: Cursing. Guess I should've added this to all my chapters, since Pony's friends have horrible mouths. Oops. :)

...

Soda POV

As I predicted, work at the DX picks up as July rolls on. Everytime I see a group of kids bring their car in busted from a road trip, my heart sinks and I think of Ponyboy.

A month, Soda. He'll be gone a month. That's almost up.

But it sure doesn't seem like it. Everyday feels slower.

"Soda."

I jump, surprised to see Steve standing there. "Glory you scared me." I huff, trying to act casual even though my mind is racing with what to say.

He smiles grimly. "I have a knack." We're both silent for an awkward few seconds. He cuts to the chase. "The boss has a few complaints from two of your customers. You gave one guy a free oil change when he needed his tires changed and the other got new tires when she needed an oil change." he sounds rehearsed, like he wasn't actually talking to me.

My heart jumps with guilt. I shake my head. "I...it was confusing. The cars were both red."

"Well...the boss is pissed."

Grumbling, I give up my position at the counter to Steve to deal with the problem. The truth is my mind had been too busy buzzing with the events of the past two weeks to focus on fixing cars. It's all too much on my plate.

Suddenly come face to face with the boss. He's grunting into the phone.

"Listen, there are no refunds-"

Then his eyes fall on me, wide with anger. "Actually...here. Let me put you on the phone with the employee who managed your car."

He hands the phone out to me and I take it, dumbstruck. He brushes past me and grumbles into my ear "Good luck."

I say into the phone, "Sodapop. DX."

The woman on the other end is just about having a tantrum. "Good lord. What kind of car dealership doesn't give refunds?"

Awkwardly I cough into my fist. "We aren't a dealership, ma'm. We just fix the cars."

"Oh. Whatever. But I was charged for four replaced tires that didn't need replacing. I'd like my money back." She sounds on-edge, like I feel.

"You can't...I can't...the tires are already replaced."

"But I didn't need them replaced. I just wanted a goddamn oil change."

This is all my fault I think and then remember my argument with Ponyboy. Actually, a lot of things are lately.

I twist the phone cord around my fingers and lean up against the wall. "I'm sorry. I'll do the oil change for free."

"Bullshit," the woman curses into the phone. Then she hangs up, just like Ponyboy had that night.

I hang up too, the phone barely making it back onto the wall with my shaking hands. I can see Steve at the counter with a customer, watching me wearily. The glint in his eye tells me he's still mad about what I'd said. And I don't blame him.

I glance at the clock, wishing I hadn't taken my lunch break so early. Because right now sure seems like a damn good time to get out of here.

Ponyboy POV

I arrive at the bar on foot. From a distance I can see Clarke leaning heavily on Smith, obviously drunk. I smirk not expected any less from him. Lowell just looks puzzled, scratching his head and examining Smith's car.

"I swear. I just got it fixed. I got all of this fixed." I can hear Smith marvel as I rear in. Clarke laughs drunkenly.

I slow to a jog when I approach them, breathing heavily and panting from the run that had been longer than I thought it would. I grumble a sarcastic ode to Lowell for making me run.

Shocked, I realize the situation. The driver's window on Smith's car had been busted open. Broken glass covered the seat and steering wheel.

I turn on Lowell. "You weren't kidding."

He grunts. "Glad you could make it, Curtis. Please tell me you called Aunt Bea."

"Yeah I did" I say, chewing my lip, my hands at my side as I examine Smith's car. "She was thrilled to have the night to herself." And she had been. No one says anything so I continue to ramble. "But I'm guessing we're not goin to a movie."

"No shee-it," Clarke drawls, pushing away from Smith and attempting to stand on his own but stumbling onto the back of Smith's car. "We ain't got a ride. It's…" he yawns, draping himself across the rear window. "Absolutely totaled."

Smith steps forwards and nudges Clarke's limp foot with his knee. "Like you."

Clarke guffaws. "I am not, you son of a bitch." He rolls his eyes at me and swirls his finger around his ear. "Crazy, this one. Stay away Curtis."

I meet Smith's eyes, smiling. "Sure."

"Guys," Lowell interrupts, frowning as he reaches his hand through the hole in the window and searches around. "I think we have bigger problems right now than Clarke's inability to stay sober. Though he should work on that. I think we got robbed."

Smith snorts. "Yeah. Ok. Or maybe some douche likes to go around, breakin people's car windows for kicks."

Lowell frowns at Smith's insensitivity to the situation. He rolls his eyes. "Hey, it's my car."

My attention is suddenly drawn away from their inane bickering and dragged to the window of the bar. Sitting alone at a table is a man I vaguely recognize. I squint but can't put my finger on him.

He shifts in his seat and looks outside. Straight at me. My nerves are shot. I jump, tripping and nearly landing on Clarke.

He's The Man from the dream.

Clarke knees me away from him. "And they say I'm drunk." In a daze, I look back towards the window but The Man is facing the other way. In my mind, I make a mental picture of his face.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

"So are you on that Curtis?"

I cock my head to the side, not realizing Lowell had been anxiously giving me instructions. My heart is still racing. "Huh?"

He forces two dimes into my hand and nods towards the payphone behind me. "Call the fuzz."

I look down at the dimes he'd handed me thoughtfully. That didn't seem like such a good idea to me given the current situation. I can just picture my brothers calling the Miami Police Department all the way from Tulsa and asking, So do you have any records with a Ponyboy Curtis? And if they hear that Smith's car had been robbed...I'd be on the next bus to Tulsa on orders from the horse's mouth.

"We don't have any proof that someone robbed us. Maybe something just...hit it." I opine.

"He's got a point," Smith quips, now leaning on the hood and lighting a cigarette. Clarke reaches up for one and he complies, giving the smoke to his dangling arm.

He lights it, looking up at the sky dreamily. "I ain't about to get involved with the cops" he mumbles incoherently. "I think...I think they're onto me."

"For what you shit?" Smith grills. Clarke just grins and laughs.

Lowell rubs his temples, the action and his worry lines resembling Darry's all too much. I feel a pang. Darry and Soda. If they could see this, I'd be chained to a wall for sure.

"Don't call the fuzz," I say finally, feeling guilty that I'd dragged my own problems into this. But desperate, too. "They can't do anything anyways."

Lowell grunts. Smith sighs, examining his broken car window.

"I seriously just got this damn thing fixed." he gripes.

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