I watched Cherry down on the gym floor and listened to all the noise around me, all of the shouts and the conversations and the soft talking bouncing off the gym walls. I could still see Johnny across the gym, too, sitting by himself. I thought of my essay, which was really turning into kind of a short story or something, and I thought what if me and Johnny and Dally were hanging out at the drive-in movies or something and we see Cherry there, sitting in the section with the seats if you don't have a car. I could picture the whole thing as though it had happened. I could see how her hair would look in the dark and I could hear the way she'd snap her gum, hard and fast because Dally would be up to his old tricks again. And me and Johnny would be stunned into silence because Dally can get real dirty when he wants to.
I listened to Keith wise cracking about something, and he hardly sounded like a soc to me. He had become Two-Bit, a character in my essay/story. I could see Two-Bit, too, of course he looked like Keith except his sideburns were long and his hair was greased back and he wore what I wore, worn out jeans and T-shirts, but instead of tennis sneakers he'd wear boots with the heels.
"Looks like your friend is having some trouble," Keith said, and I whipped my head up at that. I'd been lost in my thoughts, creating this story out of raw clay.
"Who?" I said, glancing down at Cherry as she twirled and shook the oversized pompoms.
"Him, that black haired kid you always hang out with," he said, and I glanced over toward where Johnny had been sitting. He was standing now, and I could tell by his face, even from here, that he was getting pissed off. There were a few socs near him, but I was too far away to hear any of what they were saying. It was all drowned in the noise. I watched one of the socs poke him in the chest, and then I watched Johnny shove him and watched him go sprawling. It didn't last long. One of the teachers went over and yanked Johnny's jacket and dragged him out of the gym. Of course the teacher left the socs alone, that was nothing new. All kinds of authority figures favored them. It was their money or their manners or something, or their fancy clothes.
"He's a nut, that kid, huh?" Keith said, and I nodded.
"Yeah," I said, and it sounded more sad than I meant to say it.
These pep rally things are always at the end of the day, and when it ended and everyone headed to their lockers I ended up seeing Soda. It was funny, because I felt myself almost longing for the Soda in my story, the movie star handsome Soda who understood everything and always made me feel better and smoothed things over between me and Darry. I found myself longing for the Soda that I could talk to late at night about girls and about life. I blinked, looking at the real Soda, just an average ordinary kid with a nice smile and a round face, nothing special. He was talking about something, dinner or some errand my mother wanted him to run but he was pawning off on me.
"Listen, Ponyboy, she wanted me to go and get some stuff at the store for her but I don't have time, really. Will you do it?" I nodded and he gave me the money she gave him.
I had my school bag slung over my shoulder and I was heading to the store, not paying attention to the world around me. I was too busy thinking. In the essay me and Dal and Johnny can go to this drive-in movie and meet up with Cherry there, and she's not with her boyfriend because it's some soc who's drinking and getting drunk and she doesn't like that.
"Hey!" I looked up at the yell, and before I did I knew it was some angry soc. It's their tone, they just sound rich and pampered. So I looked up, knowing I was caught off guard. It was Bob and Randy and one of the others from the country club, but this time Two-Bit wasn't around to save me.
I could run for it, but they were already circling me.
"Hey, grease," Bob said, and I saw how the sun was shining off those rings of his. There were three of the socs. Could I take three of them? Probably not. I felt myself getting scared. I wasn't like Johnny. I couldn't do what he did, just start punching and kicking people like crazy. I wasn't that great at fighting. So I got scared and quiet, and listened to all three of them insult me, calling me a low life greaser and who did I think I was, going to their country club?
"Do you think we enjoyed bringing trash like you to that place?" Bob said. Bob did most of the talking, and he was drunk, or at least he had been drinking. I could smell it. I had to try and make a break for it, so I took off fast but they caught me, held my arms behind my back and started punching. One swift punch to my stomach and I was gasping for breath, tears in my eyes. That hurt like crazy. I couldn't catch my breath. Another punch to the stomach and there was this ball of pain, it was like something I could actually visualize, it was hard to explain.
"Leave him alone," I heard someone say, beyond the roar of pain I was feeling. I looked toward the familiar voice and so did the socs. Through the tears in my eyes I saw Johnny standing there, blurry, but it was him. I saw his black greasy hair and his faded jean jacket, and something in his hand.
"You heard me," he said, stepping toward Bob, and now I saw what he had. It was that rusty old switchblade he had found. The soc who was holding onto my arms didn't let go, but Bob turned away from me, turned his attention to Johnny.
"Get out of here, kid," he said to him, but I saw that look in Johnny's eyes. That was a dangerous look. That look was my basis for Dallas Winston. And then it was so quick, Johnny got his arm around Bob's neck and pressed that switchblade right against his jugular vein.
"Let him go or your friend gets it," Johnny said to the other two socs. The one holding my arms let me go and I doubled up in pain on the ground, hoping that Johnny didn't end up killing Bob. I was kind of praying, curled up in the fetal position. 'Don't let Johnny kill Bob, don't let Johnny kill Bob,' The other two were backing up slowly, staring at the tip of that rusty switchblade pressed into their friend's neck.
It was one of those kind of moments that takes more time than a clock can measure. I was on the ground writhing in pain but looking up at Johnny and Bob. The other two socs were staring with round eyes, backing up slowly, hands out in a defenseless gesture. Part of how Johnny got the jump on him was that Bob was drunk, and slow. Johnny was always pumped up with adrenaline, and that little fight in the gym made him mad.
We were all holding our breath, me, Randy, the other soc whose name I didn't know. Bob looked frightened in a drunken kind of way, a little separated from reality. Then Johnny pressed the button on that switchblade that makes it go back in, and he let Bob go and shoved him toward his friends. They lead Bob back to the car, and they got in and drove off. I was slowly getting my breath back.
Then Johnny was kneeling down by me, his hand on my shoulder.
"Pony, are you okay?" he said, his voice soft now, quiet, concern in those big black eyes of his. This was the Johnny Cade from my story, my essay. I felt almost dizzy with how fast he switches from one way of acting to another. And I almost started crying, and I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because I'd been nearly beaten to a pulp, and maybe it was because Johnny saved me.