Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Byrds own "(See The Sky) About To Rain."

Some are bound for happiness

Some are bound for glory

Some are bound to live with less

Who can tell your story

March 1, 1966

With a yawn, Ponyboy walked toward the kitchen, the sight of Darry coming into view as he flipped an egg over in the pan on the stove. The smell of bacon was thick in the air, the younger boy's stomach giving a low rumble as it rapidly wafted through his nostrils.

"Mornin'," he said to his oldest brother, pouring himself a glass of chocolate milk and taking a seat at the table.

Darry looked at him funny. "Glory, kiddo, did you sleep alright?"

"Got to bed late," he answered, rubbing a hand over his face. "I couldn't really sleep, either."

"You feelin' okay?"

Ponyboy nodded. "Yeah, I've just been thinkin', is all." A sigh. "Today would have been Johnny's seventeenth birthday."

An expression of realization crossed the older boy's face, but he remained collected. Something in his kid brother's voice made his heart seem to sink a little, but he couldn't let on that he was worried, or else Ponyboy would repress himself, and he didn't want another repeat of that. He and Soda had quite a difficult time getting their brother back on track, finally coming out of his shell enough to speak to both of them again, and Darry was awfully proud of him. He didn't want him back in that vacuum he had been in several months ago.

The teen continued on. "I was thinking that I might stop at the cemetery tonight to see him. Maybe I'll see Mom and Dad, too. Okay?"

Darry nodded. "Sure, kiddo." He gave him a small smile as he handed him a plate of bacon and a few silver dollar pancakes. He didn't want to push him to speak. When it came to discussing Johnny, he always let Ponyboy do the talking, unless he asked him something specifically. He decided to change the subject. "How's school been going?"

"Fine, I guess."

"Just fine?" He chuckled. "Glory, but I'd expect you to be excited for Spring break. It's just around the corner."

The teen perked at this, having forgotten about it. "Guess I've been so absorbed in school work that I haven't even thought about that."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure Dally is," Darry said, and grabbed his own plate, taking a seat across from his brother. "Nearly gave me a heart attack this morning."

Ponyboy's brows pulled together in confusion. "Dally?"

"He's asleep on the couch," came the response. "Didn't know who the hell he was at first." He jerked his head in the direction of the living room. "I'm surprised he ain't up yet."

With a shrug, the younger boy sighed, wondering why Dallas was at their house. He hadn't crashed at their place in months, and the only time he'd shown his face there had been a few days ago when they'd all headed to the bowling alley together. It seemed strange, not to mention, felt funny, to know that Dallas Winston was slowly placing himself back in their lives again. Ponyboy wondered if the older teen was aware that it was Johnny's birthday.

The sound of the shower stopping interrupted his thoughts. "Are you okay with Soda working over on the West side of town?"

Darry was quiet for a moment, but Pony didn't miss the defeated look in his pale eyes. "There ain't a thing I can do about it, kiddo."

"Yeah, but are you okay with it?"

A pause. "I don't know."

Ponyboy remembered Soda telling him that he'd been hired at Giberson's Auto a few days ago, and truth be told, he was upset and worried. Steve hadn't exactly reacted to the news that graciously, either, and for once, Pony found that the two agreed on something. Soda didn't have to explain his reasons for getting a part-time job, though—he knew his brothers were struggling financially. A part of him felt like it was somewhat his fault for not contributing back to help them out, but Darry kept stressing over the fact that the only thing he needed to focus on was school and good grades.

Both Darry and Ponyboy glanced up as the sound of boots trudging into the kitchen reached their ears, a calm expression on Darry's face while Ponyboy looked almost perturbed.

Darry didn't even flinch. "Want some breakfast?"

Dally looked as though he had a hangover. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles underneath, and with the way his wrinkled clothes hung on him, there was no doubt that he was fooling around with that Cherie Peters again. Despite looking like complete shit, the blond teen merely took a seat at the table, the smell of some flowery perfume reaching the younger boy. He'd been right, he noted dully, nose crinkling up at the image of Cherie in his mind.

"Soda," Darry hollered, placing a plate in front of Dallas. "Let's go!"

Dally glanced once at Ponyboy, who was still staring at him with a curious look. "What, kid?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, and began eating again. He wasn't about to tell the hood that he was thinking of Ella Mitchell just then. Boy howdy, he wasn't sure why the girl's face had entered his mind, but he was pretty sure there was a reason for it, one that he could hardly admit to himself.

Ella sighed at the sight of Will Rogers High School. Her chin lowered as she stared at the building, wondering if she ought to ditch or not. Something in the back of her mind told her that that wouldn't exactly be a smart idea, but with the way she was feeling right then, she really didn't care what was right or wrong, or smart for that matter.

She had been feeling uneasy since the night she met up with Ponyboy at the bowling alley, and she wasn't sure why. Okay, well, some part of her was, but she couldn't bring herself to reconcile with it, didn't want to accept it. She'd been taking to sitting in the library during lunch again, sometimes with the company of Ponyboy and other times by herself. She had barely spoken to anybody, and whenever she saw Dallas Winston in the halls, she felt her heart sink into her stomach.

Speaking of the towheaded hood, Ella had seen him Monday evening at the store. He had shown up with his new girl, Cherie Peters, looking to purchase some liquor. Ella had been mortified just looking at him, completely ignoring the fact that Cherie was there with him. Her blood ran cold when he placed two packs of Bud on the counter, blue eyes burning straight into her own, as if he were challenging her.

She'd merely stared at him, unsure if she should tell him to get lost, or just ring him up and be done with it. Dallas hadn't said a word to her, but the calculating expression held on his face was enough to make the girl think of doing anything else, and against her better judgment, she rang up the alcohol and kept her trap shut as he threw some dollar bills at her and took his leave.

Ella had felt like a complete fool. Again, she had let Dallas Winston walk all over her, let him get his way, instead of working up enough nerve to tell him to leave. She figured that was why he thought he was able to do the things he did—nobody corrected or disciplined him because they were too afraid that he'd knock their teeth out.

"Hey, Ella," a voice greeted, pulling the girl from her thoughts. She jerked around to see Ponyboy Curtis standing there, a small smile on his lips. He frowned, though, once he took in her countenance, which looked like she'd been through the mill. "You okay?"

The girl slowly nodded, a sigh escaping her lips. "I'm alright. You just startled me, is all."

Pony's brows laced together, and Ella could tell that he didn't believe her. "Sure."

"I suppose I just don't feel like being here today," she admitted, eyes dull. At the sound of laughter, her gaze shifted over Pony's shoulder, her stomach knotting up. Dallas Winston and Two-Bit Mathews were headed in their direction, so Ella did the only logical thing she could think of. "I'll see you later," she said quickly to Ponyboy, and then hurried on inside the building.

She could feel her heart pounding against her chest, her cheeks burning with humiliation as the sight of white-blond hair and icy blue eyes entered her mind, and only when she'd gotten to her locker did she take a deep breath, attempting to calm her nerves.

Why was she acting like this? When had Dallas Winston, that no-good, rotten hood, ever made her feel this inferior and this anxious? She pursed her lips as she asked herself those questions, and with a defeated look in her eyes, she reached for her morning books.

Mrs. Girdlé was walking leisurely up and down the rows of the art room, looking around at the work of her students with amusement and curiosity. Dallas scowled, staring down at his blank paper, having not bothered to begin on the day's assignment. Art had never really been a hobby of his, and to aggravate Mrs. Girdlé, he always found a way to scribble out the same exact thing for every project she'd given the class.

He remembered the day she had questioned him about it, too, asking him if there was a significance that a certain jean jacket held for him, or if he just ultimately had a fondness for them. He had gotten annoyed with her inquiries, practically telling her to bug off before taking his leave. He really hated art class, and he definitely wasn't a fan of the teacher, either. Still, it annoyed him that she continued to treat him nicely, as if she felt sorry for him, and Dallas didn't do well with that.

"Mr. Winston," came her silvery voice. He had to refrain from gritting his teeth. His eyes moved up as he glanced at her, her face twisted in slight confusion at his blank paper. "Well, I'm surprised with you," she continued on. "I don't see any jackets."

Dally's expression twisted even more. "Why do you even care, huh? This shit is—"

She cut him off abruptly. "Mr. Winston, language. Now, if you don't feel up to joining the rest of the class in completing your assignment, you can stay after school with me and clean the easels and paint brushes as a detention."

The blond crossed his arms, kicking his feet out as he glared up at her. His eyes were challenging, lips pressed into a thin line. That was the best she had, he thought bitterly—always giving him a detention when he refused to cooperate with her. Well, that was just fine with him; he could tolerate an hour of cleaning easels and sorting paint brushes and other art supplies—it wouldn't be the first time. He wondered how far he would have to go to push her over the edge, to really rile her up and possibly get himself kicked out of her class.

Mrs. Girdlé stared back at the teenager with a stern look in her dark eyes, wondering why he tried so hard to make her dislike him, or why he went about doing the things he did. She remembered the first day he had swaggered into her classroom; he'd looked so angry, so aggressive, and his ornery demeanor only fueled her unceasing patience with him. He was tough to deal with, but no matter how awful the teen had been to her and the other students, she remained somewhat fond of him.

She sighed when he didn't respond to her warning. "Alright, then, Dallas. I'll see you after school tomorrow afternoon in detention."

The hood refused to comment, ignoring the disgusted looks of the other students in the class. He didn't like them, didn't want to be there with them. He'd been in that hell-hole for nearly five months, and still, they all looked at him like he was some kind of disease, like his very presence would make them sick if he moved any closer to them.

He didn't care, though. He didn't need them, he didn't need anyone. As he repeated that mantra to himself for the duration of the period, his eyes drifted to the calendar that hung on the wall beside Mrs. Girdlé's desk, a dark expression veiling his features.

It was Johnny's birthday.

Ella's shoulders slumped as she made her way into Mr. Davis's office. She hadn't seen the man in quite some time, but the gnawing feeling resting in the pit of her stomach—the fact that she knew who had vandalized his property a week ago—made her feel awfully guilty looking at him. When she'd been given her slip in homeroom, she nearly considered the fact that Craig had ratted them out. It seemed silly to even think of such a thing, but glory, it sure did make her feel anxious.

"Take a seat, Miss Mitchell," the principal said, sorting through some papers that were scattered around on his desk. Once the girl was seated, he continued on. "Tutoring Mr. Winston, I'm sure you're aware that he's falling a bit behind in math again."

Ella frowned. "He was struggling." The words sounded forced on her lips, and she felt herself squirm a little in the chair. She wasn't a very good liar, even though she could conjure up one hell of a bluff, but with the way Mr. Davis was attempting to analyze her just then made her feel sick . . . and guilty.

The man hummed, eyes moving back to Dallas's file. "Well, Miss Mitchell, with midterms just around the corner, I would strongly suggest helping Mr. Winston improve his math grade."

The girl's heart nearly stopped in her chest. She had completely forgotten about the midterms next week, and she suddenly felt even worse. She had considered Dallas's grades her responsibility ever since she was assigned his tutor, and even though he had pushed her away, she still felt that prodigious responsibility resting heavily on her shoulders.

"I'll be sure to work on that," she said, eyes lowering to the floor.

"Of course," he replied, noticing the girl's apprehensive expression. He closed the file, sliding it to the edge of his desk. "We wouldn't want to see Mr. Winston fail."

Ella glanced up at the tone of his voice, and something in her gut twisted. She remembered Craig telling her how he had used her as a distraction just to see Dallas fail, which was why George had talked Mr. Davis into making Ella the hood's tutor to begin with. She didn't want to see Dallas fail, she really didn't. In the beginning, she hadn't cared, simply telling herself that Dallas was only a job, one she would have to see through and then move on once he passed his senior year. But now, it was more of a personal matter.

She shook her head, though, swallowing the lump in her throat. "No, we wouldn't."

As she took her leave, she wondered how she would go about confronting the hood again. She was sure by now that he loathed her very existence—it didn't take much for him to get angry, and that day she had lashed out on him made her certain that he would never speak to her again, well, at least not in a decent or pleasant matter, not that Dallas Winston was any of those things to begin with.

Still, his grades were still her responsibility, and she took that part of the job seriously. Now, how the heck was she going to get Dallas to cooperate with her again? The thought alone made her feel rather nervous, her stomach knotting up and her breath hitching in her throat.

Oh, glory, she thought. Why did she have to feel like this?

" . . . and I'll be needin' some help with algebra, too," Two-Bit trailed on, leaning across the hood of his car. "Think that's about it. I was talkin' to Mrs. Philips, you know, that cranky counselor with a stick up her ass? Well, she was sayin' that if I don't pass these midterms, I might as well not even bother tryin' for the rest of the year. Can y'all believe that witch?" He laughed, then. "Gee, she sure does hate my guts, but I ain't surprised. She just can't lighten up."

Dally crossed his ankles, silently agreeing with the older greaser. His eyes caught Ponyboy's as the kid glanced up from his book, shaking his head at Two-Bit's rant.

"I'm failing math, too, apparently," the blond stated, giving them a wolfish smile. "Too bad, though. I ain't ever been any good with numbers."

Two-Bit gave him an inquisitive stare. "Thought you was getting help from Ella Mitchell."

"Naw," he replied, and then shook his head. "Little broad and I are done with that shit."

Ponyboy ground his teeth. "Well, I can't help you if you're having trouble with math, Dal. I'll be working with Two-Bit, and I have my own work to focus on, too."

The blond teen gave the kid a dark look, but Two-Bit was quick to step in, a slightly amused look on his face as he considered Ponyboy's words. That had been quite a speech for him, and to Dallas of all people. He was surprised the hood hadn't reached forward and clobbered the kid for getting mouthy with him, but the expression he wore wasn't real pleasant, either.

"Well," he drawled, lighting up a smoke, "Ella is his tutor." His gaze landed on Dallas. "You'll just have to ask her for help with math and then toss her ass to the curb." He smirked. "Say, whatever happened with y'all that you ain't working together anymore?"

Dallas, even though he was irked that both Two-Bit and Ponyboy had ganged up on him, had to grin at the question. He'd been annoyed with Ella Mitchell, but he had to admit that her attacking him was pretty fucking brazen—that took some nerve. Still, he was pissed at her, and he didn't want anything to do with the likes of her. Stupid bitch.

"She's fuckin' crazy, that's what," he answered slyly. "Fuckin' bitch attacked me a week or so ago. I couldn't believe it."

Ponyboy's eyes broadened at that, and Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow, trying to visualize it. Both were astonished, to say the least. Ponyboy had asked both Dallas and Ella what had happened between them a while back, but he'd never gotten an answer. The nagging feeling of Ella's attitude in the past few weeks had made him suspicious of her, but now he knew that his earlier assumptions regarding her feelings were correct.

It took all of a few seconds before Two-Bit busted out laughing. "Are you . . . are you for real? That little gal? Boy howdy . . ."

Dally looked ready to deck the rusty-haired teen, but Ponyboy spoke up, his curiosity getting the better of him. "What happened that she attacked you?"

The blond scowled deeply. "Told ya, she's fuckin' crazy. I dunno, man, she's off her rocker or somethin', acting one way and then another. I make one comment and the broad is coming across the seat at me like she's about to rip my head off. Glory . . ." He shook his head.

"Oh, Dal," Two-Bit mused, his face red from laughing so hard, "I think she likes ya."

Ponyboy felt his breath hitch at the older teen's words. He had been thinking that very same thing ever since the night at the bowling alley. The only problem was that he didn't want to admit it to himself, didn't want to believe that Ella Mitchell could fall for a guy like Dally Winston. He inwardly cringed, hoping that his feelings, as well as Two-Bit's, were wrong.

Dallas, however, stared at Two-Bit like he'd grown another head. "Get the fuck outta here. That little broad?"

His comment went unanswered as the bell rang, and he almost felt sick for a second. Ella Mitchell into him? That was the biggest joke he had ever heard—it made him feel green just thinking about it.

Ella sighed, stirring a pot of soup on the stove. She'd felt off all day, and her conversation with Mr. Davis continued to linger in the back of her mind, making her feel more worried than ever. She wasn't sure that she should approach Dallas at all, but some part of her told her that she had to. She knew that she could just let him fail—it was his own fault that he wasn't asking for help with math. Then again, it had been her who had attacked him, not the other way around.

The girl figured that he had a right to be angry. They had been getting along, well sort of getting along, for the most part, better than they ever had, until she had to go and ruin in. She couldn't get the look in his eyes out of her mind, though, and the entire thing made her feel worse.

Slapping the wooden spoon on the towel beside the burner, the girl frowned. She was making things more complicated than they needed to be. Glory, all she had to do was march up to Dallas, inform him that she'd talk to Mr. Davis, and then ask him if he needed or wanted help with math—piece of cake, right? So, then, why was she feeling so anxious? How come she always let Dallas walk all over her like he had some kind of control when he didn't?

The sound of the front door opening pulled the girl from her thoughts, and she went back to mixing around the soup, the smell wafting up into her nostrils and causing her stomach to grumble. Her mother entered the kitchen a moment later, letting out a breathy sigh as she placed her purse and keys on the table, moving over to the sink to wash her hands.

"How was school?" Frances asked, grabbing some bowls from the cabinet and placing them on the table.

Ella feigned a smile. "Alright. How was work?"

"Long," her mother answered, and then nodded to the pot of soup. "I'm going to take a shower before I eat, alright? I'm working a double at the bar tonight. Janie came down with the flu and Barb needs someone to cover her shift." She gave her daughter a hard stare. "I won't be back until the morning."

Ella nodded, knowing the routine all too well. "I'll be fine by myself, Ma."

Frances only sighed, running a hand through her graying hair as she disappeared around the corner, the sound of the shower turning on a few minutes later. Ella bit her lip, her eyes landing on her math book which was sprawled open on the table, reminding her all too well of what she'd been trying to forget just moments prior.

The cemetery was vacant, dusk settling in as the darkened clouds overhead seemed to grow thicker, alerting Ponyboy that it would soon be storming. Darry had told him not to stay out too long, but the kid always lost track of time. Besides, he wanted to read another chapter of Gone with the Wind to Johnny for his birthday—it was the only way the teen could cope. He decided that every year on Johnny's birthday, he would read another chapter from the book, make like some kind of tradition, and when he eventually finished, he would start all over again.

He was certain it would sound silly to anyone else, but it somehow made him feel closer to his friend, made him forget—for just one moment—that Johnny was gone.

As he finished the final paragraph of the chapter, he flipped the book closed, allowing himself to remember that week they'd spent up in Windrixville—boy, it sure seemed like forever ago now. He still hated the taste of bologna, too, couldn't even look at it without his stomach turning. The teen was sure that Johnny was laughing at him, or as he would say, getting his jollies.

"What are you doin' here, kid?"

Ponyboy nearly jumped up, a startled look in his green eyes as he glanced up at Dally Winston, the older teen giving him a sharp look. He hadn't expected to have company, and he certainly hadn't expected to run into Dallas of all people, either. He remembered wondering earlier that morning if the towheaded boy was even aware that it was Johnny's seventeenth birthday, and his shoulders slumped as he realized that he had.

"Nothin'."

Dallas jammed his hands inside his pockets, a tired look on his hardened face. His eyes scanned the younger boy over, taking in the fact that he wasn't even wearing a jacket—stupid kid. His piercing gaze flickered up toward the sky as a low hum of the wind sounded around them.

Ponyboy got to his feet, tucking a thick book under his arm. "You come to see him?"

The blond's scowl only deepened at the inquiry. "Was passing through," he answered briskly, shifting on his feet as he nodded toward Johnny's headstone. "You reading to him or somethin'?"

The kid flushed. "He liked that book a lot, so I figured I'd finish it for him."

Dally could only stare at the kid in bewilderment. "Ain't that the book Two-Bit got him?"

"Well, yeah," Ponyboy replied, and decided not to bring up the events from September. Dally was a walking time-bomb, and the less he mentioned about any of that stuff, the safer he was. "He liked the movie, so I figured I'd read him the book."

Something flashed in the older teen's face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "Good for him."

"I'm sure you think it's strange, huh?" Pony said, and sighed. "I remember you telling me to get tough and wise up, but I think I'm better off the other way." His eyes met the blond's. "At least I'm able to feel things, and I'm okay with that." He wasn't sure what he was really getting at, but he felt like he needed to say those words to Dallas—make him understand that not all was bad. That was what Johnny wanted after all, wasn't it? He hadn't meant to bring it up, especially after he practically tip-toed around the hood with his earlier words, but he braced himself for whatever Dallas would do next.

Dallas, on the other hand, felt his teeth grinding together. It took all of his strength not to belt the kid for talking to him like that. Ponyboy sure had gotten brazen in the last several months, but he didn't have to stand there and take it, either.

He decided to play it cool, though. "Whatever, kid. I thought you would have learned by now that not everything in the world is good and gold, or whatever." The sound of thunder rumbling in the distance averted his gaze from the kid's face. "Let's go, huh? It's about to storm and I don't wanna get caught up in it out here."

He was already walking away before the younger boy could respond. Ponyboy watched him head down the trail, a surreal expression on his face. Sometimes he wondered if Dally would have been better off dying instead of living that one fateful night, because he was even more of a shell than he'd once been, and the younger teen wondered if his soul was really still alive after all.

See the sky about to rain broken clouds and rain

Locomotive pull the train

Whistle blowin' through my brain

Signals curling on an open plain

Rolling down the track again

See the sky, about to rain

Thank you so much for reading and giving me positive feedback! Y'all are the best! :3