Long story short, the road led me all the way to Crutchfield Park.

I'd been there before. There was a swimming pool on one side that all the little kids played in during the summer, and I'd used to come with my grade school friends on the particularly hot days, which were frequent in Oklahoma. That was back before I'd met Kathleen. Now I spent most summers beside her backyard pool, on a wicker chair, and underneath the sun. I liked that better, anyways. The park was crowded with elm trees that made it pretty cold during the daytime, especially in November.

A fountain rested in the center of the cold concrete. Icy water flowed throughout it. I watched it quietly from the view of a bench, unable to think of anything but the place where Bob Sheldon had spent his last minutes on earth trying to drown a boy for picking me up at the drive-in theater. Even in the dark, I could see a slight pink stain on the ground that all the rain in the world had failed to wash away. I looked down, feeling sick at the sight of it. He was immortalized in all the wrong ways. I felt as much guilt as I'd have had I done the cruel act myself.

Of course it was the alcohol doing it. The alcohol that Bob had gotten drunk off of. Woe was me, falling in love with all the wrong boys. Boys who started trouble and couldn't get out of it in time for girls like me to try and stop them from starting more. And it was painful to watch, knowing that those boys didn't take you seriously enough to listen to what you had to say about it.

Was I in love with Bob Sheldon, or was I in love with just one side of him? I couldn't quite seem to separate the two anymore. He was unpredictable; an Edward Hyde, of sorts. I'd picked up that book in mid-September, trying to get my mind off of things, but I'd had to put it down part of the way through. I'd always been a bit of a bookworm. But that book rang far truer for me than was comfortable. He could be so sweet. None of that had mattered once he'd started drinking, though.

I sat there for a few minutes before a shadow coming towards me caught my eye. Quickly, I glanced over in its direction. I shouldn't have been out so late, especially not in this part of town. I grabbed my keys and practically jumped off of the bench to head towards my car. Then, I turned my head to see a streetlight illuminating the figure and bringing him into view.

It was Sodapop Curtis.

"Come here often?" he asked me jokingly, grinning that stupid grin of his. But it didn't seem genuine this time. "I didn't scare you, did I?"
"Not at all," I sighed. "What're you doing here, anyways? It's late."

He sat down on the bench, and I took a seat right next to him. "At least I'm in my neighborhood. How'd you end up all the way out here?"

He'd dodged the question. "Went for a drive," I replied. I didn't want to tell him I'd gotten into a fight with my parents, or what had happened with my report card, or even about my newfound feelings (I felt almost disgusted calling them that, but it was the only word I could think of) for Mike. I knew better. "I've had a long day. I mean, I know you've heard enough about him from me, but it's Bob's eighteenth, and I was feeling sort of lonely."

"You're kidding," Soda muttered. He got up from the bench and stood behind it, drumming his work-worn fingers on the top.

I turned to look at him. "Something wrong?"

Soda went silent for a moment before speaking again. "Dally's, too. It's never been that silent in our house before"-I noticed he said our house-"not even on a Tuesday night. I couldn't stand it."

Bob hadn't been unlike Dallas Winston. They were two sides of the same coin. The only real difference between them had been money-and money didn't mean anything. Ponyboy had defended Dallas, and while I'd still been shaken up from hearing the things he'd said to me, I'd understood why. The boys on the east side of town-they had to stick together. The Dallas Winston I'd turned up my nose at and dismissed as trash was his family. And family was everything to them.

Bob Sheldon had been violent and angry, but he'd had a good side. I hadn't had the chance to see Dallas's. Still, that didn't mean it wasn't there. He'd been cold and mean and contemptuous towards me. And, no matter how awful that made me feel, I could somehow still understand it. He'd been treated like less than dirt for all of his life by the people I knew. To him, I couldn't have been an exception from that. I hadn't been nice to him. But he hadn't been nice to me, either.

"Oh," I said, not really knowing how to respond. "Oh. Soda, I'm sorry. I had no idea."

It felt strange to mourn the loss a boy who had been nothing but awful to me. But I would have bet Soda could've said the same thing about Bob.

"I just needed to get out," Soda continued. He paused. "Why'd you come all the way over here? Shouldn't you be at home? It's not safe out here so late."

I sighed. "I guess I needed to get out, too."

I could hear him pacing on the pavement behind me, unable to settle down. "I'm sorry," I muttered.

He stopped. "What for?"
"I know"-I paused, my voice shaking-"he hurt you. I can't forgive him for that."

Soda sat down next to me on the bench, twiddling his thumbs. "I can't, either."

"It's unforgivable," I said. "All of it. But I'm still coming to terms with that. You know, I didn't even know about Johnny until that night at the drive-in theater." When Soda didn't respond, I spoke again. "We knew a very different Bob Sheldon."

"I think we knew a very different Dallas Winston, too," Sodapop replied.
Without thinking, I put my head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around me, his snug plaid shirt shielding me from the biting November wind. The two of us sat there for a few minutes, him rubbing my arm, and myself thinking about how no boy had ever held me like that before-not Bob or any other guy I'd once thought I was in love with.

"I thought this would be over by now," I mumbled.

"I think that every time," said Soda. He was real good at this. I was glad to have somebody, even if that somebody was Sodapop Curtis. Especially if that somebody was Sodapop Curtis. "But, hey. Things always get better. It ain't a ladder. It's more of a roller coaster, really."

I thought about that for a second. I'd gone down to the state fair with a boy on the basketball team named Will my freshman year, the first guy I'd ever gone out with for more than a few months. He'd wanted to ride the biggest coaster there; in hindsight, probably to impress me, which I still found pretty funny. We'd waited in line for forever to get on. The coaster had gone up and down, over and over again, even looping around at one point, and he'd pretended he wasn't terrified, while I had pretended I was, just so he could feel a little bit better. I'd felt like I could have done anything after the ride had ended-like I could brave any obstacle life threw at me without batting an eye. Boy, had I been wrong.

Sodapop was right about this whole situation being like that. I had some good days. I mainly had bad days. They'd started to get better. But I knew that this was just the beginning. Before today, I had been at the top of the hill, blissfully unaware of my impending fall downward. Now I had to climb back up once more.

"It is," I sighed. "You're smart, you know that?"

"No one's ever said that to me before," Soda sighed. "I mean, to tell you the truth, I didn't drop out of school 'cause I was dumb. I had to get a job after my parents got into that car crash, and I was failin' anyways, but I sure couldn't tell Darry that. I've never been good at school."

"Well, you are smart, Soda," I told him. I saw a hint of a smile creep in behind his unusually solemn expression. "Real smart. And school-it isn't everything."

I was a hypocrite. If school wasn't everything, why was I so torn up about my report card? And why had my father been so angry when I hadn't fulfilled his expectations? I'd done the best I could in school, considering the circumstances, just as I was sure Soda had. So why was it any different with me?

"I know it ain't," Soda replied. "And I'm happy workin' at the DX. School wasn't for me. I can't sit still for an hour straight, especially not if I have to listen to a lecture the whole time. The only things I miss are P.E. and auto mechanics."

"It's been a lot harder for me lately," I confessed. "I got my grades back a week ago, and I had to hide them from my parents. My dad found them today." I sighed. "He's not happy. We got into a fight. That's why I drove over here. I had to blow off some steam. I've always had a temper."

"You sure have," remarked Soda. "I heard what you said to Dally."
I looked him in the eyes. "I'm sorry about that, alright? I couldn't have known-"

"It's okay," Soda told me. He looked real sad. "I mean, none of us could have. There's nothing we can do about it now."

I wished there was. I wished that every single day.

Soda lit up a cigarette. "You really shouldn't be smoking those," I remarked. I'd never gotten the appeal of them, and with all the horrible stuff that had been coming out about them lately, I found them pretty disgusting. My father smoked cigars, and a pipe on special occasions, but no one else in my family did, not even Scott. He was too devoted to track for that kind of thing. None of my girl-friends did, either. Most of the guys did. Bob had, though I'd tried to get him to stop, and Randy had up until a few weeks ago. He really wanted that scholarship, even if it meant giving up his vices. I'd never enjoyed the smell of secondhand smoke on a guy I was out with, anyways.

"I usually don't," he replied, turning away from me to exhale. "Just to calm my nerves."

I shifted where I was sitting and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You know what time it is?"

"Should be about nine," answered Soda.

I jumped up from the bench. "Shoot. I'd better get going. My dad's gonna kill me."

"Better prepare a will," Soda muttered. I laughed sardonically and straightened out my skirt, a blue plaid mini my mother silently shook her head at whenever I wore it. "Think I'll stay out here for a while longer."

"Sounds good," I replied. "Well, I'll see you when I see you. Have a nice night."

He grinned and waved at me as I walked off towards my car. After starting up the engine, I turned on the radio to fill the silence. It was that Simon and Garfunkel song again, the one Marcia had turned off that day at the Ribbon. She'd never liked slow songs. I had. I could sit and listen to music forever, just taking all of it in.

It was a fitting end to an awful day-a sad song on a lonely drive home much too late at night. It was almost comforting, in a way. I'd thought forever that I was the only one in the world who felt pain anymore. Maybe I wasn't. Maybe there were other people I could turn to, who could empathize with someone like me, who could help me carry my baggage for as long as I needed it.

To feel was both a blessing and a curse. Right now it felt much, much more like the latter. I couldn't decide whether I liked it or not, no matter how much I tried to convince myself it was really a good thing. I wasn't too cool to feel, like the rest of my friends were. But this wasn't much better.

I was exhausted by the time I pulled back into the driveway, so I went straight to bed without saying a word to either one of my parents. I would wait until tomorrow morning to deal with them, and they'd probably forget about it, anyways, leaving me without any closure. I couldn't stand things like that.

I undressed quickly, and slipped on a nightgown. Wishing to never wake up, I flipped off the light switch and tried my best to sleep. But I just couldn't get my mind to rest. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, something finally caught my eye from my closet in the corner of the room.

A letterman jacket.

Bob's letterman jacket.

I'd forgotten it was still hanging there. It had only served as a reminder that he was no longer here with me. So I'd blocked it out. I'd blocked everything out. It felt almost wrong to touch it, in a way I couldn't even come close to explaining. It had been left undisturbed in my closet since his father had given it to me after the funeral. I'd begged him to keep it. I wasn't worthy of having the jacket. But now I was glad he'd persisted.

I was lonely. And it was cold in my bedroom.

Being as precarious as I could, I took it off of the hanger and held it in my arms. It still smelled of his English Leather, along with an undertone of whiskey I tried my hardest to ignore. I put my arms through the sleeves, just as I had on all those late summer nights, the good nights, when all I knew of the entire world was Bob Sheldon.

And that was all I'd ever wanted to know.

I crept back across the floor and wrapped myself in the comforter of my bed. It was decorated with a pattern of garish roses against a soft pink background. I'd picked it out in the third grade, and had long since grown tired of it, but now it had never felt warmer. I switched the lights off again and placed my head on the pillow. I had just begun to drift off to sleep when I heard the bedroom door open. I opened my eyes slightly, but squeezed them shut when I caught a glimpse of my father's tall, broad-shouldered silhouette in the doorway of the room.

"I was hard on you tonight, wasn't I?"

I didn't reply. I was half-convinced he still thought I was asleep. I hoped he did. I was too tired to have to deal with something like this. My old man could never admit when he was in the wrong. Sometimes I thought it ran in the family. But even I, one of the most strong-willed, stubborn people I knew, didn't have it as badly as he did. I had my regrets. He had none.

"You've got to promise me not to pull anything like that anymore," he continued. "Alright?"

Of course it was my fault. He could do no wrong, or so he thought. And I knew some know-it-all sixteen-year-old girl stood no chance at convincing him otherwise.

"I know these past few months have been rough for you, Sherri," he said. "But that's no excuse for behavior like this. You've got to grow up. You're sixteen. You're going off to college in a year and a half. So start acting like it."

I felt his weight on the other end of the bed. "Look, this doesn't mean I'm not proud of you. Your mother and I are very pleased with all you've accomplished. That's why I got so angry when you brought home that report card. And hiding it from us? That's not like you at all. You've never been a dishonest person. What's gotten into you?"

Little did he know.

He sighed. "I'd better get back downstairs. Have a good night's sleep. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
With that, he exited the room, softly closing the door so not to wake me. I managed to fall into a restless sleep after a while.

I had a long ride ahead of me-turns, loops, and only God knew how many more hills like the one I'd just gone over. But only time would tell when I would be able to stand on solid ground once more.

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A/N: So, this week, I began watching the masterpiece known as The Queen's Gambit. I swear this is relevant and not just an excuse for me to gush about how utterly amazing it is. While I was on the second episode of the series, I had a bit of an "a-ha!" moment when they mentioned having social clubs. You see, I honestly had no idea what Ponyboy was talking about when he mentioned that the Socs were in clubs at the beginning of the book. Since the concept is rather obsolete now (and let's be honest, I would most certainly not be cool enough to be invited to join one), I totally messed this detail up. Oops. Am I going to change it? Absolutely not. I have worked very hard on this story, and to write that detail in, even to be historically accurate, is too much for me. I'm busy, anyways. I just felt like I should acknowledge this mistake and move on with the story. Stay tuned for the next chapter.

I imagine that leather and wool would somehow be worked into this chapter when Cherry gets home. That makes the most sense to me. If you don't know what that is, it's basically a really short oneshot I wrote in about fifteen minutes about Bob's letterman jacket. You can check it out if you want to, but it's not required for you to understand the rest of the story.