At the house, as Darry pulled into the driveway to park, lights flickered from inside.

Even at that moment, it struck me that the boys were home early. Well, early for them. Though I wasn't sure what time that it was,

exactly. Maybe after eleven.

He shut the motor off, and, when he put his hand on the door handle to pull it and get out, I said, quickly, into the

darkness of the truck cab, "Darry, please." I didn't specifiy what, exactly. Just that.

He paused, his hand still on the handle, "Please, what?"

"I didn't do anything wrong-I ate and had a Coke, and-" I hesitated. "And I danced once with a boy that was there-but

that's all. I didn't drink any beer!"

There was just enough light from the yard light for me to see him turn in my direction. Somehow, it was easier to talk to the

face-less Darry than if it'd been real light out and I could have seen his glare.

"If I had-I'd tell ya-and take my punishment-but I didn't," I continued, and, even to my own ears, I could hear the pleading

sound in my voice.

I want Darry to say that he believes me; that he jumped to the wrong conclusion or whatever; that everything is fine...

He doesn't say any of that, though. He was just quiet for a long, long few moments, and then said, "Let's go inside."

His voice doesn't sound angry anymore, really. It doesn't sound really anything.

I pushed open my own door, and got out. But, slowly. Darry had walked around the front of the truck and was standing at

the gate, waiting. Waiting, obviously, for me to hurry it up.

I still felt sort of floaty-like, and it made me feel a little bit unsure of my feet. But, I didn't want Darry still thinking I'd

been drinking, for gosh sakes, so I tried to walk normal. Normally.

Once inside the living room, Darry closed the door behind us. There were whoops and loud voices from the kitchen. The boys. I could

hear Two-Bit, too, mixed with Soda and Ponyboy.

Soda came to the doorway between the kitchen and living room. He must have heard the front door close.

"Hey," he greeted us.

I said nothing, and Darry said, "Hey," in answer.

"How was your party, Junie?" Soda asked me, coming a few steps closer.

"Okay," I said, in a low mumble.

"Two-Bit got some cakes from the discount bakery-" Soda was saying. "You two want some?"

The thought of food didn't appeal to me. Not at all.

I shook my head, and then I ambled off toward the bathroom.

I shut and locked the door, and went pee, and then, after that, I washed my hands, and then looked into the mirror. For the first time, I remembered

my forgotten made-up face. Bonnie had been generous with the application of the blush, and had a particularly heavy hand with the eyeliner and eye shadow.

Darry hadn't mentioned it. I scrubbed my face with soap, washing the remnants of the makeup down the drain.

I patted my face dry, raising my head, and then suddenly, I felt sick. Overcome with the urge to puke. I bent over the toilet,

but it didn't happen. The feeling subsided slightly, and I stood upright again.

I waited a few more minutes, but then, eventually, I opened the bathroom door, and stepped out. I could hear voices still, from

the kitchen, and I went to my bedroom, closing the door. Slowly, deliberately, my movements measured, I undressed and pulled

on a pair of worn pajamas. Worn, but soft. I didn't feel as weird if I moved slowly.

I was thinking about brushing out my hair, releasing it from the ponytail. But, it seemed like such effort to work my arm that way. I laid

down, and immediately I felt better. I wouldn't sit up anymore, I told myself. Laying down was much, much better...

There was a quick tap at the door, and Darry's voice. "Junie? You decent?"

"Yeah," I answered, with an effort.

He came in then, leaving the door ajar. He had a glass of water in his hand, the ice cubes clinking against the sides.

He paused beside the bed, looking down at me.

"Feelin' any better?" he asked me.

I'd thought I'd shown no hints that I felt bad, besides acting tired, or whatever, but I should have known better.

"Some," I said, honestly.

"Did ya puke?" he asked me.

"Uh uh," I said. "I tried to, though-"

"Well, here," he said. "Sit up and drink some water."

"I'm not thirsty," I said.

"Ya may not feel like ya are, but ya need to drink."

I sighed, and sat up with an effort. The icky feeling that had gone away once I'd laid down reappeared.

"I feel better layin' down," I said.

"You can in a sec. Drink first." He held out the glass to me, and I took it. I raised it to my mouth, taking a sip, and then

another. It was really cold, and it did taste good, I had to admit. After a couple more drinks, the glass was half empty, and I

held it back up to him. He took it and I laid back down again, curling my legs slightly.

He began using his empty hand to pull my quilt up over my legs.

I studied him while he was doing that, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

"I'm not lyin' to ya, Darry," I said.

He paused, giving me an intent look. If I had been lying to him, I would have probably lost it in that moment, and confessed

all my teen sins, based just purely on that look.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," he said. "You need to get to sleep."

I reached out to grab at his hand, capturing it in my own. "I want ya to understand, though-" I pleaded.

"I understand," he said, and I felt a sense of relief.

"Ya do?" I asked, feeling weepy, of all ridiculous things.

"Yeah. I do. Now go to sleep."

"Okay," I said, feeling a lot better. I mean, a whole lot better.

Outsiders

When I woke up the next morning-well, I didn't feel better then. I felt way worse than I had the night before. Worse than the woozy, and the

dizzy, and the sick feeling. My head was pounding. And my mouth felt all weird. Like it was full of cotton, or somethin'.

I got up and went to the bathroom. Darry's bedroom door was open. His bed was made, but he wasn't in there.

The living room, too, was empty. I took some aspirin from the bathroom medicine cabinet and swallowed it with water from the faucet, using my

cupped hand to drink out of. Coming out of the bathroom, I came face to face with Soda, his arms full of folded towels.

"Hey, you're up," he greeted me.

"Uh huh."

He went around me and put the towels in the cupboard where we keep all the blankets and towels and stuff.

I was headed back to my bedroom when Soda said, "Hey, come on. I'll whip ya up some breakfast. A couple of eggs-"

"Uh. No," I said.

"How come?" he asked.

"I don't feel like eatin'," I said.

"Oh," Soda said, and then he just stood there, giving me 'the eye'.

"Oh, what?" I said, not liking that look.

"Nothin'," he said.

I was winding up to tell Soda I didn't like what I knew he was thinking, when Darry came from the kitchen, going out to the

front porch, and picking up the Sunday newspaper that had been delivered. He rolled down the rubber band, and shook the paper

out. He glanced at the headlines, and then looked at Soda and I.

"Junie says she doesn't want any breakfast," Soda reported.

"Yeah?" Darry asked.

"Yeah," Soda said. And, then, with a slight grin and his eyes full of sparkle, he added, "And, I told her I'd fry her some eggs, and some sausage,

real crunchy-like, with some ketchup-"

"Stop it, Soda-" I said. I knew he was doing it on purpose, teasing me about eating, when he knew I didn't feel good. I also had

the distinct feeling that he thought I'd been drinking at Bonnie's party, and he was purposely trying to unsettle my stomach.

Soda laughed, and went off towards the kitchen.

Darry looked at me for a minute, and then came over to where I was standing. He surveyed me, looking serious, and it seemed

to me like he had something on his mind.

"Ya oughta try to eat somethin'," he said. "Maybe some toast, at least."

"I'll try," I said, with a sigh. I followed him to the kitchen, and the smell of food hung in the air. The back door was open, and the screen was letting in

the breeze.

There were sounds from the back yard, and I could hear Pony and Two-Bit outside. As I passed by, I saw them tossing a football back

and forth.

Darry sat down at his own place at the table, after filling a cup with coffee. He began to open the newspaper, spreading it out to read.

I went over to put a piece of toast in our ancient toaster. You have to hold the button down while the bread is toasting, and sort of jiggle

it once in a while. When it was done, I took it and went to sit down in my chair.

Darry pushed the butter and jar of jam over closer to me, and I shook my head. "I'll eat it plain," I said, and took a nibble from my toast.

Soda turned from the stove, still grinning. "Sure ya don't want some eggs, Junie? Or an omelet? I could put in some mushrooms-"

Just the thought of mushrooms turned my stomach. I'm not fond of them at any time, but definitely right now they sounded nasty.

"Soda-" I warned.

He laughed again, and I felt suddenly really irritated at him.

"Why are ya bein' so mean?" I grumbled, crossly.

"I'm just teasin' ya, Junie," Soda said.

"Well, stop!" I snapped, slapping my hand down hard on the kitchen table.

"Okay, okay," Soda said.

Darry had that intent look on his face again. The one he'd been wearing last night. I picked up my toast, and

mumbled, "I'm gonna go back to bed for awhile, okay?"

"Hold up," Darry said, and I paused, looking at him.

"Let's talk for a few minutes," he said.

"Okay," I said, reluctantly, sitting back in my chair again.

"Somethin' happened last night at that party," Darry said. "You say ya didn't drink-"

"I didn't!" I interrupted.

"Well, somethin' happened," Darry said, again, studying me. Even Soda was looking serious now, leaning against the counter

by the sink, with his arms crossed, listening. "To make ya feel dizzy like ya did, and have trouble walkin'-"

"What?" I asked, looking at him in genuine confusion. "I was walkin' okay-"

"Ya could hardly set your feet on the ground, Junie," Darry said, flatly, in a way that told me he wasn't gonna argue the

point.

"Well-" I hesitated, trying to think of what to say, what to tell him.

"What did you drink?" Soda asked.

"Coke," I said, somewhat defensively.

"Nothin' else?" Soda prodded.

"Some punch," I said, remembering.

Darry and Soda exchanged a look. One of those looks that they do sometimes. Where they're talkin' without any words.

"That's it, then," Soda said.

"Likely," Darry said, in agreement.

"What are you talkin' about?" I demanded, feeling irritated.

"The punch was spiked, Junie," Soda said.

"Spiked?" I asked, and then felt stupid, with them both looking at me, Soda in somewhat pity, and Darry in that intent way he has,

the one that says he's royally ticked off.

I remembered then that the kids had been joking about the punch having a 'punch'. That must have been what they'd meant.

I felt my face get all hot. Partly in embarrassment, cause I felt so stupid for not knowing enough to have understood what they'd

been talking about-and how I should have been able to taste liquor in the punch.

"Ya didn't know?" Darry asked me. "Didn't see them pourin' anything in?"

I shook my head in answer, and then, everything just became too much right then. I laid my head down on my folded arms

on the table, and buried my face. I felt a hand smoothing my hair.

"Don't cry, June-Bug," Soda was saying, as he touched my hair.

"I didn't taste anything," I mumbled.

"Probably vodka," Soda said.

I raised my head. "Huh?"

"No taste to vodka," he explained.

I groaned a bit. And, then-I felt embarrassed with both of them looking at me the way that they were. Soda looked still somewhat

amused, but Darry-well, he looked, not exactly mad, but as though he was going to get onto me.

I gave him a shrug, and said, "It's okay. I'll feel fine after I sleep some more."

"It's not fine, Junie," Darry denied.

"Well-you know what I mean," I said.

Darry went still and quiet, but I could tell he was simmering. Soda could tell it, too, because he came around to sink into

his own chair at the table, and said, in a breezy tone, "Kids have been spikin' punch since the beginnin' of time. Ain't that right, Darry?"

I could tell that Soda was trying to lighten the mood. To help me out.

Darry didn't say anything. He just lifted his brows for a moment, and kept looking at me.

"It wasn't my fault, Darry," I said, in protest. Though in protest of what, I don't know. He hadn't gotten onto me since we'd sat at the

table-I guess my protest was because of the way that he was looking.

"Nope. My fault," he said, and I tried to think. It seemed like he'd said that before-and then I remembered that he had, last night.

He'd said it was his fault because he'd let me go to Bonnie's party at all.

"No, it's not-" I said, protesting that as well.

Then, just as abruptly as he'd started the conversation, Darry ended it.

"Go on back to bed for awhile," he told me, and got up to refill his coffee cup.

I looked at him, a bit startled that he was ending the conversation that way. Glad, but startled.

Darry sat back down, and began reading from the newspaper. I flicked a glance at Soda, and he gave me a slight shake

of his head, as if to say he didn't understand either.

Outsiders