It was Soda's first day of second grade, and I was real proud of him. Not 'cause second grade was hard, but because Dad said second grade was a real big thing, and when your dad says something like that of course you agree. It half made me want to be in second grade the way he went on about it. But now that I think about it, I think he said it 'cause Soda was bawling.

I came home that day without much of a story to tell. As far as I knew sixth grade for me would be easy going.

Soda, however, came home with a bruise on his forehead and a scowl that would've shriveled a grape if it was possible. And I hate raisins. Nobody could get anything out of him until Mom snatched him up in a flurry and sat him down on the kitchen table and told him to spill. He told us that he had such a bad day at school, some guy threw his toy car right at his head and then just laughed about it. He said second grade was a big thing, a big pain that's what, and he thought he ought to stay home from then on. Of course mom said he had to go back the next day. Dad said we can't have Soda grow up to be a dropout at 7.

The next day Soda burst through the door announcing that he'd made a friend named Steve, and that Steve was now his buddy. Apparently he'd been wrong about that kid that threw the toy car at him. Steve had meant to chuck it over so they could play, and he was real sorry. He was sorry for laughing too, he couldn't help it cause Soda made a funny face. The next day, Soda came home one toy car richer and with a little dark haired kid in tow. I acted real cool towards that guy, cause who throws their toy cars at people? It offended my 10- almost 11 -year old sensibilities, plus everyone who is anyone knows cars are supposed to stay on the ground.

Steve became a regular, though, and we never saw much of his parents. Mom had suggested one time that we have his parents over for dinner but Steve said he didn't have a Mama, and that it was ok when my mom said she was sorry about it, because he'd "just been borned, he didn't know her so it didn't hurt as much". He didn't say nothin about his Dad, but my mom didn't bring that up again.

I continued not really liking Steve Randle until one day we were out playing football, tossing it back and forth absentmindedly while Sodapop consoled Ponyboy, who was having a breakdown of some sort. I told him he couldn't play this time cause we were playing rough and mom would be real mad if we tackled him. He was just 4, and you can't jump 4 year olds like that. Plus he just held the ball or kicked it around, and that's not how you play.

Me and Steve tossed the football back and forth, and Pony started bawling as Soda walked back up to us. Distracted, I threw the ball without thinking or really looking. It hit Steve right in the face with a nasty thunk and he went down like somebody had cut his strings. For a sickening moment I thought I'd killed him. Soda yelled and Pony even stopped crying. We all froze, not knowing what to do. Then Steve sat up from where he'd fallen and said weakly, "I'm ok".

Me and Soda drug him over to the house, propping him up between us, yelling for mom and dad. Pony was snot nosed and yelling too but I don't think he understood what was happening. I felt my eyes grow hot and I thought of how I'd scorned Steve and his aim.

Well, boy was I one to talk! I usually had good aim, and golly was this an off day for me. I swore right then as we hauled Steve up the porch steps that I'd be a lot nicer to him.

Mom got ice for his eye where the football had hit him, and dad checked to see if his pupils were the same. If they weren't, dad said, then that meant a concussion. They were the same. Steve smiled with his bloody mouth and one missing tooth and kept saying he was fine, and I leaned against the wall, drained from my blurted and profuse apology. I'd had tears and everything and he hadn't been mad one bit. I felt so uncool that when I died I knew it would say "Darry equals Lame" on my headstone. Steve went home that night with a black eye and one tooth less, with a note mom wrote explaining what happened.

We didn't see him the next day, or the day after that. We thought his dad had just let him stay home and rest his eyeball and head till Sodapop started hollering Saturday evening that Steve was here. He bolted out the door and I went, calmer, out to the porch to see about it. Steve came strolling down the sidewalk, clutching a toy truck in either hand as he shuffled along, every now and then hunching over pand making a grumbling noise like the steamroller we saw downtown when we were all grocery shopping with Mom. Steve tagged along sometimes. Him and Soda had been imitating that steamroller the whole week. Soda yelled "Steve!" and tackled him, but as they straightened up I saw that Steve had not one, but two black eyes.

Of course mom and dad and Soda and I all asked where he got it from, but he just shrugged. He said his dad told him don't ever go out and be coming back all banged up, and that his dad didn't have time to be worrying over him. And if he did his dad would really give him somethin' to worry about.

We sat there, silent until Ponyboy came from his room whining about what's for dinner. Mom got up then, and the spell was broken. Soda grabbed hold of Steve, looked him right in the eyes and declared that Steve's dad was Soda's worst enemy now, and he'd let him know it if he ever ran into him. Then they scampered out the door to play.

I don't think I'd ever been so mad in my life, up until that point. It was silent in the kitchen until I burst out that me and mom and dad should head down to Steve's house right now, and beat his dad up. And we could, too, I said cause mom knows where Steve lives cause the church ladies told her all about the Randles. I heard her telling dad about it one day. Dad still looked upset but his lips quirked up. "We can't do that, Darry."

He said it softly, and that was that. We weren't going to hit Steve's dad that day. Mom turned, the movement hampered by Pony grabbing onto her apron. "Only because we can't leave Ponyboy and Soda and Steve by themselves. It's too bad, I'd like to say a thing or two to that man." Her face twisted into a smile I know she forced for me, but she looked like she might cry or be mad or both.

I turned away and pushed open the back door, the cool evening air hitting me. I'd just have to adopt Steve Randle in my mind, I decided, and help watch out for him if his dad wouldn't.

I'd like to think I'm a man of my word.