Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Parker McCollum owns "Pretty Heart."

I didn't think I was a bad guy

I knew that you were good

You were golden on the inside

And you loved me the best you could

July 28, 1969

It was hazy, hot, and humid, and Ella ran a hand over the top of her damp head, smoothing her hair down and pushing the few strands out of her face. Good Lord, but it sure was gross out, especially with the morning dew. Honestly, she hated the mornings like this, but it was better in some way, she figured, because the afternoon would be blazing with intense heat, and the girl wasn't looking to scorch herself lobster red, no thank you. In New York, she had spent a great deal of time outside, and her skin had more color than it ever had, but still, she burned in the sun, so she sucked it up and met with Soda at the stables to train for the upcoming race the following Friday night. She did her best to ignore Dallas, who was working with the other horses inside, before he would go about his own training with Ponyboy, and honestly . . . Ella had to admit that Dallas was damn good.

Still, Soda had been patient with her, even got out on one of the ponies and went riding with her. They had trained early in the morning for a few hours every day for the past week, calling it quits before noon came along, going their separate ways. Soda was good, Ella thought, he knew a lot about horses and racing, and he had been teaching her a few strategies and techniques that she had caught onto fairly quick. But she wasn't even close to his skill, and she couldn't even come close to Dallas, who somehow seemed to speak horse. Like Soda.

Ella battled on, though, one of her main drives being Dallas's irked expression every time he spotted her out with Shar, a smile on her face, a determined look in her eye. Once, she had even waved to him just to get a rise out of him, but to her surprise, he merely nodded back to her, before offering her a wide grin. If you knew Dallas Winston, though, you would know that his grin wasn't anything close to friendly, and Ella was very aware that she was getting under his skin, too. She also knew that he was set on making sure that she lost the race, and he was going to do anything in his power to throw her focus off. Now, when it came to the actual race, Dallas always competed honestly—it was a pride thing, and Dallas was a proud man—and Ella knew that if she really wanted to win, she would have to do everything in her power to make sure that she could outsmart him in some way, make him think that he had the upper hand.

But he would never see her sweat.

She brought Shar back to the pen while Soda walked Blazer, the other pony, back to the stables, and she smiled over at Ponyboy, who was sitting on the fence, a cigarette held between his index and middle finger, a dreamy expression in his eyes. He was watching the clouds drift in the sky, which caused the sun to disappear and then reappear every so often. Glory, but Ella sure wished that the sun would just stay behind the cloud bank for a little while—it was too damn hot, and she really couldn't wait to get back to Jan's to take a good shower.

"You all done with Dallas?" she casually asked her younger friend, who nodded in affirmation.

"Yeah," he replied. "Couldn't take the smell in there anymore, either."

Ella laughed. "I know what you mean."

"Well," he drawled, "if you lose to Dally, you'll be cleaning those stables every day."

Oh, Lord, she thought. That was something she didn't want to even think about right then. She knew that Ponyboy didn't mean any harm in his words, as he was just speaking freely, and it was the deal she had with Buck Merril—that lousy cowboy. But still, it was too hot and sticky out to even think about mucking horse manure, and for a split second, Ella wanted to gag.

She smirked, despite her thoughts. "I'm not going to lose to him, though."

Ponyboy exhaled as he shrugged his shoulders. "You do realize that there's six jockeys altogether per race, so even if Dallas comes in fourth, you'd have to come in third." His green eyes met hers. "That's what Buck meant when he said that you have to beat him."

"Yeah, I know," she said, and shimmied her weight as she leaned forward to pet the side of Shar's face, whose hair was glistening now that the sun poked out from behind the clouds. "But I have confidence in my newly learned skills," she continued in a teasing tone.

The teen laughed. "You ain't kidding."

And he had to give her a lot of credit there, because she was ambitious and brazen all at once, traits that she wouldn't have possessed a few years back. However, what Ponyboy was mostly happy for was seeing Soda relax and socialize like he used to . . . before he first left for the Army. He never relayed anything about Ella or what they spoke about, merely commenting once or twice that she picked up on things quickly, and that she was a decent rider. But he never elaborated on anything else, and Ponyboy never bothered to ask, not wanting to have Soda feel like he was being interrogated or something. But both he and Darry were still worried about his other behavior, which wasn't completely unnoticeable, like how he jerked around in his sleep, or got up at all hours of the night to sit outside on the back step and stare out aimlessly into the dark. Once, Ponyboy saw him smoking, something he usually never did, unless he was incredibly bothered or upset. Since he'd come home, though, Dallas was taking up residence on the couch, so he had heard him as well when he got up in the middle of the night, but he only mentioned it once to Ponyboy. Darry knew about it, too, Ponyboy was certain, but why he didn't say anything, the teen wasn't sure.

Perhaps it was the same reason why he didn't as well, why none of them would. Was it so wrong to be afraid to bring up something that they didn't understand? Was it so wrong for Ponyboy to actually feel uneasy around his brother?

And still . . . he wondered about Mary DeVaney, who he hadn't seen in a good few weeks. She'd called the house a few times asking to speak with Soda, but somehow—and Ponyboy wasn't sure how—Soda always knew it was her, and he would shake his head, silently telling him to tell Mary that he wasn't home, or couldn't talk at that time. When Ponyboy had questioned him about it, he merely stated that he would see Mary soon and speak to her in person. It had only happened . . . three times or so, but still, the teen would be lying if he said that his brother's behavior and change in personality weren't starting to both frighten and irritate him—even though it was more of the former than the latter.

Finishing his cigarette, Ponyboy flicked away the butt, before turning his attention back to Ella. "Can I ask you something?"

The girl nodded, before hopping down from Shar's back and making her way over to where Ponyboy sat to climb up on the fence beside him, letting Shar trot around on his own for a bit. Ella was able to decipher that something was on her friend's mind from the tone he'd used. Usually, Ponyboy never asked if he could talk about something unless it was bugging him. Ella had a good feeling what he was about to ask her, though—it was almost obvious and expected. She had been the one spending the most amount of time with Soda, and she knew everyone was concerned about him, not that they were trying to hover over his shoulder, or inquire about things, but . . . the worry was there all the same. Now, Ella herself felt some form of concern as well, but she knew it wasn't her place to ask questions. She had only asked Soda if he was okay a few times, but she never pried. He seemed at ease around her, though, and the young woman merely assumed that it was because he was in a relaxed environment, one which was familiar to him.

Ella's concern rested with Mary, having not heard from her in a good week or so. She had called her a few times to check in, ask her if she wanted to meet up for lunch with Evie, but she had never gotten a call back. When she had met up with Evie the other day, she had relayed that she had called Mary, too, but . . . nothing. Both girls considered on paying Mary a visit, see if she was okay. They were both aware that their younger friend was seeing someone because of her drinking issues, and Ella had vaguely wondered if Soda knew anything about it.

Then again, it also wasn't her place to mention, so she had never brought it up.

"You want to know if Soda's said anything to me," she remarked, lighting up her own cigarette. When she saw his expression, which told her that was exactly what he was going to ask, she frowned a little, a shadow moving over her face as the sun dipped behind the clouds again. "He hasn't," she admitted. "He seems okay, though . . . for the most part."

"And that's just it," Ponyboy blurted out, although his voice remained level. "He looks that way, but I know he really ain't, and I guess it's getting to me."

Ella inhaled slowly, her one hand resting against the wood of the fence. "Why don't you ask him about it, Ponyboy?" Her brow raised as she looked at him. "He is your brother, don't you think that if it was you in his shoes he would be asking you things?"

"I don't know, El," he admitted, and then sighed. "Things ain't the way they used to be, and well, Soda is different now, I can't explain it." He licked his lips, fingers lightly drumming against his thigh. He really never liked talking about his family like this, even if Ella was his closest friend. "I wish that I was able to understand, but—"

"You're afraid to?"

His chin lowered as he nodded. "I know that doesn't make much sense—"

"No, it does," she intervened. "It does." She looked straight ahead, her gaze on Shar as he nibbled at the grass. "I felt the same way about my father." Her body seemed to droop a bit. "I always wondered why he left my mother and I . . . and when I finally met him three years ago, I wanted to understand him, or at least understand why he denied me as his child, you know?" The smoke flowed from her mouth as she exhaled. "But part of me was afraid to find out the truth, afraid to find out exactly what made him the way he was . . . and it's an awful feeling to have, Ponyboy, wanting answers to questions you can't even remotely begin to understand . . ."

Looking at her right then, Ponyboy realized that he and Ella were more alike than he had ever bothered to notice. She, like him, was a deep thinker, and she thought about more things than she cared to admit or let onto. Like him, she saw and felt things differently, but she was much better at concealing it, or playing it cool. He admired her, both individually and as his friend, and without thinking, he reached up to drape his arm casually around her, ignoring the fact that they were both sweating from the heat, his fingers pressing into the curve of her shoulder if but for a second.

Down the path, Soda Curtis stood, watching the two friends with a small smile on his lips. He was real glad Ponyboy had asked him to come along, hangout with him at the stables . . . it had done him a real world of good, and he was grateful for it. Things hadn't been all that easy for him, and he was pretty sure that both of his brothers, and Dallas, were catching on. He didn't want to burden them with his issues, though, didn't want to make anything too much of a big deal. Besides, he already had enough to worry about as it was—and so did they—and he wasn't about to go adding anymore to the growing pile when he was set to leave in a couple of days. Also, Ponyboy would be headed back to school in a few weeks, which meant (other than Dallas hanging around), Darry would be back to living by his lonesome, and he didn't want to walk out burdening them with added concerns and troubles.

What Soda really wanted to do was spend his days home with his brothers without any amount of care or worry. He was glad to have been home for Ponyboy's eighteenth birthday, which they had celebrated last Saturday with a small fishing trip. The middle Curtis brother was pretty sure that none of them had been fishing in . . . quite a few years, and he had to admit, he had missed it.

"Daydreamin' again?"

Soda shrugged, fingers sliding into his jean pockets. "Something like that."

Dallas cupped his hands around his cigarette as he lit it. "You're almost as bad as your kid brother," he said, though the remark wasn't said with disdain. "He does that a lot."

"Mom was like that," the younger man recalled. "He gets it from her." A smirk. "She always stopped to watch the clouds and stuff, and Ponyboy takes after her."

The blond nodded as he remembered Mrs. Curtis. "That he does." He inhaled, relaxing as he pressed his back against a tree trunk, the leaves overhead shading him from the cruelness of the sun's rays. "So, how's your girl doin'?" It wasn't something Dallas was trying to pry into, but he was genuinely curious, having not seen Mary DeVaney around in quite some time. In fact, he barely recalled hearing her name mentioned. "You still with her or what?"

Soda felt as though his entire body went numb for a minute, unsure of how to answer. Nobody had actually or directly inquired about him and Mary to his face, and he wasn't sure what to think. He hadn't seen or spoken to Mary since the last time he was at her house, which was . . . hell, a week and a half ago, or something like that anyway. He knew that she had called, but he couldn't bring himself to speak to her, couldn't work up the courage to go and see her and look her in the eyes. Soda Curtis had never been afraid of any girl before, not even when he was younger and had crushes, or experienced his very first relationship. But Mary's feelings caused him to feel emotions he didn't understand, and with all that had happened to him . . . he didn't even know if he could express himself to her. Hell, there were times when he didn't even know who the hell he was, always feeling one way and then the next, or feeling as though he were one place and then the other, like he was split in half.

Soda cared about Mary, he did, and in some way, he was pretty sure that he still loved her, but he wasn't good for her; she deserved better than him, and he knew it . . . he had known it for a good while. It was the fact that he hadn't been able to bring himself to do what he knew he should have done a while back, and he hated himself for letting it go on for so long. He thought that if he blew her off, quit writing to her, she would get angry and call things off . . . but she hadn't, and it had only made things worse. Hell, he would rather have her hate him now more than anything, because he deserved it.

Her hatred would have been a welcomed relief, because then he wouldn't have to worry about her. He wouldn't have to worry about breaking her heart, knowing how much she loved him.

He was a fucking coward, and he knew it.

Soda didn't answer Dallas's question, but he did respond. "I'm gonna see her tonight."

Evie nearly jumped when the phone rang that evening, practically yanking the cradle into her hand on the first ring. She already knew it was Steve, as they had "planned dates" scheduled like this via their letters. The dark-haired girl had been waiting for this day for the past two weeks, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited all day for Steve's call.

"Steve?" she spoke softly, and she instantly relaxed when she heard his voice.

"Hey, Evie," he replied, and smiled to himself. "How are ya?"

She walked across the kitchen, taking a seat at the table after shooing her kid sister away so she could talk to her boyfriend in private. Beth, as charming as ever, made faces at her, puckering her lips up and making kissing actions as she walked out of the room. She wanted to tell Steve that she was okay, even though she was concerned about a few things . . . one being Soda. Well, it seemed that everyone was worried about him, and Evie really wanted to tell Steve about it, tell him what Ella had relayed to her, and what Ponyboy had told Ella . . . and of course the issue with Mary. It wasn't Evie's place to involve herself in it, though, and quite honestly, she hated talking about people like that. It was one thing to hear gossip, but engaging in it was another . . . even if it was her boyfriend.

There were several things on the girl's mind, but she knew her time with Steve on the phone was limited, and she really didn't want to fill his mind with the concerns she was feeling, not like that anyway.

A sigh. "I'm alright, hanging in the best I can anyway," she answered, sounding breezy. "How are you doing? Did you get my last letter?"

And Steve had to laugh at that. "I did," he said. "And the one before that . . . with a picture of you with real short hair."

Evie froze for a second, biting her bottom lip. "Do ya like it?"

"Hmm," he breathed, and grinned even though she couldn't see him. "Do I like it?" He was teasing her just because he wanted to get a small rise out of her. "Well, sometimes I imagine myself running my fingers through it while I'm kissing you, and then I think of you—"

"Steve Randle!" she blurted out, cheeks tinting a shade. And then she laughed. "Don't tease me like that," she half whined. "I miss you enough as it is."

His own smile seemed to drop a little as she said those words. Glory, he just wanted all of this to be over and done with already, to be back home. He had been thinking more and more about him and Evie the last few days, and the more he thought about them together, the more he wanted a future with her.

"I miss you, too, Evie."

And by golly did he.

Mary had been surprised to see Soda standing on her porch, her heart seeming to flutter in her chest as she opened the door and invited him inside. She had been keeping herself off the radar for a while, but she had tried to contact her boyfriend a few times, only to no avail. Keeping her thoughts at bay seemed more like a chore than anything, and Mary found herself struggling to ease her mind. Still, she had wished that Soda would call her, ask her out again, or something. Anything would have been better than merely waiting, being unsure of everything else. She wouldn't tell him, but Mary had been more upset than before, and she fought numerous times with herself over her thoughts of Soda. She loved him, she knew that she did—probably more than anything else in the world—but she felt as though she was holding onto thin air, unsure of herself and her relationship with Soda.

"I tried calling you," she said after a minute. "I didn't expect you to stop in."

His lips pressed into a thin line, before he spoke next. "I honestly didn't expect to drop by, either," he admitted, tone flat. "But I had to."

Mary watched his face carefully, a feeling of unease seeping into her gut. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remained hopeful. She wished he knew how much she loved him, wished that she could tell him what she honestly knew . . . what he didn't know she knew. Mary did know the truth, though, had known it for a while . . . but she didn't want to face it, didn't want to imagine a reality without her and Soda together . . . because, even though they had been together for a good amount of time, she knew in her heart that she would never be able to love another man the way she did him. And it truly terrified her to even try and rationalize any part of it.

"Okay," she breathed, and turned so that she was facing him on the love-seat.

If Soda ever felt like his heart was about to explode out of his chest, it was right then. Something was telling him that this might be wrong, but he knew he couldn't use Mary as an anchor, weigh her down before literally dragging her to the bottom with him. He didn't want that for her, never had, and he really thought that if he hurt her, she would move on . . . without him. Apparently, he had severely underestimated her, because no matter what he did, she would keep coming back . . . one way or the other, and even though he didn't want to, he knew he had to let her go.

He didn't want to destroy her spirit anymore than he had already.

Her hand touched his, fingers curling around his lightly as he spoke. "I'm leavin' Thursday morning . . ." His eyes met hers at that exact moment, and he could very clearly see his own reflection staring back at him. He blinked, glancing down at her hand, which was still resting on his own, and before he could even register his own movements, he intertwined their fingers together as he reached for her other hand, turning to fully face her. "Mary, I—" He paused, a lump in his throat beginning to form, and before he knew it, he felt his eyes brimming with uncontrollable tears. "I'm sorry," he half-whispered, "Mary, I'm sorry . . . I can't do this . . ." And then he was half beginning to babble. "It's not you, it's me." A small sniffle. "I knew at some point it— we—" He let go of her one hand, reaching up to wipe at his eyes as he shook his head a little, before looking back at her. "I'm sorry . . ."

Somehow, though, Mary remained composed, and she didn't let go of his other hand. "It's okay," she said, barely processing her own voice. "It's okay, Soda."

"It's not okay, Mary," he said, wiping the area beneath his eyes. "It's not."

Mary went quiet, then. She could tell he was about to crack, something that she had never seen before, and it scared her. She had only ever seen Soda shed tears once, and that had been a long while back, so seeing him so distraught at this moment made her feel . . . at loss for words. Oh, she knew that this had been coming, could feel it in her bones, but something told her that Soda didn't want to end things with her, but rather, that he had to. Something was wrong, and she knew it, she could see it in his eyes right then . . . and for a split second, she thought that he actually might burst into tears—only he didn't, and instead, she gently touched his face, raising his chin to make him look at her. A good minute went by as they stared at one another, no words being spoken, none needing to be, and then, Mary pulled him into her, embracing him as she desperately tried to settle her own emotions.

Soda's chest felt tight, almost as if he couldn't breathe properly. "This is only going to make it worse," he commented, but made no move to let her go. Glory, but she smelled amazing, he thought, but in that moment, his heart seemed to crack, and he knew Mary's had, too. She didn't respond to him, though, and the only sound was their breathing for several moments, until finally, Soda pulled away, only leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers, his hand resting on the back of her head. "I'm sorry," he said again, and truly, he was.

But Mary merely shook her head. "I know." And then she opened her eyes to look into his, and when she spoke, her voice was hardly a whisper. "You're not okay, are you . . ."

It wasn't a question, and they both knew it, and for the first time in what felt like ages, everything that Soda had been feeling began to surface. Mary knew, and he could see it in her face that she knew more than what she let on. He was aware that she didn't believe him about what he had told her, regarding the letters, and part of him was keenly aware that the guilt which had been eating away at him would never leave his heart.

He answered her honestly. "No."

Internally, Mary knew that even if he told her, she would never fully understand, she never would, just like he would never understand her situation. In that moment, the girl saw her entire relationship with Soda, remembered the two of them meeting for the first time, remembered their first date, and she could recall with innate clarity him standing up to Aunt Vera. She wondered, if but for a moment, if this was Aunt Vera's final act of revenge on her for taking her life. It seemed like a ridiculous thought to have right then, but Mary wouldn't doubt it. She had waited all this time to see Soda, thinking that he had been drafted when in reality, Aunt Vera and Albert Webberly had it done. But she had waited and waited . . . all for this. In some strange way, Mary thought that it was somehow appropriate for both her and Soda.

Hardly any words were exchanged between the two after that, and when Soda left her house that night, leaving her with one final kiss, she thanked him, though he didn't quite understand why. She merely told him that he would . . . one day. Mary didn't look back when she turned to walk inside the house again, but Soda had stood there for half a minute or so, before turning on his heel and climbing into Darry's truck. It was dark out, one lone street light across from Mary's house offering any form of brightness, but Soda didn't mind . . . He didn't want anyone to see the tears that were forming in his eyes again, not even himself. It felt like a large weight had been lifted from his shoulders, but what he didn't expect to feel afterward was emptiness, nothingness. Hell, maybe he fucking deserved it for what he had done to Mary—she hadn't deserved what he had put her through, and quite honestly, it only made him despise himself even more, or rather, what he had become.

Back inside the house, Mary pressed her back against the door as she slid down to her bottom, hands covering her face as she silently cried. She wasn't sobbing, though, only weeping softly, her heart buried somewhere in her gut as she tried to console her own mind. And even in the midst of her grief, Mary knew that somehow, someway, it would be okay.

She would make it through this . . . and so would Soda . . . but as those thoughts passed through her head, Mary briefly wondered when she would ever see him again.

What does that say about me?

I could do you like I did

That I can break an angel's wings

What does that say about me?

Thank you for all of the continuous support on this story! :3