Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Canned Heat owns "Going Up The Country."

I'm going up the country, babe, don't you wanna go?

I'm going up the country, babe, don't you wanna go?

I'm going to some place where I've never been before

August 6, 1969

". . . so that means we'll have to leave on the thirteenth, at the latest," Ponyboy said, his back pressing into the railing. He bent his right leg up as he leaned forward a little, eyes in thought. "And Mary is really okay with using her car for this trip?"

Ella nodded, a smile on her lips. "That's what she said."

The teen shrugged his shoulders as he reached for the deck of cards he and Ella had been using for a few rounds of poker. Sometimes, he wondered where his older friend ever came up with half of her ideas, but he had to admit, he was real excited to be going to New York, especially to a music festival that was set to go on for three days straight with some of the most popular musicians of their time. It was going to be something alright, he thought to himself, something incredible—and Ella and Mary were both going, too. Mary DeVaney had been roped into the whole thing by none other than Ella herself, who had lightly persuaded her that it would be fun . . . not to mention, good for her to get out and enjoy herself, and add a personal experience to her list of exciting accomplishments. With very little coercion, Mary had decided to go along, even offering to let them drive her aunt's car to New York. It would take a day or so to get there, maybe a bit longer . . . if they stopped for rest or something, which was why Ponyboy had suggested leaving the thirteenth. By the time they got back home, it would be time for him to start school again . . . and quite honestly, the teen didn't know where in the heck the Summer had gone.

What a way to end it, though.

"Well," he replied, tone breezy, "at least we'll have three drivers."

The young woman snorted. "Yeah." A sigh as she rolled onto her side, propping her head up in her hand as she faced him. "I feel bad for Evie, honestly." Their eyes met. "I know she actually wanted to go, but even though she's an adult, her father told her no with a capital N."

Ponyboy hummed as he shuffled the deck. "Yeah, well . . . when I told Darry that you and me were going with Mary, he didn't seem all that enthused about it, either."

"I can imagine why." When he looked at her, brow raised questionably, she continued. "You know the stories you hear about . . . certain events like this." Her lips pursed. "Darry just wants the best for you, which you already know, and he doesn't want you to do something silly . . . something that might cost you, you know?"

He rolled his eyes. "I know that, but it ain't like we're going there to get . . . doped up or something like that." And then he grinned at the comment. "Lordy, but wouldn't that be something?"

And Ella had to laugh. "Yeah." Her face turned serious, then. "But that's not going to happen. I had one experience like that already, which was enough to last me a lifetime."

Something about the way she had said those words caused Ponyboy to give her a concerned look. Now, over the past two years, he and Ella corresponded quite frequently, even chatted on the phone here and there for lengths at a time, so he figured that they knew each other very well, not to mention the fact that Ella was usually one of the first people he told things to . . . like Julia, his first real relationship. Ella was the first person to know about it, even though he had written to Soda to tell him all about him and Julia. He had told Darry over the phone a few days later, but Ella and him . . . There was a certain depth to their friendship, a trust that went deeper than what either of them ever thought it would. It wasn't like they dished every single thing to one another—and Ponyboy was never one to blurt out family issues—but they knew each other well enough, trusted each other, so Ponyboy assumed that this was something Ella hadn't exactly shared with anyone, for the sound of her voice was coated with something akin to embarrassment, or guilt.

"What do you mean?" he asked, setting the cards aside in a neat pile.

Ella slowly sat up, sitting across from him as she wrapped her arms around her raised knees, her bare feet pressing into the wood of the deck. Surprisingly, it wasn't that hot out, but it sure was warm. The air was still partially filled with the morning dew, the ground keeping the moisture locked in, the fresh smell of recently mowed grass filling both of their nostrils. Something about it made Ella feel more relaxed, as it was a scent she hadn't come across when she lived in New York. It made her feel at home, comfortable, and being around Ponyboy brought that feeling back, too.

She tapped her fingers against her leg, wondering if she ought to tell Ponyboy about one of her more scandalous encounters with a guy she had met in the city . . . at a concert. It was a while back now . . . over a year and a half . . . way before she had met Pete, or the guy she had dated for a few weeks before calling it quits. Ella wasn't really the type to go around and put herself out there in the spotlight, and she never went seeking the company of men for kicks . . . but there was one time—a time that Ella fully regretted now—where she had her own naughty adventure. The thought was slightly humorous to her, but it didn't make her feel all that good about herself, and it brought back certain memories that she had long tried to forget about. Really, the idea at the time seemed exciting and daring, and the guy was a little older, more cultured . . . and it had definitely been an experience for the girl.

Still . . .

She smiled a little, though it didn't reach her eyes. "It was the late Fall . . . 1967. I was still in school, just met Vivian . . . you remember her, right?"

Ponyboy nodded. "Your old roommate."

"Yeah, her," Ella said, and continued. "Well, we went to this concert . . . a few newbies in a garage band having their first real gig." A chuckle. "Vivian and I had a few drinks, next thing I know . . . I'm light as a feather, head up on cloud nine . . ." She made a face. "And this guy, he kept looking over at me, and I thought he was real cute. I don't really remember much after that, Ponyboy." And that was the truth, which the teen was able to clearly pick up by the tone of her voice. "I just recall us talking, hitting it off . . . We smoked a joint . . . or two, and then . . . he was offering me something, I think it was cocaine, and I—" Her voice cracked, then. "Everything else after that is a blur to me . . . I just remember, or barely remember, sleeping with him . . . and then the next morning, he was gone, and I was . . . alone . . . a half a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, two empty dime-bags on the floor, and . . . Patsy Cline's "Crazy" playing quietly in the next room because someone didn't turn the radio off." Before she could stop herself, Ella sniffled, a lone tear running down her cheek. "Shoot," she mumbled, and wiped at her eye. "I—"

Ponyboy was beside her a second later, his arm around her shoulders. "It's okay," he said, "I get it."

Ella nodded, slow like. "It's more than that, Ponyboy," she went on, her form relaxing against his, the friendly gesture welcomed in that moment. "I was looking to feel something back then, because—" It took a minute for her to find the right words to say, to let the truth out. "I needed to know that I was still myself after . . . what happened with him, with Dallas." She took a breath, the weight of Ponyboy's arm comforting to her. "I wanted to secure myself in the thought that I could be with someone else, because it took so long for me to let that entire thing go, and sometimes, Pony, I don't even know if I really did, which is why—" She paused, taking a breath. "I wish that night never happened."

"I also wish a lot of things didn't happen."

The two sat in a comfortable silence for the next several minutes. Ponyboy had understood what Ella was trying to say before she could even get the words out of her mouth. For some reason, none of it really seemed all that bizarre to him, although he would never understand Ella's fondness for Dallas Winston . . . or maybe he could. Still, all this time had passed and she'd kept all of it in, only accepting any form of affection when she thought she was incapable of receiving it. It occurred to Ponyboy right then that Dallas Winston would always be a road block to Ella, in some way, but especially where it concerned her love life; she would never fully let him go. He could understand it—maybe not to the extent that she had been feeling it, but he got it. It reminded him of Julia, and how he felt when she called things off with him. She wasn't exactly his first lover, but she had been his first love, his first real love . . . and it hurt to think of them together, or remember her at all. Working with Dallas for the past weeks, and being home, had helped him out, but it never completely stopped the pain he felt in his chest when something came up that reminded him of Julia.

"I'm sorry," Ella said, untucking herself from under his arm. "I didn't mean to get all broken up on you like that."

Ponyboy shook his head. "Really, it's okay. Don't worry about it." He watched her light a cigarette, a small smile on her face as she passed it off to him, before she lit one for herself. "I hope this concert is all it's hyped up to be." He grinned at her.

"Have you read which bands are gonna be there?"

"Of course I did."

A laugh. "Then you wouldn't need to hope. You should just know that it's definitely going to be all it's hyped up to be . . . and more."

"Reckon so."

"You two are really going to that festival, huh?"

Ella glanced around Ponyboy at Dallas, who was leisurely leaning against the rail of the deck, the side of his mouth curved up, an impish expression in his eyes. She hadn't even heard him walk up, having come in through the gate. She briefly wondered how long he might have been standing there, and if it had been long. For some reason, the thought was enough to make her stomach flip, but she told herself that he most likely hadn't heard anything that she and Ponyboy had been talking about prior to that moment.

"Plan on it," Ponyboy answered, tone causal. "Us and Mary DeVaney."

Dallas merely cocked an eyebrow. He wasn't sure whether or not to actually believe the words coming out of the kid's mouth. Mary DeVaney? Mary DeVaney was going to the Woodstock festival with Ella and Ponyboy? Good Lord. It was funny enough to consider both Ella and Ponyboy, but throwing Mary into the mix was downright . . . hilarious. He had heard from Darry that they were planning on going, and Dallas was pretty sure he had detected a little bit of . . . displeasure in the older man's tone. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know why. Ella, on the other hand, was different, having already been out on her own—and not just for school. But Mary? That was a whole other story, and for whatever reason, Dallas thought that the three of them attending together was odd.

Then again, the three of them individually were odd, so . . .

But Dallas Winston hadn't bothered to intrude on Ponyboy's and Ella's conversation to discuss their trip attendance or arrangements, but rather . . . because he wanted to talk to Ella . . . privately. Usually, she and Ponyboy (or Evie Martin) were always hanging around, so it wasn't easy to get the girl alone. To be honest, Dallas wasn't even sure why he was bothering in the first place. Perhaps he was simply bored with everything . . . maybe he was looking for a good time—and well, it had been a while. And Ella was there, and she was . . .

Was there even a word to describe that? Her?

Still, he had been entertaining the idea of asking her out for kicks for the past few days. Dallas Winston certainly wasn't above going out with an ex-girlfriend again, as he had done plenty of times with Sylvia back in the day, but Ella Mitchell was different, as she had proved that to him time and time again. The night of the rodeo was the only confirmation he had needed, and he was set on taking her out on a date since. Maybe it wouldn't lead anywhere, or maybe it would. Truthfully, he wasn't really even looking for anything, except a good time, and Ella was available. Or that's what he kept telling himself. Yeah, that sounded about right.

He shook his head, before jerking his chin toward Ella. "You got any plans tonight?"

The inquiry was enough to startle the young woman, and her lips parted before she could even properly answer. She felt Ponyboy's eyes on her, too, and for a split second, her chest tightened up, heart beating a little faster.

"Not exactly," she responded, and flicked her ashes, trying to keep her cool.

The blond's lips twisted up into a smirk. "How about we catch a movie or somethin'?"

Ella wondered if he was being serious or not, but his expression told her that he was, and it shocked her that he was even bothering with her . . . other than to take a few jabs at her. She knew Dallas Winston, though, knew him well enough to be certain that he wasn't toying with her right then. Did he have other ulterior motives? He probably did, but Ella either didn't care, or something in her gut was telling her to go along with him . . . a desperation surfacing that she had tried to drown for a long time.

"Sure," she agreed. "You can pick me up at Jan's."

Dallas blinked at the casualty of her voice. "How's seven work for you?"

Dear Soda,

I hope this letter doesn't come as too much of a surprise. I only wanted to wish you well, and tell you a few things that I never really had a chance to while we were together. I know that this isn't exactly the proper thing to do, but my hope is that it will offer the both of us some form of closure. I wanted to thank you, Soda, for all of the wonderful times that we did have together . . . before everything, before you left, before we grew distant, before time had the cruel opportunity to pull us apart. You were my first true love, and honestly, there's so much that you taught me, so much that I have to be thankful for because I met you. You found me at one of the most desperate points in my life, pulled me out from the pit, and showed me a different way of life—one filled with love, sacrifice, and meaning. I never thought that I would ever have those experiences with someone who was able to wholly fill my heart and offer me hope, or make me, for the first time, feel special. And, Soda, I just want you to know that you made me very happy . . . regardless of what happened. I hope you know that. And I hope you know that I loved you more than I've ever loved anyone—and I will always hold a special place for you in my heart. I wish you nothing but the absolute best, and my deepest hope is that you find your happiness, and that you never, ever stop chasing your dreams.

I'm glad that it was you . . . for everything.

Mary

Soda stared at the letter for several minutes, lost in thought. He had reread it two or three times, the words branding themselves in his mind. There was a part of him that missed Mary, truly missed her, but his guilt was also enough to eat him alive. And now her letter, in some way, made him feel even worse, because he knew that he didn't deserve her—never had. Even though there were tears in his eyes, he refused to let himself cry, to honestly feel any emotion over it. Letting Mary go had hurt him more than a lot of things had in the past, but he knew that if he continued to hold onto her, it would simply end up making it worse on the both of them, and he didn't want that for her. Or for him. Blowing her off and ignoring her for so long had already done enough damage, and it was a guilt he was going to live with for the rest of his life, regardless if she chose to forgive him. But Mary was like that, too forgiving, her heart soft and pure, and Lordy . . . he had tainted her enough as it was.

After another minute or so, he tucked the letter back into the envelope, before placing it inside his own personal case, along with other important things. There was a small part of him that wanted to write her back, that wanted to tell her that he had loved her, too, that he still—

No, he told himself. He couldn't.

He didn't want to raise her hopes and lead her on, only to crush her spirit again. He knew that it must have taken some serious nerve for her to write him that letter, that she had probably mustered up the courage over enough tears to fill a landmine. Oh, Mary. The letter had brought a smile to his lips, though, had made his heart clench a bit inside his chest, but he would never let on that he had even been slightly affected by it.

He wouldn't respond to her . . . but one thing was for certain for him just as it had been for her . . . and that was the fact that he would always hold a special place in his heart for her, too. He wished her all the best in life as well . . . because she truly deserved it. And he wanted her to be happy . . . even if it wasn't with him. It was a bittersweet thought to have, and it had caused a small ache in his heart, the idea that Mary would eventually move on to someone better, someone who would be there for her and love her the way she deserved to be loved.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, shaking those thoughts aside, and grinned as he saw a letter from his younger brother poking out from the bottom of the pile. Unfortunately, he was interrupted as one of his buddies entered their shared room, a serious look on his face.

"Officer McCoy wants to see you, buddy . . ."

Soda's brows pressed together, and he sincerely hoped that it wasn't about a possible transfer.

Darry rinsed another plate, before placing it on the small stack on the counter beside him to be put away. He would have asked Ponyboy to give him a hand, but there really wasn't that many dishes to be washed, since they had plenty of leftovers that night, and Ponyboy had been wanting to try and write again—something about an idea that he wanted to jot down before he, Ella, and Mary left for their trip in a few days. Truthfully, Darry wasn't really sure how he felt about the whole thing, but he wasn't going to try and butt heads with his youngest brother over it. He was eighteen now, a legal adult, and he was free to do as he pleased. The only thing Darry could do was offer advice and try to guide him down the right path.

Thing was, Ponyboy was a smart kid, and he was already on his way to making something of himself, the one thing Darry never got the chance to do, which was why he had always been hard on him. Soda had made his own choices, too . . . but unfortunately, life had other plans for him, so Darry poured all of his hope in the education department onto Ponyboy, constantly encouraging him to go for bigger and better things, to never give up, and if he failed . . . try and try again.

So when he said that he had an idea, or was getting the antsy feeling to write again, Darry figured that he could clean up a few measly dishes by himself.

The front door opened a moment later, followed by the screen door banging against the frame, and the dark-haired man was able to tell by the sound of heavy boots strolling across the floor that it was Dally. To be honest, Darry was actually . . . grateful for his company in the house, although he wasn't sure how long he would be sticking around. Dallas, though he worked with Buck Merril primarily, and spent a good amount of time training ponies, helped him out a lot. Even though he wasn't fond of the labor, he had gotten a few extra dollars into Ponyboy's pocket, helped out with errands here and there, and kept an eye on things. It made things easier on Darry in the long run, and he figured that each of them were benefiting in some way.

Darry turned the water off, wiping his hands dry on the dishtowel as Dallas dropped a case of beer onto the table, which caused the older man to quirk an eyebrow, an amused expression taking over his entire countenance.

Dallas smirked. "Figured I owed you a case, since I downed the last two."

"Appreciate it," Darry said, and nodded toward him. "Heard you had a date with Ella Mitchell . . ."

The blond made a face. Damn Ponyboy. "Yeah, somethin' like that." His gaze narrowly moved passed Darry to the clock. "More like . . . we have some business to catch up on."

"Sure," came the sly response, and Darry grinned. "Business, huh?"

Trust Dallas Winston to show up ten minutes late, Ella thought to herself with a shake of her head. Well, some things certainly hadn't changed. He had looked a little smug, not to mention, amused with the entire thing, but this time, Ella didn't say anything about his timing, merely greeting him in a somewhat cordial tone, before climbing into the truck beside him. They were quiet for a few minutes, the only sound being the radio, which was playing lowly. For a minute, the girl wondered if the truck would stall out again on them, and she nearly laughed at the thought. Good Lord.

"So, what's the deal with this Woodstock thing?"

Of course that would be his first inquiry, Ella thought wryly. "Nothing," she answered, leaning back in the seat. "The three of us are gonna go and have a good time." A shrug. "And we decided—"

"You mean you."

Her brows furrowed. "What?"

Dallas glanced at her, before rolling his eyes. "I know sure as shit Ponyboy didn't decide on any of this, and anyone with half a brain knows damn well Mary DeVaney wouldn't have known about it if you didn't bring it up to her." He could feel Ella's glare burning a hole through the side of his head. Too bad, though. He went on. "The way she lives her life anyway, it's a wonder she even knows what in the hell music is." And then he snorted. "Does she even know any of the—"

"Oh for Pete's sake, Dallas," Ella cut in. "With the way you live your life, it's a wonder you even know what a good bath is."

He grinned, lighting up a cigarette as he used his knee to hold the steering wheel. "A lot of people will be wondering that about you soon . . . when you smell like horse shit." And there it was, he noted as her nostrils flared. She was getting riled up. "Well, at least you'll have a date every day . . . with the shit, I mean, 'cause there ain't a guy on this planet that's gon' want to be anywhere within one hundred feet of you."

Ella's teeth were grinding together, jaw clenched. "What movie are we going to see?"

Her voice was low and hard, and the blond could tell that she was fighting to keep herself calm. But he knew all the ways to press her buttons, and what a good start to the night they'd had so far. Hell, it had only been a few minutes—maybe they had set a new record. Dallas wasn't even sure why he found any of this comical, but it was Ella . . . and she amused him . . . and he would always enjoy messing with her, at her expense.

He shrugged, exhaling the smoke. "We're not."

And then she jerked around in the seat to face him. "What? I thought—"

"Relax, toots," he said, aggravation seeping through his voice. "I wanted to talk to you, so that's what I said . . . or I would've gotten every excuse in the fucking book."

"Talk to me about what?"

Now, Ella Mitchell wasn't a dumb girl, and she certainly didn't like being led on, or lied to. Dallas had this strange way of getting under her skin . . . and even when he did and said things, he always thought that he could get away with it, which irritated the girl. Still, even if she felt irked, there was a part of her that was actually . . . excited to be with him, but it scared her, too . . . made her nervous. There had been a time when Ella wondered if or when she would ever see Dallas Winston again, and when she had spoken to Ponyboy one time on the phone, the night he had relayed to her that Dallas skipped town, she felt her heart sink into her gut, a heavy weight beginning to rest on her shoulders. Honestly, she never understood it . . . and when she had tried to be with another, she always felt . . . sick, or like she was unable to. She felt torn between loving and hating her former boyfriend, and some part of her now felt like she was merely humoring herself.

There was a moment of silence before Dallas jerked the truck to the side of the road, a hard look on his face as he reached for another cigarette.

"I'm leavin' soon," he said, avoiding her eyes.

Ella, for all her worth, felt as though somebody had just slapped her in the face. She felt her chest clamp, a small lump beginning to form in her throat. She was on the brink of letting every emotion that she had been feeling come right up and spill out of her mouth before she could stop it. But she didn't, couldn't bring herself to, and instead . . . she only asked him one simple question, one which she was generally curious about.

Her voice was barely audible. "Why are you telling me this?"

Another shrug. "Figured I should say somethin' this time around," he replied leisurely. "I'm gonna let Darrel know soon . . . I have enough money to get myself a new ride, so . . . I'll be outta here in the next few weeks, or so." A dry chuckle fell from his lips. "Christ almighty, I can't believe I managed to stay this fucking long—" He stopped talking, the sound of a quiet choked up sob startling him. What the fuck— He glanced over at Ella, a surreal look in his eyes. Holy shit— Was she? "What the hell?" he asked, and leaned forward a little to see her face. "Ella?"

Her hands were covering her face, and when he had said her name, she only felt worse. "Take me back to Jan's, Dallas," she was able to get out, her face burning hot from embarrassment as she desperately tried to hide her tears. "Please."

He would have made a harsh remark, or teased her, but something in the sound of her voice stopped him from doing so. There was some form of pleading, a desperation that he had only ever heard from her once, and that had been a long time ago. Instead, he started the truck back up, not bothering to spare another glance at the girl beside him, a strange revelation coming over him.

I'm gonna leave this city, got to get away

I'm gonna leave this city, got to get away

All this fussing and fighting, man, you know I sure can't stay

Thank you for reading! :3