Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Stu Larsen owns "Far From Me."

You've been sailing like a whisper on the wind

Billowing your sails with the breeze

You've been sailing far from me

November 24, 1969

Ponyboy jotted down a few words in his notebook, trying his best to concentrate on what he wanted to say while desperately attempting to ignore the racket Ella was making inside the barn, another bang causing him to inwardly cringe. Well, he thought aimlessly, this wasn't exactly what he had in mind for Thanksgiving break. At this particular moment, he was thankful that he had the week off, having gotten home Saturday night . . . but spending Monday morning with Ella while she worked wasn't all that fun, and he was suddenly regretting his decision of agreeing to meet up with her. Truth be told, Ella had been in a mood since . . . well, since Dallas had taken off, really. It started not too long after the night she had driven up to the college . . . soon after she pulled herself out of the pits of depression. She had quit writing to him, or talking to him, as often as she used to, and he had found out from Evie that she hadn't seen all that much of her, either. It was as though Ella had completely disappeared out of their lives along with Dallas, only popping in here and there.

And Ponyboy was worried about her. He considered her his best friend, outside of his family and the boys he had grown up with, and he didn't want to see her in the predicament she was in. Really, he felt sorry for her . . . because he knew her better than this . . . better than whatever persona she was sporting these days. He understood that she was still upset, but it had been two months since Dallas left, and the teen had to wonder if Ella would honestly ever move past the injury.

Glory.

Deciding to just ultimately give up on writing the second chapter of his next novel, he figured he ought to go and see what in the almighty universe Ella was bitching about, her grunts and groans of irritation, as well as her muffled profanities, reaching his ears and putting a damper on his spirits.

"Ella," he called, and poked his head inside the barn. He was about to ask her what was wrong, or if she was okay, but he was unable to conceal his laughter as it bubbled up his throat. The scene in front of him was too comical. Ella was covered from head to toe with straw, an unbelievable expression of pure vexation plastering her face, two buckets of feed spilled around her feet. "What happened?" he eventually got out, lips pressing together.

She all but threw her hands up in the air. "Nothing happened," she bit out. "I'm just not having a good day, that's all."

"Clearly."

There was a moment of silence before Ella's form seemed to slump a little, and she shifted the rake to her other hand, a sigh escaping her lips. "I'm sorry," she said, voice sincere. "I know you said you were going to try and write . . ."

Ponyboy shook his head. "Don't worry about it." He looked around, taking note to the fact that she was nearly finished. He knew that she only had a few more weeks of this job anyway—December twelfth being her final day, and he knew that she couldn't wait for it to come. Shar would officially be hers, paid off in full, and no longer would she have to worry about working for Buck Merril. "You want some help?" he offered, hoping it would calm her mood some.

But she shook her head. "I appreciate that, but if Buck sees you helping me . . ." A shrug. "I'm sure he would find a way to cut my payment, and the sooner I'm done with this job, the better."

He nodded. "Yeah."

And that was truth enough, Ella thought to herself. She couldn't wait to finish up with this job, to be free from cleaning horse manure five days a week, which was the worst of it. She enjoyed being around all the animals, she did, but . . . sometimes, the smell was enough to make her sick. But she worked her way through it, as she had been doing for the past few months. Another reason she couldn't wait to get away from it all was because the weight of Dallas Winston still hung in the air around the ranch, and every day, Ella was sure she could see his white-blond hair just outside of the stables, or through the barn door, and some part of her thought that he might just pull in, a snide remark on his tongue, icy blue eyes impish as he stared at her . . .

She told herself that he wasn't coming back, though, that he didn't care for her, and that by leaving . . . he had basically told her that—he didn't care about her, and that was that. She was stupid enough to believe for a minute, two months ago, that her feelings would truly mean anything to him, that they alone would be enough to use as an anchor for the two of them.

But Ella, even though she missed him terribly, and did everything that she could to forget about him and her, or the past Summer, changed the topic—she had done enough crying over him, and she wasn't about to start again right then.

"How are things with you and Julia?" she asked Ponyboy, beginning to fluff up the straw. "You seemed awfully happy in your last letter . . ."

And he had to smile at that. He and Julia had been doing great, real great, in fact, and since they had officially gotten back together, he had been feeling better than ever. It had come as a shock to everyone else to hear that the two were even seeing each other again, but out of all of them, both Ella and Soda seemed to be the happiest for him. Well, Darry had been, too . . . but he had made it known that he . . . well, he wasn't all that fond of the girl. But Darry had always been upfront and brutally honest like that, and even though he had only met and spoken to Julia a few times while he was visiting Ponyboy at the college, he thought that there was something off about her. Of course, he wasn't going to try and dictate his kid brother's life, especially his romantic life, but he had warned him to be careful, which he was.

Still, since getting back with her, Ponyboy had been in better spirits, and even though it was corny to admit, he loved to talk about his girlfriend—and the good thing was that Ella was a great listener. He wouldn't admit it to her, though, but sometimes, he felt bad for chatting her ear off about how happy he was romantically with Julia while she was still in the blues over what had happened with Dallas. She didn't seem to mind, however, but he was still cautious about it, and usually always waited for her to inquire first before revealing anything.

But he perked up, leaning back against the interior wall. "Good, we're doing real good," he answered, a dreamy look to his eyes that Ella hadn't missed. "I invited her here for Thanksgiving, but she's spending it with her family, which I expected anyway." He crossed his arms over his chest. "She ain't ever been to my house before . . . and I thought maybe it would be nice to bring her around y'all . . . even though I sometimes feel . . ." He made a face, pausing, and Ella stopped what she was doing to glance over at him.

And then it clicked.

"Embarrassed?" she guessed, and he nodded a little. But her next words surprised him, his eyebrow raising as she spoke. "Ponyboy Curtis, that's just plain dumb . . ." She maneuvered herself easily over the bales, cutting the rope and letting the straw spill onto the floor so she could spread it out and fluff it up around the back, since Buck was bringing in a pregnant colt later that day. But Ella continued on almost leisurely, ignoring the look on her friend's face. "You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. Julia likes you for who you are, doesn't she? I don't think your house or where you live is going to make a lick of difference to her." A sigh. "Would it to you if the situation was in reverse?"

"No," he said almost instantaneously. "I reckon it wouldn't."

She pointed at him, giving him a sideways look. "See how that works?" And then she chuckled before speaking again. "You should invite her down during Winter break."

"You think so?"

A smile. "I know so."

"You sure have a lot of shit," Evie blatantly stated, and took a drag of her cigarette. "Are you sure you really want to sell all of this?" She gestured toward the room from where she stood out on the back patio, a pointed expression on her face. "A lot of it could be valuable, you know . . ."

Mary merely shrugged. "It's mostly my aunt's belongings, which I have no use for. I honestly just want to sell, or donate, what I can." A shrug. "I want to keep the sentimental items, things that belonged to my parents that I know Aunt Vera kept . . . and then I want to start over."

Evie nodded causally. Helping Mary pack up her aunt's house wasn't exactly how she would usually spend a Monday afternoon, but her mother only had a few spread out clients that day at the salon, and she figured hanging out with Mary wouldn't be such a bad thing. Truthfully, she liked Mary, thought that she was a nice girl and all that, but she secretly wished that Ella was there, too. At least Ella could keep the atmosphere lighter and more humorous . . . maybe. Well, several weeks ago she might have been able to, but the brunette wasn't so sure now, especially after what had happened with Dallas Winston, which made Evie want to beat the tar out of him . . . whenever she saw him again, that is. But still, Ella was working down at the hospital, so it was just Evie and Mary, and Mary had been planning on putting her aunt's house on the market and clear her own things out so that she could travel.

Evie had never seen so much crap in all her life.

Man, Mary had money out the wazoo! Well, good for her, Evie thought, and she stubbed out the end of her cigarette; Mary deserved something decent from that wicked old woman. A shiver went up Evie's spine just remembering her—yikes. There was some part of her that honestly didn't even like being in the house anymore than she liked being on the property. She recalled Ella revealing the same thing to her a while back, but now she understood what she had meant. It wasn't so much that the house itself was creepy, or anything silly like that, but there seemed to be an eerie feeling about it that lingered inside . . . and Evie simply didn't like it, though she had brushed it off. Hell, she wouldn't say anything to Mary about it, afraid that it might put her off, or make her feel bad, which was something that Evie didn't want to do.

She continued to help Mary put a few more items into the boxes she had made up, wrapping a few pictures and other antiques, before gently placing them inside. Mary hadn't seemed all that worried about giving anything away so easily that once belonged to her aunt, and honestly, Evie couldn't say that she blamed her—she would have felt the same way.

Mary had been going through everything for the past few weeks, so she already had a head start on the sorting ordeal, but she needed help packing, and would need assistance in getting whatever it was that she was keeping over to a storage unit. Funny enough, it reminded Evie of helping Ella when she left for New York, and a sentimental feeling welled up in her chest—she was glad that Ella decided to stay in Tulsa this time around, although she was a little upset that Mary was taking off now. It still seemed sudden, even though she had mentioned it to both her and Ella months ago, and even though she wouldn't exactly admit it, Evie felt a pang of jealousy that both of her friends had gotten to leave Tulsa . . . and she had been there the entire time.

Well, it wasn't so much as jealousy as it was the fact that Evie merely wished to have adventures of her own some day . . .

Maybe she would, but until then, she was staying put in good ol' Tulsa.

Perhaps, when Steve was home for good, they could go and travel together, or do something wild and crazy. Evie never really thought about traveling out of the country, but the more that she hung around with Mary and listened to her dreams, the more she was beginning to have ideas of her own. In her heart, she knew that Steve probably wouldn't be into that kind of thing—he'd never been one to travel too far, although he did like road trips, as he had divulged to her one day long ago. But Steve had quite the travel experience being in the military . . . so he'd done his fair share of it, too. Hell, even Ponyboy had (sort of) gotten out of Tulsa, even though he was only an hour or so away. Well, Two-Bit was still around, Evie supposed, and so was Darry Curtis.

Maybe she would have felt better if she had been allowed to go to Woodstock. It still irked her that her father had set his foot down on that one. Her mother had tried to talk him into letting her go with Ella, Mary, and Ponyboy, but he was having none of it, going on with every excuse that he could come up with on why it was a bad idea, or why it was improper for Evie to attend. Good Lord, it still surprised her that Mary had gone, but she figured the girl needed to get the hell out more than she did.

She cleared her throat lightly, eyes flickering to Mary. "Where do you think you'll go first?" she asked, placing a picture into one of the boxes. "I mean, you've got the entire world spread out at your feet." A chuckle passed through her lips. "You know, you should throw darts or something at a map and travel to wherever it lands on."

Mary grinned. "I thought about doing something like that." She pressed a finger to her lips, a curious expression on her face. In the beginning, she had considered Scotland, but after some thought, she decided there was another place she wanted to visit first. "You know, I've always wanted to go to Greece."

"Greece?" Evie repeated, clearly stunned. "Besides Scotland, I would've imagined you saying Italy, or something like that, but"—Her mouth curved upward ever so little—"I always wanted to go to Rome, or hell, even Paris sounds awfully nice."

Mary nodded in agreement. "Paris is surely something alright. Since my childhood, though, I always envisioned myself visiting Greece one day, because my great-grandparents are from there, so it's family related."

"No kidding," the older girl responded. Wasn't Mary DeVaney just full of surprises? She snorted, and shook her head. She almost wanted to tell her that maybe she would meet her dream guy in the form of a Greek god or something, but she bit her tongue on that one, deciding that bringing up anything that pertained to a relationship, or romance in general, might not be too hot of an idea. It's not that Evie herself really thought it was a big deal, but . . . Mary hadn't mentioned anything about dating again, and she hadn't even mentioned Sodapop . . . not once, to her at least. She figured that Mary could bring it up, if she wanted to, or she would get herself out there when she was ready to—that wasn't something that Evie was going to get mixed up in. No, but she did plan on harping on Ella, because that was a completely different situation. She continued on, though. "But I stand firm on what I originally told ya, DeVaney," she said, pointing a finger at her for good measure. "I expect postcards and letters in the mail . . . at least once a week."

Mary laughed. "You can count on it, Martin."

Soda and Steve hardly spoke to one another in the past two months, and honestly, it felt pretty weird to Soda. But he kept himself busy with working, talking to a few other guys he had befriended, and then there was Lori, who he had been going steady with since the end of September. He knew that Steve had been keeping a watchful eye on him, and there were times when he looked as though he wanted to come over and speak to him . . . only he hadn't. Instead, he would go back to whatever he was doing, or turn around and start talking to whoever else was there. At night, when they both turned in, Soda could feel the tension emitting off of Steve from across the room, and the friction between them was only beginning to manifest. Soda wouldn't admit it, but he did miss Steve, and more than that, he missed talking with him . . . the way that they used to.

Steve was the only link there that Soda had to home, and even though there had been a time when he desperately felt lost, or like he didn't belong, buddying around with Steve put him in better spirits, reminded him of who he was . . . or who he had been, and that had been the security blanket that he truly needed. But never would Soda tell anyone that. A while back, he had heard that Tyler Redelle had made out okay, and had also returned to duty, and truth be told, Soda was awfully glad that they hadn't ended up at the same base. It wasn't that Soda disliked Tyler at all, or anything like that, but he didn't want to be reminded of his time over in 'Nam. No, he had been trying to shake those memories from his mind since the moment he had woken up in that hospital.

But still . . . they continued to linger, and when he slept at night, he dreamed . . . and then he remembered everything. It made him feel suffocated, as though someone was standing on his throat and keeping him from being able to breathe properly, and sometimes, he woke up in a cold sweat, or his body would act on its own accord, always ready to fight off whatever was coming at him.

He was always alert, even when he slept.

The pills seemed to help a little, cleared his head and made him feel as though he were in a trance of sorts, made it easier to fall asleep and stay asleep throughout the entirety of the night. And there was sleeping with Lori, which had done wonders for him. But with her, he was able to remove a lot of his frustrations, their fuck sessions usually ending up with both of them worn out and in a heated sweat, two or three tablets sliding down his throat afterward . . . which was then followed by a deep and dreamless sleep. There were moments when he was with her that Mary's face would cross his mind, and sometimes, when he was roughly thrusting into her, he thought of Mary, unable to remove her caramel eyes from his mind, her golden skin, her dark and silky hair . . . and he felt disgusted with himself. There was a part of him that knew he was only with Lori to make himself feel better, and he knew that it was wrong—he had never meant to use her, but it happened, and he was pretty sure that she was using him, too . . . for whatever reason.

Maybe it was because she knew he was easy, vulnerable . . . and maybe being with a guy like him did something for her the same way being with a girl like her did for him. It was wrong, and he was very aware of that, but he supposed some part of it didn't really matter in the long run. He had asked her to go steady, and she agreed, but sometimes, Soda wondered how long it would really last. It was like being in a loose relationship without any depth, or ties, only the commitment of being together. All in all, it was shallow . . . but for Soda, at that particular moment in his life, that was what he needed. On the inside, he felt cold, hollowed out, but the time spent with Lori allowed him to fill that festering hole with emotions he had long forgotten, or at least, tried to forget. The pills were only the additional bonus that kept him rested and allowed him to drown out the rest of his thoughts, or memories, but never had any of it allowed him to find any form of peace.

And Soda was afraid that he never would.

He stared down at the blank paper in front of himself on the makeshift table, the pen in his hand hitting the ledge every second or so in a repetitive beat as he tapped it. He wasn't so sure that he was actually going to go through with it, because some part of it didn't feel right to him. He had no intentions of getting her hopes up, or doing anything that could spoil whatever they had in the way of friendship, which wasn't all that much, considering that he had never responded to her last letter, although there really hadn't been a reason to. Still, she had been on his mind almost exclusively for the past few days, and he figured a letter just to say hi, or ask how she was doing, wouldn't exactly hurt. Would it?

The ball of the pen touched the paper, and he found himself beginning to write.

Mary,

I hope you are doing well.

Because I'm not, he instantly thought to himself, and dropped the pen, shaking his head. No, he decided, there was no point in writing to her. He still felt guilty for what he had done, and how he had ended things with her—and if he even bothered to send her a letter, he knew it would only intensify that guilt. He didn't know how to be her friend . . . and he simply couldn't be. Besides, even though it had only been three months since they had ended their relationship, he didn't want to intrude on her life. He didn't even know anything about her life now, didn't know what she was doing with herself, and even though the idea of her . . . possibly being with someone else sent a harsh pang through his chest, he wanted her to be happy.

Plus, he was with Lori, wasn't he?

With a sigh, Soda crumbled the letter up and tossed it in the trash bin under the table.

Dallas drove on, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting against the side of his face, elbow bent and pressing into the window ledge, a blank expression on his face. The lights bounced off of the windshield, his icy eyes almost looking tired, distant. He'd done a few odd jobs for easy dough for the past few weeks, drove here and there, and never stayed long enough to remember anyone's face. He liked it that way, though. Something about being on the road, traveling around to different places where nobody knew who you were, was comforting to him. Plus, he was far the fuck away from Tulsa, Oklahoma, away from that shithole of a place he had once called home, away from . . . her. Away from Ella Mitchell. It wasn't exactly an easy task to up and go the way he had, but having been on his own again, having the freedom back to do as he so pleased, when and how he wanted, was allowing Ella to slip from his thoughts more and more with every day that passed.

Or so he told himself anyway.

There was a part of her that crossed his mind every now and then, and sometimes he wondered what would become of her. He knew that she only had a few weeks left from this point until she was done paying off Shar, and he figured that she was probably happy about it. Usually, he didn't like to think about Ella too much, but when he did—when she popped up in his thoughts, that is—he found himself wondering about her. He entertained the idea of her future, or what she would do with herself, and he could see her eventually moving on from him, doing something big . . . maybe not quite like Ponyboy, but she definitely had the potential. Dallas had spent a great deal of time busting her ass about having her picture in magazines like Playboy, but really, he didn't think it was all that bad. Honestly, where it concerned Ella, he thought it was pretty damn tuff . . . but he would never in a million years divulge that to her. Really, he thought she could do something better with herself—she had the smarts, and Christ almighty, she had the fucking attitude to boot. She could end up going places, so long as they didn't take her down the path that New York had.

A smile formed on his lips as he allowed himself to envision her if only but for a moment. Yeah, she was somethin' . . . something else alright, always had been. For a brief second, he wondered if she thought about him at all, or if she was too pissed to even consider entertaining herself with thoughts of him. But he decided that he didn't, or wouldn't, want to know.

He was long gone out of her life, same as she was with his.

It didn't matter none, and really, he didn't care.

The Summer of 1969 faded into the background like the lights in the rear view behind him. He didn't need to hold onto any part of it, and he had never planned to. Sure, he and Ella had a brief fling, or whatever the hell anyone wanted to call it, he had spent a good few months in Tulsa, got to see a few old friends, but all of it . . . didn't have meaning to him. He had gone there for what he needed, which was a new vehicle, and he had gotten it—everything else had merely been events in between which amounted to nothing . . . nothing at all . . . and that included Ella Mitchell. Deep down, he did care about her, and he probably always would, but he had no ties to her . . . and the longer he stayed away, and the more miles he put between him and Tulsa, the easier it was to forget all about it . . .

Pulling into a cheap, rundown motel, the blond cut the engine of the truck, pulled out his pack of cancer sticks, and lit up. The nicotine settled on his tongue and relaxed his nerves as he leaned back in the seat, all previous thoughts forgotten as a good-looking broad stepped outside from one of the rooms to light up a blunt. He grinned to himself as he watched her puff away, and after a minute or so, she caught his eye across the lot, offering him a smile of her own.

Tell me where did you go

Tell me what do you see

I'd like to hope that wherever you are

You'll be thinking of me

And there's chapter twenty!

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