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"I don't know about this, Jerry."

"C'mon, it'll be fine. They'll love ya," Jerry grinned.

I tried to be angry, but I couldn't be. He was so determined, so sweet, and everything was so topsy-turvy that this dinner had become an island in a sea of turmoil. One of Jerry's best friends was dead; his funeral was on Thursday. We were pretending everything was normal for just a night.

The scary thing, though, is that after I met his parents, I knew Jerry would have to meet my dad. My erudite, workaholic, single father. God help me.

"Alright, then," I whispered.

Jerry pecked me on the cheek. "Thanks, Bridget."

Mr. Thompson looked just like Jerry (or did Jerry look just like him?) Both shared the same perfect, boyish grin and hazel eyes, and I was sure their hair was parted the exact same way. Mrs. Thompson looked nothing like Jerry with her fair skin, but she was gorgeous, in a motherly way, and very inviting.

Their house was beautiful, too, and felt more lived-in than mine did, though I was sure that was just because my father and I hadn't been living there for very long. Maybe with time it would start to feel more like our home, but Jerry's house felt…full. Evidence of the life he, his siblings, and his parents shared were everywhere, accumulated over their years of living there.

It was all so Norman Rockwell. Mrs. Thompson served dinner in the formal dining room, Jerry pulled out my chair for me, and his younger siblings had been sequestered upstairs. I felt like I was the object of intense, friendly scrutiny as they asked me about what my father did, what classes I was taking, what extracurriculars I was in. Mrs. Thompson was particularly interested in my being a cheerleader.

"I remember my cheerleading days," Mrs. Thompson beamed. "Time of my life. That's how I met Jerry's father, actually."

She turned to Mr. Thompson, and he placed his hand over hers. I exchanged a look with Jerry, who was grinning sheepishly. Parents.

I suddenly got this odd feeling that I was looking at my future. A future with a well-to-do husband and well-to-do children. A future where I recalled the good ol' days as a Pom-Pom girl, and then told my son's girlfriend that's how I met my husband, whose parents met the same way in some sort of never-ending cycle. I could wear pearls and an apron and make pineapple upside-down cakes. And then Jerry could find a nice job and buy us a nice house and we would all live happily ever after.

A bit bland, but I supposed there were worse ways to exist.

When Jerry was driving me home that night, he kept glancing over at me with an anxious look on his face, and by the time we were idling outside my house, I'd had just about enough. "Seriously, Jerry, what is up with you? Did I do something wrong tonight or something?"

"No," he assured me, "no, tonight was great. I think they really liked you. That's actually what I wanted to talk about."

I knew there was only one place this conversation could go, even though it had never happened to me before, but I didn't want to look too overeager and clamped down on my excitement. "Oh?"

Jerry ducked his head and grinned. "Yeah. You think things have been goin' well between us, right?" I nodded, again trying not to look too knowing or keen. "I think so, too. You're really a great girl, and so I was wondering if, well…well, if maybe you'd like to be a thing. Go steady."

There it was. Jerry Thompson will forever and always be the first boy I went steady with, and I was over the moon about that as we sat there in his car. I barely gave his offer any thought, and before I knew it I was nodding my head and telling him yes, yes of course I would be his girlfriend, as enthusiastic as a woman might be for a marriage proposal. He seemed pretty happy about it, too, for his part, and he kissed me and apologized that he didn't have his ring yet to give me, but I couldn't care less about him giving me his class ring. It was enough for him to have asked.

"Well, how about that," I breathed, and Jerry chuckled and kissed my cheek. "So tonight was some sort of test, huh?" I teased, and Jerry blushed.

"I wouldn't put it like that. Shoot, I would have still asked even if they hadn't liked you."

And I adored him for that.

"You're sweet," I said, grabbing his hand and entwining our fingers. "I guess this ended up being a pretty good night, then."

"Yeah," he sighed, suddenly looking glum. "It's gotta beat whatever tomorrow's gonna be, anyways."

Right. Tomorrow. Bob's funeral. Everything about that week was mixed up: dinner dates on a Wednesday and funerals on a Thursday. It had been the longest week in probably every student at Will Roger's life. "Are you ready for it?" I asked softly, and Jerry shrugged.

"Gotta be. Ya know, Bob was a good guy. Not just a good ball player. I know he could be a lot, and we all heard from the guys what happened that night…but he was a buddy. And God, Randy's so torn up about it all. That was his best friend. It's just a mess."

"I know," I sighed. It seemed like it had just gotten worse and worse since the school year began, and that was coming from someone who had only lived there a few months. I thought of Two-Bit and Matt Watson getting into that fight, of upper hands, and girls who talked like Holden Caulfield. Now this.

"It's been getting worse and worse between us and those greasers all year. But I just…look, I don't hate those guys. Not like Bob did. I never really even got why he did. I'm just sick of all this fighting. One of my buddies is dead because of it. I just want it to be over."

I didn't know what to say, but I knew what I had to do: I kissed him, and he leaned in and kissed me back. There wasn't any passion or heat behind it; it was just soft. If you could translate different kinds of kisses into words from the English language, mine would say, I'm sorry, but I have no fucking clue what to do.

xXx

I felt a tap on my shoulder and saw Cherry behind me, and she nodded her head towards the girls' bathroom. I followed her in, and when the girl washing her hands left, Cherry jumped right in. "You can't tell anybody else about this, but I couldn't keep it to myself anymore." She took a deep breath. "I've been doing something I probably shouldn't."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

"Well, I've sorta been…spying." Spying? Okay, so now we were in a James Bond movie. "I've been going over to the East side and, ya know, giving them information."

"About what, exactly?" I asked, watching the door to make sure no one would bust in on our conversation.

"There's gonna be this big fight, between a bunch of our guys and theirs. Our guys are pissed about Johnny Cade killing Bob, and their guys are mad about them trying to drown Ponyboy Curtis. They're all just mad about all sorts of things, I guess. It was all gonna come to a head sometime, and I guess that time is now."

"Cherry, I'm not so sure this is your best idea," I chided. "I mean…you're talking about a gang fight here. People could get hurt!"

"People have already gotten hurt. They've already gotten dead," she bit out, and I felt ashamed. "It's certainly not my worst idea, anyway. That was probably ever going out with Bob in the first place," she grumbled, ducking her head and avoiding my eye. I was surprised she would say something like that, and it seemed she was surprised with herself, too. Cherry sighed. "Look, I owe it to them. It was my boyfriend who tried to drown Ponyboy. And now that Bob's dead, I won't be going behind his back by doing it." She paused, then nodded as if to assure herself of that.

"Fine, then. I hope you know what you're doing, Cherry."

"I do."

"What do you plan on telling them?"

"That the boys were drunk. And that Johnny Cade only acted in self-defense. That's all. Apparently, they've held some...war council, and the two sides have decided that a rumble is the best way to settle all this."

She shook her head. I knew she hated fights. "How did you get this information?" I wondered.

"Randy," she answered. "He knows. He'll probably be in it. Maybe even Jerry."

That stopped me in my tracks. I had never pictured Jerry to be the fighting type. Maybe he was, though, but it made me sick to think that Jerry might fight them. Jerry didn't hate greasers. I didn't think he could truly hate anybody. He could be pretty hard on himself, but he couldn't hate.

"I hope not. I really hope not."

xXx

"May I interest you in a ride, Miz Bee?"

I turned and saw Two-Bit leaning out of the passenger window of his beat-up truck. I snorted. "No, thanks, Two-Bit. I can walk," I insisted. The school was only a couple of miles from my house.

"C'mon," he prodded, rolling along as I went down the sidewalk. "I don't bite, Stevens. Not anymore, I don't. Well, not ladies. C'mon."

I stopped walking and he stopped his truck, and we both stared at each other. I stared at his stupid grin and his grey eyes and awful sideburns and wondered what I had that he could stare at. "Why?" I asked.

"Why?" he repeated. "Maybe cuz I'm a real gentleman, that's why."

I looked at him like he was crazy. "What did you just say?"

"Oh, I'm sorry – did I stutter? C'mon, Bee. It won't be so bad. And besides, I could use an ear."

Now I was just plain confused. What was it with people confiding in me today? I raised an eyebrow and asked, "Why me? Why my ear?"

He shrugged. "Because. Anyways – last call, kid. You comin' or not?"

Against my better judgment, I got in his truck.

What? I was cold.

"Thanks," I said, watching him as we pulled away from the school. "So, what did you want to – "

"Winston says they've run to Texas." So we were jumping right into it, then. He rolled his eyes, and I gathered he wasn't happy about what Dallas had told him. "I actually believed him at first. The bastard can be pretty convincing when he wants to be. Prolly how he got Sylvia. Anyways, I'm not exactly convinced that's where they are."

I raised my eyebrows. "Well, if Dallas is trying to convince you of where they've gone, don't you think he maybe knows where they really are? And maybe he told them where to go?"

"I figured that already. But knowing him, he won't ever budge."

"Do you think they'll come home?"

"I think so. Sometime." He lit a cigarette, offered me one, but I shook my head and he put them back in the glovebox. "Gotta give 'em credit, though – they wanna hide, so they did. And they're doing a pretty damn good job. I'm just sick of this feeling that I'm bein' lied to. Know what I mean? Makes me feel like there's nothin' I can do."

We got quiet for a minute. I don't know if there was really anything to say to that, but that's not what he had asked for. Two-Bit didn't want advice, he wanted an ear, and that's good because I didn't have any advice to give him. I couldn't help him find his friends. I couldn't help him with anything, and that made me feel sort of guilty.

"I hear there's gonna be a fight," I whispered, not sure if I should even bring it up.

Two-Bit raised an eyebrow. "You have, huh? Best not to touch that with a ten foot pole. I really wouldn't worry 'bout it if I was you."

Huh? Okay, so Cherry could be a spy, but I needed to stay out of it. It was none of my business, even though she had made a point of telling me. "How come?"

"You really asking me that? C'mon, Bridget. You don't got a horse in this race, not really, and besides – girls shouldn't be gettin' involved in this shit anyways." I wondered if he knew about what Cherry was doing. He was there that night at the drive-in, so it stood to reason he would be one of her points of contact. And this had all started over a couple of girls – we couldn't stay out of something they had dragged us into because they saw us as property.

"Fine," I huffed, glaring out the window. "I was just making conversation, is all. It was just something I heard."

"And I'm just sayin' not to worry about it. Good girls like you don't concern themselves with such things," he said sarcastically.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I snapped. "Well, I'm sorry I'm not like the girls you hang around with. You won't hear about me keying anybody's car."

Two-Bit laughed. "So you heard about that, then? That Sylvia is somethin' else, ain't she?" That I could agree with. "Anyways – not a bad thing. Just an observation."

"Well, for once, you're right. I don't think it's wrong to want to stay out of trouble."

Two-Bit eyed me warily, and he smiled like he didn't believe me. "You're yankin' my chain," he drawled. "Somethin' tells me you wanna rail against...whoever, just as bad as anyone else. You just don't keep the company that'll encourage ya to do it."

"What's that supposed to mean, Two-Bit Mathews?"

"It means that you oughta hang around me a li'l' more, and maybe some of my rebellious attitude'll rub off on ya," he winked.

I rolled my eyes. "In your dreams, Two-Bit. But shoot – you're in detention so often, maybe it's me that you should be hanging around with more. See if you actually get out of school on time some days." His eyebrows shot up and he grinned at me, and I wondered why I had said that. How did I want him to take it? I mean, I was pinned now, going steady with Jerry. I couldn't just hang around other boys – it was risky enough getting a ride home from Two-Bit. "I don't wanna rebel against anybody, anyway."

We pulled up to my house, and Two-Bit rested his arms on the steering wheel and shook his head. He stared at me, I stared back at him, but I started to fidget under his gaze. It felt like he was dissecting me, taking me for more than he first saw me as. And what was I supposed to make of that?

He smiled all slow and stupid. "Oh, there's a rebel in there. Underneath all those nice dresses. And I'd sure as hell would love to meet her."

I wanted him to say something else. I wanted him to explain what he meant. I wanted to know – for whatever unfathomable, unexplainable reason – if he was flirting with me. Because if he was…if he was…well, if he was, it was probably just teasing. It was probably just a joke, or just in his nature, and I told myself I was reading too much into it and again wondered why I even cared.

xXx

I got dressed for Bob's funeral as soon as I got home. Dad had decided to come home from Stillwater early so he could go with me, even though I had told him that wasn't necessary, but he had insisted. The last funeral I had been to was for one of my father's ancient NYU colleagues, some man who taught classics, and while my father knew him far better than I did, it felt like we went more out of courtesy than anything else.

Bob was one of my best friend's boyfriend, someone I knew better than the classics professor, but attending his funeral still felt like nothing more than a courtesy. I wasn't sad. It made me feel like something inside of me was broken; a promising young man was dead. The sorrow should have come easily, but it didn't. It would have been easier if he had been sick or killed in a car accident, but Bob and his friends were maybe going to kill Ponyboy. Two-Bit had told me that Johnny Cade must have been terrified to do what he did, and maybe he hadn't outright meant to kill him, but it made it all the more complicated.

Cherry made it complicated, too. I watched her from the back of the church, the way she sat rod-straight in the second pew with her family behind a sobbing Mrs. Sheldon. She didn't cry, though, just stared straight ahead past Bob's casket. She was no longer worried about betraying him. She had cried when he died but saw going out with him as a waste of time. Cherry had told me all of this herself, without prompting, so I knew that complication was living on in her.

So many people from school were there, all of Bob's friends like Randy and Jerry who sat stoically with their eyes cast to the floor, and I wondered if they were as mixed-up about it all as I was, as Cherry was. What was I even supposed to think? I was starting to think that I didn't really know any of these people, and my father and I were mere spectators to their melodrama.

When we got home, my father watched me carefully. I went into the kitchen to get something to eat and he sat at the table watching me while I made a sandwich. I felt his eyes on me the whole time, but I waited for him to speak because I really had nothing to say.

"It's too bad," he finally said.

"Yes," I said. "It is." And I wanted to tell him about the fight, about how this had apparently all been a long time coming. But adults never understood anything, so I kept my mouth shut.

xXx

On Saturday morning, I found my father reading the paper in the living room. He didn't look up when I came in, but he said, "Those boys from your school came back to town last night."

I found myself feeling relieved. "They did? What…what's going to happen to them?"

"They're looking at manslaughter charges for the boy that killed Bob Sheldon, but he's apparently in critical condition. Badly burned in a fire. Might not recover."

Oh, boy.

I moved to stand over his shoulder and read the article with him. Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade had returned Friday evening, and I hardly recognized Ponyboy when I saw his picture – his hair had been bleached. But even though they were thinking about charging that Cade boy with manslaughter, they were being lauded as heroes of some sort, having saved some little kids from a church. Ponyboy, Johnny Cade, and Dallas Winston were apparently heroes.

My head spun. The narrative can change so quickly.

They had a picture of Ponyboy and his brothers. It was rumored they might get split up, and that's how I learned that Sodapop and Ponyboy were in the custody of their older brother. I didn't even know their parents were dead. I felt as though I should have. But maybe Ponyboy didn't trust me enough to tell me.

I wondered if Two-Bit was reading the same article just then, if he was finding out about all of this in the same way.

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