The Outsiders 2
It was a cold day outside but I didn't mind. I was too busy wondering how I was ever going to get all this homework done over spring break and watching my back for any Mustangs or Corvairs. I don't know what I am so worried about though. The Socs (the west side rich kids, who beat up greasers like me for kicks.) haven't bothered us half as much as they used to. My buddy Two-Bit Mathews told me to still watch it though, actually he said 'Those dirty, lying; cheating Socs are still the same as they ever were.' He then proceeded to call them every unprintable name under the sun that he could think of or make up.
I was hoping I would make it home by 7:00 but I had my doubts. My brother Darry told me that if I wasn't home by dark every night he and Sodapop would come and look for me and if I was by myself, fooling around they would skin me. It gets dark around 7:00 now though, and it was almost dark outside. I heard a loud horn honked behind me and I felt my stomach jolt to my throat and turn into ice. It was a black mustang; at that point I wished to myself I had a blade. My only plan was to make a break for it. So I kept walking but hurried the pace slightly so only I would notice, praying silently that they wouldn't stop. They didn't, but a tall blonde with a good build stuck half his muscular body out the window and yelled,
"GREASER!!" I knew it was a Soc. Partly because he was dressed in a madras shirt and didn't have his hair greased, and also because that's the term they use for us poorer boys on the East side of town. I don't mind living on the east side of town. When you live on our side though, you don't have much. We are known for our reps and our hair. My hair, the same as all greasers, is my pride. It is light brown, almost red, longer than most boys my age wear theirs and greased back into a cowlick at the back of my head. We are pretty wild but not the Soc type of wild, like jump greasers and each other, have river bottom parties and wreck houses all for kicks. Nope greasers are more likely to hold up gas stations, have gang fights and drive old souped up cars. Which is better I couldn't tell you. It's based on the opinion of a person. I would never pull any of that stuff though because ever since my parents died in an auto wreck two years ago I have been living with Darry and Sodapop. If I ever got in trouble with the cops I would probably get put in a boy's home.
I was still about two blocks from home, and I started thinking about Sodapop and I hoped he was the only one home when I got there. He always stuck up for me around Darry. Suddenly the sight of our blue Ford pickup at the four way stop not thirty feet away from me broke into my thoughts. Oh, no I thought to myself what I could do; I couldn't tell Darry I had gotten detention at school for mouthing off to a teacher. So I decided to just let him holler at me, I won't give an explanation. The truck stopped and my second oldest brother Sodapop stuck his head out the window. "Get in the truck, Pony!" He half yelled, in a tone I very rarely hear from my happy-go-lucky brother.
I got in and he stepped down hard on the gas, making us fly through the stop before any other cars even realized we didn't stop. I looked at Sodapop; he had a hard look on his face. He reminded me of a movie star. He had long, silky golden blonde hair that even though he greased it back often fell into his face, until he combed it back again. He had dark brown eyes that were lively and dancing. They told you he was listening and that he understands. I didn't know if I should ask Sodapop what happened to Steve, they were best buddies since grade school and Soda looked pretty mad. Sodapop suddenly turned to look at me but only briefly, and then as if he read my mind he said, "Steve got in a fight with some Socs after work. Two-Bit called me from a payphone we are going to go and help him out. You dig Pony?" He said not looking at me, but at the road.
"Yeah, those Socs could use a good beatin'" I said but highly doubted to myself they would still be there. Knowing them they probably beat him up and ran off. The truck suddenly stopped so suddenly I got whiplash,
"Glory Soda, warn me next time your going to do that!" I said rubbing my neck
He wasn't listening; he was in a cold hard daze. His eyes were wide and when I looked to see what he was looking at I realized why.
Steve was walking up the street, supported by Two-Bit. He was limping slightly and had his hands in fists. He had a large gash over his left eyebrow which made blood stream down his face. His shirt and jeans were covered in blood and dirt. People who were passing on the streets were staring at them with disgusted looks on their faces. Soda muttered under his breath and jumped out of the car at a dead run leaving the car running and the door open. He grabbed Steve into a hug that displays his personality best. Steve winced but didn't push away. I thought to myself as I got out of the car too, that they really are the best of friends.
Two-Bit was leaning against the wall and it was obvious that he too had been in the fight. He also had blood on his shirt and a hole ripped into the knees of his jeans. Soda let go of Steve and mumbled just loud enough for us to hear, "Come on, you can lay over at our house tonight." Steve nodded and we all climbed into the truck. On the way home everyone was silent except for Steve who kept grabbing his side in pain.
When we walked into our house I wasn't surprised to see Darry in our arm chair with the newspaper. As we walked in he jumped up and saw Steve. His expression changed to something I couldn't place. I guess it was closest to surprise, why wouldn't he be surprised though. I ran over to the couch and pushed my school books onto the floor. We do a pretty good job of cleaning up for a couple boys. Steve was going to have a rough night I thought as Darry informed us he cracked a rib, but he was with and we were like family to him.
It was a cold day outside but I didn't mind. I was too busy wondering how I was ever going to get all this homework done over spring break and watching my back for any Mustangs or Corvairs. I don't know what I am so worried about though. The Socs (the west side rich kids, who beat up greasers like me for kicks.) haven't bothered us half as much as they used to. My buddy Two-Bit Mathews told me to still watch it though, actually he said 'Those dirty, lying; cheating Socs are still the same as they ever were.' He then proceeded to call them every unprintable name under the sun that he could think of or make up.
I was hoping I would make it home by 7:00 but I had my doubts. My brother Darry told me that if I wasn't home by dark every night he and Sodapop would come and look for me and if I was by myself, fooling around they would skin me. It gets dark around 7:00 now though, and it was almost dark outside. I heard a loud horn honked behind me and I felt my stomach jolt to my throat and turn into ice. It was a black mustang; at that point I wished to myself I had a blade. My only plan was to make a break for it. So I kept walking but hurried the pace slightly so only I would notice, praying silently that they wouldn't stop. They didn't, but a tall blonde with a good build stuck half his muscular body out the window and yelled,
"GREASER!!" I knew it was a Soc. Partly because he was dressed in a madras shirt and didn't have his hair greased, and also because that's the term they use for us poorer boys on the East side of town. I don't mind living on the east side of town. When you live on our side though, you don't have much. We are known for our reps and our hair. My hair, the same as all greasers, is my pride. It is light brown, almost red, longer than most boys my age wear theirs and greased back into a cowlick at the back of my head. We are pretty wild but not the Soc type of wild, like jump greasers and each other, have river bottom parties and wreck houses all for kicks. Nope greasers are more likely to hold up gas stations, have gang fights and drive old souped up cars. Which is better I couldn't tell you. It's based on the opinion of a person. I would never pull any of that stuff though because ever since my parents died in an auto wreck two years ago I have been living with Darry and Sodapop. If I ever got in trouble with the cops I would probably get put in a boy's home.
I was still about two blocks from home, and I started thinking about Sodapop and I hoped he was the only one home when I got there. He always stuck up for me around Darry. Suddenly the sight of our blue Ford pickup at the four way stop not thirty feet away from me broke into my thoughts. Oh, no I thought to myself what I could do; I couldn't tell Darry I had gotten detention at school for mouthing off to a teacher. So I decided to just let him holler at me, I won't give an explanation. The truck stopped and my second oldest brother Sodapop stuck his head out the window. "Get in the truck, Pony!" He half yelled, in a tone I very rarely hear from my happy-go-lucky brother.
I got in and he stepped down hard on the gas, making us fly through the stop before any other cars even realized we didn't stop. I looked at Sodapop; he had a hard look on his face. He reminded me of a movie star. He had long, silky golden blonde hair that even though he greased it back often fell into his face, until he combed it back again. He had dark brown eyes that were lively and dancing. They told you he was listening and that he understands. I didn't know if I should ask Sodapop what happened to Steve, they were best buddies since grade school and Soda looked pretty mad. Sodapop suddenly turned to look at me but only briefly, and then as if he read my mind he said, "Steve got in a fight with some Socs after work. Two-Bit called me from a payphone we are going to go and help him out. You dig Pony?" He said not looking at me, but at the road.
"Yeah, those Socs could use a good beatin'" I said but highly doubted to myself they would still be there. Knowing them they probably beat him up and ran off. The truck suddenly stopped so suddenly I got whiplash,
"Glory Soda, warn me next time your going to do that!" I said rubbing my neck
He wasn't listening; he was in a cold hard daze. His eyes were wide and when I looked to see what he was looking at I realized why.
Steve was walking up the street, supported by Two-Bit. He was limping slightly and had his hands in fists. He had a large gash over his left eyebrow which made blood stream down his face. His shirt and jeans were covered in blood and dirt. People who were passing on the streets were staring at them with disgusted looks on their faces. Soda muttered under his breath and jumped out of the car at a dead run leaving the car running and the door open. He grabbed Steve into a hug that displays his personality best. Steve winced but didn't push away. I thought to myself as I got out of the car too, that they really are the best of friends.
Two-Bit was leaning against the wall and it was obvious that he too had been in the fight. He also had blood on his shirt and a hole ripped into the knees of his jeans. Soda let go of Steve and mumbled just loud enough for us to hear, "Come on, you can lay over at our house tonight." Steve nodded and we all climbed into the truck. On the way home everyone was silent except for Steve who kept grabbing his side in pain.
When we walked into our house I wasn't surprised to see Darry in our arm chair with the newspaper. As we walked in he jumped up and saw Steve. His expression changed to something I couldn't place. I guess it was closest to surprise, why wouldn't he be surprised though. I ran over to the couch and pushed my school books onto the floor. We do a pretty good job of cleaning up for a couple boys. Steve was going to have a rough night I thought as Darry informed us he cracked a rib, but he was with and we were like family to him.