Happy reading :)

The rest of Saturday passed uneventfully. I heard nothing from Cherry, no updates on her silly little spy operation, and spent my day doing homework and playing piano. My father graded papers and spent most of his day working and reading, as per usual. I watered the little plant I had put in the pot I made in art class while Ponyboy had made his vase. It was all back to normal.

But Bob Sheldon was still dead. Johnny Cade could still get charged with manslaughter. Ponyboy might get put into a boy's home. There was still going to be that fight. But none of that was any of my concern; it was all out of my control. It would be enough to keep the gossip mill turning for a while, but eventually it would all just become stories. Two-Bit had been right – I really didn't have a horse in that race. None of the people involved were really my friends; they were people I knew peripherally, through others, just barely. I shouldn't stick my nose in other people's business.

It was at the back of my mind all day, though. All of it. Watering my little flowers didn't change that.

xXx

I was half awake on Sunday morning when I heard the polite knock on the screen door off the kitchen. Cherry was standing there on our back porch in her ski jacket and pajamas, bags under her eyes like she hadn't slept. The last time I had spoken to her alone was in the girls' bathroom at school, when she told me about her spying, and I got the feeling that she had not come over with good news.

"Hey, Bridget," she said, soft and awkward. "Can I come in? I'm sorry about being here so early, but – "

"Sure," I shrugged, and let her in. "What's up?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You mean you haven't read the papers yet?" I shook my head, but I knew for sure then that this couldn't be good, that this was no regular social call. "Oh. Oh, well…well, the rumble was last night."

"That big fight, yeah. Hey, you hungry or something?"

"No, I'm fine. Bridget, listen." I closed the refrigerator and looked at her expectantly. "Listen, last night…well, our guys didn't win. Randy didn't go, and I don't think Jerry did, either, but Randy told me that there weren't going to be any weapons, so I drove over to the East side to tell Two-Bit and Ponyboy that our guys would play by their rules. Fair fight."

"Okay," I drawled. I wasn't sure why I had become the person she was telling all of this to. Why not Marcia? They were best friends, and Randy had been there that night they jumped Ponyboy and Johnny Cade. I had been told to stay out of this, so I was. But Cherry kept dragging me back into it. "So they won. Does that mean anything?"

"I don't know," Cherry shrugged, helpless. "Maybe? But, Bridget, listen. After the rumble, Dallas Winston, he…he held up a gas station. And then the police shot him." She cleared her throat. "He's dead, Bridget. Johnny Cade, too. It was all in the paper this morning, that's why I asked if you had read it yet."

There was a funny feeling in my stomach. It was a lot of information, and like with Bob's death, I didn't know how to feel. The two times I had met Dallas Winston, I had been scared and disgusted with his behavior. I didn't know Johnny Cade, but I knew he had killed Bob to save his friend, and Ponyboy…Ponyboy was a boy who loved painting and Van Gogh and reading and asking questions. He was a kid.

But I suppose we all were.

"Oh, god," I breathed, sinking down to sit at the kitchen table. Cherry sat beside me, eyes glazed over and staring at a spot on the wall. "That's horrible."

And I meant that, I did. But I still didn't know how to feel about all of it. I was watching a tragedy unfold, but at what felt like a distance. Like watching a car accident. There was nothing I could do, so all I could do was watch.

Cherry blinked hard and had tears welling up in her eyes, but she held them back and started tracing circles on the tabletop. "Yeah," she whispered. "I just…it all happened so fast. And I thought I was doing the right thing, telling those guys what was going on, how this fight would go down. And I'll still take up for them, still say Johnny was acting in self-defense, but…but it doesn't feel like enough. Bridget, I…I think this is all my fault."

"No," I insisted, squashing that thought immediately. "Cherry, no. Don't say that. How could you even think that?"

"Because it was me they were fighting about. Marcia, too. But it's not like she's the one whose boyfriend is dead, or who went over to the other side of town to help them out. You should have heard Bob when he drove us home that night – he was so mad, thought that Two-Bit and his friends were trying to pick us up. I mean, seriously, Bridget – like I'm going to go out with Ponyboy Curtis. He's nice and all, but he's just some kid. And Bob wouldn't admit he did anything wrong because he never did. But that's why they went after Ponyboy and Johnny. That's why Bob tried to kill him – because of me. And now three boys are dead."

She was crying by the end of it. That was the first time she had cried since she had gotten the news of Bob's death. Between sobs, she choked out, "I can't tell anybody else this because I'm supposed to be all heartbroken about Bob. Everyone has this idea of how I'm supposed to be acting right now, but you're the only one who's not going to come at me with some crap about how I shouldn't have helped them, how I should stand by Bob even now that he's dead, but I don't want to, Bridget. He was such a dick. I loved him, but I can see that now. All he did was waste my time. I don't even know if he loved me back or just saw me as some sort of prize."

It all made a bit more sense then why she had been telling me all of this, about the spying and the conversation we had the night of the incident. She had told me then that Bob had wasted her time, and Vickie had told me they had been told to avoid men like that. I wondered if Cherry had felt as if she had been fooled, but I knew that you couldn't help who you fell in love with. Sometimes you love people that hurt you.

"I'm sorry, Cherry," I whispered, not knowing what else to say. "I'm just…I don't know…I mean, is there anything I can do right now?"

Cherry wiped her eyes and thought about it. Then, with a shaky voice, she asked, "Do you have any donuts?"

We didn't, and it was the last thing I had expected her to ask for, but pigging out fixes everything, even if just temporarily, so I went up to my father's bedroom, woke him up on the one day a week he ever slept in, and asked him if he could go get us some donuts.

xXx

By Monday morning, everyone knew they were dead.

Sunday had been spent with Cherry, the two of us eating the dozen donuts Dad had gone out to get us and talking. I did Cherry's nails while she told me all about how she hadn't been able to sleep, had been sitting on her porch when the paper announcing the most recent deaths had come, and how she was planning to go to Dallas Winston's funeral.

"I couldn't go to Johnny's," she said, sounding sorry. "I mean, he stood up for us when Dallas wouldn't leave us alone at the drive-in, and I know why he did what he did. But…he killed Bob. And no matter how I feel about him now, there's still a part of me that loves him and I can't look at Johnny the same way, even if he is dead. I couldn't even go see him in the hospital."

"But why go to Dallas's if he bothered you so much?" I asked. But Cherry just shrugged and avoided looking at me, and I got that she didn't want to talk about it.

"Would you come with me?" She asked, eyes imploring, and I knew this was another one of those things she couldn't go to our friends with. I couldn't imagine Vickie would respond well to that request, so even though I had no idea why Cherry wanted to go, I told her I would.

All six of us were together on Monday, back in our spot in the front lobby. Everything felt strange; nobody seemed to be able to look at each other, the halls were quiet, and nothing felt fixed. That fight that was supposed to fix everything fixed nothing, but an idiot could have told them that.

"I saw Sylvia when I walked in this morning, with Evie and Kathy," Penny said, keeping her voice low. Anyone who dared to speak kept their tones soft and flat, like everything was confidential and heavy. "She was bawling her eyes out."

"Funny, considering how often she cheated on Winston," Vickie scoffed, staring at the waxed floor and scuffing her shoe against it. "Probably crocodile tears."

I wasn't so sure about that. Maybe Sylvia's feelings for Dallas were as complicated as Cherry's were for Bob.

"Heard Kathy broke up with Two-Bit Mathews," Marcia said, and I wondered if she was feeling hopeful about that, ready to move on from Randy, and that thought annoyed me.

"And Sandy Baxter is gone," Missy said. "Word is she's…you know…" She gestured over her stomach as if it were rounded, and my eyes widened.

"Pregnant?" I whispered, and Missy nodded.

"But not with Sodapop Curtis's baby," she went on. "They're saying she stepped out on him."

"They're also saying she's been shipped off," Vickie said, and there was a nervous look in her eye. "So not only is everyone here going to remember her as a cheating whore, but she doesn't have a social life anymore, either. It's depressing, is what it is."

That was more sympathetic than I expected her to be, and I was about to make a snarky remark about it, but the warning bell rang and we went our separate ways. I went to first period, to art class, and looked at the empty seat beside me. A lot of people stared at Ponyboy's chair, at me, even, but I didn't say anything, didn't look back at them, just worked on our latest project. I missed Ponyboy's questions something awful, though, and even if he and I weren't best friends or anything, I was sick of hearing the whispers about him. People were saying that he was the one that killed Bob, or that he had helped Johnny, and all sorts of other awful things.

And then there was Two-Bit.

I was surprised he was even there. I had seen him in the halls earlier in the morning with Steve Randle, who looked as if he was fighting to keep it together, but there they were. And in second period, right behind me, was Two-Bit, as always, perpetually. He had stitches running down the side of his face and across his knuckles, and I knew then with certainty that he had been in that big fight. When I walked into the classroom and saw him already there, I locked eyes with him for a moment and thought about saying something. But what was there to say? Nothing felt sufficient.

"Where's your friend? Ponyboy, I mean," I asked. Missy wasn't there yet, and neither was Jimmy, so we didn't have either of them eavesdropping on us for once.

"Sick," Two-Bit said, sounding guilty. "It's complicated."

I raised an eyebrow. "It is?"

"Yes," he said. "Just like everything else is right now."

"Oh," I mumbled. "Well, that's too bad."

"It sure is, sug'. It sure fuckin' is."

Actually, there was something else I wanted to say. I wanted to say that even though I had tried to stay out of it, I still cared. I had to somehow say I was sorry. I had to tell him that even though I couldn't imagine what the situation had done to him and his friends, I had to say something to him. So once class started, I settled on a note that said only this:

I'm sorry. I wasn't hurting much before, but I'm hurting now. - Bridget

xXx

I had no clue who put up the money for Dallas to be put in a funeral home. Maybe some distant relative. But it didn't much matter; he was there and that's what mattered at the time. It wasn't some real nice place either, just a small brick, nothing special. When I went inside, I quickly realized we weren't the only ones there. There were more people than I expected, but definitely not as many as I heard were at Johnny Cade's.

I looked around, and quickly realized that most everyone in attendance was from the East side. There was a small crowd, a few people I recognized and a lot more that I didn't. I didn't even expect that many. Who would even begin to mourn someone like Dallas? I imagined it would be a hard thing to do, considering what a menace everyone considered him to be.

And then, there he was. We walked through a small hallway and saw the casket sitting there at the front, open. And that was enough for me – I had seen all I needed to see, and I think Cherry had, too.

"Let's sit in the back," Cherry muttered in my ear, and I nodded, agreeing that we shouldn't draw attention to ourselves. I was only there because Cherry had asked me to be, and wouldn't have gone otherwise, but since she wanted to be there, and wanted me to be there with her, I wasn't going to pitch a fit or do anything other than follow her lead.

As recently as that morning I had considered bailing on her and not going, but I couldn't do that to her.

"Are you sure about going?" Dad had asked me.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

He hadn't even bothered to correct my grammar, just nodded. "It's just a lot for someone as young as you to handle."

"I know," I agreed. "But I have to go. Cherry asked me to. I'm doing this for her."

It wasn't a choice.

xXx

I had to visit Ponyboy.

A lot of people had gone to visit him during the week he was bedridden, including Randy. I'm not quite sure why he went, and when I asked Jerry, he didn't seem to know, either. Maybe it was pity. No, not pity. Randy had been acting differently lately. I think he went to apologize. And I went to see him because I had missed our conversations, and I wanted to see for myself that he was going to be okay.

I parked the T-Bird outside the house. It was a pretty shady-looking neighborhood, but I still felt a little guilty when I rolled up the windows and put the top up, checking twice to make sure the car was locked. My purse was clutched tightly in my hand, and I kept a tight grip on the flowers I had brought. I couldn't take any chances. I mean, it wasn't even technically my car; it was Dad's.

I opened the gate and walked up the path to the house, noting all the cracks that lined it, weeds popping out from them. The grass was a little spotty in places, but it was getting colder; everyone's grass was dying. The house wasn't in disrepair, just looked...old. I walked up the porch steps and took a deep breath before knocking on the screen door. I was a bit nervous; sure, he'd had visitors that week, but what if he turned me away? Or one of his brothers, what if they didn't want me to see him? I didn't know the oldest brother, I just saw his name and picture in the paper. I had no clue what to expect.

The door finally opened and standing on the other side was said oldest brother. He had dark brown hair and striking blue eyes surrounded by worry lines. I hadn't noticed those in his picture. His brow crinkled in confusion as he looked me over. I knew I looked out of place, and I'm sure the car behind me didn't help much.

"May I help you?" He asked. He didn't sound upset or angry, but he did sound a bit suspicious. I would have been, too, honestly. I took a deep breath.

"I'm Bridget Stevens. I was wondering if it would be possible for me to visit your brother? Ponyboy?"

His eyebrows shot straight up at that. I hoped he didn't think I came just to stir up more trouble or try to hurt his brother any more than he had been. I really did just want to tell him how I was glad he was back, and that it would be nice to have him in class again. I didn't have anyone to talk to, and I missed having a buddy to be with. And everyone noticed, too, because everyone knew who sat next to me.

"Bridget Stevens?" He repeated, eyeing the bouquet I was holding, and I nodded. "Darry Curtis," he introduced, watching me closely. "How do you know 'im?"

"I'm a classmate. I sit next to him in art class."

After another moment, he briskly nodded his head, and then opened the screen door so I could come in. I followed him inside. "Um," I began clumsily, "I brought these for you guys." I awkwardly held out the flowers. "Sorry if that was…if that wasn't the right thing to do."

"It's fine," he said, mouth twitching up a tick. "Thanks. Wait here, I'll let him know you're here."

I nodded, and then stood awkwardly in the living room. I looked around, noticing all the pictures standing on the mantel: Ponyboy and his brothers, their friends, adults who I assumed were their parents. And they all looked very happy. There was a record player and a television set, living room furniture and a coat rack. Like mine. Except mine was...bigger. And newer. And cleaner.

His brother came back into the room. "You can head on back. Second door on the left."

"Thank you," I said, my voice soft.

My stomach flipped, and I was nervous all over again. I'd made it this far; now what? What would I say to him? I figured I shouldn't really talk about what happened the past week. Randy told me Ponyboy wasn't quite clear on what had happened, and it just seemed insensitive anyways. I wouldn't talk about Bob's death, or Dallas getting shot, or his friend Johnny dying because of his injuries. I think that would be too much for both of us.

"Hi, Ponyboy," I said, stepping fully into his small room. He looked up from the book he was reading and seemed surprised to see me.

"Hey, Bridget." He set his book down and propped himself up on his elbows. "I, uh, I didn't expect to see you. What's up?"

I shrugged. "Just came to say 'hey.' Tell you I miss talking to you at school. That's all," I said, grinning nervously.

"Really?" He asked.

"Really."

It was quiet for a minute. I didn't know what else to say – I hadn't planned that far.

"What've you been up to lately?" He asked. It didn't seem as if he quite knew where to take this conversation, either. But he seemed a lot more comfortable talking to me in his own home than he did at school.

I shrugged. "Not much. Went to dinner and saw a movie with my boyfriend last night." I didn't tell him that we spent most of dinner talking about everything that had happened.

"Did I miss much at school? All my school buddies keep tellin' me that I haven't, but I think I can trust you to give it to me straight."

We both laughed. "No, they're right. You haven't missed much. I hope the make-up work isn't too hard on you," I said, keeping the smile on my face in an attempt to keep the conversation light. It was hard.

"You wanna siddown?" He asked, pointing to his desk chair.

"Do you mind?"

"No. I mean, if you plan on stayin' a bit, I thought maybe you'd like to sit down." I sat down and smoothed my skirt, pressing out the wrinkles. "Is that your car out front?"

"No. My father's."

"It's a good-lookin' ride." He pursed his lips. "You're pretty brave to be comin' over here."

"Why?" I asked.

Ponyboy looked serious. "Because you're a soc. You've got a nice car. You're a decent girl. Why'd you risk coming over here?"

I was crushed. "Do you not want me here?" I whispered.

Ponyboy quickly shook his head. "That ain't it," he insisted. "I just...well, it's just risky."

"I guess," I mumbled. "It's fine, Ponyboy. It will all be fine." I meant more than just the car, but of course I didn't say that. "Don't worry about it, please."

He raised his eyebrows, clearly thinking that wasn't true and he needed to worry on my behalf, but finally nodded and dropped the subject. "I can't wait to get outta this bed," he said. "I'm sick of lyin' around. I'm bored outta my mind."

"I'll bet," I laughed. "What, your homework isn't keeping you busy?"

Ponyboy smiled slow. "Well, I haven't exactly touched any of it yet. What I want is to go to the library. I need new books."

I raised an eyebrow, thinking – thinking about all the books at home, just sitting there because they had already been read and were now more decorative than anything else. "If it's books you want, I got a whole lot of those at my house. I could bring you some."

His eyes briefly lit up, but dimmed just as quickly. "That's nice and all, but it's okay, Bridget. You don't need to do that. I should prolly get started on my schoolwork, anyways."

I felt vaguely hurt by his refusal, confused as to why he would say no, but I let it go. "Alright, then. Well," I sighed, standing up, "I should probably…go now. You feel better, Ponyboy."

xXx

I could barely feel my toes – it was that cold. But I was still jumping and chanting, cheering as Jerry threw a great pass to our receiver, who ran into the end zone for a touchdown. The crowd roared. After two weeks of hell, we could all finally indulge in something normal. We could all just appreciate a game of football. Missy and I smiled at each other, the excitement gushing out of us in the form of squeals. But as great as winning was, I was most excited about the fact that it seemed things were starting to get back to what they were. The grief was starting to subside.

"Is Jerry giving you a ride home?" Missy asked as we headed out.

I sighed and shook my head. "He can't. He has to stay after for some reason, so I have to walk. It's only a couple miles, don't worry about it. I don't mind the walk."

Missy grinned at me sympathetically. "Okay, then. See ya tomorrow."

I waved at her, then made my way towards home. I was a bit upset; I was uncomfortable, and it looked as though it would start raining any moment. But, I walked along the sidewalk, one foot in front if the other, and tried to focus on anything else besides the weather.

"Hey! Hey, you! Need a lift?"

I whipped my head around, and there again was Two-Bit, sticking his head out of the window and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. I really wasn't in the mood for his hijinks. I rolled my eyes. "With anybody but you, Two-Bit."

"Testy, eh? I see. Well, it's gettin' awful nasty out here. Don't take no Harvard geek to know those clouds got rain in 'em. Don't wanna get caught out in that. I'm just tryin' to do the gentlemanly thing, ya see. Because that's just me."

I barked a laugh. "Right, sure. That's what you said last time."

"And wasn't I right?" I couldn't deny that. For as stupid as he could be, Two-Bit was strangely well-mannered, and now that I thought about it, he had seemed to be making a real effort to be nicer to me ever since that incident with Jimmy. Besides – deep down, I already knew I was going to say yes. I had once before. Resistance was futile. But that didn't mean I understood it. "I mean, would you rather put up with me for twenty minutes, or a cold for a week?"

He raised his eyebrows at me. I let out a long sigh, twirling one of my curls around my finger. "I'd rather put up with you," I grumbled. He did have a point. Two-Bit grinned.

"I knew you'd come through," he joked as he opened the door for me. I carefully got in, eyeing him warily.

"What?" He asked as we drove.

"I didn't know you went to games," I said, and he looked at me funny.

"Well…sure. My buddy Steve and I came. Somethin' to do. We've been comin' to games for years, anyway – one'a my buddies was quarterback, but he graduated a couple years ago. Won us a state championship and everything."

"I just assumed school-sanctioned activities weren't exactly up your alley."

"Well, you know what they say about making assumptions."

I did indeed.

"Ain't you seein' one of the players?" He asked. "Jerry Thompson, right? That boy who's been drooling over you for weeks?" I rolled my eyes at that but nodded. "Lovely," he proclaimed. "He's the one who took over for Darry. I've known him a while, actually. Little preppy for my taste."

"Good thing you're not the one dating him, then," I laughed.

"Touché," he grinned. "Well, lookit you. All worried about gettin' up in front of people, and now you're out there every week lookin' just as cheery as the rest of those girls and datin' the quarterback to boot. You're the envy of 'em all, ain't ya?"

I shook my head at his assessment. Two-Bit certainly wasn't afraid to say whatever was on his mind. "Doubt it. Tell you the truth, I'm still not sure I'm cheerleader material. But…I like it," I said. "I'm certainly not enviable, though. You're kidding yourself if you think that."

"Oh, I dunno 'bout that," Two-Bit said, and I blushed. I guess he meant that as a compliment.

We were quiet again, him driving and me staring out the window at the things passing by. Two-Bit started fiddling with the radio, obviously trying to fill the air with something. "Damn," he swore. "Nothin' good." And then there was silence, which I was starting to gather wasn't his favorite thing. So I gave the radio a try and stopped on some Simon and Garfunkel. I could tell by the way he glared at the radio that he didn't like it, but amazingly, he kept his mouth shut, and that made me smile.

Two-Bit pulled up beside my house and stopped the car. I looked out the window and smoothed my skirt. "Thanks for the ride, Two-Bit," I chirped.

"Anytime, Miz Stevens. I'm your chauffeur," he joked. "Hey – Bee?"

"Yeah?"

Two-Bit tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "I, uh, wanted to thank you. I saw you at the funeral the other day. You and Cherry. So – thanks for coming. And for the note."

He cringed after saying that, like he thought maybe he shouldn't have said it, but I was touched. I hadn't even known he had noticed me there, and he had never responded to the note – not that I had expected him to, but I was glad to hear he appreciated it. That it had turned out to be the right thing to do.

"You're welcome, Two-Bit. I wasn't sure I should go, but Cherry asked. God knows why, but…well, it seemed like the right thing to do, to go with her."

"Well, no matter the reason, I'm glad you did."

"I'm sorry that all this happened," I went on. "Everything feels so different. And I haven't been here long. I can't imagine how it feels for you."

"How what feels? Ain't like this'll necessarily change anything."

"That's not what I meant. What I meant was, that I can't imagine how it feels to lose a friend like that. Bob wasn't really my friend. Cherry is, but he wasn't very nice to me." Or her, it was starting to sound like. "I don't know why. All of his other friends are." I slid my eyes over to look into his. "I know what Cherry did for you," I said quietly. "That she, uh, spied for you. I guess that was a pretty brave thing for her to do, huh?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, it kinda was. Took real guts."

"She's a good friend," I whispered. "And she's a better person than I am." I swallowed roughly, then forced a smile. "I don't know why I'm saying all this. It's – I'm sorry. Thanks again for the ride."

"No problem."

I watched him for a few final moments, noticing those eyes of his. They were a soft grey, but there was something in them. We were always catching each other in these little stare-offs, from the first time we saw each other. And I could have sat there, the two of us staring at each other, for a long, long time, but I shook myself out of it and said goodbye, then headed up the front walk.

My father was at the door, waiting to let me in. "Who was that?" He asked as I walked in.

I took off my sweater and put it in the closet. "Oh, just somebody from school. They gave me a ride home," I answered, acting like it was nothing. Like Two-Bit was nothing.

"I see," he mused, watching out the window as Two-Bit pulled away, driving down the road and towards home, I assumed.

I stalked up the stairs, still thinking about Two-Bit. People say eyes are the window to the soul, and I definitely understood what they meant. I could see into him. I could see what a real person he was. When I looked into Jerry's eyes, it was different. I could see only how confused he was after everything. I didn't doubt that he liked me, but there was an uneasiness there that needed fixing. Especially since Bob died. But Two-Bit seemed so sure of himself; he was cocky in a way that Jerry could only be in his jersey. I was so unsure of myself that I thought I needed someone to assure me that what I was doing was right. And maybe Two-Bit was that guy. Maybe, just maybe, he would let me in so I could find out.

Or maybe I needed to let him in.

But how? How could I let in someone I had ousted for so long? Someone I had written off? Was he of the forgiving sort? This all bothered me as I undressed and stepped into the shower, feeling the hot water cleanse my cold skin, raising goosebumps. Maybe he was trying to reach out to me, between the notes and the car rides and conversations. I didn't know.

I really just didn't know anymore.

Thanks for reading!