1"Hello, students."

"Good morning, Mrs. Smarking." I reached into my book bag and pulled out my history notebook and a ballpoint pen. There was a lot of giggling from the girls in the front and a note landed on my desk. I smiled to myself and carefully slipped it into my book.

"Notes, Mr. Curtis?" I jumped and quickly withdrew my hand from the book. The note was clenched in my fist.

"No, ma'am. Just some homework." I was hoping desperately that she would fall for it, knowing full well that she wouldn't. Up in the front, Shannon and her friends were turning pink with laughter. My stomach flipped at the sound of it–mocking, as though they didn't care whether I got in trouble or not. I thought about what Steve and Darry and even Sodapop had been saying, but dismissed the thoughts. They were wrong.

"Mr. Curtis? Are you listening to me, Mr. Curtis? I blinked and snapped out of my thoughts. The Mrs. Smarking didn't look too happy. "I asked if you would like to read your very important note to the rest of the class." I blushed and some guys in the back started laughing.

"Come on, greaser. What's it say?"

"Um...no...I–I'll just put it in my bag." I stuttered.

"That wasn't a request, Mr. Curtis. You have no choice." The guys in the back laughed harder. By now, the whole class was starting to think this was pretty funny, except me, and I think even the teacher was enjoying herself. You can bet that made me feel like Mr. Super-tuff.

"Don't I have the right to remain silent?" I asked smartly, darting a glance at Shannon. Mrs. Smarking turned red.

"You most certainly do not! Do I look stupid to y—" and I fell out of my chair, just like that.

Everyone laughed and someone yelled, "Wait to show her, greaser!" I just stayed where I was, wishing I could be anywhere else, but I wasn't. I was sitting on the floor of the history classroom with an upturned chair to my right and a furious teacher to my left.

"I..." I started, feeling stupid and embarrassed.

"Get out! I don't want to see you again! You filthy little...Get out!" I had never been kicked out of a class before and it scared me a little bit. What would Mom and Dad say?

"Good job, Ponyboy." Shannon said, smiling at me. My ears got real hot, and I knew they had turned pink. I walked numbly out of the room, trying hard not to look around. The door closed loudly behind me and I flinched. The hallway echoed loudly with the sound of my new converse tennis shoes slapping the floor. Mom had originally bought them on sale at this shop for Soda, but they had been too small, so she gave them to me. It was only then, staring at my new shoes, that I realized what had just happened. Mom would be furious. I was usually the good one that didn't get into trouble at school. I was quiet.

"Going somewhere, son?" It was Mr. Syme, my English teacher.

"No, sir." I said. I liked Mr. Syme. He really acted like he cared about you, you know?

"Do you have a pass?"

"No, sir." I didn't even bother trying to lie. You just couldn't fool Mr. Syme.

"Step into my office, Ponyboy." I followed him into the classroom. He settled down behind his desk and motioned for me to take the student desk in front of him. "Now either you're going to tell me why you're out of class without a note, or I'll send you to the Dean and you can tell him." I gulped. There was no way I was going to the Dean's office. I remembered one time when I was in grade school and the Dean had paddled me and this other kid. No way.

I was in second grade–about seven or eight years old–and me and this other kid, Ben, were getting bored, so we started messing around. You know, throwing bits of paper and play-punching each other, well, the teacher (I think her name was Ms. Richards)she sent us down to the Dean's office. The Dean was this really strict guy named Mr. Dalton. The minute we came in, I knew we were in big trouble. Mr Dalton was giant, an angry, red-faced, red-haired giant, and we were his next victims. Me and Ben went into the office on tip-toe, holding our breath. Mr. Dalton read the small slip of paper Ms. Richards had sent us and stood up. He started pacing and lecturing us about being "good boys". "...and it's the good little boys that grow up to be successful, isn't it? Not a single little boy who fights and plays around in school will ever make it out in the world. Those tough little kids who get in trouble all the time? They grow up to be bums–nothing..." I remember thinking how wrong he was. Every one knew that you had to be tough to be successful in life. When you're a greaser, survival was success. Those "good" little boys who never fought or stole, they'd probably never make it. I was only seven, but I knew the score. Mr. Dalton told us each to bend over, fingers to our toes. I didn't really understand what was happening, but afer hearing horror stories from Steve and Sodapop and Two-bit, I think I could've guessed. I decided I didn't like it at all when that paddle hit my bottom. I gasped in surprise and pain. If you've never been hit with a paddle, let me tell you, it hurts. They usually used them at schools because your bottom only stayed red for a little while and then there was no mark. Mr. Dalton went on lecturing. He finally dismissed us, after some good whacks with that paddle and a lecture on behavior. Ben and I hobbled out of the office, clutching our backsides as though they would fall off if we let go. By then, school was over.

I took a breath and explained everything that had happened during history. "You, um, won't tell me parents, will you?" I asked, hoping he'd say no.

"I won't tell them, Ponyboy. Just as long as I never hear anything like this again." I started to talk, but Mr. Syme cut me off. "It doesn't matter whether it was your fault or not, I just want your word that you'll never be kicked out of another class ever again." I nodded.

"I won't." Mr. Syme smiled and stood up.

"In that case, you can go. The lunch bell should be ringing any time now."

The rest of the day passed without much event and Johnny and I started to walk home. We didn't really talk much, but Johnny kept looking at me kind of funny. "Look, if you want to say something, just do it." I snapped, getting annoyed. I was instantly sorry. The look on Johnny's face was so pathetic. "Aw, Johnny I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean it like that."

"It's okay, man. I understand." He didn't say anything else. I stopped in front of my house and Johnny kept going, waving over his shoulder.

"Hey, Pony!" Soda ran outside, knocking me over. "Guess what?" He asked excitedly. I could tell by the way his eyes were sparkling that it was something important. "Dad got a promotion! Him and Mom are going out to dinner to celebrate on Saturday! Isn't it great?"

"It'll be even better if you get off me, Sodapop." I panted, trying to catch my breath. Soda just kept on grinning like a crazy man and rolled off me. "Everybody's inside and Steve and Two-bit are over. Dally came, too...where's Johnny?" He added as an after-thought.

"He went home." I said as I straightened up, brushing dirt and grass off of my clothes. Soda looked slightly put out, but he brightened up real quick.

"Mom's making a chocolate cake–two of them, actually–and Dad brought chicken and Darry and him and Mom are gonna make a big dinner and Two-Bit, well, he just watches TV. Me and Steve're gonna get ripped!" Still laughing, we walked into the house.

"Pony's home!" Soda yelled and slammed the door behind us.

"Hey, Ponyboy." Darry said. He was sitting at the kitchen table with Dad, refinancing everything. Darry's real smart.

"Hey..." Two-Bit muttered, eyes glued to the television. Steve didn't say anything.

The next few hours were the best. Mom baked a really great chocolate cake, (Everybody in my family loves chocolate, and my mom's cakes are the best on the east side–probably the best in the whole city.) Dad and Darry joked around a lot and broke a lamp, and true to his words, Soda and Steve got drunk as heck and stared singing some song they had learned. (Probably in a bar, which they weren't allowed to go to.) Two-Bit joined them a little later and had us all in stitches with his impressions. Two-Bit's real good at impressions. He can sound like anything from a snarling Soc even to the math teacher. He does her really good. Mom made me go to bed at about one thirty in the morning. I fell asleep to the sound of laughter and Steve and Sodapop's drunken tune.

Hey guys, I'm sorry it's taking s long to get to the party, but I've been cut down on my computer time, so I can only write small bits at a time. By the way, I have a new story on under the same pen name. It's called "The Wrong Side", in case anybody wanted to check it out. PLEASE REVIEW!