1Disclaimer: I still own practically nothing.

Here it is! The party...Thanks to BlacklightingDX for reviewing.

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"Hey, Pony? You ready to go?" Darry was standing in the doorframe of my bedroom, car keys in hand. I put down Romeo and Juliet. At this rate, I'd probably never finish it on time.

"Yeah, sure."

"Get a sweatshirt. It's kind of chilly out." I pulled on my only sweatshirt–a grey one from track–and followed Darry out the door. Mom and Dad were in the living room, getting ready for their dinner.

"Hey, where'd Soda go?"

"He went to the movies with Steve and Johnny." Darry answered me, opening the front door.

"Have good time, Pony!" My mom waved at me and went on tying my dad's tie.

"Have fun, son." I looked back and for a fleeting moment, I felt like I'd never see them again. It was the oddest thing, cause they were standing right in front of me.

"Come on, Ponyboy!" Darry called from the car. I took another step, then ran back and flung my arms around my mother. She stepped back, taken by surprise, and then hugged me back.

"I love you, Mom." I whispered. Then I hugged my dad and said pretty much the same thing. They both looked at me kind of funny, but at least I felt a little better. Just a little, though. Darry called for me again and said he'd leave if I didn't come soon. I just shook my head. He wouldn't. "Alright, alright! I'm coming! Hold your horses, Dar!" The car door clicked shut and we drove off. I couldn't help but take another look back at the house.

"You call me by eleven, you hear? Mom doesn't want you staying out any later." Darry's voice sounded hard, loud. It wasn't like him to talk to me like that. I wondered what had gotten to him. Maybe it was the same thing I felt. "Ponyboy?"

"Huh?" My head snapped up. I hadn't realized Darry was still talking.

"You okay, Pony?" Darry's eyes seemed to be boring through mine, like he was trying to read my mind or something.

"Yeah, I'm okay." I said, not very convincingly. Darry looked at me for another couple seconds and turned away.

"I'll be home all night, if you need me." It was just a simple sentence, but I knew what he meant. And he knew what I meant when I said I was okay. Brothers can be like that sometimes. We stayed silent for the rest of the trip, except when Darry asked for directions once. We finally pulled up in front of a big house with lots of cars parked in front of it–Mustangs and Corvairs, real big-time Soc kinda cars. I was starting to feel kind of ashamed of our Ford. Darry put his hand on my shoulder and led me to the front door. "Have fun, kid." He rang the bell and some guy answered. "Call me if you need me." He said, so only I could hear, and he walked away.

The minute I walked through the door, I wished I could turn right back, but Darry had already driven off. Everybody in there was dressed in real high-class clothes–Madras and khaki pants and wine colored sweaters. I looked down at my best checkered t-shirt (well, actually it was Soda's best) and the pants i usually wore to church when Mom took us, then my beat up old tennis shoes. Yeah, I felt real tuff. Just then, Shannon walked up to me, hanging on some guy's arm. A few other guys were walking behind them. "Hi, Ponyboy. Glad to see you made it okay." She giggled and whispered something behind her hand to the guy. He smirked. I was liking this less and less and starting to wish one of the guys could've been there. "This is Derek," she pointed to the guy, "and that's David, Randy, my brother–Bob..." She went on to name all the guys standing there, still smiling as though her face was stuck that way. The guy named Derek unlinked himself from her and took a step toward me.

Pulling out a silver bottle, he said, "Hey, kid? You want something to drink?" I shook my head.

"Nah, I'm okay." He moved toward me some more. I held my ground, not wanting to show fear.

"Come on, I insist." The other guys were laughing as if this was all just some big joke that I wasn't in on.

"I'm fine–really."

"I wasn't asking, punk." His voice was deathly low. I had backed into the wall and was staring at him with wide eyes. "Take some."

"I'm fine." I was panicking now. Sweat was running down my back like it does when I get really nervous. The other guys were all surrounding me now, but that's about all they did. The guy–Derek–turned to smile at the others. I took my chance and broke through them. Derek had me down in a second. He was holding the silver bottle over my head, grinning like crazy. One of the other guys–I think his name was David–forced my mouth open. I coughed and spluttered as they poured some kind of expensive liquor down my throat. It burned my mouth, and I tried to scream but ended up choking instead. The Socs were laughing like maniacs now and the world started to swim, though I vaguely remember more people coming over to watch and Shannon–Shannon's face laughing just as hard as the rest of them. That was when it really hit me–Shannon Sheldon was a Soc.

Derek was straddling me, his knees pushed hard into my elbows and his hands still holding the bottle. I fought as best I could, but they had me pinned pretty good. The bottle finally seemed to have emptied and he threw it aside. "We're gonna teach ya a little lesson, kid." He spit at me and I nearly vomited. "You–he slugged me–keep on–and again–your own–and again–side of–and again–town, with all the rest of the trash!" I was gasping for air with every punch. I didn't even have the breath to cuss at them, although I desperately wanted to. "You hear, greaser?" He hit me real hard in the head and the world was spinning. "I asked you a question!"

There were shouts of, "Teach the punk a lesson!" and, "Give it to him!".

"Here, give 'im this." The guy named Bob handed something to him. I didn't know what it was, but I knew that whatever it was, I didn't want it. I struggled more and nearly broke free, but some Soc-guy kicked me right in the head and told me to hold still. Yeah, right. The next thing I knew, my mouth was being forced open once more, only this time it wasn't liquor they were shoving down my throat. It was a cigarette, but it wasn't. It was like no cigarette I had ever had before. The smoke was acrid and yellow. It tasted like grass, but much much worse. Everybody was cracking up as though this was the funniest thing they had ever seen. Personally, I didn't find it very amusing.

"Take the trash out!" Somebody yelled. I felt somebody lift me roughly from the ground. Everything was moving too fast; it was all too loud. Then, I felt myself falling and landed on the ground. There was a loud, sickening snap and I passed out. When I finally came to, I could see that I was lying outside on the grass. I had a killer headache and my arm was throbbing. There was a large red stain leaking out onto the sidewalk. It took me a minute to realize that it was blood and another to realize that the blood was coming from me. I took a look at the watch Dad had given me for Christmas last year and groaned. It was 12:35. I was supposed to call at eleven!

A car pulled up by the sidewalk and a voice called, "Ponyboy!" The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. "Ponyboy, what happened? Oh god, Pony..." A blurry figure was kneeling over me.

I mumbled, "Hey, Two-Bit..." and fell back into unconsciousness.

"Ponyboy? Can you hear me? Pony?" I blinked and raised my head a little. It felt like there was nothing up there, like my head was filled with helium–like a balloon. Two-Bit was staring at me from where I was laying, spread out, across the back seat of his car.

I managed to give a weak, "Yeah..." and Two-Bit breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank god. You had me scared to death, kid. Finding you on that lawn–by the side of the road–bleeding like you was–I thought for sure–you okay?" I didn't answer. Instead, I was sick all over his seat, then I was out again. The car pulled to a stop and Two-Bit lifted me out. I don't think I've ever seen him so worried like he was. He kicked open our front door and laid me down on the couch. That's the last I remembered of that night.