Disclaimer: All Outsiders stuff belongs to S.E. Hinton; the song is "You've Got a Cold" by 10cc. Nothing belongs to me.

Chapter 2: What The Heck Is Going On!

SLAM! The front door banged and Ponyboy awoke with a jolt. He lay still, feeling awful, and finally rolled over. He sneezed, once, twice, three times. He shook his head, as if that would clear the foggy haze he was in. He was a miserable, sick mess.

"Two-Bit?" he called out, voice thick from sleep and his cold. There was no answer. "Two-Bit?" he tried again, a little louder. Still no response.

This is so typical, Ponyboy thought bitterly. Two-Bit takes off. Where did Darry put the aspirins?

"Two-Bit ain't here, kid." Ponyboy glanced up and saw Dallas Winston standing over him.

"What? Where did he go?" Ponyboy sneezed for the fourth time. Dallas shrugged and scowled.

"How should I know? I walked in; he was on the phone calling you and him in sick at school, he hung up, saw me, said, 'great, you can babysit him', and took off."

"Okay," Ponyboy said slowly. He got up and looked around.

"What're you looking for?" Dallas watched him curiously. "Aspirins," Ponyboy said. He sniffled. "I've got an awful cold."

Then the music started. Ponyboy stopped dead in his tracks. What the heck is going on? Am I hearing things? He turned around just in time to see Dallas start singing.

"Your nose is runnin'
And your eyes are red
Your head is achin'
You'd be better in bed
From the bottom of your fever
To the throbbing in your toes
You've got a cold
You've got a cold

You're searching madly
To find a cure
But the mercury's rising
To a hundred and four
You've got a beauty, a bad a
The mother of them all
You've got a cold
You've got a cold

Ain't no use in fightin' it
Get into bed and try to sweat it out

Hot toddies won't help you
Warm blankets won't sweat it out
Inhalants just choke you
Hot flushes will tell you
Anyway you've got it
Ain't no doubt about it
Nothin' new about
You can scream and shout it

Hot toddies won't help you
Warm blankets won't sweat it out
Inhalants just choke you
Hot flushes will tell you
Anyway you've got it
Ain't no doubt about it
Nothin' new about
You can't fight it

Foreign bodies in your Kleenex
You've got no taste at all
While your system is dyin'
The bugs are havin' a ball
You've got a beauty, a bad a
The mother of them all
You've got a cold
You've got a cold."

He finished and sat back down on the couch, lighting himself a cigarette, acting as though nothing had happened.

Ponyboy shook his head. My illness must be getting to me. I'm imagining things. He found the aspirins in the kitchen and took five. They didn't help his cold much, but they cleared his headache.

He flopped back down on the couch and blew his nose. Dallas stood up and put out his cigarette. "Hey, Pony? You don't really need me here, do you?"

"I guess not," Ponyboy said slowly. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, I've got things to do and places to be."

"You mean like slashing tires and jumping kids for lunch money?" Ponyboy said sourly. His illness was making him crabby.

Dallas scowled dangerously at him. "Don't get mouthy with me, kid." He lit another cigarette and strolled out the door, slamming it behind him. Ponyboy winced at the noise. His head was beginning to throb again.

He got up. Maybe a nice walk to the park would help. He didn't feel like being cooped up in the house anyway. He found his jacket and left, closing the door carefully behind him.