The next thing I knew, I was back with the boys. I wondered what was going on. I looked over, and my double was talking.
". . .You must think at school, with all those good grades you bring home, and you've always got your nose in a book, but do you ever use your head for common sense? No, sirree, bub. And if you did have to go by yourself, you should have carried a blade."
Ponyboy looked at his shoes. Who was I to tell him what to do? Why was I hollering at him, like I was his father?
Soda glared up at me and then said, "You leave my kid brother alone, you hear? It ain't his fault he likes to go to the movies, and it ain't his fault the Socs like to jump us, and if he had carried a blade, it would have been a good excuse to cut him to ribbons."
I looked angry and impatient, when I said, "When I want my kid brother to tell me what to do with my other kid brother, I'll ask you, kid brother."
What? "Kid brother?" That means. . .they're my brothers!