"Ready to go home?" I asked Pony. There was a smile on his face, and he was dressed in his street clothes, instead of the hospital gown he hated so much.

"Yes. It seems like I've been in here forever."

I laughed. "Not forever, but it had been a while. I bet you'll be happy to be home."

"Yeah, I just hope it's not too boring being on bed rest. It had been the first time."

I stuck my hand out, and when he took it, I pulled him up.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Ready." He said confidently.

After I checked him out, we went out to the parking lot and got in the truck. Surprisingly, Pony walked without much trouble. I was glad. It would have worried me if he couldn't move with ease.

When we got home, Pony's eyes lit up. He looked over at me and smiled. I got out of the truck and headed for the front door.

When he opened it up, he was surprised to find Two-Bit inside. I followed close behind.

"Two-Bit! What are you doing here?" Pony asked.

"Hey, kid! How you doing? Darry called me a couple days ago, so I figured I'd come and greet you on your first day home."

"Thanks, man. So how you been lately?"

"Yeah, Two-Bit, we haven't seen you in a while." I added.

"Been busy. Mom's gettin' better, but she still gets weak sometimes. The doctors say she'll be better in a few months."

"Heard from Steve?" I had to ask what we didn't really want to know about.

Two-Bit was silent a few minutes, then he spoke. "I heard from him a few weeks ago. He said he's doing fine. Some people knew Sodapop. Everyone was saying how Soda saved their lives. He knows he's doing the right thing, not just for revenge."

"What else did he say?" I asked, choked over the glorifying of my little brother.

"Just that he misses home, but he hopes to be back soon."

"That's good. I hope he'll be all right." Pony said, his voice breaking a little.

I stepped behind him and squeezed his shoulder. I knew he was afraid of losing anyone else. He'd lost so many loved ones. Another would kill him.

"Well, I'd better be going. I hope you get feeling better soon, kid." Two-Bit said as he shook Pony's hand.

"I'll be all right." Pony said.

"Huh. Tuff enough, huh?" Two-Bit asked.

"Yeah." He replied.

"See you later, Darry."

"See you, man." I said as he patted me on the back.

Pony and I just stood there for a few minutes. I felt Pony lean on me, and I led him to the couch. I was afraid he was getting tired.

We both sat down. Pony leaned his head on my shoulder as we both sat there in silence.

"I miss them." Pony said.

I looked down at him. Did he mean his friends? His family? Or did he mean Mom, Dad, Johnny, Dallas, and Soda? I figured the latter was the one.

"I know, kid. I miss them every day. I figure I will be for a long time to come."

"Why does it have to hurt so bad?"

"Is your stomach bothering you again?" I asked, suddenly panicked.

"No. It hurts with the pain of losing them."

"I'm sorry, baby. I know it hurts. We'll make it, okay?"

"Okay."

"We still have each other, you know."

"Yeah." He wrapped his arms around me in a hug. I hugged him back, knowing how much he needed love in his life and how desperately he needed me. It was my will for living.

The next day, Pony stayed in bed a little longer than I expected. I went in to check on him, to make sure he was okay and not sick or anything.

When I walked in his room, he was sleeping soundly. He shivered a little, because his blanket had been kicked off during the night and was now on the floor. I smiled as I walked over and picked it up, placing it over my little brother. He stopped shivering and burrowed deeper into the covers.

I touched his forehead, just to be sure he didn't have a fever. I was relieved to find it cool.

I looked around his room. It was a mess, as always. He had papers all over and books piled up on the floor. It was definitely Pony's room.

When I looked at the desk, I realized what was still inside, waiting for me to read. His composition. His story he wrote. What he wrote about me.

I walked over to his desk and opened the top drawer.

Inside was a black-covered notebook. I opened it up to the first page, where the title "The Outsiders" was written in blue ink. It was Pony's hand writing.

I turned the page where the beginning of his story started something like this: "When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind-Paul Newman and I ride home."

I smiled as I read about Pony coming home from the movies. He loved going to the movies. But I don't remember the last time he went. After Soda left for Vietnam, he stopped going so often.

When I came to the part where he was being beaten up by the Socs, I felt the anger return again. Though it had been two years ago, I still felt protective of him.

I was saddened to hear of the fear that Pony was experiencing. I felt touched when he screamed my name.

Soon, I made my first appearance, when I lifted Pony up from the ground.

Wait? I was "rough with him without meaning to be?" When did I do that? Well, I guess since I don't mean to, I don't realize that I'm doing it.

When Sodapop came into the story, I felt the tears well up again. He was such a good brother, to Pony and me. He took care of us both, though he was the middle child.

What was the gesture of me jamming my fists in my pockets? It was a sign of fear, wasn't it? Why had I been so afraid?

Because I might have lost Pony that day.

The realization struck hard. They had had a knife. They had cut his forehead. It could have been deeper, more serious. But he had been spared yet again.

When he mentioned each of the gang, I had to smile. He had them each down. He knew them backwards and forwards, especially Johnny. But then, what about me?

I had eyes like "two pieces of pale blue-green ice." Did Pony fear me because of them? How come I had never noticed?

I read on about the gang. I still missed Dallas and Johnny, but I had come to terms with their deaths, like Mom and Dad's. It was Soda's that was taking me a long time.

When I came to the part with Soda and Pony in bed, I felt cold with shame. Pony thought I hated him, but Soda was trying to convince him otherwise. I do love him. I always have.

When he tried to convince himself that he didn't care, it broke my heart. But then he said that he didn't believe himself. So he did care if I loved him. Why hadn't he known before?

Reading about where he had been the night I hit him, I felt awful. He had had a valid excuse. He was walking those girls home. He was talking Johnny out of killing himself. And then he had fallen a sleep. His memories of Mom and Dad saddened me. I missed them so much, but after all this time, I was getting used to them being gone.

Now came the part I wasn't looking forward to. It was when I hit Pony. I still felt horrible about it. And to think, I had hit him not too long ago. How could I do that to him?

Pony had feared coming home. Of what I would do. Was I that scary?

When I yelled at Pony, I couldn't believe what I had said. I hadn't listened to his side of the story at all. He had fallen asleep. Why couldn't I believe him? Then, Soda, being the good brother he was, tried to stop me. And I yelled at him too. How could I?

Then came the moment that I feared the most. I hit Pony. Pony wrote how my palm had turned red. Had I hit him that hard? I remember how we all stood in shock, then Pony broke it by running out. Why hadn't I gone after him? Why?

I couldn't take him hollering at me and hitting me, too. Now he just can't stand me. The words echoed through my mind. I hollered at him? He thought I would hit him more than once? Hadn't he seen the look on my face? Hadn't he known the pain I felt for what I did to my baby brother?

When Pony and Johnny went to the park, I could feel the fear as though I was with them. When Pony was being pushed under water, I wanted to beat the tar out of that David person. How dare he do that to my brother?

When Pony regained consciousness, I felt sick to my stomach when he wrote of Johnny's blade being red to the hilt. He had killed him. Stabbed him. I felt as sick as Pony had been.

When they decided to go to Buck's place, I was about ready to whip Pony. He knew not to go there, but I guess it was his only choice. They decided to go to Dallas for help, instead of coming back home. Was Pony afraid to come back?

Dallas gave them a gun! Jesus, how stupid could he be? You don't give kids a gun. Well, it was for protection.

The days Johnny and Pony spent at the church were long. I could see how close they had become over the time. I knew they had been before, but those days had only strengthened the relationship. When Pony said he didn't care if I worried myself gray-headed, I felt horrible. Did he really think I hated him? Had he driven himself to hating me in that time?

When Dallas came to Windrixville and gave Pony the note, I knew how much Soda worried about Pony. He had given him money even, though he wasn't sure that it would go to him. Soda was a true brother. Why couldn't I be like that?

When Pony ran into the church, unselfishly, I knew the extent of his heroism. He had saved those kids with Johnny, and he had taken a bullet for me. I had a hero living under the same roof as me and I hadn't even realized it.

When Pony was in the hospital, I was awaiting my next part in the story. I wanted to know what Pony thought of me.

Darry didn't like me. He had hit me. He had driven me away that night. What had he been thinking of me? I was a horrible brother.

But then the next line hit me. Suddenly, I realized, horrified, that Darry was crying.

Why had I cried? Because the fear that I had lost him, and that it was my fault, had nearly killed me. I had been so afraid that week. More afraid then I ever had been before.

When Pony said how he realized that I had loved him all along, I felt relieved. Pony knew I loved him. It had just taken a while for him to figure it out.

I sighed with relief. I turned and saw Pony stir a little, but he was still asleep.

I read the rest of the story, crying a little when Pony had to watch Johnny die, and then even more when Dallas had died. Pony had realized something I hadn't: Dallas wanted to die because he cared so much about Johnny. I was saddened to think that Dallas would have been alive if Johnny had been.

Then came the worst part: when Soda ran out because Pony and I had been fighting. I needed to reread this part, though I could hardly see for the tears that blinded my vision.

Darry, you ought to try to understand him more, and quit bugging him about every little mistake he makes. He feels things differently than you.

I had lost sight of that since Soda died. Pony and I both had forgotten what Soda told us.

We're all we've got left. We ought to be able to stick together against anything. Please, don't fight anymore.

Don't fight anymore. It was what Pony and I couldn't do. We couldn't fight. Though Soda was dead, I knew we were still hurting him when we fought. We needed to stick together. We're all we have now, so we should be closer, not fighting.

I read the last lines, the same way it had began, and closed the book. Pony had written something amazing. He would make a great writer some day.

Pony turned, and looked up at me as he woke up.

"Darry?" He said.

"Yeah, baby. I'm here."