Cherry's P.O.V.

I was still numb from Bob being killed. Like I told Ponyboy Bob asked for it. I know he did. But there was the other side that these north side kids could never have seen. When he was sweet, how charming and funny and even considerate he could be.

Then Ponyboy asked me to go see Johnny. I felt a real connection with Ponyboy, that night at the movies, the way we talked like that. And I hadn't realized until then that I could have a connection like that with someone outside of my group. It was great, really.

And I had liked Johnny when I met him. He didn't talk much, and he had this wounded air, like he'd been hurt bad sometime. But he had seemed sweet.

But after he killed Bob, even though Bob had asked for it, had hurt and scared Johnny so bad that it wasn't surprising, what happened, I couldn't go see him.

Then they tell me, those gossips, rush up to me at school, "Did you hear?" I hadn't heard much, I was still devastated over Bob dying like that.

"That greaser that killed Bob, he died," I knew Johnny was pretty bad off so it wasn't that surprising. I mean I was sad, and a little viciously glad because he killed Bob.

"And guess what else?"

So I sighed, so tired of this gossip, because they didn't know Bob, and they didn't know how secretly sweet the greasers could be.

"What else?"

"Dallas Winston was killed that same night, the police shot him,"

And my breath caught, and I remembered that feeling I had that night at the movies. I could have fallen in love with him.

Soda's P.O.V.

I was half asleep, so tired from work and out drinking with Steve and screwing around with Sandy. When I got home around one a.m. Darry jumped on me.

"You seen Ponyboy?" He was squeezing my shoulder hard. I shrugged out of his grasp.

"No. You mean he ain't home yet?"

"No," Darry was pissed, fists clenched, teeth grinding. Mad.

"He went to the double with Dally and Johnny, it ain't that late, considering," I tried to soften the blows, I always tried to soften the blows.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, not really agreeing with me, his eyes still dark with anger. So he sat in the chair by the phone, and soon he'd start calling people.

Darry worried so much about Ponyboy. Granted he didn't always use his head, like walking all over town alone. He saw what happened to Johnny. Man, he was lucky that didn't happen to him, lucky we showed up when we did.

But Darry worries so much about Ponyboy because he's so smart and all. It ain't the same with me. I hated school. I was awful in school. I'm just plain dumb when it comes to all that stuff.

1:30. Darry's going crazy sitting so still in that chair. And I'm kinda dozing, thinking Pony'll be alright, but he is with Dally, so you never know. With Dally sometimes all bets are off.

Then the door opening wakes me up. Ponyboy, looking sleepy and scared. Hell, if I was him I'd be scared, too.

"Where the heck have you been? Do you know what time it is?" Darry yelled, and I was afraid all hell was about to break loose.

Johnny's Mom's P.O.V.

I knew he was in trouble, more than usual. And I knew he had come back and was in the hospital.

But I didn't know he was so sick, or didn't allow myself to know it.

I lit a cigarette with a shaky hand. If he was as sick as the newspaper said, it said he'd have to go to court for manslaughter charges, "if he recovers," and the "if" was so dark and unknowable. If he was as sick as that and dies there'd be hell to face. I wasn't ready for that.

I'd go to the hospital alone. His father was passed out on the couch reeking of whiskey. So I'd go and there were two thoughts, one sort of wrapped around the other, both opposite but seeming true at the same time.

The first was that this was his friend's fault. They were always running around in the middle of the night, landing in jail, dragging Johnny with them and getting him in trouble. Now look what they'd done.

The other thought brought with it a coldness that spread over me. It wasn't his friends' fault, all this trouble, all this chaos. It was my fault. Because my marriage didn't work, because my husband was an abusive drunk and I'd lost the ability to stand up to him. Because we had to get married because I was knocked up, and the teenage boy I had married who was wild and reckless and exciting had become the monster who terrorized me and the son neither one of us had wanted.

And it was this that colored Johnny's life, that put that look of sadness and defeat into his eyes, and I was to blame. And every time he didn't come home, every time he chose to sleep on the streets instead of getting beat, that was my fault. And if he dies now I'll never get the chance to make it up to him.