I was never so happy—or nervous—that my brothers were going out to catch a late show at the movies. It was a school night, and about a week had passed since I had leveled with Soda.

"I'm sorry, Ponyboy," Darry said. I could tell that he felt somewhat guilty about leaving me behind. "But you've still got some homework to finish. We'll all go see a show some other time."

"That's okay," I replied. "You and Soda don't get to spend much time together—just you two—so I don't mind. I'll stay here and hold down the fort."

Darry smiled and ruffled my hair a little bit, something that he was doing more frequently now to show that he cared. We had been getting along better, but that didn't mean that we didn't have our moments every now and again. Sometimes it was hard for Darry to stop acting like my father—and sometimes it was hard for me to stop acting like his son…

I waited in my room, pretending to get some work done while my brothers rushed around the house. Sodapop was never very good with punctuality, so there was a mess of confusion from the living room as he scrounged around for his shoes and then his jacket. I listened intently for the slam of the screen door—once… then twice. Next, I heard the loud groan of our old truck's engine as it roared to life.

Good, they're in the car. I thought. It won't be long now.

I used my fingers to separate the horizontal blinds in the bedroom and peered out. The radiating glow from truck's headlights blinded me for an instant as Darry backed the truck down the driveway. Then they disappeared out onto the street.

I sat quietly for a moment. My brothers were gone and I was alone. Now was the chance that I had been waiting for. I grabbed one of my dad's old sweatshirts from the closet and headed for the back steps. I opened the door and sat down.

The air was cold now, and the fall breezes were really picking up. I peered out into the darkness and tried to distinguish between the wind and actual movement. I got to thinking about what I would say when the cat showed up again—as it inevitably would—and what would happen once I did talk to it.

But what would I say? A million thoughts ran through my mind at once. What do you say to a cat? Or rather, to a cat that you believe to be Dallas Winston? I had never been able to talk to Dally when he was alive, how the heck was I supposed to communicate with him now that he was gone? It was too complicated…

While Johnny was the little brother that Dally never had, I was just the tagalong kid. Sure, Dally looked out for me too—he looked out for all of us—but I couldn't knock away the feeling that he wished I were somewhere else half of the time. It seemed like he wanted to impart his wisdom on Johnny and keep him out of trouble, and that I was standing in his way. Maybe he didn't want me there taking away half of Johnny's attention—I could see why it would bug him, but there really was no reason for it. If only he had known the extent of Johnny's idol worship. If only he had known that his feelings for Johnny were reciprocated right back—that Johnny needed him as much as he needed Johnny. Unfortunately, that never surfaced. Dally died angry that Johnny was gone—and probably feeling partly rejected that his gushing of "we beat the Socs." fell on deaf ears that terrible night.

I was lost in thought when I noticed a streak of black in the darkness. I was amazed that I could see it at all, but there it was—walking deftly along the back fence, paying no attention to my presence at all. I took a deep breath and debated on whether or not I should shout out to it. It was now or never…

"Hey!" I called and then hesitated for a moment, hearing the loudness of my voice in the quiet night and thinking to myself how crazy I must be for even going through with it. "Hey there—black cat—hold on a second!"

The cat kept walking along, as if it hadn't even heard me. Did it have to be called by name? Did I really need to address it as a person?

I took a deep breath and called out, "Dally?"