I wrote the first chapter for an English assignment and decided to post it, but so many people reviewed I HAD to write a new chapter. Of course, I had planned to for a while, seeing the summary, but really didn't have the heart. Oh well.

This chapter is not very good, next will be better!

Reviews!

Hahukum Konn: Sodapop's been…somewhere.

The intro was something I'd slaved over for about a week. This was typed up after a couple weeks of procrastinating :) Next will be better!

lady rose 05: I didn't exactly update soon but here's the second chapter!

Hawaiichick: Yeah, I hate it when people try to blow characters out of…well, character. Hope I keep to it!

digidestened7: Thank you!

Faes One: Here you go!

Trinity Anya: Ooh, how special! Thanks, Trinity!

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Sandy was smiling at him uncertainly, fists bunched tightly into her cornflower blue dress. Why was she wearing that dress, anyway? Sodapop thought, feeling a strange emotion well up inside him. It was nice with her eyes, but she was a greaser. Greaser girls didn't wear dresses, at least not the kind that went all the way down to your toes.

"Sodapop?" she asked.

Something was different. Maybe it was her voice, or the way she looked at him.

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It was dark in the house when I pulled up into the driveway. Opening the door a crack, I called, "Darry?"

There was a grunt as the light flicked on. Darry was on the couch, unshaven, dark eyes fixed on mine. "You're late," he said, his tone unreadable.

"Well, I'm here now," I said. "You should go to sleep, Darry. You look like you fell off a ladder. Everything okay?"

"I'm fine," he said sharply. "The thing is you, Ponyboy. You worry me when you come in late, don't you understand? You could disappear, just like Sodapop, and—" He took a deep breath, struggling to control himself. "I just don't want that to happen."

"I'm not going to run away," I said wearily. "Darry, I know you're worried, but I would never run away." Not if it means you would completely fall apart, I added silently. "I promise."

We had this conversation every time I was home even ten minutes late, which didn't happen very often these days. Sodapop's disappearance had hit us hard. Two-Bit and Jess had come over from NYC to help look, but they had to leave after a couple months because of Two-Bit's job. Darry took it the worst, though.

He waited about two weeks before he started climbing into his car and riding all the way around Louisiana. He even tried to post a notice on the Bureau of Missing Children, but they told him since that Sodapop was 19, he wasn't a child anymore. I hate those people. It was clear from the way they talked that they thought Sodapop had run away because Darry wasn't a good guardian.

He stopped looking eventually, and it hurt to watch him stop. It was as if he didn't care anymore, about his jobs, about anything. The only thing he did care about these days was me, and he was so worried about losing me too he would get angry if I were ten minutes late. Like now. For a while, he didn't even want me to go to the community college twenty miles away because he'd thought I'd disappear just like Sodapop.

"I'm fine," I repeated. "Get some sleep. You've got work tomorrow."

Darry sighed, suddenly deflated and looking much older than he was. "I will," he said, standing up. Shuffling, taking tiny steps like an old man, he walked into his room and shut the door.

I sighed and went to the sink to wash the smell of car oil off my hands. I had work at a garage right after afternoon classes and came home smelling like grease and rubber. Moving back into the living room, I set my books down on the table with leftovers and began to work on my papers.

It was nearly two when I stopped, starting to see double images. The house was calm, sleepy, and the neighborhood was quiet. Packing away my stuff, I went into the kitchen to clean up.

And that's when I heard a thump.

You don't hear thumps like that every day, even in a greaser neighborhood. Our door was unlocked, and it's not like the cops had anything on us to come banging on our door. Darry stuck his head out of his room, looking for all the world like an owl, blinking at me. "What?" he said sleepily.

Walking over to the door, I swung it open, glancing out into the night. Darry padded into the living room, leaning against the wall. "Anyone out there, Ponyboy?" he asked, rubbing his hair.

"Nah," I answered. "Nothing out there except dogs and bats. It was probably—"

Fingers, slick and hot, latched around my ankle. I yelled, jumping back and tripping as the grip held me tight. Darry, eyes much more alert now, grabbed my pack and swung downwards onto—whoever was out there. There was a weak yell, and the fingers let go. Darry charged forward, roaring, "Who are you?"

He grabbed the person's arm and practically flung him into the house. The intruder was a man, looking to be about my age, scrawny as a stray dog. He landed thickly on his face with a crack and lay there moaning. Kneeling, Darry flipped him over and unceremoniously swiped the blood from the man's face. "Who are you?" he repeated fiercely.

The stranger looked at us with glazed eyes, fresh blood pouring from his nose. "I—" he whispered. "Darry…Ponyboy…"

And with that, he fainted.