Chapter 12

New Orleans

Johnny was a nervous wreck.

He wanted cigarettes. He wanted them worse than before. Before, he knew that he would be getting cigarettes sometime and now he knew that he could never have them again. He also felt guilty because Neil had gotten mad at Ana. She told him not to feel bad, but he did.

He wanted cigarettes.

That was all that he could think about. Cigarettes. He wanted them. He hadn't left his room in two days. He wanted cigarettes so badly that he'd started biting his fingernails. He bit them so much that they were just bloody stubs. When he ran out of fingernails to bite he didn't know what to do.

Johnny was afraid that Neil would hit him again. He had also been forced to hang out with America again. He stared at the ground the whole time and didn't say anything. He could hear America's friends muttering "Your psycho cousin," all day. He didn't hang out with them again. Neil said that he had to, but Johnny had broken down and started crying. Neil decided to leave him alone after that.

Now Johnny had a low-grade fever. He wanted cigarettes; he even dreamed about them. He would dream that he was sitting in a room and the walls were made out of boxes of cigarettes. There was no door, but he had a lighter. He had to smoke his way out. It was the best dream he ever had until he woke up and realized that he was craving cigarettes even more. He would cry himself back to sleep.

His cast was crumbling now and it was this disgusting shade of grey. Johnny realized that he was a lot like his cast. He was starting to crumble and fall apart, and he was pale because he was sort of sick. He was almost a disgusting shade of grey. Maybe he would completely crack if his cast fell apart.

He wanted to go home. It had been a week and he hadn't heard from his friends. He was saving up for a bus ticket home, but he only had fifty cents. He had called the bus station and asked how much it was for a bus ticket home. Twenty dollars. He wouldn't have that much in a year. He'd be dead by then.

There was a soft knock on his door.

"What," Johnny moaned.

Ana opened the door. "How are we feeling today?" she asked as she sat next to Johnny.

Johnny coughed.

"You've still got a fever," Ana said. "Maybe I should take you to a doctor."

"Whatever," Johnny said tiredly.

"You got another letter from your friends," Ana said. She handed the letter to Johnny.

"Thanks," Johnny muttered.

"I'm going to make you some soup, Ok?" Ana said.

Johnny nodded. He wasn't hungry, but he wanted Ana to leave so he could read the letter.

As soon as Ana left, Johnny tore open the envelope. He saw that Soda had written the letter. He recognized his handwriting. The letter said:

Johnny,

Call us as soon as you get this. We're going to get you out of there. We didn't do this sooner because we thought that things would get better, but they haven't. It seems like they've gotten worse, doesn't it?

Anyway, we're all going to send you some money or something. We need to work that out over the phone. Just call as soon as you get this. The sooner you do, the sooner you can get home.

We'll see you soon,

-The guys.

"Yes," Johnny muttered. "I'm going home."

He couldn't call home until Ana had forced some of the soup down his throat. Then she gave him this medicine that was supposed to make him sleep. He didn't look like he'd been sleeping very well; he could see why Ana gave it to him. Before she left, Ana pulled the covers up to his chin and kissed his forehead.

"I hope you feel better," Ana said. "Sleep well." Then she left the room.

Johnny could feel himself starting to doze off. That medicine really worked. He knew that he had to call fast. He rolled out of bed and left his room. There was a phone in the upstairs hallway, he picked up the phone and dialed.

Tulsa

Soda picked up the phone.

"Hello," he said.

An operator's voice said, "Mr. Curtis, you have a collect call from Johnny Cade. Will you accept the charges?"

"Yes," Soda stammered. "I'll accept." I put the phone down and screamed "It's Johnny!"

Everyone ran into the kitchen where the phone was.

"Hey, Johnny," Soda said.

"Hey," Johnny replied.

"Johnny? That you? You sound awful," Soda said.

"I'm sick," Johnny said. "My aunt gave me this medicine and it's making me fall asleep. Can we hurry?"

"Yeah," Soda said. "Here's what we're going to do. We've pulled our money and we have thirty dollars. We're sending it to you today. You're going to buy a bus ticket and you're going to come home. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah," Johnny said softly.

"Call us before your bus leaves," Soda said. "We'll meet you when you get to Tulsa with a pillowcase full of cigarettes."

"Cigarettes," Johnny muttered sleepily.

"Yeah, that's right, buddy," Soda said. "Lots of cigarettes. We're sending you the money Ok? You got that?"

"Money, bus, cigarettes," Johnny murmured.

"Yeah, that's it," Soda said.

"Who is this?" Johnny asked.

Soda shook his head. "Go to sleep, Johnny," he said. "We'll send a letter explaining what to do."

"What am I doing?" Johnny asked.

"You're going to bed," Soda said.

"Oh, ok," Johnny said. "Bye." There was a click and the phone went dead.

"So what's going on?" Dally asked as Soda hung up the phone.

"Johnny's sick," Soda said. "I don't think he understood any of what I told him; he was really tired. We'd better send him a letter with the money telling him what to do."

Everyone nodded. "Well, let's send it now," Dally said. "Let's get him home."