Author's Note: Wow! I leave chapter one up for a few hours and already some hits and reviews! You guys are great! No, that wasn't a one-shot, here's part two. Chapter three is my favorite thus far, but it might be a bit slow getting these out. Thanks for the reviews and keep 'em coming!

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. Yet.


Chapter Two

The night after Soda and Steve and Two-Bit all left for war training, Darry and I ate supper in deadly silence. We didn't say anything, but I knew we were both thinking of the same things: Johnny withering in the hospital, Dally crumbling in the street to the sound of a gunshot. And for me, I had one memory that Darry didn't: the red, watery haze as a certain dark-haired Soc was being stabbed in the chest, and all his friends were beating it out of there. I was remembering an old church on fire. I remembered too damn much.

At school the next day I saw Cherry again. I don't think she saw me. She was hugging Marcia and talking to her friends. Everyone was all crying, all watery and gasping. Everyone except Cherry and Marcia, and I remembered those special words she'd said to me a long time ago: "Things are rough all over...things are rough all over...things–" I hadn't seen a sunset in a long time.

Over the course of the rest of the day, the whole school felt real empty. There were a lot less Socs and at the same time a lot less greasers, but a lot of girls. The principal, this old lady named Mrs. Crabtree (Two-Bit had spent a lot of time with her, I thought, but then I tried not to think anymore about Two-Bit), she made everybody go to the auditorium for an assembly. I skipped it and hung around in the bathroom. After it was over, a bunch of Socy-looking girls crowded up around me. I felt like a trapped puppy. Like Johnny, my inner voice told me, but then I told it to shut right up.

"You're Sodapop Curtis's little brother," said a tall, dark-haired junior. She was wearing a long yellow dress and her eyes looked real red. I think she had been one of Cherry's friends. "You're Ponyboy Curtis, ain't you?" She sniffled, and I just about cried with her.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "Yeah, I am."

"Hasn't Sodapop gone off to war with a bunch of them boys?" asked a skinny blond girl. She was a sophomore like me, and real pretty.

"Yeah," I repeated. Yeah, yeah, yeah. "He left last night at six o'clock for war training. Steve Randle and Two-Bit Mathews went off with him, too." What was I talking about? They didn't want to hear about Steve or Two-Bit. They just wanted to hear about Soda. Soda, Soda, Soda. That's all everyone cared about was Soda. It had always been that way. It had always been like that.

"Pony," said someone wildly, bursting through the group of Socs. I turned to see Evie rushing between the pretty blonde and the junior just a moment before she grabbed my arm and hollered, "Come on, Ponyboy!" I followed her outside, where we shared a bunch of cigarettes.

"Thanks for that," I said calmly, sucking on the end of my cancer stick. It was crazy how it had the mad ability to relax me so calmly and quickly. It was crazy. Everything was crazy.

"No problem," she replied, blowing smoke out. "You know, Pony, Steve wanted me to give you something, after he went off for war." With that, she dug into her backpack and out emerged a tiny model of a white Chevy truck. "He told me to tell you to mind your cigarettes and put away your valuables." I frowned.

"What d'you reckon that means?" I wondered out loud, taking it from her. It felt fragile in my hands. When did Steve make model cars? Evie shrugged. "Damn," I cursed. "I didn't know Steve would want me to ever have anything of his." Usually it was, "Now, Ponyboy, you had better back the hell away from that carburetor!"

She laughed sadly and humorlessly, stubbing out her dying cigarette with the rubbery heel of her shoe. I flicked my ashes to the ground. And then, she did something I didn't expect: she took my hands in hers, wrapped them around her, and she hugged me tight about the waist.

"I know you think he didn't like you, Pony. Sometimes even I thought all he liked were me and your brother. But I know for a fact, Ponyboy, that he cared about you just as much as he cared about Soda." I glared at her, moving away from her grabby hands.

"Would you just quit it? Would you quit talkin' like he's dead, will ya?" I said, pushing out of her arms, and immediately regretting it when she pulled back as though she'd been burned. "He ain't dead. They ain't none of them dead now. You can't act as though they died already, damn it!" She looked like she wanted to cry again. I can't stand it when girls cry. I mean it, I can't stand it. I put an arm around her shoulders. "Aw, Evie, I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean nothin' by it." She wiped her eyes and put on a little smile.

"Oh, hell, don't I know it. You're a good kid, Pony. You're gonna be a doll when you get older. I bet you you're gonna look almost exactly like Soda. You'll have to beat off girls with a cane," she giggled girlishly. Her promises were quite the fantasy. Shoot, my hair hadn't been the same since I (don't think we, I told myself, never think we) cut it and bleached it a while back. I laughed with her. "Well, it's almost time for class. I'd better get going, Pony. I've got Mr. Powell for homeroom this year and I don't want detention any time soon. I'll see you around, now, Pony."

I made my way to class after she had long gone.