A/N: Okay, I kind of have a funny story to tell.

So, I was with this girl at school. We were talking about people we know who like One Direction (I personally don't like them too much, but I don't have a problem if you like them). I said something about a twelve year old I knew and she said, "Says the thirteen year old."

And I was all like, "NO! I'M FOURTEEN! I'VE BEEN FOURTEEN FOR A MONTH! AND I'M IN IT JUST AS MUCH AS YOU ARE!" (Well, my fourteenth birthday was in December.) I was laughing so hard though. I thought it was hilarious, but maybe it was just me. She was confused.

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I so, so, so appreciate them!

I totally lied when I said this was going to be three or four chapters. It's probably going to be seven or eight.

"Are you ready for this, Ponyboy?" Darry asked, putting the car in park.

"Yeah, I guess so," I replied. "Little nervous, ya know?"

"Ahh, don't be," Sodapop said from the backseat (he'd insisted on letting his "hot-shot writer" brother - well, that's how he put it - take the front seat. Whatever). "It'll be good."

"Do I look nice enough?" I turned back to Darry from the passenger side. "I don't look to hood-ish, do I?"

"You don't look" -he paused at my word choice- "hood-ish at all, Pony."

"How am I supposed to know where she is? Where do I go? What do I say to her? What if she doesn't want it to get published after all, and this was just some kind of meeting where -"

"Relax, Ponyboy," said Soda. He plopped a strong hand on my shoulder. "Just be yourself. Be cool. Calm, ya dig?"

"Easy for you to say," I slid down in my chair and chewed on a nail. I wish I could be as carefree as my older brother.

"You ready, Pone?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," and with that, I opened the door and walked out. Darry was following close behind.

I looked back at our truck and saw Sodapop climbing in to the front seat from inside the car. I could not help but wonder why he couldn't have opened the door and climbed through from the outside. It would probably be a lot easier.

Darry put a hand on my shoulder and steered us threw the crowded restaurant. It was fancy, dimly lit, and faint piano music could be heard as if off in the distance. It was smoky, filled with quiet chatter. Soc side of town.

"Wow…" I drawled. There were paintings hung up on the walls everywhere we turned. We even had to walk down a flight of stairs to get to the main part of the restaurant. That was weird.

"Nice, ain't it?"

"Yeah, it is," I nodded. "Real nice."

Darry went over to this waiter guy and told him I had a reservation with Mrs. Almost. I hoped I didn't look too ratty with my hand-me-down suit and tie.

"Darry?"

"Yeah, kiddo?" he replied.

"How'd you know about the reservations?"

"I talked to Mrs. Almost, Pony. I thought I told you that."

"You did?" I asked, partially shocked because he hadn't told me about that. "When? You never told me that."

"The day after you received your letter. I had to learn more about this meeting. She also told me where you'd be sitting here."

I was relieved. At least now I didn't have to worry about going to the wrong table. "Dar, what if she doesn't want to pay for it? For the food?"

"She will, Ponyboy. You gotta go now. Good luck, kiddo."

Darry patted my face and I was left with a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. The waiter guy - a red-headed kid probably only a couple years older than Darry - led me through the busy place and pointed me to a table.

Mrs. Almost's appearance matched her voice completely. She was slightly heavy-set, with curly black hair with a gray streak in the front. Probably in her early fifties.

She was sitting straight up, drinking some wine or champagne out of a nice glass.

Eyes wide, I sat in the chair in front of her.

When she saw me, she smiled. A wide grin that showed all of her pearly white teeth. "Hello," she said boisterously. She held out a hand for me to shake. "You must be Ponyboy. I'm Mrs. Almost."

I reached across the table and grabbed her hand, holding it firmly and looking her in the eye. Darry'd told me before we left to make sure you always give someone a firm handshake. Especially in a job interview. I figured this was close enough to a job interview.

"Hi," I said. I hoped I didn't sound too nervous. I kept trying to keep in my mind what Soda said to me earlier - Just be yourself. Be cool. Calm.

At first we were talking about her life. I just let her talk mostly about her family and nodded and said, "Yeah, uh-huh," whenever it was appropriate. I was listening, though. Very intently.

She had two daughters, both in college. They both went to Yale, apparently, and her oldest was about to graduate in June. She said that they would both probably end up nurses. I didn't even question her about how that doesn't make any sense at all.

She also told me that her husband died around this time last year.

I was starting to get afraid we would never get to talk about the book. A different waiter came to us and took our order. I made sure to pick the cheapest thing on the menu - which was spaghetti. But it was still pretty pricy. Everything there was.

"Okay," she eventually said. "Enough about me. Ponyboy, I have a question for you."

"Uh-huh?" I said. "Okay."

"Where did … where did you even … come up with this whole story line? My Lord, you've got quite the imagination."

I bit my fingernail. "Well, actually, Mrs. Almost…" I continued to chew on my nail.

"Oh, honey. There's no need to be nervous. You can stop chewing on your fingernails. Glory, that was a bad habit I used to have. You can call me Nancy."

"Well, anyway, Nancy," I swallowed. It seemed weird to be calling an adult I hardly even knew by her first name. "Well, I didn't make this up. This … this all actually happened." I stirred my Pepsi with a straw.

"What?" She clutched her chest. "You really saved those children in that fire? All that stuff really happened?"

"Yeah," I said, blushing. "I got that same news article I wrote about at my house."

She looked at me incredulously. "You mean … you mean, your parents are really dead? Please tell me you made that part up."

"Nup," was all I could say. "They died last … January, was it? Car crash."

"I'm so sorry, honey," she said. She looked real sorry. "Were all those characters - Johnny, Dallas - all real people?"

"Yeah. I wrote everything like I remembered it."

"And Johnny really told you to "stay gold"?"

"Yeah," I said, and then I cursed myself for saying "yeah" so much. I noticed that it was pretty easy to talk to her. She was like Cherry. I liked and trusted this woman.

"I cried when I read this, Ponyboy. And the fact that it really has happened makes it so much sadder. You poor child …"

I stared at the floor and bit my lip nervously.

Another waitress brought us our food. It looked like I had a mountain of pasta on my plate! This could be my dinner for three nights!

"Ever been here before, Ponyboy?"

"No," I responded. "It's nice, though."

We ate in silence for about a minute or two and then Mrs. Almost - I mean, Nancy - spoke again. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that this was all real. And you didn't make anything up at all. Didn't exaggerate?"

"Nup. Just wrote it how I experienced it," I tried to sound nonchalant.

"It's raw; it's dramatic. Your grammar could use some work, but I think we should leave it be. I believe it adds a more authentic quality to the book."

I just nodded like an idiot.

"Did you really skip a grade?"

I said, "Yeah. I skipped the seventh grade."

"Do you like to read a lot?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm. I spend almost all my time at the library."

"Do you have a lot of friends at school?"

I stabbed my fork in to my spaghetti. No. I didn't. After Johnny died, I was quieter than ever. I still hadn't gotten more friends. "Well," I said, being honest. "I kind of stopped talking to people after Johnny died. There is one kid at my school I kinda buddy around with, ya dig?" I smiled, thinking of Mark Jennings. "I mean, sure, I could hang out with my friend Two-Bit some times but he's not going to be in high school forever. He's a lot older than me, too. And I'm sure he don't like hangin' around with a kid like me."

She stared at me thoughtfully. "Do you know of a lot of people who like to read in your school?"

I stopped to think about that. "Sure, there are a lot of kids that go to the library and stuff."

"The only thing I think will be an issue is that you're so young. The critics ... they shouldn't judge you off that. At first I didn't know about you writing about gang life. I didn't realize that this was your life…" She drifted off.

Nancy waved her hand to signal the waiter. She tapped her glass gently three times to indicate she needed more wine.

I just shrugged.

"Who do you think would like to read this book?" she inquired, turning back to face me.

I got giddy at the thought of people actually reading my story. That my book could actually be in Will Rogers High's library.

"I guess kids like me," I said. "Teenagers. Young adults."

"The thing is," she replied, "there are no lead women roles. Do you think that would steer girls away?"

I think of Evie, Sandy, Kathy, and Sylvia and wonder what she's talking about. "Uh … no. I think that this is the kind of thing anyone can relate to."

The waiter that led me to our table comes back with a bottle of wine and fills Mrs. Almost's drink. "So, you feel like people can relate to being …"

"Discriminated against," I interjected. "And it don't have to be by Social class. It can be anything. Any form of … of bullying or something. I'm sure everyone has felt like they don't belong at least once in their life. I think that's something we can all relate to."

She flashed me another toothy grin. She cocked her head slightly and squinted her eyes, studying me. "You just really get things," she said. "You really do."

I didn't really understand her cryptic sort of words. "You get what I'm saying?" I said.

"Yes, actually. It's totally relatable. You're so right, Ponyboy."

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was glad she understood. I didn't want her to think I sounded crazy.

She stared at me for a short while longer. I squirmed uncomfortably and took the last bite of my spaghetti. I couldn't believe I ate it all. Oh, well, I guess I'd always eat like a horse.

Mrs. Almost picked around on her white pasta and looked up at me. "Another thing that may be a problem is the profanity. Now, the book isn't too bad with the cussing, but some of the language is … kind of inappropriate."

"You can cut out some of the language," I said, a little too eager.

"That would be alright with you?" she said. "It wouldn't be a huge difference. I'm sure people would still be able to tell what's going on."

"Yeah, yeah, that's fine."

Mrs. Almost still had a lot of her pasta left. Suddenly, she said, "Tell me about yourself, Ponyboy."

I grinned. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Tell me about your brothers. About your friends. Not Johnny or Dallas. Your other friends that aren't mentioned as much." She didn't say this but I could hear it: The ones that are not dead. She folded her hands and leaned back slowly against her wooden chair.

"My brothers? Well, Darry's pretty much the same thing I described in the book, except we get along real good now. He works a lot of hours, and, man, I sure feel sorry for him. Sometimes I feel like he should have thrown us in a boys' home."

At this, her face twisted up in a grimace.

Before she could say anything about that, I went on: "Sodapop, well, he's crazy. He always makes you feel good about yourself. He's real handsome. He reminds me a lot of my mom."

Her brown eyes were boring in to my soul. I took that as a sign to continue on. "My friends … ? Well, I guess Steve Randle is my friend." But then I added as an afterthought: "Well, we're buddies, not friends. There's a difference."

"Oh? And what is that difference?"

"Well, a buddy is someone who's got your back, someone you can depend on. Like in a rumble or when you get jumped."

"Isn't that what a friend is?"

"But you gotta like a friend. Steve don't like me. He thinks I'm a kid. A friend is someone you hang out with, pal around with. Sure, a friend's got your back, too."

"I think I know the difference," she replied. "What about your other friend? Two-Bit?"

"He's crazy. Crazier than Sodapop, if you could believe it. He's a good pal. We kinda got along better after Johnny and Dal died."

She nodded and popped her knuckles. "Waitress!" she called. "Check, please!"

The waitress came back a few minutes later and gave her the check. I inwardly sighed. She was going to pay for this. Secret relief swept over me in a strong tide.

After the check was paid, and everything was over and done with, Mrs. Almost said, "Ponyboy, it was such a pleasure to meet you. Oh, it was so nice. If you don't mind, could you send me a copy of that newspaper article you're in?"

"Sure," I said, knowing we had a couple at home. She was talking about "Juvenile Delinquents Turn Heroes". I would never forget that.

Mrs. Almost buttoned her thin jacket. "Do you need a way to get home?"

"Oh, no," I said, as we walked up the stairs to get outside. "My brothers are here."

"I'd like to meet them."

"Okay," I nodded. "Mrs. Al - I mean, Nancy, thank you for lunch."

"Oh, it was my pleasure, Ponyboy."

I didn't realize how short she was until she stood up. I actually towered over her like a giant. I was getting pretty tall, actually. Almost as tall as Soda.

I grinned happily as she followed me to our old truck.

When my brothers saw Mrs. Almost walking with me they both stepped out of the truck immediately. Soda was wearing his DX work shirt and cap, complete with oil stained jeans (he had only worked a half day that day, because he really wanted to be there when I did this interview). Darry had on decent pants and a nice button up shirt that really showed off his muscles.

If they were surprised to see Nancy they didn't show it. They both shook her hand, and she didn't even seem afraid of them.

"You must be Sodapop," she said to him. He grinned, putting on his charm. "Gosh," she said again, her eyes darting back and forth from me and Soda. "The resemblance between you two is uncanny."

"Really?" I asked, taking a good look at Sodapop. I didn't see it at all.

"Hello," she said brightly, turning to my other brother.

"Hello," Darry said, putting on his business voice he saved usually for Social workers. "I'm Darrell Curtis, ma'am."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," She paused to grin and look at me. "You've sure got quite the brother. He sure is something."

Darry nearly combusted with pride. "I'm proud of him," he said.

Soda winked at me.

"You should be. Well, it was very nice to meet you all. Ponyboy, thank you. You will be hearing from me in the near future."

"Thank you, ma'am."

She gave us a wave goodbye and we hopped in the truck, me sitting in the back.

"She seems nice," said Sodapop absentmindedly as we started to drive away.

Darry grunted his agreement. He was too focused on driving.

"She was," I smiled a wide smile. "She really dug things, ya know? She didn't judge us for being greasers. She actually seemed interested in what I had to say."

"That's great, P. M. Curtis," Soda turned from the front seat to look back at me, biting back a grin. I had to hold one back myself.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

Sorry for the long author's note! I felt like I had to share that with the world! Aren't I funny?! c: No? Okay.