A/N: Hey! What's up in everyone's lives? Has anyone read The Perks of Being a Wallflower? I read the book about a month ago, and just saw the movie last night. It. Was. Perfect. If you haven't read the book, read it NOW. However, I have to warn you, there are explicit parts. Not too bad, but it's SUCH A TOUCHING BOOK. I haven't been that affected by a book since The Outsiders. And the movie was one of those rare, rare cases where it was possibly better than the book.

Disclaimer: I don't any characters you see down there, except Mrs. Almost (I think).

"How'd it go?" Two-Bit asked. Steve and Sodapop sidled up next to us on the porch steps. Steve gripped the long neck of his bottle of root beer and chugged some.

"Yeah, how did it go?" he said.

"How did what go?" I swallowed. From behind me I could hear Soda choke on a laugh. He lit a cigarette and ran a hand through his golden, greasy hair, smiling.

"What, you an invalid now?" I snorted at Steve's remark. "Jesus Christ, Soda, you'd think him gettin' a book published would make him smarter."

"How would that be?" Two-Bit grins. "The kid ain't got nothin' in his head but air. Getting a book published wouldn't do nothing to change that."

"Ya guys done insultin' me yet? I'm right here, ya know. And thanks for the vote of confidence, Two-Bit." But I was smiling when I said that. Truth was, it didn't really offend me at all.

"It's just so fun to do," Steve intoned between cigarette smoke. "Insult you, I mean. Sometimes I just can't help it, dig? There's just so much wrong with you."

Sodapop sat rigidly next to me, and I could tell he was nervous that this was going to turn out of hand. His eyes were shifting, moving back and forth from me to Steve. He shouldn't have had to worry about that; I wasn't going to turn a stupid disagreement in to a fight.

A little shocked that Steve was just blatantly insulting me, I cleverly said, "Oh, wow, really? That's strange, because Evie told me the exact opposite last night."

Two-Bit and Sodapop simultaneously burst out in to wild laughter. Two-Bit even spit out some of his beer, leaving a print on our porch. I didn't think it was that funny, but I had to admit, I was sort of proud of myself for coming up with that one on the spot - I was never one to come up with very good comebacks in a short amount of time.

But Steve was already aggravating me, and that's sad because he had only been over for about ten minutes. I guess we'll never get along.

I bit my lip to hide the smile threatening to play on my mouth. I took a glance at Steve, who was smiling wryly at me, his face stoic.

"He got ya good, Steve," Two-Bit blathered between gasps of laughter.

Soda blew a smoke ring and grinned. Running a hand through his golden, greasy hair, he raised an eyebrow at Steve. I could tell he was waiting for Steve to say something back.

But he didn't, so Two-Bit went on, "Well, as I was saying, before I was ever so rudely interrupted," - his gray eyes switched back and forth from Steve to me, his tough gaze cracking- "How did the interview whatcha-ma-call-it thing you went to yesterday with the secret agent person go?"

I lifted an eyebrow. Secret agent? I'd told him I had an agent - as in literary agent. I shook my head.

"It was good," I said. I attempted to blow a smoke ring but failed. It ended up being a huge cloud of smoke (I'd have to ask Soda how he does it later). "The lady - or as Two-Bit would say - my secret agent was good."

Steve snorted a laugh. Two-Bit went on as though he didn't hear anything. "What about the place, Ponyboy? How was that?"

"Was it Socy?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, it was Socy, all right. The food was good. The place was good."

"You sure have a way with words," Two-Bit replied mockingly while he clutched his chest. He turned to Soda, but he was pointing at me. "And he's getting published? Everything is 'good'. Ain't you got any other verbs to use to describe everything?"

My jaw dropping, I said, "Adjectives! Adjectives are what are used to describe -"

"Aw, lay off, Two-Bit," Soda said, cutting me off. I nodded at him in gratitude. He always stuck up for me. "I don't see your book gettin' published."

"That is a very, very valid point," he replied, "but I ain't got the mind the kid does."

I didn't know whether to be touched or offended. It was curious to me that one minute they were insulting me left and right and now they went to saying nice things about me.

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Truth is, I don't even know if I want his mind." He threw his hands up, raising his shoulders, and made a feigned sheepish face. Two-Bit shrugged and rubbed as chin as though he was contemplating this thought.

I threw my arms up in the air and gave an exasperated laugh. "Glory, is this 'National Insult Ponyboy Day'?"

"That's everyday for me," Steve said coldly. "I wish that was a thing, though. I'd celebrate it everyday."

"You're an ass."

"Aw, you know we're just kiddin', Ponyboy," Two-Bit leaned closer to me. He lowered his voice when he said, "Or, well, at least I am."

Darry poked his head outside. "What's goin' on?"

"Nothin'," Sodapop said brightly. "Having a friendly discussion among friendly friends. Care to join us?"

"No thanks, little buddy." He turned to me. "Ponyboy, you got a letter inside."

"Really?" I asked, excited.

"No, man, he just made that up for no reason," Steve muttered.

When Darry turned his back I flipped Steve the bird. Sodapop and Two-Bit laughed happily again, and I grinned, satisfied by myself. Steve's mocking chuckles rang through the house as I entered it.

I saw it on the coffee table next to some bills and tore it open hungrily. I was always excited to get correspondence from Mrs. Almost - I mean, Nancy. Even if we had just had lunch yesterday.

Unlike some of her other letters, this one was handwritten.

Ponyboy,

I had a wonderful time having lunch with you today. It was a real treat, and I hope you had as great a time as I did.

I smiled. I did.

I was wondering: could you possibly send me that newspaper article you're in, please? Only if it's possible for you, of course, but I would most definitely want to read it.

Hopefully we can do lunch again sometime.

It was an honor to meet you, young man, and I will definitely keep in touch.

Cordially,

Nancy Almost

"What does it say, Ponyboy?" Sodapop yelled from outside on the porch.

I walked toward him. "You wanna read it?" I flung the screen door open and held the letter out to him.

"You know I don't like reading. Read it to us."

I did.

"Let me see," Steve said, reaching out for it. He scanned the paper carefully, and I could see his eyes moving back and forth, telling me that he was reading it.

"I got other ones in my room," I said. I was excited, because I really liked talking about my book. I was usually modest and quiet about stuff like this, like when I win a race in a track meet or win an art contest, but this was something I was really proud of, and I wanted my friends to revel in my glory alongside me.

"Let me see 'em."

I ran back in my room with an unending grin on my face. I handed the pile of envelopes to Steve.

He read all of them and we just sat and watched. With each letter Steve read, he seemed to get a little less bitter. I think it was when I was saw the inkling of almost-pride in his eyes that made realization hit me.

I was actually getting published.

Sure, I had thoughts about it. My book can be in a library. I could get rich. People could read my story.

But my friends were proud of me. And even though I pretended to act like Steve's opinion never mattered, it did, and seeing him happy about my happiness brightened my life by about 50 percent.

"That's good, Pony," he said, attempting to be cool, nonchalant. But I saw that look in his eyes. He didn't know I did, and if I'd have blinked I'd have missed it. He was good at hiding it. But he was too late.

"It's real good," Sodapop said.

And then he patted me on the knee and Two-Bit ruffled my hair and the air was light and the stars were shining, big and bright, and I felt like all was right in the world.

"Darry?" I called from my room later that night.

"Yeah?"

I walked in to the kitchen. Rubbing my dry eyes, I rummaged through the cabinets and drawers. "We got that one newspaper article Johnny and Dally and me were in?"

He looked at me curiously. "Why would you want that?"

"Mrs. Almost wants it."

He sat and let that sink in for a moment, and then, nodding, he said, "Okay. There's a copy in my room somewhere."

"Thanks."

After I found it, I folded it carefully and put it in an envelope. I sent it to Nancy's work.

I got a reply from her about a month later.

It was a pretty pointless letter to write, with no real reason except for her to be gushing about how "brave" I am.

She did, however, tell me that the manuscript for my book is close to being typed and printed.

I was exceedingly happy for the next few months.

On the morning of my last day of school I got a check in the mail.

I choked on a bite of cereal and Darry walked in, slapping me on the back.

I stared at the letter in my hand.

It has to be a mistake, I thought. Jesus Christ, it's gotta be a mistake.

It was for 300 dollars. 300 dollars! I'd never held that much money in my hand in my life! That was too much.

With more to come, Mrs. Almost wrote on the note that was attached.

Darry looked at what I was so intently looking at. I heard the breath leave him. "Glory," he muttered in surprise.

I stared up at him to see that there was a shocked smile on his face. He squeezed my shoulders a little too hard.

Soda bounded in from the bathroom, his hair still sopping wet from the shower he'd just took. Toothbrush in mouth, he said incoherently, "What's up?"

"What was that?" Darry said. "Didn't quite hear ya there." He pointed to his face. "You got some tooth paste right there."

My older brother laughed, settling himself next to me by the table. He wiped his face on a napkin by the table. He saw what was clutched in my hand. "What's this, Pony?" he asked, grabbing it.

I didn't answer. I was going to let him figure that one out on his own. He looked at it for a second and then his eyes widened. "Holy moley," he whispered. "That's a lotta cash."

"I know, I know it is," I said, just as taken aback. I turned away from Soda. "And I want you to have it, Darry."

"What?" Darry turned away from the pancakes he was making. "No. No way, kid. That's your money. You earned it yourself."

I frowned, knowing I wounded his pride. Darry didn't like to admit that he needed any help when it comes to things like money. But I wasn't going to give up that easy. "Come on, Dar, it could help with the bills and stuff."

Soda nodded eagerly. He just dug me. Dug what I had to say.

Darry didn't look at me. "You ain't got to worry about that," he said in a gravelly voice. The kind of voice that would make most sane people run away as fast as they can.

I knew I was pushing it, but really, I didn't want all that money. I felt like I cheated. I hadn't worked that hard, yet I was getting so much money. Darry worked so hard every day, yet I could see the worry lines on his face, the tenseness in his back, the way his shoulders hunched over and the look of worry and sadness on his face whenever he had to pay the bills.

And that was something that was enough to keep me awake at night.

So I tried with him again because he could be so damn stubborn at times. "At least take half of my check. We each get 150."

He ignored me. He just went on as if he didn't hear me, absently starting to make eggs.

I started getting frustrated. "Lets make a deal," I said. He spun around. Now he was listening. "How about for every check I get, one half goes to you and the other half goes for my college fund. That sound good?"

Sodapop nodded again. He agreed with me on this, and I was glad he was there. He would support my argument, which would make Darry actually consider what I had to say. "That seems fair, don't ya think, Dar?"

Darry grunted his response and flipped the pancake over with a spatula. The sound of a door slamming coming from the living room made Darry leave the kitchen.

I walked up to the stove to finish the breakfast Darry was in the process of making. I turned to Soda. "I'll take that as a yes?"

"I think that's safe to say."

He winked at me. I heard Steve and Two-Bit exchange greetings with Darry.

"Darry just don't like admitting to needing help," Soda said, picking his nails with the switchblade he pulled out of his pocket.

"Oh, I know, Soda. I just want to help him out. He needs a break. I didn't mean to hurt his feelings or anything. I wasn't tryin' to give him charity."

"Aw, don't worry about that," Sodapop said gently and looked up to me as I turned away from the stovetop. "Darry's a tough guy. He'll get over it. But I'm with you all the way. He does need a break, and some extra dough would help. Remember when I dropped out? He didn't like that at all. His pride was all wounded - he kept goin' on and on and on about how he don't need help, he's fine, yadda yadda yadda, which he did. He don't like to admit it. It will be fine. You're doin' the right thing."

"Yeah," I turned back to the eggs. "Yeah."

As I walked to Two-Bit's truck to drive to school, I thought about what Soda said. You're doin' the right thing. Sometimes I doubted it.