"Curly?" I call out weakly, pathetically. "Can you bring me some water?"

The room is dark, meaning the sun must have set, but the house is quiet, so I guess nobody has gotten home yet. Usually the radio or tv would be blaring, Soda's voice would be loud as he rough housed with Ponyboy in the living room. There's nothing but silence though.

Gosh, I hope Curly hasn't left. All day he's been in and out of my room, bringing me water, aspirin and damp wash cloths, anticipating my every need. I know that I will never forget how I felt in those moments, relief, gratitude and most importantly-not alone.

I open my mouth to call out again, but it's Sodapop who appears in my room, carrying a glass of water.

"I didn't think you were home," I croak out, reaching for the glass.

"Feeling better?" Soda asks, making himself comfortable at the foot of my bed.

I prop myself up on my elbow and drink almost half the glass before answering. "A little."

Handing the glass back to Soda, I lay back down, feeling drained of energy.

"Why were you calling for Curly?" Sodapop's voice breaks in right when I'm about to drop off into sleep.

"Huh?" I ask groggily, fighting to stay awake.

"You were hollering for Curly."

My brain is still foggy and I'm having trouble understanding his question. I want to tell him I don't know but sleep grips me again.

xxxXXXXXxxxxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXxxxxx

Sunlight streaming through the window is what wakes me up again. Besides feeling sweaty and gross, I can tell I'm a lot better. Kicking the blanket off, I peel myself off the bed. I stand up slowly incase fatigue hits me.

I make my way to the bathroom and take a long cool shower, the water washing over me almost feeling like a religious experience. There's no greater feeling than the day you recover from being sick. Everything you do just feels better than usual.

After my shower, I go into the kitchen, realizing how hungry I am. I smear a piece of bread with jelly, figuring it's best to start with something light. Pouring a glass of juice, I carry that and the bread into the living room, I stop short when I see Curly asleep in the arm chair.

Any other day I might have been weirded out to finding Curly Shepard asleep in my living room, but the gratefulness seeped over from yesterday and I don't mind it. Which is weird in itself, I guess.

Ponyboy is reading on the couch and he puts the book down when he notices me. "You look better," he says a little guiltily. "If I had known you were sick, I wouldn't have left yesterday."

Placing my plate on the coffee table, I settle next to him on the couch. "It's okay. Like you said you didn't know and it's not like I was alone."

Ponyboy sends a puzzled look at the sleeping figure in the arm chair before looking back at me. "You guys' friends or something?"

"I guess we are," I say thoughtfully. I'm not exactly sure when it happened, I couldn't pinpoint the moment, but over this last month we have developed a friendship.

Ponyboy's eyebrows pinch together. "Just be careful, okay? Curly isn't really the type to hang around girls for their friendship."

I don't know why I have the urge to defend him, but I do, but before I can get any words out, Curly begins to stir.

Me and Ponyboy watch as he stretches out one leg, shifting in the chair, his eyes opening slowly. He looks confused for a second like he doesn't remember where he is.

"Hey," he says, his voice raspy from sleep. "You look better," he notes, his eyes landing on me.

I nod enthusiastically. "I feel so much better." I point to the plate on the coffee table. "Can even keep food down."

"Fever gone?" he asks.

"I think so."

He lifts his hand and waves me forward, I shoot Ponyboy a confused look and he shrugs. I tentatively lean towards Curly and he presses his hand to my forehead and I'm not entirely surprised by the contact. His hand trails down to my cheek and it's not until his hand cups my neck that I feel a bit of discomfort.

"You were pretty hot yesterday."

I want to make a joke about him calling me hot, but with his hand pressed to my neck, I can't seem to form a coherent thought, all I can do is nod.

It's not until Ponyboy clears his throat that I pull away and sit back on the couch, curling my feet underneath me.

Curly gets to his feet, stretches, and winces slightly, his hand going to his rib cage.

"Are you okay?" Ponyboy asks.

"Fine," Curly waves off any concern. "Just an old injury."

"What's the injury?" I ask, curious.

"Just a fight," he answers. "I probably should make an appearance at home, my sister worries." He says, clearly changing the subject.

I nod and walk him out. "Thanks for sticking around yesterday." I shuffle my feet.

"You're welcome."

Without thinking about it, I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. He seems startled at first but hugs me back. Even though it was supposed to be a friendly gesture something feels awfully intimate about it.

He pulls away and presses his two fingers against the inside of my wrist, which also feels more intimate than it should, a smile twitching up his lips. "I"ll see you later, puke girl."

I groan, burying my face in my hands. "You have my full permission to call me, Curtis, okay?"

He grins and bounds down the steps. "Nope. Doesn't have the same ring to it."

xXxxxxxxXXXXXXxxxxxxxxx

A few hours later I walk along beside Ponyboy to the DX. Suddenly he grabs my arm and pulls me so he's the one closer to the street. I almost lose my balance in the process and start to complain when I notice the mustang coming down the road.

I clutch Ponyboy's arm, an image of Johnny's face popping into my mind. "Let's run for it," I urge.

He shakes his head. "Can't beat a car."

The car pulls along side us and I let out a sigh of relief when I see it's Ethan behind the wheel. The relief doesn't last long though when I remember the last time I saw him was at the cemetery and completely made a fool of myself.

Ponyboy must recognize him too because he relaxes next to me.

"Hi Cassie, Ponyboy," Ethan greets us politely.

I fidget. "Pony you remember Pastor Harrison's son, right?"

Before Ponyboy can answer Ethan says with a smile "We've been seeing each other at church lately."

I look between them. "Church?" I repeat slowly. "You've been going to church? By yourself?"

"Johnny goes with me sometimes." Pony shrugs.

"You and Johnny go to church?" I don't know why the thought seems so crazy to me. We did grow up going to church but it's because Mom made us. I didn't figure that Ponyboy would willingly want to go.

I want to give him the third degree, but I'll wait until later, without an audience.

Ethan's watching our exchange patiently, a pair of sunglasses resting on top of his head. "You guys need a ride somewhere?"

"That'd be great," Ponyboy says the same time I say "No thanks."

Ethan raises his eyebrows, then meets my gaze for the first time. "It's really no trouble, I'm just running an errand for my dad."

"I just didn't want you to have to go out of your way," I mumble, knowing that Ponyboy would kill me if I took away his chance of riding in a mustang.

Me and Ponyboy both squeeze into the front seat, with me in the middle. I feel slightly uncomfortable with the closeness to Ethan, still feeling embarrassed about the last time we ran into each other.

"You guys heading home?"

"To the DX station, it's not too far." Ponyboy gives him directions.

I can tell Ponyboy's getting a kick out of the car. He rolls down the window and sticks his elbow out. He didn't talk about it much but he was crazy about cars. Especially Mustangs.

"This car's pretty tuff," Ponyboy says.

"You wanna drive?" Ethan asks and I stare at him in shock.

It's not that I was worried about Pony driving. There's a law in this state you have to be sixteen and have a license to operate a vehicle, but nobody on this side of town really pays attention to that law. Whenever we went out to the country Darry would always let use drive the truck.

I was more surprised by Ethan's offer because he seemed to be the type to follow every law and Ponyboy wasn't even fourteen yet, much less sixteen.

"You're serious?" There is a note in disbelief in Pony's voice.

"Yeah." Ethan nods. "I mean not here but I know some back roads." He glances over at me. "Unless you think it would make your older brother upset?"

"I don't think he'd care," I hedge, my teeth digging into my lower lip.

Ethan drives past the DX and keeps heading south. I'm starting to feel a little apprehensive. I read in a book once about a man who picked up hitchhikers, drove them out to a farm, hacked them up, then fed them to his pigs.

I mean I don't think Ethan has any pigs but still.

Ponyboy's supposed to be the one that lacks common sense and he does, but I'm starting to wonder if we're more a like in that way than I thought. This is the second time I've gotten into a car with Ethan, without really knowing him. Sure, he's friendly but I think I heard somewhere that Jack the Ripper was friendly too.

If we are being driven to our deaths at least we'll die together. I really wouldn't want to have to explain to Darry why I'm alive and Ponyboy's dead.

"Is where we're going far?" I have to shout because Ponyboy turned the radio on and cranked it up.

"Just a little farther," Ethan yells back.

It's not long before Ethan turns again and we come to a long dirt road. Shutting off the radio, he takes the sunglasses off the top of his head and puts them on. "I like to come out here sometimes and just let loose."

"You mean speed?" I can't keep the disbelief out of my voice.

He smiles. "Why is that so surprising? Because my dad's a minister?"

I raise one shoulder, not sure how to answer.

He doesn't push the issue, which I appreciate and instead directs his attention to Ponyboy. "Ready?"

"Am I ready?" Ponyboy all but squawks.

"I think he's ready." I laugh.

Ethan gets out of the car and walks around but instead of getting out Ponyboy crawls over my lap like an over eager puppy and situates himself behind the wheel.

Ethan slides in next to me and gives Ponyboy a few pointers on what to do.

"Not to fast," I caution, while Pony adjusts the review mirror and eases onto the dirt road.

I guess I wasted my breath though because I swear his foot barely presses down on the gas pedal and we can't be going more than five miles.

"I don't think Cassie meant this slow," Ethan says dryly.

Ponyboy nods, gripping the steering wheel tightly and the car picks up speed.

"Ya-hoo!" Ethan yells out and I giggle. I can't tell who's enjoying this more, Ethan or Ponyboy. Both of their expressions look like they're having the time of their lives.

While we speed down the road, going faster and faster, it reminds me of being with Tim. Fun? Maybe. Scary? Definitely.

xXxXxxxXXXXXXXXxxxxx

I'm wondering if driving in a fast car so soon after I've been sick was such a good idea. I'm feeling a little queasy when Ethan drops us in front of the DX. I follow Ponyboy into the station and the cool air feels good on my warm cheeks.

Sodapop's working the cash register today and as usual there's a long line of girls, hoping to get his attention.

"She's alive," Sodapop calls out in his best imitation of Dr. Frankenstein voice when he sees me. I pretend to scowl at him, giving him a wave and heading back to where the drinks are kept.

Ponyboy's already there rummaging through it.

"Is there any root beer?" I ask him and stand on my tips toes to see over his shoulder.

In the same moment I lean forward, Ponyboy's arm comes jerking back, his fist and bottle of root beer colliding with my face.

I let out a shriek, my hands flying to my face, tears springing to my eyes. I can already feel blood seeping through my fingers.

"Cassie, I'm so sorry," Ponyboy's panicked voice fills my ears. "It was an accident. Are you okay?"

"What's going on?" Sodapop yells, leaning over the counter trying to get a view. "What happened?"

Steve, who was working on a car in the connected garage is the one that takes control. "Cassie stop screaming," he orders. "Ponyboy get some ice and Sodapop stay there and help the customers." His voice holds such authority, that none of us argue. My shrieks turn into small whimpers.

"Oh, he got you good." Steve pries my hands away from nose and is examining it. With all the fights he's been in, he seems to know exactly what to do and gets the bleeding stopped pretty quickly.

Taking the ice from Ponyboy, he presses it against my face and I wince. Ponyboy stands off to the side looking miserable, like he was the one that just got hit in the face.

Tears continue to stream down my face as I hold the ice against my nose. They're not tears from pain, but more from frustration. With the way my face is throbbing I know there's going to be physical damage and the social worker is supposed to be coming tomorrow to do a home visit.

xXxxxxXXx

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