Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns the boys of The Outsiders. Also, I know those kinds of locks weren't invented until the 1980's. I don't especially care.

"Where am I heading?" I repeated the question lamely.

"Yeah," Steve said sharply, "Skippin' class?"

I moved my jaw back and forth, knowing that my answer had to be genius to get out of this one. Words, that were usually my friend, were failing me.

"Well, let's go, then."

I blinked, "Go where?" Where was Steve going to take me? Back to school? To Darry? My homeroom teacher?

Steve was opening his car, and throwing his backpack inside. "Get in," he said, sliding into the drivers seat.

I still wasn't sure where this was going, but I figured my best bet was to just do what he said, so I got into the passengers side.

"Where are we going?" I asked again, as Steve started the engine and zoomed out of the parking lot.

But he didn't answer. He kept on driving. Past the Dairy Queen, past the drive in, through the train yards. This wasn't right. We were going too far out. We reached the town's edge.

"Steve?"

I looked at him. He was facing straight ahead, his facial expression stoic. Finally, he said something.

"Ponyboy, why are you acting so crazy?"

I shifted in my seat.

"You wanna know what I think it is?" He went on.

"Not really," I mumbled, looking down at my feet.

"It's because you got this weird ass idea that Dally and Johnny-" I heard the sharp breath I took, rather than felt it, "-died because of you. Like it was your goddamn fault or something. And you know something, Ponyboy? It wasn't your fault. You weren't in control of any of that. And you-"

"I know," I said quietly.

"What?" He said, making a sharp turn right, onto a road where I couldn't see any cars at all. It looked kind of familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Maybe dad had taken us hunting here sometime or something.

"I know I couldn't control it," I said.

"Then what the hell's the matter with you?"

"You wouldn't get it."

"You know something Ponyboy? You're probably right."

"You gonna tell me where we're going?"

"No."

x0x0x0x0x

We drove in silence for what felt like hours. It wasn't, though. But I couldn't tell yah how long it actually was. But it wasn't till we were almost all the way there, that I realized where we were going.

"Steve, turn around. I want to go home."

We were slowly inclining up the hill. I couldn't see it yet, but I knew that as soon as I did, I would freak out.

"I mean it, Steve," I said, when he kept driving, "Either you stop this goddamn car, or I'm just gonna roll out of the car. I'll do it. I'll open the door and just jump out."

Steve turned his head and looked at me, eyebrows raised.

"I will Steve. I swear to God, Steve. I'll do it."

"Try it," he said, turning his head back to the dirt road.

I looked out the window and bit my lip, trying to convince myself that we weren't going that fast. We weren't going that fast.

I took a big breath, and then pulled on the car handle.

It didn't budge. I looked at Steve. He had a small smile on his face.

"Child safety locks."

I sunk down in the seat. I could see the roof of the church. I reached up and grabbed a fistful of my hair to pull on. It came out in my hands. I brought my hands down and looked at my hair. I started shaking.

I'm not really sure how long we were stopped before I realized it. I finally looked over at Steve, and he had his hands behind his head, and was looking at me. I immediately looked back down at my hands.

"What's in your hand?" He asked.

I deliberately did not look up. I knew that as soon as I looked up. . .Well, I didn't know what would happen. But I knew it'd be bad.

"My hair," I mumbled.

"Your what?"

"My hair. My hair. I'm almost fifteen years old and my fucking HAIR is falling out like I'm some old guy."

"Get out of the car, Ponyboy."

"I don't want to."

"I know," Steve put his hand on my shoulder, awkwardly.

We sat in the car for a couple more minutes until I finally said, "You ain't gonna go back home until I get out of the car, huh?"

"Nope."

"Ain't any way I can bribe you?"

"Not a chance. You don't got nothing I want."

I felt hot. Something that had been swirling around in the pit of my stomach was erupting up to my heart. I pounded my fists on the dashboard in front of me.

Steve got out of the car. I thought he was coming around to drag me out of the car, but he didn't. Minutes passed, until I finally looked out the window. He was sitting on the hood of a car, smoking a cigarette. I felt vomit shooting up into my throat as I saw the scene past him.

x0x0x0x0x

You'd think someone would have cleaned it up, but no sir. There it was. Charred, wooden timbers, stacked in an unruly pile on the dirt ground. Half of a burned up pew, lopsidedly sticking out of the rubble.

I slowly exited the car. I walked over to the remains of the Windrixville church. I started climbing through it. Sifting through the wooden mass. I'd see half of a cigarette package. A moldy piece of bread. My hands were turning black, and I felt like a thousand splinters were piercing my hands. But I couldn't stop. It had to be here. But it couldn't be here. It would have burned.

A white corner poked out of the wood. Well, white, stained with black. I hastily threw wood aside. I picked it up. It was half gone. All that it said was "ET MITCHELL." The end of the name to the author of Gone With the Wind.

Then I hurled. Boy, I hate throwing up. It hurt so bad. Just this pink fluid from my empty stomach. Then something was tugging on my upper arm. I stumbled over the wood, and then my knees buckled.

"C'mon, Ponyboy," Steve grunted, pulling me to my feet.

"I. . .I couldn't s-stop it," I said, tears pouring out of my eyes. I tried to wipe them away, but more just kept pouring out, "I w-was too weak to fight off those Socs, and then. . .then J-Johnny killed him. And then Johnny d-died, and I couldn't help him. Then Dally went, and I knew. I knew he-he was gonna do something dumb. I knew he had a gun. I knew, but I couldn't. . .I couldn't do anything to stop him. It just happened. I had no control over it. I couldn't. . ."

"Jesus, Ponyboy," Steve whispered. He slung an arm around me.

"I'm no good," I said, shrugging his arm off, "Bad stuff happens, and I can't control it. I'm. . .I'm bad. I'm poisonous."

"You listen to me, Ponyboy Curtis," Steve said. I just looked down at my feet.

He took my chin in his hand and forced my head up, so we were looking eye to eye.

"You listen to me, Ponyboy Curtis," Steve repeated, "You are not rotten."

"I-"

"Shut up. Ponyboy, you are not a rotten kid. Nobody could control any of that awful shit that happened to you. Okay? You got jumped by a group of Socs. It wasn't that you were too weak to fight them off. No one can take a group that big. Not even Superman. But just because you can't control that shit in your past, doesn't mean the only thing you can control is what you eat, or whatever fucked up idea you have. You're a smart kid, Pony. A damn smart kid. Take control of your future."

The only sound after that was the sound of me, trying to suppress my sobs. Finally, when I had choked them all down, I said, "Steve? You're not as big of an asshole as I thought."

"Shut up," he said.