I move fast, on automatic pilot as I plow toward the strip of road that's spitting out black dust and fumes. I'm asking strangers for information, keeping my head level until I can make sense when suddenly Evie's there, loudly and steadily crying. Her blonde hair's platinum, her makeup dark. She grips my arm, nails pinching the skin. "Do you think he's okay, Darry? Do you think they're all okay? Oh my great Jesus Christ…" Her voice rises to a keen.

Gently, I untangle from her grip, her words causing my stomach to roll. "Listen, Evie, I'm sure Steve's fine, they're all fine, but I'm going to go look for them, okay? Stay here and I'll be back." Nearly running, I take off in the direction of the explosion.

Tim Shepard called me at home with the news and I barely beat the cops and ambulances up to the lookout point. Kids stand around, dazed expressions on their faces. Some are crying, some simply bewildered by what's happened.

I scan the crowd for my brothers and friends. The police have the area roped off and I watch, frustrated, at the lack of news. A charred Ford Mustang rests in the wreckage. I pace and right when I'm about to grab a cop and lay into him good, I see them.

Two of them.

Ignoring the shouts from the Police Officers I duck under the yellow tape and clear the gap between us fast. I grab Sodapop by the shirt sleeve, pulling him in. "You okay?" He nods, coughing harshly, chin drooping against his chest, face streaked with soot. "Two-Bit?" I ask the other boy. He nods too, sticking a finger in his ear and trying to shake something loose.

"Fuckin gas," Soda bitterly swears. "Goddamn fucking gas." He sounds like he's ready to cry. Then when I ask him where Ponyboy is, he bends at the waist, palms on his knees and takes heavy, gulping breaths.

OoO

Lighting a smoke right now isn't the smartest thing to do at the moment but it gives my shaky hands something to do. As I make my way through the panicked crowd of Socs and Greasers, I'm praying everyone's in one piece. I have no idea what happened, just that it was loud and bright.

A wide-eyed Mark Jennings gives me a nod as I pass him. I cough and whether it's from the dust in the air or the smoke from my cigarette I don't know. I take a right and find myself stuck in a mass of people. Not knowing which direction to go, I have stop once to catch my breath and then there's a hand on my elbow. "C'mere son, this way."

I glance up at the uniformed man, who has long sideburns and tan skin. I can't see much else because of the dark shadows and the familiar helmet on his head. He gives me a smile. "Volunteer firefighter," he explains, guiding me to the left.

"Do you know what happened?"

"Too much gas and fire."

"Likely story, right?" I try to laugh and end up in a cough. I grimace. The inside of my mouth feels like it's been barbequed on.

"Something like that." We make our way through, parting the crowd and then he lets go of my elbow. We're out of the vortex of smoke, the night air cool on my hot face. "There you are, Ponyboy."

"Thanks." The cigarette dangles from my lips. I scan the busy stretch of road for my brothers. I smile when I see them.

OoO

Ponyboy walks out of the woodwork right when I'm about to lose it.

I'm pacing the road, unable to turn my brain off. Unable to stop the what-ifs. The what-if my best friend and my brother—

I blow into my hands to warm them. They smell like gas. Two-Bit asks if I'm okay but I barely hear him.

In a daze, I watch Darry holler at one of the cops, asking where Ponyboy is, where our brother is, his face angrier than I've seen in a long time, when there's a familiar voice at my side. "What's Darry worked up about?"

There's a long moment before I realize who it is. I jump, letting out a little yelp and there's Ponyboy. His mouth quirks up in that crooked grin of his and he wiggles his eyebrows. "Hey there, Sodapop."

I exhale a breath I hadn't been aware I've been holding. Two-Bit whoops, causing Darry to stop mid-yell and look over. Instantly, his thick heavy footsteps make their way towards us.

"Oh thank god," I say, wrapping my arms around Pony. I give him a squeeze and breathe in. He pulls away. I peer closer. I don't let go of his arm. "You okay?"

"I'm okay, are you okay?" He's wide-eyed, his green eyes bright. "That was wild, Sodapop."

"Shoot, kid," Two-Bit whistles. "I'm not sure wild's the right verb."

"Adjective."

"Same thing."

Exasperated, Pony shakes his head. "No. No, they're—"

"Can we not do this now?" Darry's asking as he arrives, hovering tall over Ponyboy's shoulders. He shoots me a look of relief before putting a hand on Ponyboy's arm and making him turn around to face him. In quick Darry-style I see him size our brother up.

Darry gives Pony a quick pat on the side of his face, his hand resting on Pony's shoulder. "Where've you been, kiddo? We've been lookin for you."

Pony drags a hand across his face, smearing soot in every direction. "Well, I couldn't see a damned thing and this guy, he– Darry?"

Darry's eyes move to something over Pony's shoulder. Abruptly, Darry walks away. "He never listens to me," Pony says, frowning.

"It's Tim," Two-Bit says as Darry joins Tim Shepard about 20 feet away. They quietly talk, Darry nodding every now and then. A cigarette lights up Tim's face in the dark. They seem oblivious to the hordes of cops and firefighters. Beside me, Pony's ragged breathing is soft. My old can't-sit-still itch returns and I wish I had a deck of cards or something to keep my mind straight. Even Two-Bit's stony.

Then Darry's walking back. He's grinning. "They're taking Steve to Saint Mary's. He's got a broken arm, and according to Tim an even shittier attitude, but he's okay."

OoO

Word spreads around town like the fire at the drag race and when I go back to school on Monday, everyone wants to know the story. Mark Jennings recounts it in great and exhaustive detail, embellishing certain facts. I just listen and try to keep out of it, having had my time in the spotlight.

Steve and Two-Bit, having finally graduated, miss out on their chance to be famous around Will Rogers High.

OoO

"You're moving slow with that arm, Stevie," I goad, knowing I shouldn't. Steve's been in a pissy mood ever since he got sprung from the hospital a few days ago.

"Goddamn it," Steve swears, kicking a tire. "I can't do jack shit with this thing." He jerks spastically, his right arm bobbing like a broken wing, and flips an entire tray of auto parts on the ground with his left hand. Steve continues his fit by kicking nuts and bolts across the shop and swearing a blue streak.

"Steve…"

"Don't. Don't try to make it better. You ain't the one with the busted car and the busted arm. It's embarrassing is what it is, Sodapop. Not to mention the fact that Evie's hanging around me like I'm a fucking child."

I knew it. Steve's pride's bothering him more than the fact that he nearly got killed. "Would you have rather been splattered across the windshield?" At his silence, I hold up a hand. "Forget I asked." I check the oil on Mrs. Golding's old Caddy. Hold the dipstick out to Steve. "You're lucky, man."

"I can't even change a goddamn tire."

"Look, you shouldn't be working anyway." The phone starts ringing but I ignore it. "I can take your shifts, work some doubles and give you the cash."

Steve shakes his head. "I can't let you do that, Sodapop."

"Sure you can. You helped me out when the kid disappeared." Darry and I never would have made it if it weren't for Steve covering for me at work. He picked up my shifts and when I'd find money at the house the next day it was all because of Steve.

I walk across the shop to answer the phone. "I owe you one. We all do."

"Just don't tell the kid that," Steve says with a laugh.

OoO

I bristle as I hear the car trolling behind me. Sneaking a glance over my shoulder I see it's the dirty brown Impala. I pick up the pace, instinct kicking in. I've just finished track practice so outrunning the car should be a piece of cake. My hands tighten into fists as the car pulls alongside me.

It's the Cowboy.

I can only see him in profile, long sideburns and rusty brown hair underneath that hat.

"What do you want, man?" I ask, keeping space between myself and the car. "Why're you following me?"

"I'm not—" The Cowboy pulls over to the curb, idling. He sticks an arm out the window. "One minute, son. Please. I just want—"

Before he can get any further, I head down the sloped embankment and take a shortcut through the field that leads to back to my house.

OoO

The front door slams hard. A photo on the wall rattles. I set my coffee cup down. Shut my textbook. "Sodapop," I say, "how many time have I told you not to slam the d—"

Ponyboy appears in the kitchen. "Darry," he says, sounding mature and serious. His mouth opens. Closes.

"What is it?" I ask. I can see his mouth get tight, like he doesn't want to tell me or is rethinking whatever it is he had been on the verge of saying. "Pony. What's going on?"

"I have homework."

"Okay."

In one swift motion, Ponyboy disappears down the hall, leaving me to wonder what on earth he's gotten into now.

OoO

I had been close to telling Darry. So close. But then when I thought about it…what if I was wrong? What if it was nothing and mere coincidence? The Cowboy wanted directions is all. I'd get everyone worked up over nothing and glory knows that's the last thing they need.

I flop onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. But when I think about it, really think about it, I know deep in my gut that directions had nothing to do with it.

OoO

"There's another one out front for ya, Curtis," Lloyd says, coming in from outside. Door chimes jangle above. "Towed over from Main Street. Engine trouble. Guy'll be in to pay in a day or two so make it snappy. We're backed up in here."

"Yeah," I mutter, slipping some gloves on. "Don't I know it."

With Steve taking a few days off, my boss has been on my ass to pick up the slack. I've been at home, barely able to say hi to Darry or Pony before grabbing a shower and a good night's sleep.

"Oh, and Curtis," Lloyd shouts from his office, "I need you to take an hour and drive out to Smiths for spare parts. We're running low."

I grit my teeth and flap a hand, showing Lloyd I get it. "Asshole," I say when I'm outside the shop. I scour the yard, spotting the tow truck, a big brown Impala strapped to the back.

OoO

Ponyboy pops out of his room. "Anyone yet?"

"Not yet."

"Think they'll come?"

"I don't know, kiddo," I tell him, folding my paper up and sitting up in my recliner. About once every three months we get our usual visit from Social Services. We haven't heard from them in a while and what makes me nervous is if they've heard about Pony being at the drag races last weekend. Especially with what happened there.

Pony wrinkles his nose, smelling the Fantastik that's liberally coating every inch of the house. "I don't know why they come anymore." He smirks. "We've been practically incident free for the last two years."

Soda's laugh floats from the kitchen. "That's a good one, kiddo. We should get that engraved on our front door. Like a family crest or something."

Ponyboy snorts on a laugh. "I'm older now," he says, moving to the front door. He sticks a cigarette above his ear, grips the doorknob. "They don't have to worry about me." With that he goes outside to smoke.

Not old enough, I think, watching him through the window. Pony's pacing back and forth on the front porch. Sure he won't be coming back in anytime soon, I ask Sodapop, "How's Steve doing?"

"Pissed off," Soda says, coming out of the kitchen. He leans against the wall, his normally cheerful face solemn. He lowers his eyes. "But what can you expect from Steve? He's got a boatload of bills to pay that's for sure."

"Yeah, I heard that."

The dilemma Steve's in is not something I envy. It's a place I've been in before and a reality that still rears its ugly head more than I like. In addition to the hospital bills, Steve also has to fix the front and rear bumper from the crashed Challenger he was borrowing. It could be worse but it sure isn't good.

"I know you're helping him, Sodapop," I say. "I'll chip in as well. We'll make sure he gets through it."

Soda gives me a grateful smile. "We always do."

OoO

"Hey, Sodapop," I call out, shoving open the door of the DX. "I brought you some—Oh. Hey, Steve."

"What d'ya want, kid?"

I bite back a retort. Steve's doing his best to screw a hubcap onto a Jeep and failing miserably. A week later and he's back at work but not much happier about it. Two-Bit told me about his money trouble and I figure I could try to help out and pitch in too. Somehow.

"Where's Soda?" I ask.

"What do you think he's doing, Einstein? He's out back. Helping a customer."

Ignoring this, I sling the bag I'm carrying onto the hood of the Jeep. "I brought you guys dinner." Inside are some sub sandwiches I picked up at the nearest convenience store.

"Thanks," Steve grunts, picking up a wrench. "Lloyd's being a prick again."

"So I heard." My brother and Steve have overtime for the second time this week. The DX is busy but there're plenty of others he could get to work late. Sodapop swears he's just holding a grudge, but from what I'm not sure.

I watch Steve struggle with the nuts and bolts. The hubcap pops off and he drops the wrench. "Sonofabitch," he swears, running a hand through his dark hair.

"I got it," I say. I bend, retrieving the wrench. "You need some help?"

"Kid, just butt out," Steve snaps. He rips the wrench from my hand. "I don't need your help or anyone else's so just leave me the fuck alone."

"Okay," I say, not even bothering to fight with him. "Whatever you say, Steve." Turning, I begin walking through the garage to the back door. I hear Steve sigh; a loud, grudging exhale.

"Hey…Ponyboy…"

I ignore this too and keep moving. I pass a window, seeing Soda's profile. He's smiling, his mouth moving. He lifts a hand to wave. There's the rumble of an old engine and then a dark brown Impala peels out from the gravel driveway. The rusted passenger door mocks me as it drives away.

I freeze in my tracks. "That's the—" There's a hand on my shoulder and I jump. There's Steve, contrite and smug.

"Jesus, kid, wouldya wait up? Look, I shouldn't have—" He stares, brow creasing. "Pony?"

"That car," I say and point to the window. I feel jittery, like I've stumbled upon I shouldn't have. "That guy – that's the guy…the guy who—"

"Kid, the guy that's what?"

"The guy that's following me."

Steve frowns some more. "C'mere." Grabs my arm and hauls me outside.

OoO

"I can't believe you."

"I didn't want anyone to worry." Uncomfortable, Ponyboy crosses his arms and plops on a workbench.

"Little late for that now isn't it?" I shake my head, trying to clear it. "Ponyboy Michael, you're gonna be in deep shit with Darry, you know that right? Hell, you're in deep shit with me."

"I'm sorry," he says, looking frustrated. He shrugs. "It still could be nothing."

"Some stranger following you after class isn't nothing. Some stranger at mom and dad's grave isn't nothing." I wipe my hands off on my jeans. "You shoulda told me that first night you brought it up."

"But I didn't, okay?" Pony snaps. "It's not exactly anyone's favorite subject."

A reply dies on my lips. I'm realizing that while Darry and I may have done a good job dealing with my parents' death, we haven't done such a great job dealing with the aftermath. Their memories aren't exactly brought up on a daily basis.

"Look," Steve says, interrupting. "While this whole 20 questions game is pretty fun, we gotta get back to work, Sodapop."

"I should go anyway," Ponyboy mutters.

"Wait."

I don't want him walking home alone. I check the clock on the wall. We've got a long night ahead. I wish Steve or I could spare 20 minutes to drive Ponyboy home but neither of us can.

"Two-Bit?" Steve asks, catching my gaze.

I nod. "Yeah." Steve picks up the phone and dials.

OoO

"And you're sure you didn't recognize him from anywhere else?"

"Why? Would it have been okay to get in the car with him then?"

"Don't get smart," I snap. "You don't want to get on my bad side tonight, Ponyboy."

He shuts his mouth but I can practically hear his retort: I'm already on your bad side. I rub a thumb down the side of my jaw and evaluate my youngest brother. He's perched on the couch, arms crossed in the defensive position I've come to know so well. His long legs stick out, the tennis shoes grungy and worn. He looks like a younger version of Sodapop, minus the eyes and the rusty hair.

Two-Bit's out on the porch smoking. He's left the screen door open and I wave a hand in front of my face to clear the smoke wafting in. It's late but for me the night's just beginning.

An hour ago, I had arrived home from class to find Two-Bit sitting on the couch eating popcorn. "I'm babysitting your brother," he announced.

I slung my backpack down, eyeing Pony's closed bedroom door. "Why? Where is he?"

"In hiding. He's wanted for being a liar-liar-pants-on-fire." Two-Bit's face turned serious. "Plus, he needs a little supervision."

Now, having gotten the details about what's going on, I'm at a loss about what to do about it. Other than watch my brother like a hawk and knock some sense into him, is about the best I can hope for at the moment.

"No," Pony sighs. "I didn't recognize him. I just didn't think it was a big deal until today."

"It may not be," I grudgingly admit. "But I want you to keep an eye out. If you see that guy again I want you to beat it out of there. Or better yet, call the cops."

"Oh yeah, because they're so helpful."

"He's got a point, Dar!" Two-Bit shouts from the porch.

I ignore Two-Bit. "I mean it, Ponyboy. Don't argue with me about this."

Ponyboy holds up his hands. "Okay, okay. Don't worry, Dar. It's probably nothing. But if it is, you forget one thing…"

"Oh, and what's that?"

He stands and shoots me a cocky grin. "I can run."

OoO

Thank you for ALL the reviews and kind words. Truly appreciated. It is an honor sharing this with people who like to read so this just makes my day.

More revealed next chapter, I promise I won't drag it out too long.

Pardon typos. SE Hinton owns these bad boys.

XO,

Feisty