Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

Chapter Two

Here's how it went:

Turn down this street and hear more screams. Turn down this alley, then stop and get pulled in the other direction as you see a body slumped on the ground out of the corner of your eye. Run like the devil is after you until you can't hear people running and police sirens in every which direction anymore.

That's how it went.

We were at Soda's house because it was closest. We'd stopped running about five streets after the commotion had quieted, but Soda didn't let go of my hand and I kept looking around nervously until we reached his house. I was shaking something awful.

Soda tugged on my hand as we reached the porch steps, beckoning me inside. He must have felt me shaking or hesitating or seen the look on my face or something because the corner of his mouth went up in a reassuring manner and he said, "Come on, it was just one little gunshot. Ain't that big of a deal."

I stopped mid-step. "What do you mean it ain't that big of a deal? Do you—" I paused, breathing heavily, but I wasn't sure if it was from all the running or because I was freaking out. Maybe both? "Do you realize somebody got shot? Because I saw a guy on the ground, not moving. Completely still! And you think it's not a big deal? Are you out of your mind, Sodapop Curtis?!"

"Look," he snapped, "we're safe, ain't we?" His face softened somewhat. "Now will ya come inside? Yer shakin' like a leaf."

I glared at him, but gave in, sighing as I followed him in. The TV was on, but low, and Sodapop dropped my hand to turn it up. His kid brother was sitting on the couch, hair wet and his feet up. I just stood in the doorway, letting its frame hold me up in all the excitement.

"Hey, the volume was low for a reason," someone called from the other room.

Ponyboy rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, Darry. Quit babyin' me. I got a little woozy is all."

Darry walked into the living room, water in hand, and gave it to Ponyboy. "You passed out, Pone. That's not a little woozy."

Sodapop snapped his head in Ponyboy's direction. "Whaddaya mean you passed out?" I noticed he was shaking a little bit, too, still. Or, at least, his hands were. He was slapping his pockets, looking around the room for something, until finally his eyes settled on the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table next to Pony's feet before he turned back to Ponyboy, eyes wide.

Ponyboy opened his mouth, but Darry interrupted him. "Passed out at practice today. Coach said he ran four laps and then dropped like a sack of potatoes," he explained and walked back into the kitchen.

Soda walked over to the couch and sat on the arm, putting a hand to Pony's forehead to which Pony promptly swatted away. "I'm fine," he insisted and went to grab the pack of cigarettes.

Soda's eyes followed it, from the time Pony picked it up, to the time Pony put it down, and then they looked longingly as Pony took a few puffs to get it lit. His legs started bouncing and he shot up, pacing the room and running a hand through his hair.

Darry walked back out again, his face set, and yanked the cigarette out of Pony's mouth. "What don't you understand about the fact that you passed out today, kiddo?"

"It's not that big a deal!" Pony argued back, making Soda squeeze his eyes shut in what I could only assume was frustration.

"Will you both just shut up?!" he yelled, making me jump a little, and grabbed the cigarette from Darry's hand, taking a drag. He dug his palm into his eye, taking a deep breath and motioned his free hand at me. "Darry, I don't think you know Andy." His tone was resigned and frustrated, and it definitely portrayed how he looked like he was feeling at the moment

Both Ponyboy and Darry looked in my direction, immediately looking sheepish. Pony's ears were tinged with red, I noticed. "Sorry, Andy," Pony said, "I didn't see you there."

Darry eyed me wearily. "Nice to meet you …" he said slowly.

Ponyboy sat up and took his feet off their coffee table. "You wanna sit or something? You ain't lookin' too hot."

I nodded, making my way over to the couch next to him while Darry crossed his arms and followed Soda with his eyes as he made his way over to the couch as well. "One of you better start talking."

Soda plopped down on the couch, putting an arm around me as he took another drag, and explained. I was still thinking of that body. My mind was wandering, abusing my imagination and recreating a thousand different things about the last half hour, making colors more vivid and split seconds turn into minutes.

Darry was sitting now, rubbing his forehead. "Are you okay? Who were you with before?"

Soda moved forward, putting out the cigarette in a glass and grabbing another one. I settled back into him as he lit it. "We were with Two-Bit and his girl for a while over at that old diner off of Madison. You know, the one Mom and Dad used to take us to when we were little?"

"Yeah, I know it." Darry sighed and rubbed his forehead again. "Have you seen them since?"

Soda shook his head and tried to blow a smoke ring.

"Will you quit that?" Darry snapped. "Pony passed out 'cause he smokes so damn much, and here you are, smoking away, while your girlfriend looks like she's seen a ghost still."

You try being around a shooting, I thought, and see how chipper you look.

I barely noticed the girlfriend comment.

"Oh, back off, Dar. You try hearing shots again that close and not want to smoke a pack and a half." Soda was pissed. He shot up, running a nervous hand through his hair. "God, we saw the guy! We ran past and saw him slumped on the ground! I tried to turn Andy before she could see, but apparently she saw anyway, and you're concerned about cigarettes right now?!"

I buried my face into my hands. Soda had stormed out and was pacing back and forth on the porch, simply fuming, and Ponyboy was paler than I'd ever seen him. Granted, I had only met him a handful of times, but he was pale. And Darry … his jaw was clenched hard, a vein throbbing in his neck. So I buried my face into my hands to avoid looking at them.

Nobody really talked for a while. Darry got up to make some phone calls, I think—maybe the phone rang, who knows—and Ponyboy got up and went down the hall to his bedroom, I guess. And Soda just sat on the porch smoking cigarettes until he ran out. Eventually I headed out there as well and balanced myself on the railing.

"Hey," I said softly. He was sitting on the ground, leaning against the house with his wrists resting on his knees.

"Hey," he replied, not looking up. I looked down at my shoes and shivered a bit as the wind picked up. Soda held out his hand and looked up finally, beckoning me down to him.

I slid off the railing and sat down between his legs, letting my back rest against his chest, and his head rest on top of mine. We were silent. I don't know how long we sat in silence, but I know it was a long while.

I started thinking about what he meant by hearing shots again that close. The neighborhood was rough, but so was mine, and I hadn't heard gunshots at all since we'd moved into the apartment. All it was was a bunch of sirens, fights, cars driving along, and glass breaking. Our old house—before Mom left—was in a nicer area, but still, being as close as we were was something normal people read about or heard about, not experienced. Then again, as I'd been noticing since I'd met him, Soda wasn't all that normal.

Soda wrapped his arms around me and stretched weirdly. "Glory, but you're cold!"

I leaned farther back into him. "I'm alright," I said, and twisted, looking at him. "Are you okay? I'm not squishing you, am I?"

He shook his head and let his chin rest on my shoulder instead that time. "Yer thinkin' about something, I know it."

I placed my hands on his thighs and ran them back and forth for a few moments. "How do you know that?" I asked, leaning into his arm to look at him.

Soda turned his head and grinned slightly. "I can see the wheels turnin' in your head." He brushed my hair behind my ear.

I grinned a little in response, mulling what he said over. "Can you blame me?"

He still had that slight grin on his face. "Nope."

I kissed him. I wanted to ask him what he meant by saying he heard shots again that close, but instead I kissed him. I kissed him hard. I shifted so that I was facing him, and put my hands on the back of his neck while he pulled my closer as he rested his hands on the small of my back. It wasn't a sweet kiss like he'd been giving me since we'd started doing whatever it was that we were doing; it was long and deep, and what I'd been waiting for to happen for a while.

The screen door opened and slammed shut, and we pulled apart. Darry stood there, looking like he knew he should say something but couldn't figure out what to say, a thermos in hand. I wiped my mouth a little, a blush creeping onto my cheeks.

"I'm heading to work," he grunted, then cleared his throat. "There's, uh, plates in the oven for ya'll if you get hungry."

Soda started playing with my fingers. "Thanks, Darry," he said quietly, and we listened as Darry walked down the steps, over to his truck, and the get in. Two seconds later, the truck back fired, and I jumped, nearly having a heart attack over a stupid automobile.

I started shaking again, but tried to stop it. There was no use getting worked up over it. Things happened, right? Oh, but these things didn't. These things were meant to cause drama in movies and happen in westerns, not while I was kissing one of the most handsome boys I've seen since James Dean. And that was saying something considering he died when I was six.

"Hey, it's alright," Soda whispered.

I took a calming breath and melted into him. I wanted to ask him how he dealt with it whenever it happened last time, but instead I blurted, "I really like you, Sodapop Curtis."

Soda chuckled. "Yeah, I really dig you, too," he said and patted my leg. "C'mon, let's go on in. It's gettin' cold out, and the TV will keep you from jumpin' at the sound of cars backfiring."

I wrinkled my nose at him, making a face. "Har de har har."

He smirked and helped me up, leading me back into the house. "Hey, I'm gonna go check on Pony real quick, okay?"

I nodded and he headed off down the hall. "You think it'd be okay if I used your phone?" I called after him.

"Yeah," he hollered back, and then I heard a bedroom door open and close.

I almost didn't use it to call anyone. It was like it was taunting me, saying that the minute you start telling people, it'll become a reality, and you won't be able to wake up from the images that you saw.

I picked it up just to spite it, and dialed home. Izzy picked up.

"Hello?" he answered, sounding rushed.

"Izzy? It's Andy. Aren't you supposed to be leaving for work by now?"

"No, I got a little bit before then."

"Oh." I paused, twirling the cord around my fingers. I could hear Soda and Pony talking down the hall, but I couldn't make out their words. "Is Dad or Birdie home?"

"Andy, you know Dad works on Saturdays."

I mentally scolded myself. "Right, right, I knew that."

"Uh huh … Was there something you wanted?"

"What about Birdie?"

"What about him?"

"Is he home?"

"No. He walked out of his room and hopped into a friend's car not too long after you two left. Why?"

My heart skipped, and I started thinking all sorts of bad things. "You don't think …" I stopped, not wanting to finish the thought or sentence. Did that guy have blond hair? I started imagining the worse. Birdie, shot up in an alleyway. Birdie, dead in a casket. Birdie …

"Think what?" I didn't answer. "Hey, what's with the worryin'? Are you high or something?"

"No. I was just wonderin', is all." Boy, what a lie. Well, maybe not. I didn't know anymore.

"You know Birdie; he was probably hittin' on a girl somewhere."

"Yeah, that's it," I said, trying to reassure myself. I wasn't about to tell Izzy about this afternoon until he confronted me about it. There would be loads of stories floating around the bars tonight about it, I was sure of that, and I'd wait until then.

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