Sunday morning everyone slept late, except for Darry, who was gone before any of us even woke up. He had some new job where they had to get all the work done in short periods of time, at strange hours, when the businesses weren't open.

I finally shuffled out of my room at around ten-thirty. Soda was sitting at the kitchen table, watching intently everything Pony did at the stove.

"Hungry, Soda?" I asked.

"Starving," he smiled, realizing that he had been staring. "How was your date?" Pony and Soda had been asleep when Darry and I had gotten home.

"Right, like Darry would let me go out on a date!" I said. "I think his date went good though," I said.

"Went well, you mean," Pony said, not even turning around.

"Pony, I'm not writing a damned essay here, or speaking to the President, I'm talking to my brother in my own kitchen. Lay off." I hated when he corrected me all the time.

"Well, a little feisty today, huh?"

"Shut it, Pone." I think we were both on edge about court the next day. I was wondering what they would ask me. I was afraid that I wouldn't remember a lot of the details about what had happened all that well. And I hadn't even seen the actual stabbing. Plus, I wasn't really sure what the point of any of it was anyway; everyone knew that Johnny was the one who had killed Bob, and he was already dead. I mean, what were they gonna do, dig up his coffin and put it in jail? I didn't see why anyone had to go to court at all, really.

"Soda, are you coming with us tomorrow?" Somehow I just felt like it would be easier for me and Pony with all of us there.

"I don't have to go in until two. I switched with one of the afternoon guys. So, yeah."

That was good. In my experience, court usually started early and, hopefully, if things went well, we would be out of there by the time Soda had to work.

Pony had gone silent. He put eggs and hash on each of our plates, put the pans in the sink, and sat and ate silently, staring at his plate.

"You okay, Pony?" Soda asked. I knew I had gotten him upset by bringing up court. I supposed he had a lot more to be nervous about than I did.

"I'm fine," he said, the stress easily detectible in his voice.

"It'll be fine, Pony," Soda said, putting his arm around him and putting his hand under his chin and forcing him to look up. "You didn't do anything wrong, Pony. Or Scout, either. You didn't do anything."

"I know," Pony said, his voice wavering. I know he hated crying in front of me, so I got up and went into the bathroom, giving him a second to regroup. When I came back, he was composed but silent. He finished his breakfast and put his dishes in the sink, heading back into his bedroom. I heard the door shut and moved over closer to Soda.

"Has he talked to you about them, at all?" I asked.

"Not really," Soda said. "Whenever I try to bring it up, he starts to cry and then gets mad. He says he doesn't want to talk about it."

"Did Darry tell you what happened when that kid's friend came to see him?" I asked.

"Yeah." Soda looked concerned.

"I'm worried, Soda. What if that happens in court? What if they think he's crazy or something?"

"He's not crazy, Scout." Soda put his hand on my shoulder. "He's upset. He lost his best friend. I know how that feels."

First I was confused, thinking he meant Steve, but then I realized he meant Sandy.

"Now they want to make him talk about it, in front of everybody. He's scared, Scout. You know how he hates to cry in front of you, and Darry. Christ, that girl he likes will be there. He's afraid he'll embarrass himself."

I realized how, no matter how close Pony and I ever managed to get, Soda would always understand him better than I would. I had never even thought about that, how he just didn't want to cry in front of everyone. I remembered how I had bawled the last time we went to court; I guess that wouldn't look so tough in front of a group of people when you had your reputation to think about.

"I'll get the dishes," I said. "You go with him." Pony needed Soda, not me.

I washed and dried all the dishes and the pans, keeping myself busy by washing and drying the pans under the burners on the stove, rearranging things in the refrigerator, and even throwing out a few things in there that looked to be well past their prime. I took out some hamburger from the freezer to defrost for dinner and, finally, realizing it was almost noon, I took a shower and got dressed, donning the bra that Anna had given me the night before, and feeling a bit sad that it had been Anna, and not my Mom, who had been the one to usher me through that rite of passage.

I sighed and opened my top drawer, taking out Mom's ring that Darry had given to me last Christmas. I never wore it because I was too afraid to lose it; I kept it in a box with the Starfish necklace that dad had given me just before he died. Those were my connection to them; all I had left that connected them to me. I could put that necklace and ring on and feel them, physically, on my body, a part of me.

God, I missed them.

I put the ring back into the box, closed the drawer and went back out into the living room. Soda was on the couch watching TV and looking at some car magazine. He and Steve occasionally used to bring girly magazines into the house but once Darry found Ponyboy looking at one and completely flipped his lid. I thought the whole thing was pretty funny, because he tried to yell at the boys about it without letting on to me what was going on or what he was mad about. Of course, I knew the whole time.

I sat down next to Soda on the couch and he put the magazine down. "He doesn't want to talk to me," he said. "He's just drawing, or something."

"When's Darry coming home?" I asked. I just always felt like with Darry around, things felt safer. I guess that was why I had panicked so much when he had been missing the other day.

"Two, I think, he said."

I looked at the clock. It was a little before one.

"Steve's coming over and we're going out for a while," he said. "You okay alone here with Pony?"

"I'm fine," I said. I had been wanting to ask Soda something for a while, though.

"Hey… Soda?"

"What?" he was tossing a pen into the air, flipping it and catching it. He couldn't sit still.

"How old were you when you had your first kiss?"

He sat up, stared at me and smiled. "You're kissing someone? Who?"

"I'm not," I said. "I just wondered how old you were."

"Ten," he said, suddenly bashful.

"Soda!" I said. "Ten? Seriously? Who?"

"Jackie Traynor. On the playground, in fifth grade."

"A real kiss?"

"It sure felt real. But I guess if you're talking about tongue, it was seventh grade, Bonnie Johnson."

"Soda…" now I was laughing.

"You shouldn't be kissing anyone, though," he said. "Minimum age for girls is sixteen."

"You just told me you kissed a ten-year-old."

"Oh, right… well, in the case of a Curtis girl, that ain't allowed."

I smacked him with a pillow. "How old was Darry?" I asked.

"Well, I caught him making out in the lot with Linda Garvey when he was twelve. Before that, I don't know."

I didn't ask about Ponyboy. He was just so shy around girls. I wasn't sure if he had even had his first kiss yet, and I almost felt bad thinking that I might have mine before him.

Just as I was thinking that, Steve came in the door. He looked annoyed to see me, but I think after Anna's comment about all guys looking at girls' boobs, he was the first one I noticed actually do it. I am sure he noticed that I was wearing a bra. He gave my a sneer-like look when Soda wasn't looking. I could never understand what his problem was. I knew his dad beat on him, but I sure didn't have anything to do with that. I just got up and went back into my room.

"You guys have fun."

"Seeya, Scout. Darry should be home soon." Soda and Steve headed out the door.

"'Kay," I called.

I waited until I was sure they were gone and then wandered down toward Ponyboy's room. I hesitated for a moment then knocked on the door.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding as hesitant as I had felt about knocking.

I opened the door. He was sitting at his desk, writing something.

"What're you doing?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. Okay, I thought, so he doesn't want to talk. I sat down on the bed and suddenly something peeking out from under the bed caught my eye. I reached down and pulled it out. I saw Pony watching me. I felt my breath catch. It was Dally's jacket. I had forgotten; Pony had it at the church. Dallas had loaned it to him that night.

I just held it, looking at the burn on the back. It must have been from the church fire. I raised it to my nose, for some reason smelling it, wanting it to remind me of Dallas, of who he had been. I was already forgetting him, as much of a character as he had been. I could remember my Mom and Dad- their smells, their voices. But after only a few weeks I could feel Dallas and Johnny fading away, bit by bit. Pony watched me the whole time, and, as I finally lay back on the bed, holding Dally's jacket against me, he came and sat with me. He didn't say anything, just rubbed my back. So, for sure, he must have noticed my new undergarment, but, to his credit, he said nothing at all.

"I missed it, Pony," I said, eventually. "I missed both of them dying. I just woke up and they were gone."

"You didn't want to be there," he said, and I was surprised to see that he was crying, tears running down his cheeks, but his voice was as even as ever. "It was hard, Scout. It was really hard. I'm glad you weren't there."

I realized that Pony was the only one of us who had seen both Johnny and Dally die. Suddenly I just felt bad- really, truly bad for him. The enormity of what he had bottled up inside of him hit me. I could see how he was at the very edge of what he could handle, emotionally. I remembered what Darry had said, how he couldn't bear to have to tell us if anything had had happened to Two-Bit; he was right. Pony, at least, just couldn't take any more.

"Pony, are you going to be okay, at court tomorrow?" I was really worried about him. I didn't care what they asked me, but I wished I could be a buffer around Pony, protecting him from anything they might ask that would upset him.

"I hope so," he said, with more honesty in his voice than I had heard since his breakdown at the church.

"Pony…" I sat up, and he sat up beside me and looked down at the floor. I wasn't sure what I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him that it was okay to cry; that nobody would think any less of him. But, then again, I wasn't a fourteen year old boy trying to be tough in front of his brothers and in front of the girl he had a crush on, and the people who had, in essence, killed his best friend.

"You won't be alone," was the best I was able to manage.

"I know," he said. "But I feel like a traitor, Scout. He was my best friend. And I have to stand up in court and say he did something terrible. He killed somebody. And it was because of me." Now he was really crying, the way he had been at the church. "It was because of me, Scout."

"It wasn't your fault, Pony." Now I was the one doing the back rubbing.

"It was. If I didn't fall asleep that night, if I didn't run out when Darry got mad. We never should have even been there." His body was racking with sobs now, and I frantically searched my mind for evidence to prove him wrong, to show that it hadn't been his fault.

"Pony, you didn't do anything wrong. You were just there. They came after you. They made the wrong choice. Johnny was just fighting back. Everybody knows that. Nobody is blaming you. Johnny didn't blame you." This, of course, I was not sure about; I had never seen Johnny again after I left the church, but I knew that Johnny had loved Ponyboy like a brother.

He just cried. We sat on the bed, Dally's jacket crushed between us. I didn't know what else to do, but just let him cry, so that's all I did, rubbing his back and telling him, over and over again, "It wasn't your fault, Pony. It wasn't your fault," hoping that eventually he would believe it. At one point I looked up to see Darry standing in the doorway. I hadn't heard him come in. He gave me a questioning look and I gave him a slight nod, thinking that maybe it was better for Pony to not know that he had witnessed this. He nodded back, and turned and quietly walked toward the kitchen.

Pony let me hold him for a few more minutes as his crying slowed and he stopped shaking.

"I'm okay now," he said softly, letting go of me.

"Are you sure?" I asked. He looked better, but far from okay.

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks."

"You need anything?" I asked him. That question seemed completely ridiculous once I had asked it; the enormity of what he needed was so far beyond my capability to provide it.

"No, I'm good. I think I'm just gonna read for a while."

"Okay, I said, walking over to the door. "You want it closed?"

"Yeah, thanks."

I almost told him, one more time before I left, that nobody blamed him, but he had already picked up a book and started reading so I just closed the door and went down the hallway into the kitchen. Darry was sitting expectantly at the table.

"So what was that all about?" he asked, quietly.

I pulled the chair out and sat next to him.

"I found Dally's jacket- I forgot that Pony had it. I was looking at it and, well, he finally started talking about them. He thinks it was his fault, what happened to Johnny. And he feels like he's betraying him, or something, by testifying about it. I told him nobody thinks it's his fault."

Darry just sighed and shook his head. I remembered then that Darry had said to me once that he felt everything was all his fault, for hitting Pony that night. It suddenly occurred to me that it was possible to assign blame in any direction, if you thought about it enough. It could have been my fault, for not making my presence known at the park; maybe if there was a girl there the Socs wouldn't have started anything. It could have been Two-Bit's fault, for not sticking with Pony and Johnny after the movie, it could have been Dally's fault for leaving them at the movies, it could have been Bob's parents' fault, for raising him to be a bully… My head was spinning at the thought of how somehow, we all were to blame, and yet, no matter who you picked, it didn't make a damned bit of difference in the end.

Dallas and Johnny were gone. Forever. And no matter who anyone chose to blame, that fact was not gonna change. I found myself sighing and shaking my head as well.

"Are you nervous?" Darry asked, "about court?"

"Not really about me," I said. "I didn't even see anything, and I already told the cops how I got the knife. I just hope I remember everything okay. I'm scared for Pony, though."

"Yeah," Darry said, "I know what you mean. Maybe that helped, though, a little bit? Talking to you?"

"I don't know," I said. I was pretty skeptical. When it came to providing any kind of comfort for my brothers I generally felt like I came up short.

"I don't even get it, Darry, why we have to go to court about this. Everybody knows it was Johnny that killed him, and he's already dead. What's the point?"

"I really don't know, baby."

"They aren't gonna punish Pony, are they? He didn't even do anything."

"Well, as long as everybody else says the same thing, they shouldn't."

"I'm just tired of all this. Court. Why can't they just leave us alone?"

"Tell me about it," Darry said, and there was no betraying the exhaustion in his voice. I realized he was worrying not only for himself, but for both me and Pony too.

"Come here," I pulled him out of the kitchen chair and into the living room and sat him on the floor in front of the couch.

"What are you doing?" he asked as I sat behind him.

"Well, I know I'm no Soda, but, if you coach me, maybe I'll improve," I said, grabbing his shoulders and attempting my best imitation of Soda's backrub.

"Hmmm… Not too bad," he commented, "for a girl." This was one of all three brothers' favorite ways to tease me. They'd start with a compliment; then add "…for a girl."

"Be nice," I said, "or I'll stop."

"I'll be nice," he promised. I did the best I could but I'm sure I was a pretty poor substitute for Soda; my hands were too small and I just wasn't strong enough. Darry sat still and didn't complain, though, even closing his eyes and looking like he was relaxing a little. Finally, after a while, he said:

"So what are you making me for dinner?"

"Me? You should be making me dinner, I'm the one giving you a backrub."

"Not any more!" he yelled, jumping up and tackling me down backwards onto the couch. In a second, he had me flipped over on my stomach, and was about to start tickling me, when he suddenly stopped. I realized immediately what had happened.

"Anna gave it to me," I said, glad I wasn't looking at him. "She said I needed it."

"Oh," he said, "I guess I didn't notice that." He didn't sound embarrassed, at all; he sounded almost sorry.

"Well, that's funny, because she also said all guys do is stare at girls' chests."

Darry didn't have an answer for that right away. "Not their sisters'," he finally said. I laughed and shoved him off me.

"Oh, so you're staring at every other girl's chest all the time?" I asked.

"That's not what I meant," he said, now maybe a little embarrassed. I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with him.

"You said it," I smacked him on the chest.

"I didn't mean it that way." He got serious for a minute. "Seriously, Scout, you don't have to get that stuff from Anna. I can give you some money to buy what you need."

"I know… it's just embarrassing."

"Well, it's not easy for me either. But I know how hard it must be for you, without Mom here. I'm sure I don't have all the answers you'll need or want about growing up, but I'll try."

"That's funny, because Ponyboy said the same thing to me at the church."

"Well, no offense to him, but I think my information might be a little more accurate than his." I had to laugh in agreement at that.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said.

"So, who's making dinner, then?" he asked.

"How about Soda?" I suggested.

"Nice try."

"I took out hamburger. What do you want?"

"How about spaghetti and meatballs? I know Pony likes that."

"I guess so," I said, as he dragged me off the couch.

We were still making the meatballs when Soda came back, with Steve and Two-Bit in tow.

"Hey sports fans," Two-Bit said, immediately snapping my bra. Great, so not only had Steve noticed, he had decided to mention it to Soda and Two-Bit.

Darry saw the whole thing and was on him in a second.

"I ever see you do that again and believe me, you'll be lucky if you live to regret it."

"Yes, sir," Two-Bit responded, laughing. I was beet red, I'm sure.

"Seriously, you guys, lay off," Darry said, and his tone said "don't-mess-with-me." The boys retreated back into the living room and started dealing a hand of poker. I gave him a thank-you glance and he gave me a slight grin and went back to his meatballs.

And that, I thought, is what biggest brothers are for.

A/N: Shoot, that was long! Review, please! I love your reviews!