I woke up in white hot agony. My face was bruised and swollen and my nose was definitely broken. I grumbled out about how much I hate Ponyboy Michael Curtis and went to knock on my mother's bedroom door. Maybe I was acting like a baby, but I wanted her.

I spent the next hour and a half on my mother's bed, being lectured by her while also being taken care of. She poured disinfectant into the cuts that were littering my body and I groans in pain. My cheekbone was split open, both my eyes were black and almost swollen shut, and my lower lip was split. My nose was broken, but my mom said it wasn't too bad. It would most likely heal back properly. I thought I had a concussion, but my mom just rolled her eyes and called me a baby when I said that.

"Hey! Hey, Douglas!" I rolled my eyes with a huff. Two-Bit Matthews had been following me for the last three blocks and it was starting to get on my nerves. He came up behind me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Hey buddy!"

I shot him a glare, but he just smiled widely at me. "What do you want, Matthews?"

"Well you see, Bryon, I heard about the little spat you and Ponyboy had last night," he said in a smug voice, "he came home so riled up." I stared the greased angrily.

"Really? He was riled up? How do you think I feel?" I motioned to my swollen and bruised face, scowling.

Two-Bit didn't seem deterred, as he kept his arm firmly wrapped around my shoulders. His grin stayed glued to his face. I eyed him unhappily. Two-Bit was always one of my least favorite of the Curtis family gang. I met him back in middle school. His rusty hair was even more greasy back then than it was now.

Back in middle school I didn't really notice anything about his appearance other than his greaser hair, but I could take it in now. He was roughly around the same height as me, maybe give or take a couple inches. It was hard to tell while we walked He was wider than me, definitely, but not in a way that made him look fat, just stocky. His skin was light, but still darker than mine. He smiled widely and his grey eyes shined in the sunlight.

"I'm sure you don't feel very good, Kid. Ponyboy's a real good fighter alright. It's from getting jumped so much. That an' all the rumbles. We greasers gotta be tough, right Douglas?"

I muttered in agreement, but I was still mad. What could Two-Bit possibly want? His friend had basically beat me up the night before. I was embarrassed enough as it is, I didn't need him coming up to me to run it in more. "So," I began, removing Matthews' arm from around me, "what do you want?"

"Oh, well, it isn't what I want, dear Bryon. It's what Pony wants. And he wants to apologize for last night. Or rather he wanted me to apologize for him. Boy was he embarrassed this morning. He woke up with his knuckles all busted up and couldn't even remember just about any of last night." I quirked an eyebrow and Two-Bit continued. "He was kinda wasted last night. I'm not sure what on– golly I don't think he even knows what on. Anyway, Pone is awful sorry about, well, beatin' you up. An' he wanted me to ask you if you would wanna come to his house for dinner tonight. Actually, Darry an' SodaPop wanted me to invite you to dinner so they could say sorry for the little one, but that ain't the point."

I groaned inwardly. Matthews sure talked a lot. He could just drone on and on about anything. He began to speak again, but I quickly cut him off. "Matthews, shut up. I'll come. Damn. Do you always talk this much? Geez, man."

The rusty headed boy flashed a smile, slapping me on the back roughly, all but knocking the breath from my lungs. "Great! Be there at seven. You know where the place is, right?" I nodded and he smiled once again. "Okay good. Me an' Stevey will be there too. Y'all know each other from school, right? Steve Randle? He's a senior with me this year. You're a junior, right? And Pony's a sophomore. Johnny would've been a sophomore this year too, but… well, you know." He raddled on excitedly, up until the end. As soon as he brought up the boy, Johnny, his voice got quiet and his face got sad as he trailed off.

I knew who Steve Randle was. Mark had introduced him to me one day. Mark said he was kind of in our group, 'cause we knew Curly Shepard and Curly knew Tim and Tim knew Dallas Winston and Dallas knew Steve. Mark sure did know how to split hairs like that. I didn't like Steve when I met him. He seemed like a jerk. He was seventeen then, a junior, and I was sixteen. He tall and skinny and pale. His eyes were sunken in and his eyebrows were bushy, but nothing compared to his crazy swirly hair that was absolutely lathered in grease. We had met at Buck's place. I remember seeing Dallas Winston standing near us as Mark introduced Steve and I, his blue eyes sharp as he glared at me. His long white-blond haired looked red and blue because of all the buzzing neon signs that were hung around everywhere. He wasn't greasy like the rest of that gang he ran around with were, but he was still considered a greaser nonetheless. I had been real scared of Dallas Winston back then. He seemed like he was untouchable, but also like he could kill you without even trying– that's why I had been so surprised when I heard about him being killed. Unsurprisingly, he went out in a true blaze of glory. It seemed fitting.

"Well," Two-Bit began again, voice quieter than before, "I'll see you at seven Douglas, 'Kay? Make sure you ain't late." With that, Matthews walked away, leaving me alone on the corner of Pickett and Sutton.

With a sigh, I stuffed my fists into the pockets of my jacket and turned on my heel to head back home to get ready for dinner t the Curtis residence.