AN: Hey, guys! I realized with the help of my lovely beta, whose reviews can always be found on my chapters, that a few things may be a bit confusing. Even though I am sticking to the book, I like a few of the things from the movie (i.e.: Soda yelling during Dally's death (I assumed it was Soda; it sounded like him to me); Dally's necklace), and have incorporated them into my story. Now, read on, read the reviews, and read Skittles work, too, please! :)

Going back to school on Wednesday would have been impossible if it weren't for Dally's reminder in my mind all day. When my home economics teacher pulled me to the side and broke down, telling me about her own brother who died young, I didn't cry. Get tough.

When the principal called me in to talk, I stared back at him blankly. Nothing can touch you. He sent a note with me. I broke the taped seal carefully, reading that he thought that I was doing as well as I could, considering the circumstances. That I was doing okay. What a fool that man was.

I didn't hear the whispers. I didn't see the looks. I took notes. I did my assignments. I made myself into the model student, hoping it would be enough to make people think I was fine and overlook me.

\When Evie and Karen asked me if I was okay, I shrugged them off. "Why wouldn't I be?" I asked and they looked at me like I had lost my marbles. Evie started to say more, but Karen cut her off.

"Ponyboy was in the hospital." That was news to me. "Was he?" I asked, more because they were waiting for an answer than because I wanted to talk.

"Yes," Evie said. "Stevie, he said Soda's been worried sick. He an' Darry ain't been to work at all since that night. Pony's been real sick." I honestly hadn't even noticed he wasn't in school.

After school we went to the DX, which was pretty normal for us. We always went to the DX after school so Sandy and Evie could see Soda and Steve. But Sandy was gone and Johnny and Dally were dead, but we were still doing things we had always done, like nothing at all had changed.

"Where's Sodapop?" I asked, realizing all of a sudden that he wasn't at the counter but Steve was. Usually Steve worked on the cars while Soda did all the up-front work. We all knew it was because Soda was so handsome. The manager knew it, too, and he made a lot more money with Soda there because girls would come with the smallest car problems just to see him.

They all turned to look at me funny. "Didn't you hear a word we've been sayin', Brookie? Ponyboy's still sick, so Soda and Darry are stayin' home with him until he gets to feelin' better." Steve talked to me real slow like I was dumb. Maybe I was. "They can't afford that," I said like it made any difference. Steve just shrugged and Evie squeezed my arm.

Tim walked in then, his eyes dry but puffy. "I thought I'd find you here, Brooklyn. Can I talk to you for a minute?" I slid off my counter stool and followed him outside to the high fence that sat outside the DX. Tim kind of tossed me up onto the ledge before jumping up himself.

"What's up, Tim?"

He lit a cigarette and took a drag before offering it to me. I was going to tell him no thanks, but he looked sad. I had never seen Tim Shephard look so heartbroken, so I put the cigarette in my mouth before even thinking about it.

"You doin' okay, kid?" Tim had always been like a brother to me. He was just like Dally. They weren't best friends for nothing. I just shrugged and Tim shrugged back.

"How's about the other kid? Heard he was real sick." I shrugged again.

"I guess so. That's what Kare said." We passed the cigarette back and forth quietly for a bit. I swung my legs. Tim ran the zipper of his black leather jacket up and down its track.

"When's the funeral?" If it weren't so quiet, I wouldn't have heard him. Tim stared down at his boots like he'd like to kill them if they were alive.

"Tomorrow." I started to shake a little bit, and not just from the cold. I closed my eyes and reminded myself not to cry. Tim shook his head and the wind picked up his dark, curly hair, making him look even wilder than usual for just a second.

"I guess I'll see you there, then." He pushed himself down and then turned, stretching his arms out to catch me. When my feet hit the ground, for just a second, Tim Shephard hugged me before letting go and looking a little embarrassed.

"See you there," I said, but he was already walking quickly down the street.

For my mother's funeral, I wore a hand-me-down dove gray dress that one of my older cousins had worn the previous year to her sister's wedding. For Dally's funeral, I wore one of my mother's black dresses. It was old, from the forties, and I had to take up the hem six inches because my mother had been so much taller than me.

I remembered, for my mother's funeral, my father had managed to braid my hair straight down my back. So that's how I did my hair that day, parted and braided down the middle. Even though I knew I wasn't going to cry because there was no way I would let myself, I didn't put any makeup on. I looked and felt like I was all of ten years old.

I hooked Dally's necklace around my neck. It had once been my mother's, a little medallion with a saint on it, but I couldn't tell you which one. After she died, Dally had started to wear it. It was police evidence for a few days, but when it was returned to us, Dad handed it to me without even looking at it. I reckoned that made it mine.

Dad was wearing the exact same suit he wore years ago to my mother's funeral, and his hair was parted off to the side. Unlike me, though, he looked an awful lot older than he was. We walked to the graveyard arm and arm because aside from the giant trucks he drove across the country for his work, Dad didn't have a car.

We were the first ones there, except for the preacher and Dally's casket. I refused to think that Dally was in there. Dally in a box? It was an impossible thought. I kept my hand rested on my father's arm, staring down at the grass. It was still green. How could the grass be alive when it was covering so much death?

Johnny was buried just after his death in the hospital cemetery. His parents turned his body over to them. They didn't even care enough to bury them, or have the conscious to go through the motions like my father did.

Tim was the first of Dally's friends to come. His eyes were puffy again, and he was in black literally head to toe, from his black hair to his black boots. Angela was a few steps behind him. I hoped Sylvia wouldn't show her face. In all the commotion of what had been going on, I had forgotten Dally's stupid on-again, off-again girlfriend. I would let Angela have a go at her if she came, I decided.

Karen and Evie came together. Darry stayed home with Ponyboy, but Steve, Soda, and Two-Bit came. Nobody even tried to smile. When I saw Buck Merril walk up, I nearly died myself of surprise. I didn't figure ol' Buck would come. Dally was more of a bully than a friend to him, but there he was. He even wore black and looked like he was sad.

Karen held on to my free hand. Funerals were old hat to me. A reading by a preacher, a lowering of the body, family members throwing dirt onto the coffin. That's exactly what went on that day. My mother's funeral, though, had been much bigger and had had a church service. Her whole family came and cried and hugged me and Dally, when Dally would allow it. But Dally's funeral had no church service. We were at a loss of what to do after he was covered in dirt.

Nobody cried at Dally's funeral. I knew the boys wouldn't. Greasers hardly ever cry. Karen and Angela and Evie all stayed dry eyed. I guess they were following my lead. Everyone stood around for a bit, but there was something I had to do.

I broke away from my father; squeezed Karen's hand and let go. I had to thank Sodapop Curtis for what he did. Maybe the other boys yelled too. Heck, I'm sure they did yell out to the cops that Dally was just a kid and not to shoot, but I had only heard Soda because he was so close to me when it happened. He was also the one who pulled me back. I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't. I might have joined Dally, and that thought scared me something awful.

I kept my eyes on the ground again. I hated seeing the pity and sadness in people's eyes, so I would just look at the ground.

"Thank you," I said, looking down on my shoes a few inches from his. He stooped forward, trying to look me in the eyes. I raised my head, but looked behind him at a tree.

"Thank you," I said again, "for that night." He didn't say anything. I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye.

"Are you okay?" He asked after I stood in front of him for probably longer than I should have. I just couldn't make myself move back towards the grave yet. Get tough.

I tried to smile and told Soda my favorite lie, "I'm fine."