I just finished one story and I'm already working on this new one. This is chapter 1, but it's more like a prologue since it's shorter than normal. I hope you all enjoy! As always, reviews, favorites, follows, etc. are appreciated!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders or anything related to the story created by S.E. Hinton.

(Ponyboy's POV)

I kicked a rock a few feet in front of me, watched it bounce and roll on the pavement, and then when I caught up to it, I kicked it again. I had just left the movie house and wasn't sure what to do with the rest of the day, and kicking a rock was enough entertainment for the time being. It was summer, so it wasn't like I had any homework to do, but it was also the first summer without Johnny or Dally, so I was bored and I missed my two dead friends.

Johnny was my best friend in the world, and even though it was almost a year since he died, the pain still felt fresh. I missed him so much, especially on days when Two-Bit was off doing something and everyone else was working. Johnny would've been up for doing anything, especially if it meant he was out of the sight of his parents. All things considered, he didn't complain about them as much as he should have. Johnny had a rough life, but he had the gang, and I liked to believe we made his life better.

Back when he was alive, I didn't really think Dally would've considered us friends, but since his death, I started to believe he actually cared about me; maybe not as much as he cared about Johnny, but he still saved my skin more than once, and I owed him for that. In his own way, I figured Dally was nice to me, relatively speaking at least.

I kicked the rock again and debated what to do on a nice Saturday afternoon. The library was always an option, but I still had a couple books at home I hadn't read yet, so I decided against it. I kicked the rock one more time before a black car pulled up next to me. For a moment, I felt myself panic, remembering all the times I had been jumped, but a moment later, I realized it was a type of car that a tuff greaser would own, not a Soc; it wasn't new or shiny enough for them. Then a familiar voice came from the driver's seat.

"Hey Ponyboy!" Curly Shepard yelled through the open window. He parked the car and got out, resting his arms of the roof of the vehicle and looking at me. "Need a ride home?"

"Hey Curly," I said with relief. I looked at the car, then gave him a smirk. "Nice ride. Whose is it?"

"What, you don't think I can get a car like this?" Curly asked with fake hurt. "You gonna keep givin' me lip? Cause if you are, I'll just leave you here and you can walk home."

I shrugged. "It's a nice day outside."

He rolled his eyes. "Just get in the car," he said, then he ducked down to sit in the driver's seat.

Not one to argue with Curly, especially if he was trying to do me a favor, I got into the passenger's seat. "Thanks Curly."

"Don't mention it," he said.

I stayed quiet for a minute or two, but when I noticed we weren't headed in the direction of my house, I spoke up. "Uh, Curly? You know my house ain't this way…" Where is he going?

He nodded, then gave me a sideways glance as he kept driving. "I know, I just need to do one thing, then I'll drop you off."

I was a little confused, but I gave Curly the benefit of the doubt. "You could drop me off first, then I wouldn't be taggin' along with whatever else you got going on."

Curly shook his head as he chuckled under his breath. "Look, I need your help with something. Alright?"

I immediately had a bad feeling about the situation. I should've known Curly wouldn't just offer me a ride home out of the blue. I mentally cursed myself for once again not using my head.

"Curly, you know I can't get in trouble," I started. "The state will come after us, and Darry will beat the tar outta me."

"Nobody said anything 'bout gettin' in trouble," Curly said with a smile, like I had completely misunderstood him. "I just have this one thing I gotta do, and you can help me out. That's it."

Maybe I should just jump out of the car now.

"Listen, the sooner you help me out, the sooner you'll be home. Your brothers won't even know you were gone," Curly assured me.

I wanted to argue, to demand him to bring me home, but I couldn't make myself do it. I still felt like I had to prove that I was a tough greaser and not some kid that wanted to run and hide. After an internal debate, I sighed. "Fine, what do I have to do?"