[Ponyboy's POV]

I faked sick once in second grade to get out of presenting my book report. I've always loved reading, but not enough to get up in front of my 25 classmates and tell them about a book.

I executed my plan flawlessly, initiating my scheme the night before with offhanded comments about how I felt hot, or my head hurt. The real show came the morning of, though, when I had put on a performance of a sore throat and stuffy nose that had even fooled my own mother.

It didn't take her long to catch on, though. After all, she had raised my two brothers before me. The lecture I had received when my acting skills had faltered around lunchtime was almost worse than giving the presentation. Almost.

But I wasn't in second grade anymore, I was in tenth. So, when I woke up this morning feeling achy and hot, I had kept it to myself. Neither Darry nor Soda noticed as I choked down my breakfast and muttered a quick "goodbye" before heading out the door. And now, sitting in my third period English class, feeling like death, I wished I had said something.

I avoided Steve and Two-Bit throughout the day, not wanting them to notice how I was feeling and call my brothers. I knew as well as anyone that they couldn't afford to take off work to babysit their fifteen-year-old brother. The ten-minute walk home may have felt like ten miles, but it was better than Two-Bit giving me a ride making a fuss.

My head throbbed with every step I took until I collapsed onto the couch with a sigh of relief. The coolness of the couch's arm helped to ease my flaming cheeks, though it did nothing for the twisting in my stomach or the inability to breathe out of my nose. I should've been laying here all day I thought as I felt myself drifting off. Maybe second grade me had been onto something.

[Darry's POV]

Getting home after an especially long day roofing houses made me want to do nothing more than take a cold shower and crash in bed. That's not what a responsible guardian does, though. Someone had to take care of the cooking and cleaning, and make sure Pony does his homework. I let out a sigh on the porch and straightened up, thinking about my dad and how despite doing this for years, he was always willing to pass the football with me after work and I never heard him utter a single complaint.

As I stepped through the door, I noticed the house was awfully quiet. Steve and Two-Bit must not have stopped by yet, I thought, though Ponyboy usually turned on the TV or the radio at least. It was then that I noticed my youngest brother asleep. He laid sprawled out on the couch, one arm dangling off, his mouth hanging open and snoring softly. I thought it was strange he hadn't even bothered to pull his shoes off until I noticed the redness of his cheeks. I gently laid the back of my hand on his forehead, getting concerned when I felt heat radiating off him.

I pulled off his shoes, moved his dangling arm into a more comfortable position, and carefully draped a light blanket over my little brother. I hoped he wouldn't be too sick, hell, I hadn't seen him like this since he was in the hospital last year after Johnny and Dally died. I thought about waking him up to give him some medicine but instead opted to let him sleep. I carefully lifted his head and sat down on the couch so he could lay on my lap and stroked his hair like Mom used to do whenever we were sick. I smiled to myself as I thought back to all the times she was there for me when I didn't feel well, or at least was trying to pretend not to. She always caught me whenever I faked sick, though. Maybe that's where Pony got his brains, from our all-knowing Mom.

[Sodapop's POV]

Steve and I jabbed at each other, just as we had been the entire walk home from our shift at the DX.

"Wanna stay for dinner?" I asked as we approached my front gate.

"Sure, then I can beat you in poker afterward," Steve shot back.

"Yeah right," I said, rolling my eyes. He knew as well as I did that we'd both cheat until so many cards in the deck had been hidden that we'd eventually settle it through an arm-wrestling match, the game forgotten.

I threw open the door and walked into the house, only to notice it was eerily quiet. I turned to see Ponyboy out cold, sprawled on the couch and laying in Darry's lap. Darry stroked Pony's hair with one hand and used the other to bring a finger to his lips, signaling for us to be quiet and not slam the door.

"He okay?" I asked as I crouched down, feeling his forehead.

"I think so," Darry whispered, "he's got a fever, though. I was gonna wait until he woke up to give him some medicine."

I chuckled softly at Ponyboy's snoring, his nose clearly stuffed. I turned to see Steve standing awkwardly by the door.

"Seeing as how the kid's sick I better be heading out," he said softly.

"You don't gotta leave Steve, you know you're always welcome here," I countered.

"I know, but I can just hunt down Two-Bit, and we'll go find some action. Get out of your guys' hair."

"Okay," Darry replied, "but the couch is open if you need a place to sleep."

Steve nodded in thanks and quietly slipped out the door. He and Pony had become better friends since Johnny and Dally died, or at least didn't entirely hate each other anymore. Still, he seemed uncomfortable around Pony when he was sick. Probably why he was so quick to head out.

I shifted my attention back to Ponyboy and lightly ran my thumb over his cheek. He flinched at my touch and began to stir and shift uncomfortably.

"Pony, you awake?" I asked.

His only reply, though, was to turn over and puke in my lap.