[Two-Bit's POV]
Staying after school to babysit the youngest Curtis brother wasn't the most ideal way I could think of to spend my afternoon, but pissing off Darry Curtis by saying no didn't seem like such a good idea either. It wasn't all bad, though, since the blondes I was able to find were clearly into me. They unfortunately had to leave, something about a study group or whatever, so I was forced to actually pay attention to the practice.
Ponyboy isn't one to brag, but it doesn't take an expert to see that he's the best one out there, despite only being a sophomore. He always seemed to pull ahead of the crowd in every race and finish the drills half as winded as anyone else. The bleachers weren't exactly comfortable, though, so it was a relief when I heard his coach announce they'd only be doing one more drill.
I watched as Ponyboy volunteered to go first. Why he's so eager to run back and forth is beyond me, but then again the concept of sports in general is something I've never really been able to get behind. Sure, I'd gone to some of Darry's football games, but never sober.
The kid took off like a bullet, clearly tuning out everyone around him and going to whatever world in his head he always seemed to be in. He flew down the track and the team watched in awe, the only sound being the rhythmic slapping of his tennis shoes against the ground. That is until that rhythm was disrupted by the irregular sound of untied shoelaces on one of Pony's shoes hitting the ground.
Oh shit.
And now the kid was using that exact foot to pivot and turn around.
Oh. Shit.
I watched as Ponyboy came crashing down, unsuccessfully attempting to catch himself with his left wrist and hitting his head in the process. Silence descended upon the practice as everyone watched anxiously, waiting for him to get up.
Despite what Steve may think, Pony's a tough kid. He always gets up. The only reason he wouldn't ever get up would be if he physically couldn't. Which was a realization I came to as I watched him lay motionless on the ground.
His coach seemed to come to the same realization I did, rushing to his side as I ran down the steps of the bleachers. I reached them as his coach gently turned him over, revealing Ponyboy's closed eyes.
I dropped to my knees as his coach gently tapped his cheek and tried to get him up.
"Ponyboy, hey, can you hear me?" his coach asked.
No response.
I decided to take matters into my own hands and tapped his face harder.
"Wakey wakey Pone! C'mon kid, get up!" I yelled frantically.
No response.
His coach turned the crowd of onlooking team members. "Call an ambulance."
A few of them rushed off, hopefully to find a phone, and I turned my attention back to Ponyboy.
"Okay Pony, this isn't funny anymore! You can get up now!"
I attempted to lighten the mood, but each word came out of my mouth more and more panicked.
"Hold his head still," his coach instructed. I couldn't even tell you this man's name, let alone if he had any medical training, but in that moment he seemed to know what to do and I took his word for it.
I positioned my hands on either side of Ponyboy's face as his coach checked for further injuries.
"His wrist may be broken, we should know more once the ambulance gets here."
I swallowed hard and nodded, silently praying that the kid would be okay.
After what felt simultaneously like an eternity and only a few seconds, the ambulance arrived along with two paramedics. They quickly got to work on Ponyboy; checking his pulse, taking his blood pressure, and doing whatever other medical procedures they felt necessary.
"Can you tell me his name? Age?" one of the paramedics asked. It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me, and even then I was so frozen in fear I couldn't seem to speak.
"Ponyboy Curtis, 15 years old," his coach replied, looking at me worriedly. Whether his worry was for Ponyboy or me not answering I couldn't say.
The paramedics continued to check the kid over as I held his head still and tried not to hyperventilate. One of them leaned over Pony's face and before I could ask what he was doing he slowly opened one of Ponyboy's eyes and shined a flashlight in it. He quickly moved to the other eye, doing the same test, though this time Ponyboy was responsive. He groaned and attempted to jerk away from the bright light in his face, but was unable to as I held his head still.
"Hey, sleepy-head!" I said, once again trying to lighten the mood and hide my own anxieties.
Ponyboy stared up at me as though he had no idea who I was, and the blank look in his eyes told me he probably wasn't all there.
The paramedics tried asking Ponyboy questions such as his name or the date, but he continued to stare silently at me. I stared back, unsure of what to do, as if he had challenged me to the most intense staring contest of our lives.
Eventually, Ponyboy's eyes began to droop closed again, despite the paramedics' attempts to keep him awake.
"We've got to get this kid out of here," I heard one of them murmur. Before I knew it Ponyboy was being placed on a gurney and I was following him into the back of an ambulance.
I gripped his non-injured hand the entire ride to the hospital as the paramedics tried to keep him conscious and get him to answer questions, both to no avail.
It was as I was staring at his lifeless body, silently willing him to be okay, that I realized I was going to tell Darry and Soda what had happened.
Oh. Shit.