A/N: Am I aware that track and field is typically a spring sport? Yes. Does this story take place in the fall? Also yes. Anyway…

I pulled the double knot of my shoelace tight before taking David's outstretched hand and pulling myself up.

"How you feeling about the 1600, Curtis?" he asked.

I was usually a sprinter, but our team was lacking a strong 1600-meter runner and my coach thought I would be able to win it.

"Okay, I guess. I just hope it doesn't screw up any of my other events."

David nodded knowingly. He was a senior, and one of our best runners, but he only did two events. With the new addition, I was now doing four: the 100 and 400-meter dash, 800-meter relay, and now the 1600.

"I'm sure you'll be fine. You underestimate yourself, Curtis. Always have."

I smiled at David's words as he unknowingly echoed Sodapop. I had been unable to fall asleep last night, worried about how the meet would go. We had to place first as a school in order to qualify for the state championships, and I knew my coach was counting on me to perform well.

"Quit worrying so much, Pony," Soda had reassured, "you always win these things anyway."

It was true, I did usually end up placing first, but I had never done so many events before. Soda tried his best, but he never really dug sports the way I did. Darry would understand, having played football for most of his childhood. He had been acting strange lately, though, so I didn't bug him about it. I didn't know if he was stressed about work or something else, but he had been especially on edge the past week or so.

I turned to scan the bleachers and managed to spot my brothers, along with Two-Bit and Steve. I raised a hand to wave, Darry and Soda waving back, Steve simply nodding. That was about as good as I was going to get from him. Two-Bit had wandered off to find his Blonde of the Week, but I was sure he'd get bored soon. Sure enough, it wasn't long before he began mimicking the cheerleaders' routine, making me crack up in the process.

"Calling all runners for the 100-meter dash! Runners, line up for the 100-meter dash!"

I jogged to the starting line and began stretching, making sure that I was staying warm. I groaned inwardly when I spotted the runner to my left. It was Jimmy Brandt, a Soc from Webster High, who happened to be some of my toughest, and most annoying, competition. If he managed to beat you, he was gloating in your face for the rest of the meet. And if he lost, well, it was worse. At best, you became the subject of his torment, and at worst, he came up with some scheme to try and get you disqualified. I continued to shake out my limbs and tried to ignore him.

"So Curtis, how's it feel to be back after last season? Heard you weren't able to run, what with your murder charge and all. Then again, you probably got plenty of practice running from the cops," he laughed.

I simply rolled my eyes. It was nothing I hadn't heard from the Socs at my own school.

"Runners, to your mark!"

I positioned myself on the starting blocks.

"Get set!"

I took a deep breath.

"Bet your dead friend wished you had run faster, though," muttered Jimmy.

"Go!"

I took off from the blocks, arms pumping. I didn't let Jimmy's words rattle me; instead, I allowed them to fuel me. I thought about all the people I had lost. I thought about all the things that had been said about my friends, and how they weren't able to defend themselves. I mostly thought about Johnny, though. Thinking about my best friend used to crush me, but now I let his memory empower me. Do it for Johnny, I thought.

Before I knew it I had crossed the finish line, slowing to a jog to cool down. I had been so caught up in my thoughts that I didn't know who had won. It must not have been close, though, since the audience was cheering as if they already knew the winner.

"Number 22, Ponyboy Curtis from Will Rogers High wins the 100-meter dash!"

I smiled, breathing deeply while resting my hands on my knees. My teammates swarmed me as I made my way to the bench, high-fiving me, grabbing my shoulders, and congratulating me. The support was nice, but a little overwhelming. I could hear continued clapping and cheering coming from the bleachers, likely the gang.

I realized not everyone was so pleased with my victory, though, as I felt two strong hands push me from behind. I pitched forward onto the track, failing to catch myself. I probably could've walked away with a scrape or two at the most, that is until someone "accidentally" stepped on my ankle. I heard a laugh that sounded suspiciously like Jimmy Brandt's as searing pain shot through my foot. I stood slowly and tried to walk it off, but my ankle buckled. David was suddenly at my left side, my coach at my right. The three of us hobbled over to the bench where I collapsed and shut my eyes, trying to forget the pain as my coach began poking and prodding my ankle. I suddenly felt a hand running through my hair.

"You okay Ponyboy?"

I opened my eyes, surprised to see Darry next to me on the bench. How the hell he made it down here so fast was a mystery to me, but I was glad he was with me nonetheless.

"I'll be fine, just need to rest it a bit. That motherfucker Jimmy pushed me."

"Language," said my coach and Darry simultaneously.

They weren't surprised to hear Jimmy's name, we were all plenty familiar with his antics by now. He had never taken it this far before, though.

"Is his ankle going to be okay?" Darry asked my coach.

"I don't think it's sprained, probably just bruised. It's up to you if you want to run, Ponyboy."

"Of course I'm going to run," I said, causing my brother and coach to laugh. The team was counting on me, I wasn't going to let Jimmy get in the way of that.

"Is this Jimmy kid going to be disqualified?" asked Darry.

My coach sighed. "Though I don't doubt you Ponyboy, believe me, I don't doubt you at all, it seems like no one explicitly saw him do it. Without an unbiased eyewitness, I'm afraid there's nothing we can do."

Darry muttered some colorful language at that, but I knew this would likely be the case. When it came to Jimmy Brandt, there was usually nothing that could be done.

Luckily I had a bit of a break before the rest of my events so I had a chance to ice my ankle. Darry sat with me the whole time, elevating my foot and making sure I was okay to run.

Before I knew it, it was time for the 200-meter dash. I could tell my foot wasn't 100%, but it would have to do. Darry had returned to the bleachers, he technically wasn't supposed to be down here with me in the first place, and I returned to the starting blocks. Jimmy Brandt once again plagued my left side, smirking as he saw me limping slightly.

That smirk faded quickly, though, when I won the 200-meter dash. And the relay. And yes, even the 1600. My ankle was on fire, but it was nothing compared to the feeling I felt after crossing the finish line. I wasn't usually cocky, in fact, I usually hated getting any sort of attention, but I allowed myself to revel in this victory just this once.

My teammates surrounded me once again, cheering so loud you could barely hear the announcer declare that we had swept the meet. I hopped on one foot in an attempt to match my teammates' energy, laughing and chanting with them as we celebrated.

After the energy had died down slightly I hobbled over to the bench to change out of my track cleats. As I was lacing up my Converse, I noticed a shadow suddenly looming over me.

"Dar, you know you're not technically allowed down here right—"

I looked up, surprised to see that it wasn't my brother who stood above me. In fact, it was a man I had never seen before. He seemed strangely familiar, though I couldn't place why.

"Great job out there, kid, winning even with an injury," he complimented.

"Um, thanks," I replied, eyeing the man wearily.

An awkward silence descended upon us as we stood there, both seemingly unsure of what to say.

The man took a deep breath. "So track, huh? How long have you been doing that for?"

"Couple years, I guess," I said, trying to decipher where I knew this guy from. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Gosh, I'm sorry, you probably think I'm some weirdo for coming up to you like this."

I chuckled nervously, not necessarily disagreeing.

"There's not really an easy way to say this…but your mother, Margaret? She was my sister. I'm your uncle."

I barked out a laugh. "But that's impossible, I don't have—"

I felt the color drain from my face as I realized he was right. I did have an uncle.

— — — — — — — — — —

"Who's that?"

"That's your daddy and me on our wedding day."

"Who's that?"

"That's Mommy when she was a little girl, just about your age."

"And who's that?"

My mother paused, nervously rubbing the frayed edges of the photo album.

"That's my brother, Michael. You're named after him, you know."

"How come he don't come to our house ever?"

— — — — — — — — — —

The memory faded after that. I don't know how my mother answered.

I felt lightheaded and began to sway before I was suddenly steadied by a tense hand on my shoulder. I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

"C'mon Pony, we're leaving," declared Darry.

"Please wait, I was only trying to—"

"You've done quite enough," Darry said, his voice suddenly booming.

I felt my cheeks grow warm as onlookers began to stare at us due to Darry's sudden outburst.

"Wait, Darry," I protested, wanting to know what the hell was going on.

"We're leaving, Ponyboy. Sodapop's at the truck," Darry said, helping me back to the car.

I had no choice but to follow him, what with my hurt ankle, so I obliged. I had a million questions, but every time I opened my mouth to ask one I couldn't seem to form the right words. We found Sodapop leaning on the truck, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Geez, you were in a hurry to get out of there, Dar. Hey, who was that guy?" he questioned.

Darry only grunted in response, helping me into the truck before walking around to the driver's side. Judging by Sodapop's demeanor I could tell he didn't witness what had happened on the field, but I was too scared to tell him about it with Darry around.

The drive home was silent, Darry's knuckles white on the steering wheel. Sodapop seemed like he wanted to say something a couple of times, but must've thought better of it. we didn't talk about the races I'd won, my ankle, or the man who had shown up and claimed to be my uncle. Our uncle, I guess.

I always knew my mom had a brother that I was named after, but that was the extent of my knowledge about him. It was a pretty taboo subject around our house, so I didn't dare press for details. It always confused me why I was named after someone we weren't allowed to talk about, but my parents were gone before I was ever able to get any answers.

"So are we gonna talk about it or—" I began.

"Later, Ponyboy. Later," was all Darry said.

A/N: Let me know what you think, reviews make my day!