A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger from last time, I hope this chapter was worth the wait!

"Pick up the pace, boys! At this rate, we'd be lucky to beat the middle school girls' team!"

I could tell Coach was agitated with my speed, or lack thereof, causing me to push myself even harder. Jimmy screwing up my ankle had set me back a few weeks, and today was the last track practice before the state championships. I was determined to not let my coach and my team down, or let Jimmy have the satisfaction of seeing me lose.

"Curtis! Head outta the clouds!"

"Yes sir!" I called out, refocusing. I didn't know how my coach could tell when I was lost in my head, but I figured he and Darry would get along better than they realized.

I crossed the finish line, shaking my head in dismay as my coach called out my time. It wasn't as good as my last meet, and it sure as hell wasn't good enough to win at state.

More of my teammates joined me in taking a breather as they finished their run, and I could feel a sense of nervousness sweeping through the group. No one was running as fast as they wanted to, myself included. I was supposed to be the ticket for our first win in years; now, I'd be lucky to place in the top five.

"Huddle up everyone!"

I sighed in dread as I moved to form a circle with my teammates and listen to the usual post-practice-pre-meet pep talk.

"I want to congratulate everyone on the hard work they've put into track this season. You should all be proud of yourselves, regardless of how this weekend goes. So go home, get some rest, take it easy tomorrow, and I'll see you all Saturday."

Defeated "yes sirs" were still being murmured through the dispersing crowd when I felt a hand clap on my shoulder. I turned to see David, looking as fired up as ever.

"You ready for this weekend?" he asked, bouncing on his heels.

"No," I admitted. "My times are terrible, there's no way I win that thing."

He laughed. "Now what did I say about underestimating yourself?"

I shrugged. "I guess, but this time feels different."

"Well, you should soak it in while you can. It'll all be over before you know it."

I had forgotten that David was a senior and that Saturday would be his last high school track meet. He was probably going to get a full-ride track scholarship somewhere, but I supposed he was the type of person who would actually miss high school.

"I sure hope so," I laughed. He patted my shoulder once more before turning to leave.

"Wait," I called out. He stopped in his tracks and turned around. "Thanks for everything. This year, I mean."

David was from the Soc side of town, for one thing, and most seniors didn't like the idea of a sophomore who was faster than them, for another. Simply put, he didn't have to be nice to me, but he was anyway.

"Sure, Curtis," he said, seemingly understanding what I was getting at. "You're gonna kick ass on Saturday, you'll see."

"You too," I replied, giving one last wave as I watched him disappear into the locker room. I surveyed the empty track, thinking about how peaceful it looked without me and my teammates mulling about.

Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.

I turned to see Two-Bit sauntering down the steps of the bleachers. I hadn't realized he'd been watching practice, but I supposed he was sticking around to give me a ride.

"You ready to go, kid?"

I turned to look at the oval again, thinking about my times from practice.

"Actually I think I'll stay here, if that's okay. I wanna get some more laps in before state."

" I dunno kid, I've gotta pick up my sister in half an hour," Two-Bit said, looking nervous.

"So I'll walk," I countered.

"You know Darry won't like that."

"So don't tell him."

Two-Bit rubbed the back of his head. "I dunno, kid…"

"Darry should be getting off work in an hour, I'll use a pay phone and call him for a ride, I promise."

That answer seemed to satisfy him. "If you say so. See ya later Ponykid!"

A pit formed in my stomach as I watched Two-Bit walk away. I felt bad for lying to him, but truthfully I had no idea what time Darry was getting off work and had no intention of calling him. We hadn't said a word to each other after the events of last night, he was gone this morning before I was even up. I was kind of scared of him right now, to be honest. I figured running a few laps would be the perfect way to relieve some stress and then I'd jog home before it got dark and no one would be none the wiser.

I stretched for a few minutes before lining up at the starting line, imagining that I was at the state championships right now, Jimmy Brandt taunting me to my left, my friends cheering me on from the stands to my right. I took a few deep breaths before taking off, intending to start with a simple jog but finding myself in a full-on sprint. I didn't think about the time that was passing or the laps I was making. I didn't think about Michael, or Darry, or my dead parents, or even my dead friends. I just ran.

I had been thinking about how good the cool wind felt on my face and how they should start scheduling track meets later in the day so we weren't always overheating when my own feet stumbled over each other and brought me to a halt. I came crashing to the ground, instinctively bracing my wrists to take the brunt of my fall. I lay there for a few moments, wondering how I managed to trip over nothing. I eventually turned over and took inventory of myself: scraped hands and knees, covered in dust, but otherwise unharmed.

I stumbled over to the bleachers and sat on the first row, taking a breather. The sun was just beginning to dip in the sky, and I decided to stick around and watch it set. I couldn't remember the last time I simply sat and watched a full sunset. I wondered if it looked the same from the West side, if Cherry Valance or Randy Adderson was watching the same sunset right now. Probably not. I hoped Johnny was, though, if he could see it from wherever he was.

Before I knew it the sun had set completely and the floodlights came on, illuminating the previously invisible bugs that surrounded me. I realized that waiting for the sun to set meant that it was dark. Meaning I now had to walk home in the dark. Darry and my coach were right, maybe I don't use my head, or at least need to get it out of the clouds more often.

I began the trek home, scraped knees and all, and wondered if Darry was off work by now. I couldn't ask him for a ride, no way I would risk being alone in a car with him after seeing how angry he got last night, and Sodapop wouldn't be off for another hour. Walking to the DX and waiting for him meant he would know that I had walked alone, which wasn't something I wanted to do either. So I made my way home alone.

I didn't make it far before seeing a group of guys leaning against the side of the school building. They were passing a joint and a few bottles between them, talking about something I was too far away to hear. I felt their eyes on me as one of them called out to me.

"Hey Curtis, is that you? C'mere!"

I figured they must've been on the track team and wanted to talk about the meet on Saturday, or maybe they were some greasers I knew, so I quickened my pace and walked over to them. The closer I got, though, the more I realized that I really should use my head more often. Their features sharpened as I came closer: the lack of grease in their hair, the madras shirts, the expensive shoes. They were socs.

Should I make a run for it? I foolishly thought before glancing behind me and noticing that they had surrounded me. Oh god, I'm such an idiot.

I recognized the socs from school but didn't know any of them well enough to know their names. They clearly knew mine, though.

"So," one of them, seemingly the ringleader, began, "Ponyboy," he continued, saying my name in a mocking tone. "What's got you staying after school so late?"

I gulped. "Practicing for the state meet on Saturday," I answered, practically in a whisper.

I surveyed the group closer as my eyes adjusted more to the darkness. I counted six of them, all appearing to be seniors, making them physically three years ahead of me. I was small enough for my age and smart enough for my age to know I didn't stand a chance.

"You've been doing real good in track this year, huh?" the ringleader asked.

"I guess," I shrugged.

"You know, this time last year our friend Bob Sheldon was a senior, gearing up to play one of his last football games. He would've been going to the state championships too, funny enough," one of the other guys piped up.

My heart began racing even faster. I knew where this was going.

"So we don't think it's really fair that you should be enjoying your state championship when he didn't get to," said the ringleader. "Don't you agree?"

I answered by trying to book it out of there as fast as I could. I may not be able to fight even one of them, but I could outrun all of them. I couldn't have made it more than a few feet, though, before one hand was grabbing my backpack and another was on my chest, slamming me onto the concrete. My backpack was able to break most of the fall, but before I knew it another hand had grabbed the collar of my t-shirt and pulled me upright, my backpack falling off in the process. My arms were held behind my back as another one of the guys got in my face.

"If you think we're gonna let you go on with your life like you're not a murderer, you've got another thing coming greaser," he said, throwing a sucker punch to my face. I retaliated by kicking him, getting in a few good hits to his shins before the rest of them pinned me to the ground again.

"You weren't even there!" I yelled. "You don't know what happened!"

The ringleader appeared in my line of sight again. "We know that Bob's dead," he snarled, "and someone needs to pay."

Punches and kicks came from all sides, attacking my body mercilessly. I attempted to shield my head and stomach with my arms, only for them to be held down with a grip strong enough to leave bruises. Multiple blows were made to my head, chest, limbs, you name it, each stinging more than the last. I felt myself beginning to lose consciousness, whether it be from pain or the kicks to my head I didn't know. All I could think about was what their ringleader had said. "Someone needs to pay." Johnny already paid, I thought, before everything went dark.

— — — — — — — — — —

I opened my eyes and was met with stars instead of my bedroom ceiling. I looked around frantically, wondering where my dad was. He was always the one to take us camping, but I couldn't seem to find our tent. Maybe I had fallen asleep on the porch again or accidentally sleptwalked outside. I used to do that a lot as a kid.

The pain I felt when I tried to stand told me something was really wrong. Every inch of my body screamed in protest as I slowly sat up. My head was pounding with intense pressure and I couldn't see straight. I could vaguely make out the familiarity of the track from down the road and wondered what I was doing at practice so late. Maybe I was waiting for Darry's football practice to get out. Mom said if she worked late I was supposed to wait with Soda for her to pick us up, but Soda wasn't here. I needed to find Soda. He would fix things.

Soda sometimes worked shifts at the DX gas station after school, and I was closer to there than my house anyway so that's where I headed. I began trudging along, clutching my side and head, limping pathetically. I wondered if this was how Johnny felt after he got jumped. I hoped he was at the DX, or at least would show up soon. Maybe I should turn back to the lot and look for him…

No, I would never make it. Cars and people whizzed all around me, seemingly moving at twice their normal speed whilst I felt as though I was moving in slow motion. Suddenly a man I had never seen before was waving a hand in front of my face.

"Hey, kid, you alright?"

I kept walking, wondering who he was and who he was talking to. I kept moving, trying to get to the DX before it got busy. Sometimes when it got busy Soda had to help customers instead of being with me. Two-Bit might be there, with Dally, helping themselves to whatever they could successfully fit in their pockets. Steve might be working, too, but he didn't like me much. I don't think he'd be the one to help me. Maybe one of them could call Darry to give me a ride. Dad sometimes let him borrow his truck and he occasionally let me ride around with him. Darry might be too busy, though.

I smiled to myself when the bright sign of the DX came into view, finding it funny that such a shitty gas station brought me so much joy. It was so funny I started laughing hysterically, so hard that it hurt my sides even worse. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, no, the street, however I had ended up there, and laughed. I started trudging along again and kept laughing until I couldn't physically take the pain anymore.

I hoped that one or both of my brothers were there. Dad always said that brothers were supposed to be there for each other. My mom had a brother. He wasn't always there for her, but maybe he'd be there for me.

I spotted the back door to the garage, where Steve and Soda were usually working. I mustered up all the strength I could and gripped the doorknob, turning it and pulling open the door. The door wouldn't budge, though. I tried a few more times. It was locked. No, it couldn't be locked. Soda was supposed to help me. How was he supposed to help me if the door was locked?

I started pounding on the door with a weak fist, desperate for the door to open. I began to sob with my entire chest, even though greasers don't cry. Dally and Steve would surely give me shit if they saw me. I pounded harder, unable to speak as I sobbed. The world around me began to spin as my pounding got weaker and weaker, my legs beginning to give out. I thought I could hear a faintly familiar voice, but it was gone before I could identify it. Eventually, my strength gave out and I leaned against the door, hoping someone would help me. My parents, my brothers, the gang, Michael, anyone.

I felt the support of the door disappear behind me as my strength officially gave out and I collapsed onto the pavement. Hands were shaking my shoulders and slapping my cheek, but it only made the pain worse. I wanted my mom, she always helped me feel better when I was sick. I tried to call out for her but it only came out as a low groan.

"Ponyboy, you with me kid?"

"I need Soda," was all I could manage to say before the world went dark again.