Notes

I don't own The Outsiders. All rights to S. E. Hinton.

I'll do most of my rambling at the end of the chapter, but first things first...

Hi! 12 years ago (longer then some of you kiddos have been alive, I fear), my 14-year-old self started writing a little story and never finished it. Crazy as it sounds, grown up me feels inclined to give it a second chance. Let's get on with it and talk at the end of the chapter :)

Ponyboy

March 26th, 1965

Grief is a funny thing. Some days, you feel like you can't even stand to function and you want to lay in bed and block out the world. Other days, it's like you're going through the motions of day-to-day life, almost forgetting the harsh reality of your loss, and then it hits you like a freight train. Today was one of those days. I'd managed to drag myself out of bed, eat a few bites of cereal, doze off during the ten-minute ride to school, and made it halfway through third period before I remembered that my parents had been dead for approximately 76 days and fifteen hours. I walked out of class, locked myself into the handicapped bathroom stall, and spent twenty minutes sitting on the grimy tile floor, taking deep breaths and repeating pointless reassurances in my head until my hands were steady again. Even two weeks ago, the idea that I could go longer than ten minutes without nearly going to pieces (inwardly, at least) was unfathomable, let alone a full four hours. Darrel would call it progress, Ms. Slavick, the school guidance counselor, would call it moving forward without moving on. Of all the shitty advice she'd given me, that was my least favorite. I had no intention of moving forward.

If Soda was here, I would be tempted to corner him in the hallway and beg him to drive us home. Darry had been pissed the few times we'd done that, but I wasn't in the state to care much at the time. But I couldn't rely on my brother to bail me out like that anymore. Three weeks ago, Soda sat Darry down at the kitchen table and told him that he'd dropped out to take a full-time job at the DX station. It wasn't pretty. They usually got along real well, considering it was just about impossible to get mad at Sodapop. At least, that's what I'd always thought. Darry yelled so loudly that the walls shook, and I eventually called Two-Bit, and Johnny and I crashed on his couch that night. They seemed to come to some type of truce by the next morning as there hadn't really been any fireworks since, but it was a strained politeness, almost too formal. I was just about sick of it all. I wanted my old life back.

Somehow, I rallied in time for fourth period and made it to lunch break, where Johnny, Two-Bit, Steve, and I drove to the gas station down the street. I was sitting in the bed of Two-Bit's truck, legs dangling off the edge. Johnny was next to me, eating a sandwich and fiddling with the combination lock to Steve's toolbox. Steve had forgotten the code weeks ago but was insistent that he could crack it rather than ruin a "perfectly good lock." Personally, I thought it would be a much bigger waste of money to buy all-new tools when he inevitably couldn't remember, but what did I know?

"Ain't you gonna eat, Ponyboy?" Two-Bit inquired.

I looked at my ham sandwich. I had no desire to eat anything. It'd been like that a lot, really. After mom and dad died, I'd just stopped. Everything tasted like dust, and the gnawing hunger I felt distracted me from the pain deep in my soul. After a few weeks, the idea of eating was more appealing and the taste was fine, but my appetite was shot. I simply didn't feel hungry anymore. I'd take a few bites and feel like I'd just eaten a five-course meal.

"Nah, I ain't really hungry." I slid my sandwich over to Johnny, who took it gratefully. Despite my brothers and I constantly telling Johnny that he wasn't a bother, and we wanted him to have dinner with us, he was reluctant, especially after mom and dad died. He'd seen the way Darry poured over financial spreadsheets late at night, crunching numbers and counting coins. Unfortunately, this meant the only square meal he got was the free lunch from school and whatever else the gang could bully him into taking from us.

"You lookin' scrawny as hell, kid." said Steve bluntly.

I cut my eyes at him. "Who asked you?" The last thing I needed was him or Two-Bit snitching to Darry. He'd been getting on me about taking care of myself, especially after he dragged me to that doctor for my nightmares. Of course, my recent bout with bronchitis didn't help. I could barely sneak a smoke at home anymore.

Steve and Two-Bit moseyed on over to the Chevy next to us, where a couple guys from their shop class had just pulled up. They exchanged a few words, then headed back into the store.

"Hi Ponyboy."

I turned to see Kathleen Schafer coming towards me, flanked by Angela Shepard and Janie Phelps. Kathleen had been in my year until I skipped 6th grade and went right into 7th. Still, I always had a couple classes with her throughout middle school and she seemed to always be at my usual hangouts; the movie house, the track, the DX, the library. Now that I was in high school, I hadn't seen her around as much, but I wasn't too fussed. Kathleen was nice enough, but she was awfully shrill and laughed a bit too loud at my objectively unamusing comments.

"Uh, hi Kathleen."

To my annoyance, she hopped right up onto the truck bed and weaseled her way between Johnny and I. Angela and Janie leaned against Two-Bit's truck, whispering and giggling.

She smiled brightly. "I ain't seen you around much lately."

"Yeah, I been busy," I muttered and turned around, scanning the front of the store for Steve or Two-Bit. It was nearly time to get back to school, and while I wasn't too worried if I was a couple minutes late for class, it sure would be a good excuse to ditch her. The look on her face made me feel I knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

Sure enough, she went right for the jugular. "I was so sorry to hear about your parents, Ponyboy," she simpered, and to her credit, she did look genuinely sorry. "I cried all night when I heard. It's just so sad."

"Thanks, I think?" Outside of the gang, most interactions since the accident had been downright painful. People either feigned ignorance and tried a bit too hard to be lighthearted and nonchalant, were a little too morbidly curious about the gory details of the wreck, or started crying and ended up needing reassurance from me. Oddly enough, my least favorite condolence was the people who came up to me to tell me about how wonderful my parents were, as if I didn't already know. I knew they meant well, but it made the pain of their absence just a bit sharper.

Kathleen leaned into my shoulder, and I stiffened. "So, what do you do when your brothers are at work? Maybe we could hang out sometimes."

"Hey!"

Two-Bit had come to my rescue. "Little Shephard, your big brother know you cuttin' class? I got a pool tournament with 'im tomorrow. He'd be mighty interested to know what you been up to."

Angela scowled and flounced off. After a moment, Janie and Kathleen followed, the latter winking at me as she left.

"You ain't gonna be gettin' any, ya keep blowin' off girls like that." Two-Bit advised.

"Good. I ain't tryin' to get any. She looks like a depressed raccoon." I observed flatly. Johnny snickered.

"Not with that attitude you're not. And it's called eyeliner, kiddo."

"Knowin' what it's called don't make me like it any more. I don't get why girls think that makes 'em look good."

"You don't get girls, full stop." Steve muttered. He wasn't wrong.

The rest of the school day passed in a haze of lectures and half-hearted notetaking. My concentration isn't great to begin with, but lately I'd really checking out during class. I was exhausted. My nightmares had admittedly improved a lot after Darry made me see that psychologist (I hated that he was right after the scene I'd caused trying to convince him the appointment was unnecessary.) Still, the extra hours at sleep at night weren't paying off. My body felt heavy with fatigue, and I was seriously debating skipping track practice, something I'd never done before. Running had been one of the only things keeping me sane since January. I'd even taken to running a couple laps around the neighborhood after waking from a nightmare, if Soda was still asleep. Probably not one of my brightest ideas to go traipsing around our turf at four in the morning, but it was becoming a comforting routine, and the rhythm of pounding feet kept my mind blissfully blank.

Unfortunately, I'd missed a full week of practice when I'd had bronchitis, and today would be my first day back. Even coach wouldn't be so forgiving if I'd ditched again. Grudgingly, I dragged myself to the locker room and started changing.

"Curtis, you're back, man!"

A hand cuffed the back of my head so hard that I saw stars. Shaking away the dizziness, I blinked and saw Chase Adams beaming down at me as if he hadn't seen me in months. Still, I was flattered. "Hey, Chase."

"Christ, you really hung us out to dry. Levonsky's on probation, and with you out, we had to sub in Anthony for the relay team. He bitched so much, you'd think we were doin' a goddamn marathon. I hate sprinters."

My laugh turned into a wheeze, and I dug around my bag for the sample inhaler I'd gotten at the 24 hour clinic. I'd gotten a prescription but was reluctant to make Darry fill it when my cough had almost run its course. The doctor had smuggled me a few different sample brands and I was making do with that.

"I'd rather deal with Anthony than Levonsky. 'Sides, he should know by now that coach is gonna make him do cross country this summer anyway so he should get used to it. If he thinks relay is bad, he's in for a world of pain."

My teammates started filtering in and I noticed it was the first time since before Christmas break that there wasn't an air of awkwardness, of stolen glances in my direction and whispered conversations that stopped when I walked in the room. Everyone was chattering amicably about a variety of topics. One guy even started complaining about his parents, and no one hurriedly cut him off and sent me guilty looks. Once again, I hated to admit it, but maybe Darrel and Ms. Slavick were onto something. Moving forward, but not moving on. It felt good to focus on something other than my grief.

I hung near the back of the pack as we jogged out to the track. Coach was waiting, clad in his usual state championship jacket from 1953. He was definitely one of those guys who peaked in high school and now vicariously lived out his glory days by barking orders at us through a megaphone while lounging on the bleachers with a large coffee in hand. He blasted his whistle unnecessarily, seeing as we were all within ten feet of him.

"Pick up the pace, ladies! Take a couple to stretch and do a few laps before we start time trials."

We obliged with minimal grumbling. Figuring I needed to ease myself back into the saddle after my hiatus, I set off at a painfully slow eight-minute mile pace. At least, that should have been painfully slow. Two laps in, I could've sworn I was dying. I was so tired that breathing felt like hard work. My chest ached and my vision was starting to gray out. I slowed to a walk, then bent over, hands on my knees.

"Curtis!"

Large hands closed over my shoulders and forced me to the gravel. I caught sight of coach's worn-out sneakers.

"Jesus, kid. The fuck d'ya think you're doing?"

"Uh, runnin'?"

"Not like this you're not. Thought I told you not to come back until you were better."

"I am better."

"Could've fooled me. C'mon, catch your breath."

Wheezing, I followed him to the bleachers and sank onto the metal bench. Boy howdy, this was not doing my reputation any favors. I'd gone from orphan to orphan-who-faints-dead-away after barely running two laps around the track. I thanked my lucky stars that Levonsky was out. Thanks to his big mouth, the whole school would've heard a play-by-play by tomorrow morning.

Coach scrutinized me, frowning. "Should I call your brother to come pick you up?"

"No." I said adamantly. "Just needed to catch my breath. I'm good now."

He looked unconvinced, but thankfully didn't push it. "Take the rest of the week. Hell, take as long as you need to. Your spot will still be here when you get back. Believe you me, I don't want to have to take Anthony to regionals in your place."

"Thanks, Coach."

My ten-minute walk home lasted almost a half hour. If I was smart, I would've called Two-Bit for a ride, but I still had at least a shred of dignity left. Darrel's truck was in the driveway. I walked past our mailbox without bothering to open it. The sympathy cards were still rolling in, mostly from old friends and work colleagues. I couldn't stand to look at them.

I dragged myself up the steps and let myself in the front door. The shower was running. I paused outside the cracked bathroom door, leaning heavily against the wall.

"Darrel?"

"Ponyboy? What're you doin' home?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"Had to push back the rest of the framework for the country club 'till they've fixed the water leak. Jackson's son hammered right through the main water line, the moron. Of course, Jackson laughed it off and sent us on our way, never mind the rest of the day's paycheck. I swear, that kid's internship can't be done soon enough. Your turn."

I carefully arranged my face into a disappointed expression, even though he couldn't see me, and made my voice sound exasperated. "Coach cancelled today. He had to take over watchin' study hall."

The shower cut off, and I heard Darry rummaging around for a towel. "You're a good liar, Pone. Might've believed ya, 'cept for the fact that I drove past school on the way home and saw a bunch 'o your teammates doin' drills."

Glory, Darrel made me awful mad sometimes. "Why'd ya bother askin' if you already knew the answer?!"

He ignored me and I heard him slamming the cabinets shut, working himself up properly. "I didn't just pay your season fee to have you skive off practice whenever it suits ya. Are you plannin' on gettin' a full academic scholarship to college? You know how hard that is? I know your track buddies can afford to goof off, but you ain't them, Ponyboy. Those boys have families who can afford to send 'em places. We don't got that."

He flung the door open and stalked past me to the kitchen, snatching up the laundry basket on the way. I followed. I didn't have the energy to go down this rabbit hole again. Besides, a lecture about taking care of my health was a lot easier to sit through than a rant about how careless I was with my future.

"I ain't slackin' off. Was just a little wheezy still, that's all. Coach told me to take the rest of the week."

You'd think that would calm him down, but my big brother had become about as predictable as a rodeo bull lately. He had pulled out some potatoes for dinner, and was peeling them aggressively as if each had personally wronged him. "Really, Ponyboy? You know you can't be messin' 'round with your health like this! Why didn't you tell me your lungs was still givin' you trouble? I can't help you if you don't help yourself, kiddo."

I was too tired to yell properly, but I gave it my best shot. "Glory, you ain't gonna be happy whatever I do, will ya? I should go to practice, I shouldn't go to practice, I should focus on runnin', I need to prioritize my health, what do ya want from me? And my lungs are just fine, it ain't no big deal. I'm just worn out, that's all."

He sighed and ran a hand tiredly through his hair, a nervous habit from dad that he'd picked up lately. I almost felt sorry for him. Suddenly, I felt liquid trickling down my face. I touched my fingers to my nose and my heart skipped a beat when they came away crimson red.

"Uh, Darry?"

He opened the refrigerator, pulling out the chicken and setting it on the counter. "Listen, I know it must seem like I'm always on your case, but-"

"Darry."

My brother finally turned around, and his eyes widened. "Holy shit." He seized a dish towel and pressed it against my nose. "Tilt your head forward, kid."

I did so, feeling blood drip sickeningly down the back of my throat. Coughing, I grimaced as I tasted copper and my stomach lurched.

"Who hit you?" Darry demanded. "Was it Levonsky again? That short kid who clocked Stevens last race after he tripped over his own damn feet and blamed him? I swear, I'm comin' down to the school tomorrow and havin' a word with coach. I'm sick n' tired of him lettin' those Socs get away with that shit-"

"Nah, he's on probation because of his grades. He flunked home economics. How the heck do you flunk home ec? I'm actually impressed."

"Don't change the subject. Who was it?"

"No one hit me, I swear Darrel. It just started bleedin'. Probably from the dry air."

He pulled the towel back briefly, inspecting my face. After he was satisfied there were no injuries I was hiding, he pressed it back against my nose, looking perplexed. The floor suddenly tilted, and sweat beaded on my upper lip. "Shit."

Darry shoved me roughly into a chair. I rested my head on the cool edge of the kitchen table, willing the world to stop spinning. Christ, the universe was really screwing me over lately. I could see drops of blood decorating my jeans and the kitchen floor and closed my eyes, bright spots dancing across the darkness of the inside of my eyelids.

Darry rested a hand on my back. "Geez, buddy, it's really bleedin', huh? Has this ever happened before?"

I shook my head. "Dunno, not that I remember. Maybe I busted a capillary from coughin' or something." That was a thing, right?

Nearly a quarter of an hour later, the flow had finally stemmed into an occasional trickle of blood. Darry was surveying me with an expression I couldn't quite place, but didn't like. I managed to shrug him off with the promise to holler if it started up again, and closed myself into Soda and I's bedroom. I pulled my textbooks out of my backpack and set them on the desk, intent on starting my homework, then looked at my bed. I was awful tired, and figured a quick nap couldn't hurt. By the time Soda got home from work, I was out cold.

Notes

12/18/24: This chapter was originally published on ao3 under my username tragically uncreative on 8/8/24. I did not intend to post anything to , having changed platforms. However, I realized that a lot of people still read on here and thought they deserved a chance to read too! I recently published Chapter 4 and am working on Chapter 5. I will post those chapters within the next few days, along with my other stories I have written since I began this crazy journey of returning to fanfiction/ writing approximately 6 months ago. I have another chapter fic, Before The Fall, that is on Chapter 3 and a one-shot, The Domino Effect. I am in the process of writing another one-shot. You can read my original author's note below. Long story short, I wrote the original story as a naive little 13 - 14 year old. I'm now 26, (hopefully) older and wiser, and have been working in the medical field since age 18. I'm now 5 months from graduating nursing school with an intent to specialize in pediatric oncology. I have spent the last few months doing clinicals in an outpatient oncology clinic, the majority of patients being ages 8-16, with leukemia and other cancers/ blood disorders. It has been the best experience of my life and I hope I portray a fictional depiction of the experience with as much respect and accuracy as possible. I'd love to hear from y'all in the comments: if you're a new reader, returning from the older days after reading, tell me about yourselves, etc.

8/8/24 Original Author's Note on AO3: Like I said earlier, it has been, as the kids say, a hot minute. I published a (very) rough version of this story under the name StayGold4ever on over twelve years ago. I never finished it. As the years passed, I forgot about it, but remained a loyal fan to my favorite book and continued to enjoy reading the wonderfully creative stories that other fans came up with. Bear with me while I go on a little tangent to explain how we got here today: I believe I was in the 7th or 8th grade when I worked on this. After graduating, I worked as an EMT, a patient care tech, and a medical scribe in pediatrics. I then returned to school and have 1 year left until I get my nursing license, with the intention of specializing in pediatric trauma and oncology. I am passionate about pediatric cancer awareness/ fundraising and hope to eventually become a NP researcher to specialize in cutting edge treatments for treatment resistant pediatric bone cancers. Maybe this, along with the launch of The Outsiders musical on Broadway, has brought me back to this story. A couple months ago, I found it, and promptly dislocated my neck from the number of times I cringed reading it. Saying it was a little rough and cringey is the understatement of the century. It was definitely embarrassing, and for lack of a better term, felt icky to have written about something for entertainment (pediatric cancer) that is so very real and horrific to millions, as well as something my career is going to be based off of. However, it was very much done out of well intentions and I couldn't pretend I wasn't tempted to revisit it. I missed writing and being creative, so have started up again with a new chapter story and one-shot that I hope everyone checks out!

So, here we are. I'm definitely in uncharted waters rewriting something that I barely remember creating in the first place, and I would greatly appreciate everyone's input/ advice/ constructive criticism. I'm not a huge fan of this first chapter, but honestly just needed a little intro to get it out of the gate- I have the next few chapters outlined and feel much more sturdy with them.

This story is also a great opportunity to expand upon my medical research. I'm extremely well versed on the standards for pediatric leukemia treatment present-day, but in the 1960s is a whole different story. I will do my best to be as accurate as possible. My schedule is about to be very busy again as I enter my final year of schooling. Please be patient and know that I have no intentions of abandoning this story or my other chapter fic, Before The Fall, they just may not be updated as consistently as I would like to.

Come chat with me on Tumblr :) I will post updates regarding my writing schedule, as well as lots of ramblings and mildly amusing memes about The Outsiders musical, which I have become a die-hard fan of.

Enough rambling on my end. Feel free to talk my ear off in the comments, I love to listen. Stay Gold, folks.

tragicallyuncreative