Tomorrow, Yesterday

Chapter 1

          When I stamped out my cigarette into the ground of the dark alleyway, I had only two things on my mind: getting into a fight and the gang. It had been forever since I'd fought anybody, which most people would consider a good thing, but for me it just meant boredom was building up and itching under my skin. Even after three years of living there, I still hadn't really adjusted to how slow things were in the middle of Goddamn Nowhere, Oklahoma. In New York, where I'd lived before, there was always somebody looking for trouble around every corner, and I didn't have to go far to blow off some steam. Here, I had to really piss someone off to get them to swing at me, or else I had to swing first and that caused a whole other mess of problems. The only folks around here who'd jump you without reason were the Socs — rich kids who lived on the other side of town — but even they hadn't shown face in a while.

          I was thinking about the gang because if they were around, I wouldn't need to fight. They'd come up with something stupid to do, and I'd complain and probably be just as bored, but I wouldn't be alone. Something I'd figured out was that being bored was easier with other people. Then you could complain about being bored, and people would laugh at your jokes, and you didn't have to listen to yourself think all the time. The guys wouldn't want me to fight, anyway. I usually hated that they'd talk me down from an unnecessary scrape, but I knew that if I'd actually gotten into all the fights I could've, I'd be dead in a ditch by then.

          I thought about going to the drugstore. Then I could lift some cigarettes — I was running a little low on supply — and maybe some magazines, mess with a waitress til she yelled at me, and get kicked out. It was always a good time. But by myself, it was never as fun, because I always took it too far too quick.

          I stood up straight and fidgeted with my jacket. If I wandered I'd find something soon enough. I went by the Curtis brothers' house first to see if any of them or the guys were hanging around there. There were three brothers: Darry, the oldest, built like a house and unfortunately tame considering how easy he could beat most guys to a pulp. There was Sodapop, who I should've hated considering all the other people I'd hated in the past — he was cheery and happy-go-lucky and nice despite everything his family had gone through — but I wasn't able to dislike him. Ponyboy (in case Sodapop wasn't a bullshit enough name for you) was the youngest, barely in high school and too young and good for any of the shit that happened to him. He was quiet and awkward and probably too smart.

          When I got to the house, I found myself wishing that when I opened the door, Mrs. Curtis would be there. She used to always be home during the day and would find something for me to do while strongly hinting at how she wished I was still in school. But a few months back, she and Mr. Curtis got killed in a massive car wreck. Since then, Darry, who was only twenty, had taken care of Soda and Ponyboy. He really took care of most of the gang. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis had been the closest thing to caring folks most of us had.

          When I got to their house, nobody was home, which meant Darry and Soda were at work and Ponyboy was probably out at the movies. That kid really liked movies. I hung around the house for a while in case anyone else stopped by, but I decided I didn't want to seem like I was lonely or desperate or anything, so I took off on my own.

          I knew where Soda worked, so I thought I might head over there. Him and Steve Randle, another guy from our gang and Soda's best friend, worked at some random gas station I figured nobody cared about before the two of them started working there. Nowadays it was the busiest one in town. I thought it was because Steve was ridiculously good with cars — better than anyone else I'd ever met — but a lot of people said it was only popular because Soda was a girl magnet. They weren't wrong, of course. Soda was probably the prettiest guy I'd ever seen, and girls flew to him like crazy. If he'd hung around my kind of people in New York, he'd have pulled more than just girls. I had managed to, and I was nowhere near as good-looking as him.