♡ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀʏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ♡

2 6

(Johnny's POV)

I was in the middle of math class when I was called down to the office to check out.

I thought it was strange—I was never checked out. My folks obviously wouldn't care, so the only people who would bother would be someone in the gang. Then again, they would only do it if they really needed me, which made me wonder what was so urgent. Even then, someone like Two-Bit, Steve, or Dally would just tell me to skip class, which I had no problem doing, so I assumed it was Darry. He was really the only one in the gang—other than Cary—that was a rule-follower.

But when I came into the office, I was met with the sight of Soda sitting in a chair by the desk, leaning his elbows on his knees, nervously bouncing the toe of his tennis shoe as he stared at the floor in front of him, his eyes glazed over. Ponyboy was beside him with his hands in his lap, twiddling his thumbs anxiously.

I had been worried all day about Cary but kept telling myself that she would be fine, she was strong. But seeing the two of them there made my mind go to the worst.

As soon as I walked in, Soda's eyes met mine and he stood up hurriedly. Before I could say anything, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me towards the door, Ponyboy in tow. "We're going to the hospital."

He didn't have to tell me it was Cary for me to know. No, no, no... I thought, please, God, let her be okay...

In the car, Soda practically flew down the highway to the hospital, pushing 70 the whole way there. It wasn't until Pony gently asked him to slow down did he go to 60.

Even though I wanted him to slow down, too, I had a thousand questions running through my mind, and the longer we were away from Cary, the more I had. The more questions I had, the more scared I got, and the faster my heart beat. By the time we parked the car and got out, my hands were shaking.

We rushed through the doors, the lady at the front desk furiously writing on a medical report. "Ma'am?" Soda asked, his voice shaking slightly. She didn't look up, just continued writing. "Ma'am, please."

When she finally looked up, her eyes looked tired, and it seemed that the only thing she wanted to do was go to sleep, not deal with frantic teenagers.

As Soda talked to the woman, my ears perked up as I listened to a nearby conversation.

"Sleeping pills? Really?" I turned to see two nurses talking, both of them relatively young, but the one speaking had strawberry-blonde hair and brown eyes. She was pretty cute, I supposed, but I couldn't help but think I'd seen her before.

The other nurse sneered. "Oh, come on, you're so uptight. It's just a Greaser, Kat. It's not that serious." She started to turn away before saying something else. "She probably does drugs all the time. You gotta use the strong stuff to knock people like her out."

My heart, already going a million miles an hour, was suddenly panged with hurt as if I was stabbed. Anger welled up inside of me—I've been called horrible things, awful things that I'd grown used to, but never in my life did I hear a Greaser be called an 'it'. I wanted so badly to say something, but I came here for one thing and one thing only. Plus, I didn't like to cuss out girls, even if they deserved it.

I turned away and tried not to pay attention, but it was impossible not to.

"You're not supposed to knock her out, Lila," the blonde nurse seethed, saying the name in a mocking tone, "you were supposed to give her pain medication."

"I already told you it was an accident."

"And you don't feel bad in the slightest?"

The brown haired nurse sneered. "Why should I? It was an accident. Plus, like I said," she hitched her hip, shifting her weight to one side sassily, "it's just a Greaser."