THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOU // JOHNNYBOY

ONE | Keep it on the low, Pony.

JOHNNY CADE
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I walk by the Greasers and I don't quite feel anything. From what I've noticed about other Soc's, they find something about these Greasers so interesting that I just have never gotten. Perhaps it's the clothes they wear, or the same haircut they all share. But like a star, one sticks out. His hair is golden blonde, but not that natural blonde. That bleach-dyed, sandy blonde. Almost yellow. Something about this one captivates me. I make eye contact, but quickly look away. He runs the track with this dedication I admire. I hear someone yell "Way to go, Pone!" As they stare at him running, they clap, and all I can think is: "I sure hope that's not actually his name."
"Who's name?" My friend, Tara, asks. I jump. "Don't worry about it!" I gasp, speed walking and keeping my eyes glued straight ahead. "Were you checking out a Greaser?" Tara chuckled. I go red at this. "No? Why do you think that?" "You were staring at blondie boy." "Blondie boy?" "Ponyboy Curtis?" Tara questions me, in an 'are you dumb?' way. "Haven't you heard of him?" Tara laughs as if I'm a fool. I shake my head no. "Well, I don't know him well, but I've heard he's like . . . Super fast." "Well I mean if he's on the track team . . ." "No -- like, super fast. Outrunning cars typa' fast." "Pfft -- Yeah, okay buddy . . ." I mock. "Oh you think I'm joking? Wanna go to the next track meet?" Tara asks. "Er . . ." I mumble. " "I'm just kidding. I'm not that immersed in our school culture." We go silent for a moment but then Tara adds something to her last sentence. "Plus, hes a Greaser -- You know how that goes." "Yeah . . ." I sigh.
Me and Tara share one thing, and this thing gives me a good reason to think that it is why we make such a good duo. We both don't care for these labels were given. Greaser, Soc, why have it matter?
But unfortunately, these things are life or death. Wanna live? Stay in your lane. I once knew someone who got beat to half death for even befriending a Greaser. Teens in this town are mean. I think the Greaser was named . . . Sean? No, no, it was Sodapop! Strange name, huh? But who am I to judge, it beats Johnny.

Today, me and Tara are walking home together. Well, no, she's going home -- I am not. Today I'm spending my afternoon at the café near the school to discuss some things over with my mom and dad.

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When I open the café door, a little bell above the door jingles. I receive a moody "Welcome in." from the teen who is working the counter. I fearfully say "Thanks . . ." and continue walking. The girl at the counter has her raven hair tied in a pony tail, a thick strand pouring over half of her face. She wears moody makeup, like her personality. If looks could kill, this one would be the culprit.
My Mom and Dad wear a furrowed frown as they watch me take a seat in the leather, red booth across from where they sit. I nod my head at them. "Mom, Dad." I greet. "Hello, Johnny." My father responds.
I don't have the greatest relationship with my parents, to be completely honest. But I feel that's my fault for rarely being around. Sometimes they get aggrresive.
"As I'm sure you know, your grades are dog shit." My father says, and I hold back my laughter. "Wouldn't say dog shit, but if it gets your point across." "You know what I mean." My dad snarls. "Your grades suck and that needs to change." My mom adds. "How will you fulfil the family legacy with those grades? A D minus? That would not slide in medical school." "Who said I wanted to be a medic." I huffed, furrowing my eyebrows and crossing my arms. "That is not your decision. You wouldn't want to end up like those Greasers." My mom barks, almost sounding nauseous at the word 'Greaser'. I never quite understood why us Socials water Greasers down so much. They too are human, right? Blonde-Boy sure is!
"Sorry I'm late Mr. and Mrs. Cade."
Speaking of Blonde-Boy. Blonde-Boy is drenched in sweat, and it's kind of disgusting when he slides into the  seat next to me and shakes my parents hand, introducing himself to both of them, then me. "My name is Ponyboy, Pony for short. You must be Johnny." "Johnny is me." I respond, then asking a question. "Why exactly is he here anyway?"

"We think it's best you get a tutor, Johnny." In my head, a riot is occurring. Externally, I keep my composure. "I agree." Not fully true . . .
Pony smiles, nodding his head as we speak to one another. He is quite respectful for a Greaser, their stereotype doesn't do him much justice. "Your tutor session is starting today at five o'clock till . . ." My dad starts, but pauses to jog his memory. " . . . Till six. And it is currently --" My dad rolls his sleeve up and examines his watch. "4:43. You guys better get goin'." He says. This is for some reason my Mom and Dad's que to leave, so they stand up, wave at Pony, and leave him and I alone. "So, who's house?" "Not mine." I chuckle. I kind of like this change, conversating with a Greaser. It's been years sense I have. We're so divided in a way. Yet, I would never want to be caught dead with a Greaser. I don't wanna end up like the Soc who was half beat to death.
"Alright, then my place. Let's go." Pony chuckles, standing up from the booth and walking out the store, the moody teen says her line once again as someone else enters the store: "Welcome in."
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We walk in silence for awhile. Until I speak
"Let me be clear here, Ponyboy." I say, he glances at me and says: "Mhm," "Lets keep this thing on the low, Pony." I threaten. "Keep what 'thing' on the low Johnny?" Ponyboy mocks, this frustrates me a bit. "You know, this tutoring situation. This doesn't make us friends." "I didn't really think of us as friends." Pony boy said with a slight giggle in his voice, when he says this sentence he shows a lot of teeth and it makes me feel a funny way. We walk in silence for another minute or so, but then Pony is the one to break the silence this time. "You know, you Soc's don't scare me." While he says this, he smiles into my eyes. I'm kind of lost for words, so I just stare at him back. Pony freezes. "Here we are." He walks up the steps and opens the door, letting me walk in first, then closing the door behind the both of us.
"Keep it on the low, Johnny." Pony mocks, laughing as he jogs up the stairs. I can't help but laugh.
Maybe Pony isn't that bad.

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