Silhouettes, Cigarettes, and Boys in Leather Jackets

Chapter Fifteen

I woke up to a crash.

A string of curses followed. I had never known Mikey to curse, yet the sound echoed up the stairs. I sat up straight.

Mikey... If Mikey was back from school, he might be getting ready to go to the rumble. I needed to follow him.

I got out of bed and put on a pair of blue jeans and the leather jacket from when I pretended to be a greaser. I had grown kind of fond of it, to be honest. It seemed to be a layer of protection. I could see why it was so popular.

I ran down the stairs, catching Mikey as he slipped out the front door. Dad must have been called into work.

"Mikey!" I called out after him, and he looked back at me frantically.

"You can't stop me, Kiera!" He smirked and exited the house, sprinting towards a car that pulled up to the street in front of our house.

No.

I get into my car at record speed, following the car that Mikey is in at a safe distance. They stopped at an empty lot, and I parked a short distance away. I walked back, hearing raucous laughter as I approached. I hid behind a bush, eavesdropping.

Across the way, I saw a car full of people drive up. Out came the Socs, and I gasped silently. This wasn't just a greaser fight. This was a gang war.

I tucked myself farther into the bush, worried for my safety as well as that of my brother. I knew it was a bad idea for him to get involved in greaser business.

There was some muffled conversation before the first punch was thrown. I watched in horror and disbelief as Ponyboy crumpled to the ground, and the others gave and received terrible blows.

Randy wasn't with the Socs, which made me feel better. I didn't want both Soc boys that I knew to be killed.

"Whatcha think, sweetheart?"

A voice crept down my spine, and I shivered. Of course he was here. Where there was trouble, there was Dallas Winston.

"I hate it. Mikey's going to get hurt." I watch my brother fend off a Soc, fighting back-to-back with... Sodapop? Oh, well. I knew he was too good to be true.

"I won't let the kid get hurt." Dallas said, then added quietly, almost to himself, "Not again."

He stood up, winked at me, and ran into the fray, yelling something to his friends that they laughed at. I couldn't hear it, but I hoped that it meant I was far enough away to be safe.

I watched, mesmerized, as several Socs went down. I worried for them, but I also worried for the greasers. It was confusing, but I knew that I was most worried about Mikey. I'd feel terrible if he got hurt.

I watched a big Soc spot Mikey, who just took out a skinny little Soc. Mikey looked up, terrified. A scream caught in my throat, and time seemed to slow down. My bush rustled as I moved, and Dallas' eyes cut over to me. Immediately, he looked up and saw the Soc going after Mikey.

This was the peculiar part. To this day, I don't fully understand what went through his mind at that moment.

Dallas ran faster than I had ever seen him, and dove in front of the big Soc. The Soc's fist connected with his face, and Dallas rose, spitting blood and fuming. After releasing a long string of curses, he pushed Mikey out of the way and went after the big Soc.

I stared in disbelief. Dallas just took a hit for Mikey. He took a hit to the face for my brother, and may or may not have looked good doing it. That was beside the point.

After a couple moments, a recovered Ponyboy jumped on the big Soc's back, helping take him out. Mikey was staggering across the lot, about ten feet or so from the fighting.

My poor little brother was bleeding from a cut along his right cheekbone and walked with a slight limp. I rushed over to him, looking around frantically.

After I was sure no one was coming after us, I picked Mikey up and carried him to my car. Mikey was surprisingly light. He was fourteen and five-foot, about ninety pounds. He was truly tiny.

We made it into the car, and I drove home. Dad was not home yet.

I carried Mikey to his room, which was thankfully downstairs. "It's gonna be okay, Mikey." I laid him down on his bed, then used my shirt to wipe the blood off of his face.

I ran to get a first aid kit, and I cleaned up his cut. His ankle seemed to be alright, probably just sprained. "Do you feel better?"

Mikey nodded weakly, then fell asleep. His heartbeat was steady, as was his breathing. I took a deep breath of relief. Mikey was okay, and I never thought I would say this, but it was all thanks to Dallas Winston. I don't know if Mikey could have taken that hit from the big Soc.

I sat down on the floor next to his bed. The walls seemed to close in on me, and all the what ifs choked me. What if Dallas hadn't saved Mikey? What if Mikey hadn't accidentally told me about the rumble?

I ran outside, climbing back into my car. I needed to be out. I needed fresh air.

My car seemed to drive itself, leading me back to the last place I had felt at peace. It was the park, the one where Bob died. The irony was all too obvious to me. The place where I had witnessed a traumatic event ended up being where I went to recover from a traumatic event.

I parked and walked through the space, finding my tree. I sat there for who knows how long. I hummed, sang a little, and laughed at nothing at all. Just for fun, I imagined what anyone watching would think. They would think I was crazy.

Maybe I was.

Just a little bit.