Revolution - An Outsiders / Sodapop Fanfic

Thirteen

Sydney and Soda were released from the hospital on the same day. They said that they would be good to travel in three weeks, but Sydney shook her head.

"Let's not go anymore."

"Why not?" Soda asked upset, "Sydney we've been waiting to do this for a long time-"

"It's scary out there," she answered, "Anything could happen to you two and I might not be able to do anything about it. Then what?"

"Come on, Syd, everything's going to be fine," Steve assured her while resting his hand on her shoulder.

"You don't know that!" She snapped, causing him to flinch, "How can you say that nothing's going to happen when so much has happened already? Maybe life just doesn't want this to work out?"

"I can say that because of you, Sydney," Steve said, "Because you used to tell me 'It never hurts to keep looking for sunshine'. And I've lived by that ever since. And you came back to Tulsa. And you and Soda lived."

Sydney showed a hint of a smile, "No rain, no flowers."

That was also something she used to say.

Soda walked over and held her. He whispered in her ear, "Sometimes the people who are truly best for each other will have to face greater obstacles to be together."

Sydney burst into tears. She squeezed Soda back and cried until his shpulder was wet.

"I don't know what to do. It happened so quickly. Suddenly, my head was a really dark place and whenever I slept I had nightmares of you guys getting hurt, suffering, in pain... What if I feel this way my whole life?"

"Shh..." Soda put his finger over her lips and stroked her hair, "Broken crayons still colour. I need you. You know how I know that? Because you guided me back to where I could be who I was after my girlfriend cheated on me and I wasn't good enough for my best friend. If anyone has the power to see all the good in the world, it's you. You move mountains, girl."

She wanted to believe him. She really did. And one day she would, she just wasn't there yet. So in the meantime she said, "Thank you. I love you." And she went back to her safe place, in his arms.

I said that I could finish what Sydney started. And I will. But right then, I was knocking on the door to the room she and Soda shared. In my hand, I held the theme I wrote for English. I wanted her to read it. I thought, maybe it'll give her a bit of her spark back.

"Come in," Soda called through the door. But he opened it anyway.

"Hey Pony," He greeted.

"Hey. Sydney, I have something for you," I handed her the theme and explained, "I wrote this after Dally and Johnny died. What you and Abbey said at the rumble reminded me of this. I think you should read it, it might..." I trailed off, "I don't know."

She took the papers and looked them over.

"The Outsiders-" She read aloud, "They grew up on the outsides of society. They weren't looking for a fight, they were looking to belong."

She and Soda both looked at me in wonder and I could feel my cheeks get pink. I awkwardly said, "Well I'll leave you two at it," and zipped out the door.

It was the next night that Sydney pulled us all into the living room after dinner. She came running down the stairs with a wild look in her eyes. She'd always had that about her, the look of otherness, the eyes that see things much too far, and the thoughts that wander off the edge of the world. She had lost it for a while there, but it's never shone more than that moment when she read aloud;

"Suddenly it wasn't only a personal thing to me. I could picture hundreds and hundreds of boys living on the wrong sides of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows. Hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at stars and ached for something better. I could see boys going down under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldn't believe you if you did. It was too vast a problem to be just a personal thing. There should be some help, someone should tell them before it was too late. Someone should tell their side of the story, and maybe people would understand then and wouldn't be so quick to judge a boy by the amount of hair oil he wore. It was important to me. I picked up the phone book and called my English teacher.

"Mr. Syme, this is Ponyboy. That theme--- how long can it be?"
"Why, uh, not less than five pages." He sounded a little surprised. I'd forgotten it was late at night.
"Can it be longer?"
"Certainly, Ponyboy, as long as you want it."
"Thanks," I said and hung up.
I sat down and picked up my pen and thought for a minute. Remembering. Remembering a handsome, dark boy with a reckless grin and a hot temper. A tough, tow-headed boy with a cigarette in his mouth and a bitter grin on his hard face. Remembering--- and this time it didn't hurt--- a quiet, defeated-looking sixteen-year-old whose hair needed cutting badly and who had black eyes with a frightened expression to them. One week had taken all three of them. And I decided I could tell people, beginning with my English teacher. I wondered for a long time how to start that theme, how to start writing about something that was important to me. And I finally began like this: When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home..."

The gang stared at her incredulously. They didn't know what she had just read, but they knew what it meant. It made them feel something. Just the ending of my theme opened their eyes to something most adults can't even see. I changed a bunch of greasers's lives. And I changed Sydney's as well. She made sure we all knew she was back, and she was better again. Abbey packed her things to leave for school again, Shawn went for a drink with Two-Bit and Darry and then he left too, Sydney, Soda, and Steve packed their bags and were gone by Saturday. I gave my theme back to Mr. Syme - who gave it an A+++ by the way - and let him take it to the publishers. I decided I wanted everyone to read it, just in case they felt lost and broken inside.