There was another boy with him. He had bleached blond hair, and a ripped up jean jacket and jeans, much like Johnny. His shoes were old and worn- just like Johnny's.
Was that his brother?
"Hey!" a voice called, none too loudly. It was Johnny. I looked at him and grinned. He grinned back.
"Hey, Johnny," I said.
"This is, um, Ponyboy," Johnny said, pointing to the boy next to him.
But the boy wasn't focused on us. He was staring at something behind me. He was staring at Bella.
And Bella was staring back. "Hey Ponyboy," she said, and grinned. Her face flushed tomato red.
"Hey," the boy said back, still staring. Johnny smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. He was wearing the same outfit as yesterday, I noticed, but it didn't seem weird to me. He didn't seem homeless.
"Well," Johnny said. "We'll leave you two-" he pointed to Bella and Ponyboy "to yourselves." He gestured to me, and we started walking. I set down my bags and followed him.
"Who's that?" I asked. "Is he your brother?"
"Not exactly," Johnny said. "It's kind of a long story."
"I have plenty of time."
And together we walked.
We walked past parks and a fountain, another school and many, many, houses and a CVS. We walked, none of us talking, until Johnny stopped. I stopped with him. In front of us stood an old house. The shutters were hanging off, and plants were drooping in the front yard. The screen door was the only door the house had, and it was kicked in, facing inside the house. The house practically radiated sadness.
"So," Johnny said.
"So," I said back.
"This is my house. Not very good, as houses go, but this is where the story starts."
"Let's hear it."
We walked to a nearby park. I texted Bella, asking her to take care of my backpack, and what was going on with Ponyboy.. I was glad I put my phone in my pocket before I left the school. I didn't want anyone to steal it. My dad hadn't texted me yet, so he must have not gotten to school yet.
Johnny and I sat on a bench over looking a fountain. Johnny shuddered when he looked at it.
"Johnny?" I asked. "Are you ok?"
"Yeah," he said, but looked dejected.
"So," I said, trying to cheer up my voice. "What's the story?"
He brightened.
"When I was born," he began, "I was born into a poor family.
For years when I grew up, I was terrorized by the Socs. They're a group, like a class. The rich kids. Me, and my class, the poor kind, we're called greasers. That's what Ponyboy is.
I'm in a gang. Ponyboy, me, and a few other kids who've been my friends for a long time. There's Dally, Two- Bit -that's his nickname, Sodapop- Ponyboy's brother, Darry- Ponyboy's oldest brother, and Steve- Sodapop's best friend. We're all greasers, and all born into bad families. All our parents are poor, if we have any. Everyone in the gang has one but Ponyboy and his brothers.
Some of our family members are abusive, like mine and Steve's. His dad apoligizes after he beats him, but not mine. Usually I stay in Ponyboy's house, or sleep under a tree a block or two away from here.
A few years ago, I got into a big fight with the Socs. A couple of them beat me up, and cut my forehead with a knife. Ponyboy, Dally, Steve, and Soda found me in an alley. I healed, but the cut's never going away." Johnny gestured to his forehead. He looked at the fountain and sighed, then shuddered when his eyes met a rust colored stain on the brick tiles underneath us, and more rust colored stains at the base of the fountain.
"Johnny?"
