(1/3) The Outsiders - the Sequel.

Chapter 1

As I stepped out of the school, the freezing December wind made me shiver. I pulled Johnny's old blue-jeans jacket, the one with the blood stains on the collar, closer around me, as I tried to make sense of what was going on. I hadn't seen Soda so worried since I got sick. He had picked me up from school early which he has never done before, because— I think I went a little too fast.

For those of you who don't know me, my name is Ponyboy Curtis, and yes, I've been made fun of for that name. But I kinda like it. I had long, red-brown hair until Johnny and I cut our hair and I bleached mine. We were trying not to get caught by the fuzz after Johnny killed a Soc. Now my hair is shorter and lighter than it used to be, but it's growing back.

I was a fourteen year old greaser at the time, and if you don't know greasers and Socs, then you must not be from around here. Greasers are the lower-class folk, the ones that wear leather jackets and use lots of hair oil on their long hair. Socs, which is the abbreviation for Socials, are the wealthy folk. The West side rich kids. And us greasers on the East side of town have it rough, while the Socs have it made. At least, that's what I though until a couple months ago.

All my family and friends are greasers. As far as family goes, all I've got left are my brothers Darry and Sodapop. Soda is seventeen and always happy-go-lucky. He tries to be understanding, but frankly, he's reckless most of the time. Soda can make you grin to matter what, probably because he seems to be grinning and laughing non-stop. Soda's got the coolest hair in town (I used to too, until the little 'Windrixville incident'). He has dark gold hair in the winter, but the sun bleaches it to a shining wheat gold in the summer, and he always combs it to the side. Soda is movie-star handsome, the kind that attracts a lot of attention just walking down the street, and it's probably the reason that the DX gasoline station he works at attracts so many girls. Socy girls too.

Sodapop is a lot different than my other brother, Darry. His real name is Darrell, but nobody calls him that. Except Paul, a Soc that Darry went to school with. They're sworn enemies now. Mom and dad used to call Darry by his real name, but they died in an auto wreck almost a year ago. Anyways, back to Darry. He's six foot two, muscular, and broad-shouldered. He was on the football team in high school. Darry is real handsome, too (personally, I think I'm the only one in the family that didn't inherit the "good-looking" genes). Darry is firm and strict, but that's because he's had to grow up too fast. No twenty year old should have to play both the brother and father roles in his family. So, Darry and I didn't used to get along. But we're good now.

I don't live near any relatives, at least, I don't know of any that live nearby. Most of them live in Iowa, or Washington, or, get this. Utah. I have relatives that live into the desert. I don't know why. My only living grandparent, Grandma Curtis, hasn't been around in seven years, so I don't really know her well. People stopped coming to family reunions, so I guess we just stopped holding them a decade ago, so the only family I have around are my brothers.

There's also the gang, who I grew up with, so we're pretty much family. Steve is seventeen, and Soda's best friends. I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me. He knows cars inside out and upside down. Steve is a real tuff guy, though. A good fighter, too. He always keeps his black hair combed in complicated swirls. I guess that's just how he likes it.

Two-Bit's pretty cool, too. He's the oldest out of all of us, but definitely not the brightest or most responsible. For some strange reason, he likes school. And blondes. He really likes blondes. Two-Bit's real name is Keith, but even his teachers don't remember that. Two-Bit's the wisecracker of the bunch. If we get into trouble, it's usually his fault. He always has to get his two bits in (hence his name). He can take anything, even if its not remotely funny, and make it hilarious.

A couple months ago, we lost two of the gang. Johnny and Dallas. Johnny was afraid of his own shadow, but he was as loyal a friend as you could have. He ran into a burning building with me a couple months ago with me to save a bunch of little kids. That's when he got hurt. Johnny died in the hospital the next day, but I'll never forget his last words to me. He said, "Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold..."
When Johnny died, Dallas, who we call Dally, couldn't handle it. He ran off, robbed a grocery store, and ran from the police to the vacant lot. He held up his gun (which was not loaded, for the record), and the police shot him. Dally was real tuff. One of the tuffest guys I ever knew. He was different than anyone I knew, too. And not just because he didn't ever use hair oil on his white-blond hair. Even though he was arrested at the age of ten and had a police record a mile long, he stood up for his buddies. 'Cause that's what friends are for.
     Anyways, back to what was going on that cold December afternoon. Soda and I climbed into the car, and I finally asked, "What in the world is going on, Soda?" He sighed. "Darry's broke his back and we need you home right now. Oh, no, no, no! Memories rushed back of last time— "Don't stress too much, Pony. It's not bad. He's just outta work for a few weeks. That's all," Soda said. Before he could say anything else, I cut in, practically screaming, saying, "That's all? That's all!? How can you say that's all? He works two jobs! We'll never make enough money to—" "Calm yourself down, Ponyboy. No need to overreact again. Things will turn out just fine," Soda said. Yeah, right. I guess it's totally okay to be out of two jobs when staying together with your brothers is on the line. My anxiety finally took over. The rest of the ride home, we both kept silent.
We slowly pulled into the driveway and I quickly jumped out of the car. A little too quickly, because I tripped and fell flat on my face.  That was not cool. I slowly turned the handle on the front door, and gently pushed it open so it wouldn't come off again. Two-Bit broke our door.

       When I walked through the doorway, Darry was sitting in his armchair with the daily newspaper open in front of him, and a cup of coffee in one hand. He looked up from the paper and asked, "Hey Pony. How was school?" I simply replied, "What I actually went to, good." I had only gone to about half of my classes, but at least I had gotten away from my ornery math teacher. "Ponyboy," Darry started. "Soda and I've been talking, and we might need to pull you outta school for a few weeks." "What!? No!" I was practically yelling. How could they pull me outta school? I was still catching up from missing a few weeks of school a few months ago. "Don't stress about it, Pony," Darry said, trying to calm me down. "Things will turn out okay."