Susan Hinton - The Outsiders

We stopped at a Dairy Queen and the first thing I got was a Pepsi. Johnny and I gorged on barbecue sandwiches and banana splits.

“Glory,” Dallas said, amazed, watching us gulp the stuff down. “You don’t need to make like every mouthful’s your last. I got plenty of money. Take it easy, I don’t want you gettin’ sick on me. And I thought I was hungry!”

Johnny merely ate faster. I didn’t slow down until I got a headache.

“I didn’t tell y’all something,” Dally said, finishing his third hamburger. “The Socs and us are having all-out warfare all over the city. That kid you killed had plenty of friends and all over town it’s Soc against grease. We can’t walk alone at all. I started carryin’ a heater…”

“Dally!” I said, frightened. “You kill people with heaters!”

“Ya kill ’em with switchblades, too, don’t ya, kid?” Dally said in a hard voice. Johnny gulped. “Don’t worry,” Dally went on, “it ain’t loaded. I ain’t aimin’ to get picked up for murder. But it sure does help a bluff. Tim Shepard’s gang and our outfit are havin’ it out with the Socs tomorrow night at the vacant lot. We got hold of the president of one of their social clubs and had a war council. Yeah”—Dally sighed, and I knew he was remembering New York—“just like the good old days. If they win, things go on as usual. If we do, they stay outa our territory but good. Two-Bit got jumped a few days ago. Darry and me came along in time, but he wasn’t havin’ too much trouble. Two-Bit’s a good fighter. Hey, I didn’t tell you we got us a spy.”

“A spy?” Johnny looked up from his banana split. “Who?”

“That good-lookin’ broad I tried to pick up that night you killed the Soc. The redhead, Cherry what’s-her-name.”

JOHNNY GAGGED AND I almost dropped my hot-fudge sundae. “Cherry?” we both said at the same time. “The Soc?”

“Yeah,” Dally said. “She came over to the vacant lot the night Two-Bit was jumped. Shepard and some of his outfit and us were hanging around there when she drives up in her little ol’ Sting Ray. That took a lot of nerve. Some of us was for jumping her then and there, her bein’ the dead kid’s girl and all, but Two-Bit stopped us. Man, next time I want a broad I’ll pick up my own kind.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said slowly, and I wondered if, like me, he was remembering another voice, also tough and just deepened into manhood, saying: “Next time you want a broad, pick up your own kind…” It gave me the creeps.

Dally was going on: “She said she felt that the whole mess was her fault, which it is, and that she’d keep up with what was comin’ off with the Socs in the rumble and would testify that the Socs were drunk and looking for a fight and that you fought back in self-defense.” He gave a grim laugh. “That little gal sure does hate me. I offered to take her over to The Dingo for a Coke and she said ‘No, thank you’ and told me where I could go in very polite terms.”

She was afraid of loving you, I thought. So Cherry Valance, the cheerleader, Bob’s girl, the Soc, was trying to help us. No, it wasn’t Cherry the Soc who was helping us, it was Cherry the dreamer who watched sunsets and couldn’t stand fights. It was hard to believe a Soc would help us, even a Soc that dug sunsets. Dally didn’t notice. He had forgotten about it already.

“Man, this place is out of it. What do they do for kicks around here, play checkers?” Dally surveyed the scene without interest. “I ain’t never been in the country before. Have you two?”

Johnny shook his head but I said, “Dad used to take us all huntin’. I’ve been in the country before. How’d you know about the church?”

“I got a cousin that lives around here somewheres. Tipped me off that it’d make a tuff hide-out in case of something. Hey, Ponyboy, I heard you was the best shot in the family.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Darry always got the most ducks, though. Him and Dad. Soda and I goofed around too much, scared most of our game away.” I couldn’t tell Dally that I hated to shoot things. He’d think I was soft.

“That was a good idea, I mean cuttin’ your hair and bleachin’ it. They printed your descriptions in the paper but you sure wouldn’t fit ’em now.”

Johnny had been quietly finishing his fifth barbecue sandwich, but now he announced: “We’re goin’ back and turn ourselves in.”

It was Dally’s turn to gag. Then he swore awhile. Then he turned to Johnny and demanded: “What?”

“I said we’re goin’ back and turn ourselves in,” Johnny repeated in a quiet voice. I was surprised but not shocked. I had thought about turning ourselves in lots of times, but apparently the whole idea was a jolt to Dallas.

“I got a good chance of bein’ let off easy,” Johnny said desperately, and I didn’t know if it was Dally he was trying to convince or himself. “I ain’t got no record with the fuzz and it was self-defense. Ponyboy and Cherry can testify to that. And I don’t aim to stay in that church all my life.”

That was quite a speech for Johnny. His big black eyes grew bigger than ever at the thought of going to the police station, for Johnny had a deathly fear of cops, but he went on: “We won’t tell that you helped us, Dally, and we’ll give you back the gun and what’s left of the money and say we hitchhiked back so you won’t get into trouble. Okay?”

Dally was chewing the corner of his ID card, which gave his age as twenty-one so he could buy liquor. “You sure you want to go back? Us greasers get it worse than anyone else.”

Johnny nodded. “I’m sure. It ain’t fair for Ponyboy to have to stay up in that church with Darry and Soda worryin’ about him all the time. I don’t guess…”—he swallowed and tried not to look eager—“I don’t guess my parents are worried about me or anything?”

“The boys are worried,” Dally said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Two-Bit was going to Texas to hunt for you.”

“My parents,” Johnny repeated doggedly, “did they ask about me?”

“No,” snapped Dally, “they didn’t. Blast it, Johnny, what do they matter? Shoot, my old man don’t give a hang whether I’m in jail or dead in a car wreck or drunk in the gutter. That don’t bother me none.”

Johnny didn’t say anything. But he stared at the dashboard with such hurt bewilderment that I could have bawled.

Dally cussed under his breath and nearly tore out the transmission of the T-bird as we roared out of the Dairy Queen. I felt sorry for Dally. He meant it when he said he didn’t care about his parents. But he and the rest of the gang knew Johnny cared and did everything they could to make it up to him. I don’t know what it was about Johnny — maybe that lost-puppy look and those big scared eyes were what made everyone his big brother. But they couldn’t, no matter how hard they tried, take the place of his parents. I thought about it for a minute — Darry and Sodapop were my bothers and I loved both of them, even if Darry did scare me; but not even Soda could take Mom and Dad’s place. And they were my real brothers, not just sort of adopted ones. No wonder Johnny was hurt because his parents didn’t want him. Dally could take it — Dally was of the breed that could take anything, because he was hard and tough, and when he wasn’t, he could turn hard and tough. Johnny was a good fighter and could play it cool, but he was sensitive and that isn’t a good way to be when you’re a greaser.

“Blast it, Johnny,” Dally growled as we flew along the red road, “why didn’t you think of turning yourself in five days ago? It would have saved a lot of trouble.”

“I was scared,” Johnny said with conviction. “I still am.” He ran his finger down one of his short black sideburns. “I guess we ruined our hair for nothing, Ponyboy.”