Susan Hinton - The Outsiders

Darry spun around to face me, genuine fear on his face. “What?”

I had a nightmare the night of Mom and Dad’s funeral. I’d had nightmares and wild dreams every once in a while when I was little, but nothing like this one. I woke up screaming bloody murder. And I never could remember what it was that had scared me. It scared Sodapop and Darry almost as bad as it scared me; for night after night, for weeks on end, I would dream this dream and wake up in a cold sweat or screaming. And I never could remember exactly what happened in it. Soda began sleeping with me, and it stopped recurring so often, but it happened often enough for Darry to take me to a doctor. The doctor said I had too much imagination. He had a simple cure, too: Study harder, read more, draw more, and play football more. After a hard game of football and four or five hours of reading, I was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to dream anything. But Darry never got over it, and every once in a while he would ask me if I ever dreamed any more.

“Was it very bad?” Two-Bit questioned. He knew the whole story, and having never dreamed about anything but blondes, he was interested.

“No,” I lied. I had awakened in a cold sweat and shivering, but Soda was dead to the world. I had just wiggled closer to him and stayed awake for a couple of hours, trembling under his arm. That dream always scared the heck out of me.

Darry started to say something, but before he could begin, Sodapop and Steve came in.

“You know what?” Sodapop said to no one in particular. “When we stomp the Socies good, me and Stevie here are gonna throw a big party and everybody can get stoned. Then we’ll go chase the Socs clear to Mexico.”

“Where you gonna get the dough, little man?” Darry had found the cake and was handing out pieces.

“I’ll think of somethin’,” Sodapop assured him between bites.

“You going to take Sandy to the party?” I asked, just to be saying something. Instant silence. I looked around. “What’s the deal?”

Sodapop was staring at his feet, but his ears were reddening. “No. She went to live with her grandmother in Florida.”

“How come?”

“Look,” Steve said, surprisingly angry, “does he have to draw you a picture? It was either that or get married, and her parents almost hit the roof at the idea of her marryin’ a sixteen-year-old kid.”

“Seventeen,” Soda said softly. “I’ll be seventeen in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh,” I said, embarrassed. Soda was no innocent; I had been in on bull sessions and his bragging was as loud as anyone’s. But never about Sandy. Not ever about Sandy. I remembered how her blue eyes had glowed when she looked at him, and I was sorry for her.

There was a heavy silence. Then Darry said, “We’d better get on to work, Pepsi-Cola.” Darry rarely called Soda by Dad’s pet nickname for him, but he did so then because he knew how miserable Sodapop was about Sandy.

“I hate to leave you here by yourself, Ponyboy,” Darry said slowly. “Maybe I ought to take the day off.”

“I’ve stayed by my lonesome before. You can’t afford a day off.”

“Yeah, but you just got back and I really ought to stay…”

“I’ll baby-sit him,” Two-Bit said, ducking as I took a swing at him. “I haven’t got anything better to do.”

“Why don’t you get a job?” Steve said. “Ever consider working for a living?”

“Work?” Two-Bit was aghast. “And ruin my rep? I wouldn’t be baby-sittin’ the kid here if I knew of some good day-nursery open on Saturdays.”

I pulled his chair over backward and jumped on him, but he had me down in a second. I was kind of short on wind. I’ve got to cut out smoking or I won’t make track next year.

“Holler uncle.”

“Nope,” I said, struggling, but I didn’t have my usual strength.

Darry was pulling on his jacket. “You two do up the dishes. You can go to the movies if you want to before you go see Dally and Johnny.” He paused for a second, watching Two-Bit squash the heck out of me. “Two-Bit, lay off. He ain’t lookin’ so good. Ponyboy, you take a couple of aspirins and go easy. You smoke more than a pack today and I’ll skin you. Understood?”

“Yeah,” I said, getting to my feet. “You carry more than one bundle of roofing at a time today and me and Soda’ll skin you. Understood?”

He grinned one of his rare grins. “Yeah. See y’all this afternoon.”

“Bye,” I said. I heard our Ford’s vvrrrrooooom and thought: Soda’s driving. And they left.

“…anyway, I was walking around downtown and started to take this short cut through an alley”—Two-Bit was telling me about one of his many exploits while we did the dishes. I mean, while I did the dishes. He was sitting on the cabinet, sharpening that black-handled switchblade he was so proud of—“…and I ran into three guys. I says ‘Howdy’ and they just look at each other. Then one says ‘We would jump you but since you’re as slick as us we figger you don’t have nothin’ worth takin’.’ I says ‘Buddy, that’s the truth’ and went right on. Moral: What’s the safest thing to be when one is met by a gang of social outcasts in an alley?”

“A judo expert?” I suggested.

“No, another social outcast!” Two-Bit yelped, and nearly fell off the cabinet from laughing so hard. I had to grin, too. He saw things straight and made them into something funny.

“We’re gonna clean up the house,” I said. “The reporters or police or somebody might come by, and anyway, it’s time for those guys from the state to come by and check up on us.”

“This house ain’t messy. You oughtta see my house.”

“I have. And if you had the sense of a billy goat you’d try to help around your place instead of bumming around.”

“Shoot, kid, if I ever did that my mom would die of shock.”

I liked Two-Bit’s mother. She had the same good humor and easygoing ways that he did. She wasn’t lazy like him, but she let him get away with murder. I don’t know, though — it’s just about impossible to get mad at him.

When we had finished, I pulled on Dally’s brown leather jacket — the back was burned black — and we started for Tenth Street.

“I would drive us,” Two-Bit said as we walked up the street trying to thumb a ride, “but the brakes are out on my car. Almost killed me and Kathy the other night.” He flipped the collar of his black leather jacket up to serve as a windbreak while he lit a cigarette. “You oughtta see Kathy’s brother. Now there’s a hood. He’s so greasy he glides when he walks. He goes to the barber for an oil change, not a haircut.”

I would have laughed, but I had a terrific headache. We stopped at the Tasty Freeze to buy Cokes and rest up, and the blue Mustang that had been trailing us for eight blocks pulled in. I almost decided to run, and Two-Bit must have guessed this, for he shook his head ever so slightly and tossed me a cigarette. As I lit up, the Socs who had jumped Johnny and me at the park hopped out of the Mustang. I recognized Randy Adderson, Marcia’s boyfriend, and the tall guy that had almost drowned me. I hated them. It was their fault Bob was dead; their fault Johnny was dying; their fault Soda and I might get put in a boys’ home. I hated them as bitterly and as contemptuously as Dally Winston hated.

Two-Bit put an elbow on my shoulder and leaned against me, dragging on his cigarette. “You know the rules. No jazz before the rumble,” he said to the Socs.

“We know,” Randy said. He looked at me. “Come here. I want to talk to you.”

I glanced at Two-Bit. He shrugged. I followed Randy over to his car, out of earshot of the rest. We sat there in his car for a second, silent. Golly, that was the tuffest car I’ve ever been in.