Chapter Text
When I stamped out my cigarette into the ground of the dark alleyway, I had only two things on my mind: getting into a fight and the gang. It had been forever since I'd fought anybody, which most people would consider a good thing, but for me it just meant boredom was building up and itching under my skin. Even after three years of living there, I still hadn't really adjusted to how slow things were in the middle of Goddamn Nowhere, Oklahoma. In New York, where I'd lived before, there was always somebody looking for trouble around every corner, and I didn't have to go far to blow off some steam. Here, I had to really piss someone off to get them to swing at me, or else I had to swing first and that caused a whole other mess of problems. The only folks around here who'd jump you without reason were the Socs — rich kids who lived on the other side of town — but even they hadn't shown face in a while.
I was thinking about the gang because if they were around, I wouldn't need to fight. They'd come up with something stupid to do, and I'd complain and probably be just as bored, but I wouldn't be alone. Something I'd figured out was that being bored was easier with other people. Then you could complain about being bored, and people would laugh at your jokes, and you didn't have to listen to yourself think all the time. The guys wouldn't want me to fight, anyway. I usually hated that they'd talk me down from an unnecessary scrape, but I knew that if I'd actually gotten into all the fights I could've, I'd be dead in a ditch by then.
I thought about going to the drugstore. Then I could lift some cigarettes — I was running a little low on supply — and maybe some magazines, mess with a waitress til she yelled at me, and get kicked out. It was always a good time. But by myself, it was never as fun, because I always took it too far too quick.
I stood up straight and fidgeted with my jacket. If I wandered I'd find something soon enough. I went by the Curtis brothers' house first to see if any of them or the guys were hanging around there. There were three brothers: Darry, the oldest, built like a house and unfortunately tame considering how easy he could beat most guys to a pulp. There was Sodapop, who I should've hated considering all the other people I'd hated in the past — he was cheery and happy-go-lucky and nice despite everything his family had gone through — but I wasn't able to dislike him. Ponyboy (in case Sodapop wasn't a bullshit enough name for you) was the youngest, barely in high school and too young and good for any of the shit that happened to him. He was quiet and awkward and probably too smart.
When I got to the house, I found myself wishing that when I opened the door, Mrs. Curtis would be there. She used to always be home during the day and would find something for me to do while strongly hinting at how she wished I was still in school. But a few months back, she and Mr. Curtis got killed in a massive car wreck. Since then, Darry, who was only twenty, had taken care of Soda and Ponyboy. He really took care of most of the gang. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis had been the closest thing to caring folks most of us had.
When I got to their house, nobody was home, which meant Darry and Soda were at work and Ponyboy was probably out at the movies. That kid really liked movies. I hung around the house for a while in case anyone else stopped by, but I decided I didn't want to seem like I was lonely or desperate or anything, so I took off on my own.
I knew where Soda worked, so I thought I might head over there. Him and Steve Randle, another guy from our gang and Soda's best friend, worked at some random gas station I figured nobody cared about before the two of them started working there. Nowadays it was the busiest one in town. I thought it was because Steve was ridiculously good with cars — better than anyone else I'd ever met — but a lot of people said it was only popular because Soda was a girl magnet. They weren't wrong, of course. Soda was probably the prettiest guy I'd ever seen, and girls flew to him like crazy. If he'd hung around my kind of people in New York, he'd have pulled more than just girls. I had managed to, and I was nowhere near as good-looking as him.
I stood by the thought that Steve made the station popular, though. He was a real cool guy, and we liked to cuss at each other and say shitty stuff back and forth all the time. We could make each other mad to blow off steam and have a good laugh. If he wasn't in our gang, I probably would have hated his guts, and he probably wouldn't have liked me either. But since we hung in the same crowd — I guess it made us friends — we had fun and never got into much trouble with each other.
If I went over to the station, I thought, I'd probably be able to hang out for a while and bother Steve and Soda and maybe chat up some girls. But if there were too many Soc girls around it could mean trouble. I was never able to bring myself to be nice to them and their shiny, expensive cars that their daddies or boyfriends bought for them. When I talked to them it got nasty, and Steve would actually get mad and have to kick me out. I always felt just a little bad when that happened. Those rich girls would stop coming for a few days at best, and at worst their boys would show up looking for a fight.
It was well into the afternoon by then, though, so I thought they might be getting off work soon enough. The station wasn't too far from the movie theater, either, and Ponyboy would probably be walking home alone once his show was over. He was real smart in school, but was stupid when it counted. He tended to forget how dangerous it could be for greasers like us to walk around alone, even on our own turf. Maybe I would coincidentally run into him and walk him to the station so Soda could deal with him from there. I figured Two-Bit — another guy in the gang, with a worse mouth than me and a great sense of humor — might be wandering around looking to get drunk if he wasn't already. If I hung with him we could find a party and some booze and blow off the night doing nothing. I wouldn't mind that.
Just as I was walking out of the neighborhood and toward the more busy streets, I wondered if Johnny was home. Not that I would ever set foot in his place — his folks were awful people and treated him like shit, and I wasn't sure I'd be able to restrain myself from beating them to death myself if I ever saw them. But I hadn't hung out alone with Johnny in a while and I missed him a lot.
My relationship with Johnny was different than the other guys. He was a part of the gang with me, so we were friends in that way. But sometimes it felt different than just that. Sometimes more than just that. We usually spent a lot of time with each other away from the gang, just the two of us. We talked, but a lot of the time we just sat together and did nothing at all. I usually hated doing nothing, but with Johnny it was different. Even when we weren't talking, I didn't find myself suffocating with all my thoughts. But, shit, when we did talk it was like being around a whole new person. With the gang, Johnny was real quiet, so everyone knew him as the timid, shy one. But sometimes he just would talk and talk and talk to me, and it felt good. It meant he trusted me and he liked me and I was special to him. I was the only one he talked to like that. He'd said so himself.
I didn't mind talking to him, either. I'd told him about all sorts of things that I couldn't talk to anyone else about. We'd lay in the grass in a little hidden spot near an abandoned lot and talk. He knew that I actually hated jail, and that my dad made me want to set my place on fire every time he talked to me, and that I used to be real good at math. I talked to him about my mom. Once, he kept asking me about girls and relationships and why I kept going back to the same broad who kept cheating on me when I was locked up.
"I don't know," I had told him honestly. But I guess I liked being honest and I guess I figured I could trust him, because I kept talking. "I've been with plenty of people better than her. Especially in New York. At least there I... had more options."
"More options? What's that supposed to mean?"
I let the words come out before I could think too much about it. "I mean that I could pick up more than just girls."
"What else is there?" He asked, jokingly. When I didn't respond, he got more serious. "What, did you... did you pick up guys?" His voice wasn't mean or scared or ugly. It was genuine.
"Mmhmm," I said to him, trying to seem casual and not scared for my life. It was Johnny and I knew he wouldn't hurt me, but it was still terrifying. He hadn't run away, though, so I tried to test the waters. "I was pretty good at it, too, if I do say so myself."
I thought I heard him laugh, but I couldn't be sure. It was quiet for a long time and I felt myself getting nervous. I started to wonder if I was stupid for saying anything and if I would have to go pack my bags and run for the hills. I despised Oklahoma, but as much as I hated to admit it, I liked my friends and didn't want to leave.
But after a minute, he shifted next to me and quietly said, "I think I might... be like you."
I sat up and looked at him, but he didn't move, just stared at the sky. "You been picking up guys, Johnnycake?" I was mostly joking, I had understood what he meant.
"No! No. Just... I might..."
"Be interested in 'em?"
He nodded very slowly, and I had heard the fear creeping into his voice. He was shaking a little, arms crossed tightly over his chest. I knew what he was feeling. I couldn't help.
Things were a little different after that night. He sat a little closer to me and didn't pull away so fast when I lit his cigarettes for him. I found myself watching him more closely and noticing him more than I had before. The way his jeans jacket was too small, and the way he didn't laugh out loud much but always smiled at his shoes long after a joke had passed, and the way his bangs always fell into his eyes. And I noticed the way that I always wanted to reach over and push them out of his face for him.
I never said anything because that could only mean trouble. There were so many reasons it would be a bad idea. But I did hope...
My thoughts were interrupted by screaming. Someone was yelling in a nearby alley, and even before I could make out what they were yelling I thought it sounded like Ponyboy. But then I heard him screaming Soda and Darry's names and I knew it was him. I swore to myself, reaching into my pocket and feeling the handle of my switchblade. I considered leaving the kid to fend for himself, because he got into trouble often enough to need to learn his damn lesson, but the thought of how mad Darry and Soda would be at me for that made me nauseous. That was when Ponyboy stopped screaming.
And that was when I realized I had found my fight.
I sprinted in the direction that the yelling had been coming from. I knew there would be a whole load of Socs ganging up on Ponyboy, because they never went for a fair fight. I hoped there weren't too many, though, because as much as I liked beating the odds, I knew I couldn't take too many on my own and Ponyboy was useless when he was spooked.
As I turned the corner, out of the corner of my eye I saw Two-Bit running toward me, and when he caught sight of me his face broke out into a wide grin. I found myself smiling back. The thrill, the excitement of a fight was bubbling up, and Two-Bit and I made a hell of a team.
The second I was in the alley, I reached for the closest guy, grabbed him by the shoulder of a too-expensive jacket, turned him toward me, and slammed my fist into his nose. The crunch against my knuckles made up for the stinging pain I felt in my hand. I loved punching guys in the nose, because they caused a lot of blood and usually made people cry, even if it didn't hurt that bad.
The guy fell away from me, clutching his face and grunting. That moment of distraction and shock was all I needed, and I pounced, pinning him to the ground with my knees and slugging him over and over. I heard more scuffles behind me and figured Two-Bit had made it in, and probably some of the others. The whole gang had a weird sense for these sorts of things — we all seemed to find ourselves in the right place when one of our own needed it.
Someone grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me off, the fabric against my neck nearly strangling me. I rolled and scrambled to my feet, barely avoiding a kick to the gut. I tried to grab for him, but he jerked away, then started to run. Finally, I took a second to breathe and look around, and saw all of them taking off. I glanced around — the whole gang had showed up, just like I thought — made eye contact with everyone, and ran right after them. I figured Darry and maybe Soda would stay behind and check up on Pony.
The Soc's car was nearby, shiny and red and probably worth more than our lives. All the guys were hopping in, shouting and cussing. I nearly tripped over something as I ran for them, and I realized it was a pretty hefty rock. I reached down and grabbed it, taking a few more steps before chucking it as hard as I could at the hood of the car. I saw Two-Bit run up to the car, looking like he was gonna try to beat them through the window, but the Socs were rolling up the windows as quick as they could.
"Shit!" Screamed the driver. "Fucking greasers gonna ruin my car!"
Two-Bit smacked the window a couple of times. "Yeah? Yeah? Think about that next time you wanna gang up on a fuckin' kid, you piece of shit! Go to hell!"
I kept throwing any rocks I could find, getting satisfaction over every scratch and dent and bang against the car, and I saw Steve and Johnny doing it with me. Two-Bit kept hitting the car and yelling at the guys as they peeled out onto the street. We all chased after them for a minute, shouting and swearing at them until I was out of breath, and from the way we all paused for a second, I figured the rest of the guys were, too. I looked to my right at Johnny.
"Hey," I said, grinning at him.
He smiled shyly. "Hey."
Steve came up and smacked me on the back of the head. I shoved him off of me and into Two-Bit, who caught him and pushed both of us along, back toward the alley. Without thinking too much about it, I threw an arm around Johnny's shoulders as we walked.
"You got out early, huh, Dally?"
Dally. My real name was Dallas, but the guys all called me Dally. I found it pretty funny, considering it wasn't really any shorter, but I didn't mind. Almost everyone had nicknames around here.
"Yeah," I said. Johnny was talking about jail. I had gotten thrown in again a while ago for some vandalism. It was supposed to be another week or two before I was back, but they had let me out the day before. I'd spent it looking for my girlfriend, Sylvia, and then breaking up with her once I found her with another guy.
Johnny started like he was gonna say something else, but Steve turned around to me, a mean look on his face.
"Who wants to bet the idiot kid was walking home alone from the movies again?" Steve didn't like Ponyboy very much, and he didn't try to hide it.
"We just ain't good enough company," I said with mock sadness.
"He's just so damn stupid, that kid—"
"Lay off him," Johnny said quietly. Him and Ponyboy were pretty good friends.
Steve looked at him for a second, fists clenched. But then he looked at my arm around him and my raised eyebrows and he sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. I was surprised Johnny had said anything, because he really was shy around the others, and it took a lot for him to stand up to anyone, let alone someone as mean as Steve.
As we approached the alley again, I pulled my arm away from Johnny, but not before messing his hair up a little bit. I really liked his hair. Even when it had grease in it, it was real soft.
We found Ponyboy, alive and crying, sitting on the ground and leaning a little against Soda. He was bleeding like crazy and tried to hide the tears and sniffles when we showed up.
"Didya catch 'em?" He asked, not hiding the shake of his voice very well.
Two-Bit shook his head. "Nup, they got away this time, the dirty shits. Just a buncha fuckin' cowards, if you ask me." He kept talking, and I usually enjoyed these rants from him, since he was the best at swearing in the entire gang on account of his creativity with words, but I was distracted. Johnny was still standing close to me, our shoulders almost brushing. I was pissed at myself for noticing and caring about such a tiny fact.
"I didn't know you were out of the cooler yet, Dally."
I grinned at Ponyboy. "Good behavior," I said, knowing they would all find it pretty funny. I wasn't exactly known for my good behavior. "Got off early."
Then I lit a cigarette and handed it to Johnny. Our fingers brushed together for a moment and it felt electric, like it was buzzing through my skin. I lit one for myself and took a long drag, leaning against a nearby wall. Everyone else took it as a cue, I guess, and lit their own up and settled down.
I finally took a good look at Ponyboy. He was white as a sheet and shaking like a madman, but he was trying real hard not to show it. He hated being the youngest in the gang — he was only fourteen, and the closest in age to him was Johnny, Soda, and Steve who were sixteen — and he never wanted to be the weakest or a tagalong. He usually was, though, and Steve liked to complain about that to me when Soda wasn't around.
"Nice-lookin' bruise you got there, kid," Two-Bit said to Ponyboy. He was always real nice to him. Even though he wasn't one of Pony's actual brothers, he sure acted like it. He had a little sister so he knew how to be a big brother, and I think he liked being looked up to. It was kinda funny, considering all his drinking and stealing and swearing.
"Really?" Ponyboy asked as he reached up to touch the bruise that was already forming on his cheek. He seemed proud of it.
"Nice cut, too. Makes you look tough."
Darry frowned a little, which I thought was funny. He was watching Ponyboy real close, probably trying to figure out what lesson to teach him over this. I always thought it was hilarious when Darry lectured Pony, because he was usually right and the kid took it so personally. Maybe I was just bitter that he had it so good with his brothers and always took it for granted.
Next to me, Steve shifted a little, flicking his ashes toward Ponyboy. I tried to hold back my grin. I liked when Steve started problems in the group, and especially when he got Ponyboy riled up, just like I liked it when he got pissed off. It was always amusing, and never ended too bad. "What were you doin' walkin' by your lonesome?"
"I was comin' home from the movies. I didn't think —"
Steve elbowed me subtly, a grin spreading on his face. Pony had said the magic words.
"You don't ever think." Darry was pacing, using frustration to cover up the anxiety I knew had been overwhelming him only minutes ago. "Not at home or anywhere when it counts. You must think at school, with all those good grades you bring home, and you've always got your nose in a book, but do you ever use your head for common sense? No sirree, bub. And if you did have to go by yourself, you should have carried a blade."
I nearly busted out laughing. Ponyboy was too soft to ever cut someone, and he'd never use a blade or even pull it as a threat if he had one. For a split second, I almost felt a little bad for him, because he looked like he was about to start crying again, but I shut that off. This kid had someone looking out for him. Hell, he had two brothers looking out for him on top of a whole gang of guys who'd do nearly anything to protect him. Just because his older brother was hard on him didn't mean he didn't have it pretty damn good. I agreed with Darry, anyway. Ponyboy needed to take better care of himself.
"Leave my kid brother alone, you hear?" Soda always took up for Ponyboy. It was part of the fun in these situations. "It ain't his fault he likes to go to the movies, and it ain't his fault the Socs like to jump us, and if he had been carrying a blade it would have been a good excuse to cut him to ribbons."
"When I want my kid brother to tell me what to do with my other kid brother, I'll ask you — kid brother." Darry didn't keep nagging on Ponyboy, though. When I said I found it impossible to hate Soda, I meant it. Nobody could stand to be mad at him for long.
Two-Bit looked between them for a moment. "Next time get one of us to go with you, Ponyboy. Any of us will."
I glanced at my hands and noticed the bruises forming on my knuckles. As much as I hated to admit it, fighting was probably not a sustainable hobby at this point. "Speaking of movies," I started, then got caught in a yawn. I tossed my cigarette butt and continued. "I'm walkin' over to the Nightly Double tomorrow night. Anybody want to come and hunt some action?" Who knew, maybe we would find a fight anyway. It would at least be interesting if any of the guys came along with me.
"Me and Soda are pickin' up Evie and Sandy for the game," Steve said.
I tried not to frown. The mention of their girlfriends reminded me of Sylvia. The breakup had been kinda ugly. She'd tried to plead with me and say she thought I wouldn't be back for a few more weeks, as if that made it better. I realized I was twisting my ring around my finger — I always gave it to Sylvia when we were dating; whenever I had it I was constantly fidgeting with it.
"I'm working tomorrow night," Darry said with a sigh. I knew he wouldn't come. The guy was always working, and I knew it was because he wanted to give Soda and Pony everything he possibly could, but I did feel a little bad for him.
I looked around. I really wanted at least one of them to come. I couldn't stand being alone for too long at night, because it meant I either had to go home and see my dad, or I would get stupid and cause trouble because no one was there to talk me out of it. "How about you, Two-Bit?" I hesitated, only for a second, but I turned to Johnny. "Johnnycake, you and Pony wanna come?"
Johnny made eye contact with me for a half a second before looking at Ponyboy.
"Me and Johnny'll come," Pony said. His voice was back to normal, not as shaky and spooked anymore. "Okay, Darry?"
Darry never let Ponyboy do anything on a school night, but tomorrow was Friday. I'd tried to get the kid to sneak out a few times, just to see what would happen, but no matter how much he pretended to hate Darry's rules, he never wanted to break them.
"Yeah, since it ain't a school night."
The two of them was good enough for me.
I felt eyes on me, and I turned, seeing Steve staring at my hand. I stopped messing with the ring on my finger, but he'd noticed it already. The gang all knew what it meant that it was back on my finger.
"You break up with Sylvia again?" Steve asked. I don't know why. He already knew the answer and I really didn't feel like talking about it.
"Yeah, and this time it's for good. That little broad was two-timin' me again while I was in jail."
I still had no idea why this time was different. She always forgot about me the second I was in jail for more than a night. It shouldn't have bothered me this time any more than the other times — shit, one time she apparently tried to hit on Johnny while I was in and I didn't care this much — but something just felt different these days. Maybe it had just been too long. I was tired of it. I was tired of a lot of it, not just trying to go steady with some girl who pretended I didn't exist the second I disappeared. I was tired of looking for fights and going to jail because I had nothing better to do and going to the hidden clearing behind the abandoned lot every night and hoping Johnny would show up. Oklahoma was exhausting. Living was exhausting.
I wanted to get drunk.
We all sat around for a while, not really talking. Two-Bit was telling a story about a party, which I couldn't seem to follow; his stories weren't exactly conversations, so the rest of us listened or pretended to. It was nice and it was normal. Johnny was fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt, and I was trying to not watch his hands too much.
When it started to get darker, Darry put his hands on Soda and Pony's heads, messing up their hair.
"We should head back. Pony's probably got homework."
"I ain't got homework," Sodapop said.
Darry gave him a look. Soda had dropped out of school a little while ago to work full-time, which I didn't think was a big deal. Lots of greasers like us dropped out, and work was a real important thing around here.
The three of them took off, and the alley felt real empty without them. Steve tossed his cigarette at the spot where Soda had been sitting and sighed.
"I oughta head out, too," Steve said. "School."
"It's a Friday tomorrow!" Two-Bit said with a wide grin. "Take the day off, man."
Steve stood up and shook his head. "This is why you're still a junior."
"Maybe I just wanted to have classes with you."
"Maybe that's why Soda dropped out," Steve snarked.
Two-Bit put his hand on his chest and gasped overdramatically. "That hurts me, Steven."
"Go find a blonde to kiss it better."
"I will!"
Steve laughed and turned to me. "Later, Dally."
"Later."
He nodded at Johnny and went down the street. Two-Bit yawned loudly and stretched out his arms and legs as much as he could.
"I gotta get goin', too. Ma's workin' late so I gotta fix dinner for Peggy." That was his kid sister. He had to cover dinners and nighttimes a lot since his dad up and left them all, but the second his mom was home he usually found his way to a party.
"Don't burn the house down," Johnny said quietly.
Two-Bit walked over and grabbed Johnny's head, shaking it back and forth a little. "Watch yer mouth, kid," he said teasingly.
Johnny smiled at his shoes.
"See ya around, Two-Bit," I said.
He waved to us as he left, a bounce in his step. I really admired him. He dealt with just as much shit as the rest of us, had to help with his sister, and didn't get a whole lotta respect from most folks, but he still was happy and could turn anything into a joke. I wished I could be like that, sometimes.
A cold breeze shot through the alley. Instinctively, Johnny and I both held our jackets a little tighter and shifted a little closer. Our arms were pressed against each other.
"You wanna go somewhere?" I asked.
"Sure," he said, standing up and putting his hands in his pockets.
I jumped up after him and led the way out of the alley. As we walked, I lit a cigarette and offered it to him, but he shook his head. I shrugged and kept it for myself, watching the faint glow of the tip in the darkness.
We always went to the same spot behind the abandoned lot. It took us a while to get there, and we tried to slouch and look mean as we walked. I liked fights, but Johnny hated them, and I wanted us to avoid looking like easy targets as much as possible.
When we got to the lot, I felt Johnny stand up a little straighter, eyes trained on the ground with intense focus. He never liked walking around here alone, and I knew that just one other person didn't help much. A few months back he was there alone and got jumped by a whole car of Socs — he was lucky they hadn't killed him. He had always been quiet, but that had made him jumpy and panicked. His dad beating him and his mom screaming at him at every turn hadn't been the breaking point. No, it was a bunch of assholes who decided it would be fun to gang up on and nearly kill a guy. He still had a scar from it, from his temple to his cheekbone. It made me sick whenever I thought too much about it. I hated that he had to walk through here, but it was the only way to get to our spot.
The lot was framed by trees, which grew surprisingly close together and were surrounded by dense shrubbery. It was annoying when we were playing football in the field and it went out of bounds, but when it came to hiding, it was perfect. There was a small clearing in the middle of it, far enough away to be hidden from the street lights and anybody passing by the lot. It was barely big enough for two people, but I wasn't exactly complaining.
Johnny and I laid down in the grass, pressed arm to arm, side to side, looking up through the clear shot at the sky. We stayed quiet for a while. Just breathing and relaxing and not going home. That was probably the nicest part of it. We watched the stars — the few faint ones we could see through the lights of the town — and I wasn't thinking about myself or my dad or how much I hated everything or... really thinking at all. It was nice.
I felt him shift a little next to me, and I turned to find him facing me. Not exactly looking at me, because he didn't usually like to make eye contact, but turned toward me. He seemed tired, more tired than usual. I wondered how long it had been since he went home.
"You said you an' Sylvia are done for good, huh?" he asked.
I nodded real slow, turning my ring around and around my finger. "Yeah. I tried," I said, sighing and looking up at the sky. "I really tried with her. But I couldn't stand it anymore."
"Why'd you keep tryin'? You two were always breaking up and gettin' back together."
"I don't know," I said. "I guess... she was mean and careless and shitty so we deserved each other. And goin' back felt easier than bein' alone. 'Cause, Christ, it's not like anyone else out there is gonna take me. Nobody else even likes me."
"There are other people out there who like you."
Johnny had spoken so quickly. I sat up, leaning on one elbow and raising an eyebrow at him. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but I thought he had gone a little red. I dropped the rest of my cigarette in the grass and crushed it under my boot.
"I just mean that you're cool, and real good-lookin', and I'm sure there are other girls who'd jump at the chance to be with you."
And suddenly he turned and looked at me. Right at me, making eye contact. He didn't do that often and I hadn't been expecting it and the bigness and brightness and softness of his black eyes struck me. My breath caught in my throat. There was a tight feeling in my chest, one I was familiar with by then, but it was so much more and I hated it. It made me angry. I hated that it made me angry, but everything was so much right then. We were so close that I could feel the rise and fall of his chest and I could feel it speeding up. We were so close. The moonlight was barely bright enough to see anything, but I could still make out the lines and features of his face.
I felt myself leaning closer. It wasn't something I decided to do but it was happening and I wanted it to happen, and he didn't move away, and he was so beautiful, and I trusted him, and he was looking at me, and he glanced away for a second but then he looked back and I felt his hand brush against mine and stay there and it was too much and I couldn't take it.
"Dally..."
I reached a hand up to the side of his face. "Tell me to stop." He didn't. I kept leaning closer. "Tell me to stop." I barely had to whisper for him to hear me, we were so close.
He didn't tell me to stop.
So I kissed him.
It was the buzz of every hand touch and arm over the shoulder and quick glance and night in the lot combined and multiplied by a thousand. It was Johnny's lips on mine and his hair in my fingers and his hand against my arm. It was gentle — I was trying so hard to be gentle with him — but he was kissing me back and suddenly I understood what wanting was. I thought that I wanted cars and fights and distractions. I thought I had wanted Sylvia. But this was so much more. I was trying to be gentle because it was Johnny and he deserved gentle and nice and it was probably his first kiss. Not with a guy — with anyone. He was awkward, but it was sweet, and, fuck, I was kissing Johnny Cade, I didn't care how it was.
I was trying to be gentle, I was really trying, but I realized in the back of my mind that this might be my only chance and that scared me and he was kissing me back and I kept pushing further and then I was on top of him, propped up by one arm, and our legs were tangled together and he kept kissing me back and he had a hand on my hip and I felt it all everywhere and I wanted this I wanted this I wanted it.
Somewhere nearby a car screeched into a sharp turn, tires squealing loudly and echoing across the lot. We both froze, faces just inches apart. Nobody could see us. We both knew that. But we were both back in reality. We both knew how dangerous that had been.
I didn't move for a long time. We were both breathing heavy, but other than that we were perfectly still. My fingers were still in his hair and his hand was still on my hip and our noses were brushing against each other.
Johnny looked away. "I..."
He sounded scared and upset and confused and so I rolled off of him, laying down next to him again. My hands were shaking, and it felt like my whole body was electric. I had kissed him. He had kissed me. It had really happened.
I waited for him to say more. I felt like I had already said everything I had to say. And I didn't really care what he said next because I had kissed him and he had kissed me and I could die tomorrow and be satisfied.
Part of me knew deep down that that wasn't true; that I wanted more, that this wasn't enough. But I couldn't think about that.
"I really like you, Dally." He sounded genuine and wistful and sad.
There was another pause. I wanted to say something but I knew that he was burning through a million thoughts a second, trying to understand and think and make sense of it all.
"I don't know how this works," he started, his voice a little raspy. "I don't know what's supposed to come next. I don't—"
"You don't have to know," I said gently, trying to calm him down. He was panicking and I didn't want him to panic because then he would run away and never talk to me again.
"You know."
I laughed quietly. "No. No, I don't. Nobody knows how this works. It doesn't 'work,' Johnny, it just..." I was getting frustrated; I didn't know how to explain it.
"But you've been with people before. You've... you've been with... you know."
I wanted him to say it out loud. "With?"
He brought his knees up to his chest and covered his face. "With..." He groaned and stopped talking.
I let the silence sit for a while. I didn't know how to help someone through this. I barely got through it myself the first time I kissed a guy. It's like a hundred puzzle pieces fit together in an instant, but the picture it makes is one everyone hates. One that you're supposed to hate. I hated that Johnny had to go through this and I hated that I couldn't help him but I wasn't good at helping anyone.
Johnny pulled his jacket closer around himself. It was getting cold, but I wasn't sure it was entirely because of that.
"I'm... gonna go," he said so softly I could barely hear him.
I sat up. "Alright."
"I'm not—" he stopped, taking a deep breath. "We can't tell anybody."
"Obviously not," I said, too sharply. "I'm not fucking stupid."
Johnny nodded slowly, then got up.
"I'll see you tomorrow." I tried to be nicer. I was never good at being nice.
He looked at me blankly.
"You and Ponyboy are coming with me to the drive-in."
"Right."
We watched each other for another moment. Then he nodded at me one more time and left. I listened to every one of his footsteps as they crunched through the grass and rustled through the brush. I strained my ears trying to hear him as long as I could. I wanted him to turn back around, to run back to me and say that he liked it and he wanted to stay.
But the footsteps kept fading until they were gone completely. My chest felt tight still, but it was turning into something angry and mean, something dangerous. I wasn't sure who it was dangerous for yet. It could've been dangerous for me, or for whoever I happened to see next.
I wanted to break something. I wanted to scream. I wanted to get punched. I wanted to drive a car until it ran out of gas and then stay wherever I ended up until I disappeared.
Was I really that stupid? I knew that nothing could end well with Johnny. I knew that hand touches and arms over the shoulder and hope was all I was gonna get, and because I had reached for more, it was all gonna burn up right in front of me. Johnny wasn't gonna look at me ever again, or wanna spend time with me. I should've just settled. He was the one thing keeping me sane. I didn't have to think when I was with him. I didn't hate myself when I was with him. It didn't matter that we were just friends, because he was there.
I snatched my switchblade out of my pocket and flicked it open. The blade shone in the moonlight, and I looked at it closely, tilting it to catch the light. I held the blade just above my palm. I wasn't going to do anything, but it was nice to consider. To think about. To know that I could do it.
I remembered a deal that Johnny and I had made years ago. It was stupid to think about now, but it was in my head. We both promised that we wouldn't kill ourselves while the other was still around. We needed each other and couldn't abandon the other — it wouldn't be fair.
I figured he probably didn't care what I did to myself after I kissed him like that, but I put the blade away and got to my feet.
There was no way I was getting any sleep, and I sure as hell didn't want to see my dad. So, with my hand around my blade in my pocket, I decided to wander and find somewhere to cause trouble. I held the handle of the switchblade tightly in my pocket as I kicked through the brush. Normally I tried to be at least a little quiet, because I didn't want anyone else to find the spot, but that night everything was out the window. For all I knew, Johnny and I would never spend another night there. Plus, the sound of dead leaves crunching and twigs snapping and the scratching of thorns against my ankles was satisfying.
My mind was buzzing by the time I made it out to the street. I was shaking a little, too, and I wasn't sure how much of it was the cold, the kiss, or the adrenaline of the whole night. I looked for glass bottles as I walked, smashing each one as hard as I could. I wanted to throw them at cars, but there weren't many on the street I was on, so I settled for chucking them at street lamps and mailboxes. Each shattering crash set off my nerves even more, but I kept doing it.
I wasn't even sure where I was going. I was just letting my feet take me wherever they ended up while my brain was distracted. I started thinking. It wasn't the good kind of thinking, it was the spiraling, rapid thinking I would get into when I'm nervous. Johnny probably wasn't even... I mean, a lot of people wondered about it, I thought, and he never said he was, just that he thought he might be. And that meant he had to hate me after I kissed him. It was stupid of me to do that, and I knew before and I knew it in the moment and I knew it then, as I was walking down the streets. The only reason Johnny wouldn't tell anybody was because he hated himself for kissing me back and he knew everyone would treat us both like dirt if they found out about it, not just me. This was bad, it was really, really bad, and I was gonna have to face Johnny the next afternoon and pretend like nothing had happened.
I paused, recognizing the street I was on. I couldn't quite place what it was — I probably knew someone who lived there — but I kept walking, hoping I'd figure it out. Man, I was out of it. I was having trouble breathing right and my chest still hurt and my hands were still shaky, and I was walking around aimlessly in the middle of the night. It was like I was asking to get jumped and killed. Maybe I was.
I heard the music coming from a house in the middle of the street, and within a second I put it together. Tim Shepard lived here. He was a friend of mine, another greaser, good in a fight and a decent leader for his gang. I liked him. There was always shit going on at his house, because his dad pretended to forget he had kids around and always had parties and music and no food and the nights when he was out, most of Shepard's gang would be over making a mess of things.
I stood on the sidewalk just a little ways away from the house for a moment. I could go in. Find Shepard. Probably steal some beers and kill time with him.
My hands were still shaking and I still couldn't breathe and I knew I was gonna look like a mess when I tried to talk to him, so I didn't.
I kept walking. I felt the switchblade in my hand. I tried to take in a deep breath, but it hurt my ribs.
I knelt down next to Shepard's car and slashed his tires.
It felt good. Destroying something. Using the knife. But it took work, and by the time I got to the third tire I was starting to regret it. I liked Shepard. He was okay. But I couldn't stop at that point and I hated myself and I couldn't breathe but when I used the knife my hands weren't shaking.
Suddenly, something in my blade broke. I swore loudly, cussing without care and knowing that if anybody was paying attention they could definitely hear me. I wasn't sure what it was but pieces were coming loose and I tried to find any bits that had fallen off and then the porch light flashed on, and I heard the door opening, and I just took what was in my hand and bolted.
Deep down, I hoped Shepard had seen me. I hoped he would be mad. I hoped he would kill me.