The Outsiders: Book Two

Sharpie Mustaches and Chocolate Cake.

Let me just say, when Red said high speeds, she wasn't exaggerating. It reminded me of a time I was riding with someone down a red dirt road—but I don't remember who—they just seemed to have no regard for speed limits, same as Red. We were home in a couple minutes, the engine roaring as we pulled into the driveway. Must have made quite a ruckus too, because the curtains were pulled up and I saw the guys peering through the window.

Red pulled the keys out of the ignition and tossed them to me. “If they don't come looking for the car, you have it. You deserve a car like this, you look good in it. Not that you don't look good all the time,” she did what I perceived to be a very un-Red-ish thing, then—she giggled. I laughed nervously too, not sure how to respond. Maybe that giggle was sarcastic. Maybe she was giggling at something else. Maybe it was because she knew it would make my head get mixed up, and she wanted to antagonize me.

There goes my over-active imagination again.

They must have decided that some Socs pulled into their driveway, because Soda came out the door holding the ax we used to chop wood. The other guys streamed and fanned out behind him, with switchblades, and Steve even had a pipe.

Red honked at them, waving and flashing a good-natured grin. She rolled down the window. “Just us! Don't untidy this car!”

Soda lowered the ax, and just stared at us in disbelief. Red popped the door open, I got out too, gripping the door tightly. Soda looked as if someone had told him that Two-Bit had gotten A's in school.

“What...?” he asked, his mouth open while he stood there limply.

“We got jumped,” I said helpfully, entering the house. My nose began to gush blood, and I hastily pinched it.

“We see that,” Two-Bit chided, raising an eyebrow.

He came in to help Red and I, while Steve practically laid on the car, his eyes glazed over.

“So, who's car is it?” Steve asked in an awed voice.

“Now?” Red asked absently, leaning on the counter, pressing a wet washcloth to her face. “Ponyboy's. I think he looks good in it.”

“You think he looks good in anything,” Two-Bit muttered, dabbing at a a cut on my temple.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, grinning at me. I started to roll my eyes, but it didn't help my unsteadiness.

“Leave us be, Two-Bit. I've had enough beating this week for half a lifetime.”

“Only half? That's hastily said, Pony, you're gunnin' to get another three halves tacked on.”

“Let up, will you?” I groaned.

Two-Bit chuckled, but said nothing as he put a Band-Aid on my face.

Suddenly I remembered our cargo. “Ricky...”

Red glanced up in realization. “Oh yeah, I forgot! Idiot!” she muttered to herself. I didn't know if she was talking about me or Ricky or herself.

I stood up to go get him, but as the living room began to whirl around me, Two-Bit clamped a hand over my shoulder, easing me back down onto the couch. “Hey, steady kid, you ain't goin' anywhere.”

“But—”

“I'll go help her with the kid. Just...don't move.” I didn't feel like protesting, because my head hurt and I felt a little motion-sick, with the room dancing around me, so I just stayed there.

Two-Bit pushed open the screen door, and his usually comical face looked uneasy. “This kid got beat bad. Judist priest. Almost worse than...” he cut short, but my mind filled in the blank—Johnny. It seemed like my brain was going to sear.