The Outsiders (3 page)

Soda was glaring at him. “Leave my kid brother alone, you hear? 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.”

Soda always takes up for me.

Darry said impatiently, “When I want my kid brother to tell me what to do with my other kid brother, I’ll ask you—kid brother.” But he laid off me. He always does when Sodapop tells him to. Most of the time.

“Next time get one of us to go with you, Ponyboy,” Two-Bit said. “Any of us will.”

“Speakin’ of movies”—Dally yawned, flipping away his cigarette butt—“I’m walkin’ over to the Nightly Double tomorrow night. Anybody want to come and hunt some action?”

Steve shook his head. “Me and Soda are pickin’ up Evie and Sandy for the game.”

He didn’t need to look at me the way he did right then. I wasn’t going to ask if I could come. I’d never tell Soda, because he really likes Steve a lot, but sometimes I can’t stand Steve Randle. I mean it. Sometimes I hate him.

Darry sighed, just like I knew he would. Darry never had time to do anything anymore. “I’m working tomorrow night.”

Dally looked at the rest of us. “How about y’all? Two-Bit? Johnnycake, you and Pony wanta come?”

“Me and Johnny’ll come,” I said. I knew Johnny wouldn’t open his mouth unless he was forced to. “Okay, Darry?”

“Yeah, since it ain’t a school night.” Darry was real good about letting me go places on the weekends. On school nights I could hardly leave the house.

“I was plannin’ on getting boozed up tomorrow night,” Two-Bit said. “If I don’t, I’ll walk over and find y’all.”

Steve was looking at Dally’s hand. His ring, which he had rolled a drunk senior to get, was back on his finger. “You break up with Sylvia again?”

“Yeah, and this time it’s for good. That little broad was two-timin’ me again while I was in jail.”

I thought of Sylvia and Evie and Sandy and Two-Bit’s many blondes. They were the only kind of girls that would look at us, I thought. Tough, loud girls who wore too much eye makeup and giggled and swore too much. I liked
Soda’s girl Sandy just fine, though. Her hair was natural blond and her laugh was soft, like her china-blue eyes. She didn’t have a real good home or anything and was our kind—greaser—but she was a real nice girl. Still, lots of times I wondered what other girls were like. The girls who were bright-eyed and had their dresses a decent length and acted as if they’d like to spit on us if given a chance. Some were afraid of us, and remembering Dallas Winston, I didn’t blame them. But most looked at us like we were dirt—gave us the same kind of look that the Socs did when they came by in their Mustangs and Corvairs and yelled “Grease!” at us. I wondered about them. The girls, I mean . . . Did they cry when their boys were arrested, like Evie did when Steve got hauled in, or did they run out on them the way Sylvia did Dallas? But maybe their boys didn’t get arrested or beaten up or busted up in rodeos.

I was still thinking about it while I was doing my homework that night. I had to read
Great Expectations
for English, and that kid Pip, he reminded me of us—the way he felt marked lousy because he wasn’t a gentleman or anything, and the way that girl kept looking down on him. That happened to me once. One time in biology I had to dissect a worm, and the razor wouldn’t cut, so I used my switchblade. The minute I flicked it out—I forgot what I was doing or I would never have done it—this girl right beside me kind of gasped, and said, “They are right. You are a hood.” That didn’t make me feel so hot. There were a lot of Socs in that class—I get put into
A
classes because I’m supposed to be smart—and most of them thought it was pretty funny. I didn’t, though. She was a cute girl. She looked real good in yellow.

We deserve a lot of our trouble, I thought. Dallas deserves everything he gets, and should get worse, if you want the truth. And Two-Bit—he doesn’t really want or need half the things he swipes from stores. He just thinks it’s fun to swipe everything that isn’t nailed down. I can understand why Sodapop and Steve get into drag races and fights so much, though—both of them have too much energy, too much feeling, with no way to blow it off.

“Rub harder, Soda,” I heard Darry mumbling. “You’re gonna put me to sleep.”

I looked through the door. Sodapop was giving Darry a back-rub. Darry is always pulling muscles; he roofs houses and he’s always trying to carry two bundles of roofing up the ladder. I knew Soda would put him to sleep, because Soda can put about anyone out when he sets his head to it. He thought Darry worked too hard anyway. I did, too.

Darry didn’t deserve to work like an old man when he was only twenty. He had been a real popular guy in school; he was captain of the football team and he had been voted Boy of the Year. But we just didn’t have the money for him to go to college, even with the athletic scholarship he won. And now he didn’t have time between jobs to even think about college. So he never went anywhere and never did anything anymore, except work out at gyms and go skiing with some old friends of his sometimes.

I rubbed my cheek where it had turned purple. I had looked in the mirror, and it did make me look tough. But Darry had made me put a Band-Aid on the cut.

I remembered how awful Johnny had looked when he got beaten up. I had just as much right to use the streets as the Socs did, and Johnny had never hurt them. Why did
the Socs hate us so much? We left them alone. I nearly went to sleep over my homework trying to figure it out.

Sodapop, who had jumped into bed by this time, yelled sleepily for me to turn off the light and get to bed. When I finished the chapter I was on, I did.

Lying beside Soda, staring at the wall, I kept remembering the faces of the Socs as they surrounded me, that blue madras shirt the blond was wearing, and I could still hear a thick voice: “Need a haircut, greaser?” I shivered.

“You cold, Ponyboy?”

“A little,” I lied. Soda threw one arm across my neck. He mumbled something drowsily. “Listen, kiddo, when Darry hollers at you . . . he don’t mean nothin’. He’s just got more worries than somebody his age ought to. Don’t take him serious . . . you dig, Pony? Don’t let him bug you. He’s really proud of you ’cause you’re so brainy. It’s just because you’re the baby—I mean, he loves you a lot. Savvy?”

“Sure,” I said, trying for Soda’s sake to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“Soda?”

“Yeah?”

“How come you dropped out?” I never have gotten over that. I could hardly stand it when he left school.

“’Cause I’m dumb. The only things I was passing anyway were auto mechanics and gym.”

“You’re not dumb.”

“Yeah, I am. Shut up and I’ll tell you something. Don’t tell Darry, though.”

“Okay.”

“I think I’m gonna marry Sandy. After she gets out of
school and I get a better job and everything. I might wait till you get out of school, though. So I can still help Darry with the bills and stuff.”

“Tuff enough. Wait till I get out, though, so you can keep Darry off my back.”

“Don’t be like that, kid. I told you he don’t mean half of what he says . . .”

“You in love with Sandy? What’s it like?”

“Hhhmmm.” He sighed happily. “It’s real nice.”

In a moment his breathing was light and regular. I turned my head to look at him and in the moonlight he looked like some Greek god come to earth. I wondered how he could stand being so handsome. Then I sighed. I didn’t quite get what he meant about Darry. Darry thought I was just another mouth to feed and somebody to holler at. Darry love me? I thought of those hard, pale eyes. Soda was wrong for once, I thought. Darry doesn’t love anyone or anything, except maybe Soda. I didn’t hardly think of him as being human. I don’t care, I lied to myself, I don’t care about him either. Soda’s enough, and I’d have him until I got out of school. I don’t care about Darry. But I was still lying and I knew it. I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.

D
ALLY WAS WAITING
for Johnny and me under the street light at the corner of Pickett and Sutton, and since we got there early, we had time to go over to the drugstore in the shopping center and goof around. We bought Cokes and blew the straws at the waitress, and walked around eyeing things that were lying out in the open until the manager got wise to us and suggested we leave. He was too late, though; Dally walked out with two packages of Kools under his jacket.

Then we went across the street and down Sutton a little way to The Dingo. There are lots of drive-ins in town—the Socs go to The Way Out and to Rusty’s, and the greasers go to The Dingo and to Jay’s. The Dingo is a pretty rough hangout; there’s always a fight going on there and once a girl got shot. We walked around talking to all the greasers
and hoods we knew, leaning in car windows or hopping into the back seats, and getting in on who was running away, and who was in jail, and who was going with who, and who could whip who, and who stole what and when and why. We knew about everybody there. There was a pretty good fight while we were there between a big twenty-three-year-old greaser and a Mexican hitchhiker. We left when the switchblades came out, because the cops would be coming soon and nobody in his right mind wants to be around when the fuzz show.

We crossed Sutton and cut around behind Spencer’s Special, the discount house, and chased two junior-high kids across a field for a few minutes; by then it was dark enough to sneak in over the back fence of the Nightly Double drive-in movie. It was the biggest in town, and showed two movies every night, and on weekends four—you could say you were going to the Nightly Double and have time to go all over town.

We all had the money to get in—it only costs a quarter if you’re not in a car—but Dally hated to do things the legal way. He liked to show that he didn’t care whether there was a law or not. He went around
trying
to break laws. We went to the rows of seats in front of the concession stand to sit down. Nobody else was there except two girls who were sitting down front. Dally eyed them coolly, then walked down the aisle and sat right behind them. I had a sick feeling that Dally was up to his usual tricks, and I was right. He started talking, loud enough for the two girls to hear. He started out bad and got worse. Dallas could talk awful dirty if he wanted to and I guess he wanted to then. I felt my ears get hot. Two-Bit or Steve or
even Soda would have gone right along with him, just to see if they could embarrass the girls, but that kind of kicks just doesn’t appeal to me. I sat there, struck dumb, and Johnny left hastily to get a Coke.

I wouldn’t have felt so embarrassed if they had been greasy girls—I might even have helped old Dallas. But those two girls weren’t our kind. They were tuff-looking girls—dressed sharp and really good-looking. They looked about sixteen or seventeen. One had short dark hair, and the other had long red hair. The redhead was getting mad, or scared. She sat up straight and she was chewing hard on her gum. The other one pretended not to hear Dally. Dally was getting impatient. He put his feet up on the back of the redhead’s chair, winked at me, and beat his own record for saying something dirty. She turned around and gave him a cool stare.

“Take your feet off my chair and shut your trap.”

Boy, she was good-looking. I’d seen her before; she was a cheerleader at our school. I’d always thought she was stuck-up.

Dally merely looked at her and kept his feet where they were. “Who’s gonna make me?”

The other one turned around and watched us. “That’s the greaser that jockeys for the Slash J sometimes,” she said, as if we couldn’t hear her.

I had heard the same tone a million times: “Greaser . . . greaser . . . greaser.” Oh yeah, I had heard that tone before too many times. What are they doing at a drive-in without a car? I thought, and Dallas said, “I know you two. I’ve seen you around rodeos.”

“It’s a shame you can’t ride bull half as good as you can
talk it,” the redhead said coolly and turned back around.

That didn’t bother Dally in the least. “You two barrel race, huh?”

“You’d better leave us alone,” the redhead said in a biting voice, “or I’ll call the cops.”

“Oh, my, my”—Dally looked bored—“you’ve got me scared to death. You ought to see my record sometime, baby.” He grinned slyly. “Guess what I’ve been in for?”

“
Please
leave us alone,” she said. “Why don’t you be nice and leave us alone?”

Dally grinned roguishly. “I’m never nice. Want a Coke?”

She was mad by then. “I wouldn’t drink it if I was starving in the desert. Get lost, hood!”

Dally merely shrugged and strolled off.

The girl looked at me. I was half-scared of her. I’m half-scared of all nice girls, especially Socs. “Are
you
going to start in on us?”

I shook my head, wide-eyed. “No.”

Suddenly she smiled. Gosh, she was pretty. “You don’t look the type. What’s your name?”

I wished she hadn’t asked me that. I hate to tell people my name for the first time. “Ponyboy Curtis.”

Then I waited for the “You’re kidding!” or “That’s your
real
name?” or one of the other remarks I usually get. Ponyboy’s my real name and personally I like it.

The redhead just smiled. “That’s an original and lovely name.”

“My dad was an original person,” I said. “I’ve got a brother named Sodapop, and it says so on his birth certificate.”

“My name’s Sherri, but I’m called Cherry because of my hair. Cherry Valance.”

“I know,” I said. “You’re a cheerleader. We go to the same school.”

“You don’t look old enough to be going to high school,” the dark-haired girl said.

“I’m not. I got put up a year in grade school.”

Cherry was looking at me. “What’s a nice, smart kid like you running around with trash like that for?”

I felt myself stiffen. “I’m a grease, same as Dally. He’s my buddy.”

“I’m sorry, Ponyboy,” she said softly. Then she said briskly, “Your brother Sodapop, does he work at a gasoline station? A DX, I think?”

“Yeah.”

“Man, your brother is one doll. I might have guessed you were brothers—you look alike.”