The Outsiders
Day Two
CHAPTER 2.
Dally 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 suggest-
ed 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 hitchhik-
er. 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 law 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
greasey 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 get-
ting impatient. He put his feet up on the back of the
redhead's chair, winked at me, and beat his own rec-
ord 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 some-
times," 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 bar-
rel 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 some-
time, 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-hared 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."
I grinned with pride, I don't think I look one bit
like Soda, but it's not every day I hear Socs telling me
they think my brother is a doll.
"Didn't he use to ride in rodeos? Saddle bronc?"
"Yeah. Dad made him quit after he tore a ligament,
though. We still hang around rodeos a lot. I've seen
you two barrel race. You're good."
"Thanks," Cherry said and the other girl, who was
named Marcia, said, "How come we don't see your
brother at school? He's not any older than sixteen or
seventeen, is he?"
I winced inside. I've told you I can't stand it that
Soda dropped out. "He's a dropout," I said roughly.
"Dropout" made me think of some poor dumb-look-
ing hoodlum wandering the streets breaking out street
lights-it didn't fit my happy-go lucky brother at all.
It fitted Dally perfectly, but you could hardly say it
about Soda.
Johnny came back then and sat down beside me. He
looked around for Dally, then managed a shy "Hi" to
the girls and tried to watch the movie. He was ner-
vous, though. Johnny was always nervous around
strangers. Cherry looked at him, sizing him up as she
had me. Then she smiled softly, and I knew she had
him sized up right.
Dally came striding back with an armful of Cokes.
He handed one to each of the girls and sat down be-
side Cherry. "This might cool you off."
She gave him an incredulous look; and then she
threw her Coke in his face. "That might cool you off."
greaser. After you wash your mouth and learn to talk
and act decent, I might cool off, too."
Dally wiped the Coke off his face with his sleeve
and smiled dangerously. If I had been Cherry I would
have beat it out of there. I knew that smile.
"Fiery, huh? Well, that's the way I like them." He
started to put his arm around her, but Johnny
reached over and stopped him.
"Leave her alone, Dally."
"Huh?" Dally was taken off guard. He stared at
Johnny in disbelief. Johnny couldn't say "Boo" to a
goose. Johnny gulped and got a little pale, but he
said, "You heard me. Leave her alone."
Dallas scowled for a second. If it had been me, or
Two-Bit, or Soda or Steve, or anyone but Johnny, Dal-
ly would have flattened him without a moment's hesita-
tion. You just didn't tell Dally Winston what to do.
One time, in a dime store, a guy told him to move
over at the candy counter. Dally had turned around
and belted him so hard it knocked a tooth loose. A
complete stranger, too. But Johnny was the gang's pet,
and Dally just couldn't hit him. He was Dally's pet,
too. Dally got up and stalked off, his fists jammed in
his pockets and a frown on his face. He didn't come
back.
Cherry sighed in relief. "Thanks. He had me scared
to death."
Johnny managed an admiring grin. "You sure
didn't show it. Nobody talks to Dally like that."
She smiled. "From what I saw, you do."
Johnny's ears got red. I was still staring at him. It
had taken more than nerve for him to say what he'd
said to Dally-Johnny worshiped the ground Dallas
walked on, and I had never heard Johnny talk back to
anyone, much less his hero.
Marcia grinned at us. She was a little smaller than
Cherry. She was cute, but that Cherry Valance was a
real looker. "Y'all sit up here with us. You can protect
us."
Johnny and I looked at each other. He grinned sud-
denly, raising his eyebrows so that they disappeared
under his bangs. Would we ever have something to
tell the boys! his eyes said plainly. We had picked up
two girls, and classy ones at that. Not any greasey
broads for us, but real Socs. Soda would flip when I
told him.
Okay," I said nonchalantly, "might as well."
I sat between them, and Johnny sat next to Cherry.
"How old are y'all?" Marcia asked.
"Fourteen," I said.
"Sixteen," said Johnny.
"That's funny," Marcia said, "I thought you were
both.
"Sixteen," Cherry finished for her.
I was grateful. Johnny looked fourteen and he knew
it and it bugged him something awful.
Johnny grinned. "How come y'all ain't scared of us
like you were Dally?"
Cherry sighed. "You two are too sweet to scare any-
one. First of all, you didn't join in Dallas's dirty talk,
and you made him leave us alone. And when we asked
you to sit up here with us, you didn't act like it was an
invitation to make out for the night. Besides that, I
heard about Dallas Winston, and he looked as hard
nails and twice as tough. And you two don't look
mean."
"Sure," I said tiredly, "we're young and innocent."
"No," Cherry said slowly, looking at me carefully,
not innocent. You've seen too much to be innocent.
Just not dirty."
"Dally's okay," Johnny said defensively, and I nod-
ded. You take up for your buddies, no matter what they
do. When you're a gang, you stick up for the mem-
bers. If you don't stick up for them, stick together,
make like brothers, it isn't t a gang any more. It's a
pack. A snarling, distrustful, bickering pack like the
Socs in their social dubs or the street gangs in New
York or the wolves in the timber. "He's tough, but
he's a cool old guy."
"He'd leave you alone if he knew you," I said, and
that was true. When Steve's cousin from Kansas came
down, Dally was decent to her and watched his swear-
ing. We all did around nice girls who were the cousin-
ly type. I don't know how to explain it-we try to be
nice to the girls we see once in a while, like cousins or
the girls in class; but we still watch a nice girl go by
on a street corner and say all kinds of lousy stuff about
her. Don't ask me why. I don't know why.
"Well," Marcia said with finality, "I'm glad he
doesn't know us"
"I kind of admire him," Cherry said softly, so only
I heard, and then we settled down to watch the
movie.
Oh, yeah, we found out why they were there with-
out a car. They'd come with their boyfriends, but
walked out on them when they found out the boys
had brought some booze along. The boys had gotten
angry and left.
"I don't care if they did." Cherry sounded annoyed.
"It's not my idea of a good time to sit in a drive-in
and watch people get drunk."
You could tell by the way she said it that her idea of
a good time was probably high-class, and probably ex-
pensive. They'd decided to stay and see the movie any-
way. It was one of those beach-party movies with no
plot and no acting but a lot of girls in bikinis and
some swinging songs, so it was all right. We were all
four sitting there in silence when suddenly a strong
hand came down on Johnny's shoulder and another
on mine and a deep voice said, "Okay, greasers, you've
had it."
I almost jumped out of my skin. It was like having
someone leap out from behind a door and yell "Boo!"
at you.
I looked fearfully over my shoulder and there was
Two-Bit, grinning like a Chessy cat. "Glory, Two-Bit,
scare us to death!" He was good at voice imitations
and had sounded for all the world like a snarling Soc.
Then I looked at Johnny. His eyes were shut and he
was as white as a ghost. His breath was coming in
smothered gasps. Two-Bit knew better than to scare
Johnny like that. I guess he'd forgotten. He's kind of
scatterbrained. Johnny opened his eyes and said weak-
ly, "Hey, Two-Bit."
Two-Bit messed up his hair. "Sorry, kid," he said, "I
forgot."
He climbed over the chair and plopped down be-
side Marcia. "Who's this, your great-aunts?"
"Great-grandmothers, twice removed," Cherry said
smoothly.
I couldn't tell if Two-Bit was drunk or not. It's
kind of hard to tell with him, he acts boozed up
sometimes even when he's sober. He cocked one eye-
brow up and the other down, which he always does
when something puzzles him, or bothers him, or when
he feels like saying something smart. "Shoot, you're
ninety-six if you're a day."
"I'm a night," Marcia said brightly.
Two-Bit stared at her admiringly. "Brother, you're
a sharp one. Where'd you two ever get to be picked up
by a couple of greasy hoods like Pony and Johnny?
"We really picked them up," Marcia said. "We're
really Arabian slave traders and we're thinking about
shanghaiing them. They're worth ten camels apiece at
least."
"Five," Two-Bit disagreed. "They don't talk Arabi-
an, I don't think. Say somethin' in Arabian,
Johnnycake."
"Aw, cut it out!" Johnny broke in. "Dally was both-
ering them and when he left they wanted us to sit
with them to protect them. Against wisecracking
greasers like you, probably."
Two-Bit grinned, because Johnny didn't usually get
sassy like that. We thought we were doing good if we
could get him to talk at all. Incidentally, we don't
mind being called greaser by another greaser. It's kind
of playful then.
"Hey, where is ol' Dally, anyways?"
"He went hunting some action-booze or dames or
a fight. I hope he don't get jailed again. He just got
out."
"He'll probably find the fight," Two-Bit stated
cheerfully. "That's why I came over. Mr. Timothy
Shepard and Co. are looking for whoever so kindly
slashed their car's tires, and since Mr. Curly Shepard
spotted Dallas doing it, well--Does Dally have
a blade?"
"Not that I know of," I said. "I think he's got a
piece of pipe, but he busted his blade this morning."
"Good. Tim'll fight fair if Dally don't pull a blade
on him. Dally shouldn't have any trouble.
Cherry and Marcia were staring at us. "You don't
believe in playing rough or anything, do you?"
"A fair fight isn't rough," Two-Bit said. "Blades are
rough. So are chains and heaters and pool sticks and
rumbles. Skin fighting isn't rough. It blows off steam
better than anything. There's nothing wrong with
throwing a few punches. Socs are rough. They gang up
on one or two, or they rumble each other with their
social clubs. Us greasers usually stick together, but
when we do fight among ourselves, it's a fair fight be-
tween two. And Dally deserves whatever he gets, cause
slashed tires ain't no joke when you've got to work to
pay for them. He got spotted, too, and that was his
fault. Our one rule, besides Stick together, is don't get
caught. He might get beat up, he might not. Either
way there's not going to be any blood feud between
our outfit and Shepard's. If we needed them tomorrow
they'd show. If Tim beats Dally's head in, and then to-
morrow asks us for help in a rumble, we'll show. Dally
was getting kicks. He got caught. He pays up. No
sweat.
"Yeah, boy," Cherry said sarcastically, "real
simple."
"Sure," Marcia said, unconcerned. "If he gets killed
or something, you just bury him. No sweat."
"You dig okay, baby." Two-Bit grinned and lit a
cigarette. "Anyone want a weed?"
I looked at Two-Bit admiringly; He sure put things
into words good. Maybe he was still a junior at eigh-
teen and a half, and maybe his sideburns were too
long, and maybe he did get boozed up too much, but
he sure understood things.
Cherry and Marcia shook their heads at his offering
of cigarettes, but Johnny and I reached for one.
Johnny's color was back and his breathing was regular,
but his hand was shaking ever so slightly. A cigarette
would steady it.
"Ponyboy, will you come with me to get some
popcorn?" Cherry asked.
I jumped up. "Sure. Y'all want some?"
"I do," said Marcia. She was finishing the Coke Dal-
ly had given her. I realized then that Marcia and
Cherry weren't alike. Cherry had said she wouldn't
drink Dally's Coke if she was starving, and she meant
it. It was the principle of the thing. But Marcia saw
no reason to throw away a perfectly good, free Coke.
"Me too," said Two-Bit. He flipped me a fifty-cent
piece. "Get Johnny some, too. I'm buyin'," he added
as Johnny started to reach into his jeans pocket.
We went to the concession stand and, as usual,
there was a line a mile long, so we had to wait. Quite
a few kids turned to look at us-you didn't see a kid
grease and a Socy cheerleader together often. Cherry
didn't seem to notice.
"Your friend-the one with the sideburns-he's
okay?"
"He ain't dangerous like Dallas if that's what you
mean. He's okay."
She smiled and her eyes showed that her mind was
on something else. "Johnny, he's been hurt bad
sometime, hasn't he?" It was more of a statement than
a question. "Hurt and scared."
"It was the Socs," I said nervously, because there
were plenty of Socs milling around and some of them
were giving me funny looks, as if I shouldn't be with
Cherry or something. And I don't like to talk about it
either-Johnny getting beat Up, I mean. But I started
in, talking a little faster than I usually do because I
don't like to think about it either.
It was almost four months ago. I had walked down
to the DX station to get a bottle of pop and to see
Steve and Soda, because they'll always buy me a cou-
ple of bottles and let me help work on the cars. I don't
like to go on weekends because then there is usually a
bunch of girls down there flirting with Soda-all
kinds of girls, Socs too. I don't care too much for girls
yet. Soda says I'll grow out of it. He did.
It was a warmish spring day with the sun shining
bright, but it was getting chilly and dark by the time
we started for home. We were walking because we had
left Steve's car at the station. At the corner of our
block there's a wide, open field where we play football
and hang out, and it's often a site for rumbles and fist
fights. We were passing it, kicking rocks down the
street and finishing our last bottles of Pepsi, when
Steve noticed something lying on the ground. He
picked it up. It was Johnny's blue-jeans jacket-the
only jacket he had.
"Looks like Johnny forgot his jacket," Steve said,
slinging it over his shoulder to take it by Johnny's
house. Suddenly he stopped and examined it more
carefully. There was a stain the color of rust across the
collar. He looked at the ground. There were some
more stains on the grass. He looked up and across the
field with a stricken expression on his face. I think we
all heard the low moan and saw the dark motionless
hump on the other side of the lot at the same time.
Soda reached him first. Johnny was lying face down
on the ground. Soda turned him over gently, and I
nearly got sick. Someone had beaten him badly.
We were used to seeing Johnny banged up his fa-
ther clobbered him around a lot, and although it
made us madder than heck, we couldn't do anything
about it. But those beatings had been nothing like
this. Johnny's face was cut up and bruised and swol-
len, and there was a wide gash from his temple to his
cheekbone. He would carry that scar all his life. His
white T shirt was splattered with blood. I just stood
there, trembling with sudden cold. I thought he might
be dead; surely nobody could be beaten like that and
live. Steve closed his eyes for a second and muffled a
groan as he dropped on his knees beside Soda.
Somehow the gang sensed what had happened.
Two-Bit was suddenly there beside me, and for once
his comical grin was gone and his dancing gray eyes
were stormy. Darry had seen us from our porch and
ran toward us, suddenly skidding to a halt. Dally was
there, too, swearing under his breath, and turning
away with a sick expression on his face. I wondered
about it vaguely. Dally had seen people killed on the
streets of New York's West Side. Why did he look sick
now?
"Johnny?" Soda lifted him up and held him against
his shoulder. He gave the limp body a slight shake.
"Hey, Johnnycake."
Johnny didn't open his eyes, but there came a soft
question. "Soda?"
"Yeah, it's me," Sodapop said. "Don't talk. You're
gonna be okay."
"There was a whole bunch of them," Johnny went
on, swallowing, ignoring Soda's command. "A blue
Mustang full, I got so scared." He tried to
swear, but suddenly started crying, fighting to control
himself, then sobbing all the more because he
couldn't. I had seen Johnny take a whipping with a
two-by-four from his old man and never let out a
whimper. That made it worse to see him break now.
Soda just held him and pushed Johnny's hair back out
of his eyes. "It's okay, Johnnycake, they're gone now.
It's okay."
Finally, between sobs, Johnny managed to gasp out
his story. He had been hunting our football to prac-
tice a few kicks when a blue Mustang had pulled up
beside the lot. There were four Socs in it. They had
caught him and one of them had a lot of rings on his
hand-that's what had cut Johnny up so badly. It
wasn't just that they had beaten him half to death-
he could take that. They had scared him. They had
threatened him with everything under the sun.
Johnny was high, strung anyway, a nervous wreck from
getting belted every time he turned around and from
hearing his parents fight all the time. Living in those
conditions might have turned someone else rebellious
and bitter; it was killing Johnny. He had never been
a coward. He was a good man in a rumble. He stuck
up for the gang and kept his mouth shut good around
cops. But after the night of the beating, Johnny was
jumpier than ever. I didn't think he'd ever get over it.
Johnny never walked by himself after that. And
Johnny, who was the most law-abiding of us, now car-
ried in his back pocket a six-inch switchblade. He'd
used it, too, if he ever got jumped again. They had
scared him that much. He would kill the next person
who jumped him. Nobody was ever going to beat him
like that again. Not over his dead body.
I had nearly forgotten that Cherry was listening to
me. But when I came back to reality and looked at
her, I was startled to find her as white as a sheet.
"All Socs aren't like that," she said. "You have to
believe me, Ponyboy. Not all of us are like that."
"Sure," I said.
"That's like saying all you greasers are like Dallas
Winston. I'll bet he's jumped a few people."
I digested that. It was true. Dally had jumped peo-
ple. He had told us stories about muggings in New
York that made the hair on the back of my neck stand
up. But not all of us were that bad.
Cherry no longer looked sick, only sad. "I'll bet you
think the Socs have it made. The rich kids, the West-
side Socs I'll tell you something, Ponyboy, and it may
come as a surprise. We have troubles you've never
even heard of. You want to know something?" She
looked me straight in the eye. "Things are rough all
over."
"I believe you:" I said. "We'd better get back out
there with the popcorn or Two-Bit'll think I ran off
with his money.
We went back and watched the movie through
again. Marcia and Two-Bit were hitting it off fine.
Both had the same scatterbrained sense of humor. But
Cherry and Johnny and I just sat there, looking at the
movie and not talking. I quit worrying about every-
thing and thought about how nice it was to sit with a
girl without having to listen to her swear or to beat
her off with a dub. I knew Johnny liked it, too. He
didn't talk to girls much. Once, while Dallas was in
reform school, Sylvia had started hanging on to
Johnny and sweet-talking him and Steve got hold of
her and told her if she tried any of her tricks with
Johnny he'd personally beat the tar out of her. Then
he gave Johnny a lecture on girls and how a sneaking
little broad like Sylvia would get him into a lot of
trouble. As a result, Johnny never spoke to girls much,
but whether that was because he was scared of Steve
or because he was shy, I couldn't tell.
I got the same lecture from Two-Bit after we'd
picked up a couple of girls downtown one day. I
thought it was funny, because girls are one subject
even Darry thinks I use my head about. And it really
had been funny, because Two-Bit was half-crocked
when he gave me the lecture, and he told me some sto-
ries that about made me want to crawl under the floor
or something. But he had been talking about girls like
Sylvia and the girls he and Dally and the rest picked
up at drive-ins and downtown; he never said anything
about Socy girls. So I figured it was all right to be sit-
ting there with them. Even if they did have their own
troubles. I really couldn't see what Socs would have to
sweat about-good grades, good cars, good girls, ma-
dras and Mustangs and Corvairs-Man, I thought, if I
had worries like that I'd consider myself lucky.
I know better now.