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The Outsiders

Day Four

CHAPTER 4.

The park was about two blocks square, with a foun-

tain in the middle and a small swimming pool for the

little kids. The pool was empty now in the fall, but

the fountain was going merrily. Tall elm trees made

the park shadowy and dark, and it would have been a

good hangout, but we preferred our vacant lot, and

the Shepard outfit liked the alleys down by the tracks,

so the park was left to lovers and little kids.

  Nobody was around at two-thirty in the morning,

and it was a good place to relax and cool off. I

couldn't have gotten much cooler without turning

into a popsicle. Johnny snapped up his jeans jacket

and flipped up the collar.

  "Ain't you about to freeze to death, Pony?"

  "You ain't a woofin," I said, rubbing my bare arms

between drags on my cigarette. I started to say some-

thing about the film of ice developing on the outer

edges of the fountain when a sudden blast from a car

horn made us both jump. The blue Mustang was

circling the park slowly.

  Johnny swore under his breath, and I muttered,

"What do they want? This is our territory. What are

Socs doing this far east?"

  Johnny shook his head. "I don't know. But I bet

they're looking for us. We picked up their girls."

  "Oh, glory," I said with a groan, "this is all I need

to top off a perfect night" I took one last drag on my

weed and ground the stub under my heel. "Want to

run for it?"

  "It's too late now," Johnny said. "Here they come."

  Five Socs were coming straight at us, and from the

way they were staggering I figured they were reeling

pickled. That scared me. A cool deadly bluff could

sometimes shake them off, but not if they outnum-

bered you five to two and were drunk. Johnny's hand

went to his back pocket and I remembered his switch-

blade. I wished for that broken bottle. I'd sure show

them I could use it if I had to. Johnny was scared to

death. I mean it. He was as white as a ghost and his

eyes were wild-looking, like the eyes of an animal in a

trap. We backed against the fountain and the Socs sur-

rounded us. They smelled so heavily of whiskey and

English Leather that I almost choked. I wished des-

perately that Darry and Soda would come along hunt-

ing for me. The four of us could handle them easily.

But no one was around, and I knew Johnny and I

were going to have to fight it out alone. Johnny had a

blank, tough look on his face-you'd have had to

know him to see the panic in his eyes. I stared at the

Socs coolly. Maybe they could scare us to death, but

we'd never let them have the satisfaction of knowing

it.

  It was Randy and Bob and three other Socs, and

they recognized us. I knew Johnny recognized them;

he was watching the moonlight glint off Bob's rings

with huge eyes.

  "Hey, whatta ya know?" Bob said a little unsteadi-

ly, "here's the, little greasers that picked up our girls.

Hey, greasers."

  "You're outa your territory," Johnny warned in a

low voice. "You'd better watch it."

  Randy swore at us and they stepped in closer. Bob

was eyeing Johnny. "Nup, pal, yer the ones who'd bet-

ter watch it. Next time you want a broad, pick up yer

own kind-dirt."      

  I was getting mad. I was hating them enough to lose

my head.

  "You know what a greaser is?" Bob asked. "White

trash with long hair."

  I felt the blood draining from my face. I've been

cussed out and sworn at, but nothing ever hit me like

that did. Johnnycake made a kind of gasp and his eyes

were smoldering.

  "You know what a Soc is?" I said, my voice shaking

with rage. "White trash with Mustangs and madras."

And then, because I couldn't think of anything bad

enough to call them, I spit at them.

  Bob shook his head, smiling slowly. "You could use

a bath, greaser. And a good working over. And we've

got all night to do it. Give the kid a bath, David."

  I ducked and tried to run for it, but the Soc caught

my arm and twisted it behind my back, and shoved

my face into the fountain. I fought, but the hand at

the back of my neck was strong and I had to hold my

breath. I'm dying, I thought, and wondered what was

happening to Johnny. I couldn't hold my breath any

longer. I fought again desperately but only sucked in

water. I'm drowning, I thought, they've gone too far.

A red haze filled my mind and I slowly relaxed.

  The next thing I knew I was lying on the pavement

beside the fountain, coughing water and gasping. I lay

there weakly, breathing in air and spitting out water.

The wind blasted through my soaked sweat shirt and

dripping hair. My teeth chattered unceasingly and I

couldn't stop them. I finally pushed myself up and

leaned back against the fountain, the water running

down my face. Then I saw Johnny.

  He was sitting next to me, one elbow on his knee,

and staring straight ahead. He was a strange greenish-

white, and his eyes were huger than I'd ever seen

them.

  "I killed him," he said slowly. "I killed that boy."

  Bob, the handsome Soc, was lying there in the

moonlight, doubled up and still. A dark pool was

growing from him, spreading slowly over the blue-

white cement. I looked at Johnny's hand. He was

dutching his switchblade, and it was dark to the hilt.

My stomach gave a violent jump and my blood turned

icy.

"Johnny," I managed to say, fighting the dizziness,

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

  "Go ahead," he said in the same steady voice. "I

won't look at you."

  I turned my head and was quietly sick for a minute.

Then I leaned back and closed my eyes so I wouldn't

see Bob lying there.

  This can't be happening. This can't be happening.

This can't be.

  "You really killed him, huh, Johnny?"

  "Yeah." His voice quavered slightly. "I had to. They

were drowning you, Pony. They might have killed you.

And they had a blade-they were gonna beat me

up."

  "Like."  I swallowed, "like they did before?"

  Johnny was quiet for a minute. "Yeah," he said,

"like they did before."

  Johnny told me what had happened: "They ran

when I stabbed him. They all ran."

  A panic was rising in me as I listened to Johnny's

quiet voice go on and on. "Johnny!" I nearly screamed.

"What are we gonna do? They put you in the electric

chair for killing people!" I was shaking. I want a

cigarette. I want a cigarette. I want a cigarette. We had

smoked our last pack. "I'm scared, Johnny. What are

we gonna do?

  Johnny jumped up and dragged me up by my sweat

shirt. He shook me. "Calm down, Ponyboy. Get ahold

of yourself."

  I hadn't realized I was screaming. I shook loose.

"Okay," I said, "I'm okay now."

  Johnny looked around, slapping his pockets ner-

vously. "We gotta get outa here. Get somewhere. Run

away. The police'll be here soon." I was trembling, and

it wasn't all from cold. But Johnny, except for the fact

that his hands were twitching, looked as cool as Darry

ever had. "We'll need money. And maybe a gun. And a

plan."

Money. Maybe a gun? A plan. Where in the world

would we get these things?

  "Dally," Johnny said with finality. "Dally'll get us

outa here."

  I heaved a sigh. Why hadn't I thought of that? But I

never thought of anything. Dallas Winston could do

anything.

  "Where can we find him?"

  "I think at Buck Merril's place. There's a party over

there tonight. Dally said somethin' about it this after-

noon."

  Buck Merril was Dally's rodeo partner. He was the

one who'd got Dally the job as a jockey for the Slash J.

Buck raised a few quarter horses, and made most of his

money on fixed races and a little bootlegging. I was

under strict orders from both Darry and Soda not to

get caught within ten miles of his place, which was

dandy with me. I didn't like Buck Merril. He was a

tall lanky cowboy with blond hair and buckteeth. Or

he used to be bucktoothed before he had the front two

knocked out in a fight. He was out of it. He dug Hank

Williams-how gross can you get?

  Buck answered the door when we knocked, and a

roar of cheap music came with him. The dinking of

glasses, loud, rough laughter and female giggles, and

Hank Williams. It scraped on my raw nerves like

sandpaper. A can of beer in one hand, Buck glared

down at us. "Whatta ya want?"

  "Dally!" Johnny gulped, looking back over his

shoulder. "We gotta see Dally."

  "He's busy," Buck snapped, and someone in his

living room yelled "A-ha!" and then "Yee-ha," and the

sound of it almost made my nerves snap.

  "Tell him it's Pony and Johnny," I commanded. I

knew Buck, and the only way you could get anything

from him was to bully him. I guess that's why Dallas

could handle him so easily, although Buck was in his

mid-twenties and Dally was seventeen. "He'll come."

  Buck glared at me for a second, then stumbled off.

He was pretty well crocked, which made me apprehen-

sive. If Dally was drunk and in a dangerous mood.

  He appeared in a few minutes, clad only in a pair of

low-cut blue jeans, scratching the hair on his chest. He

was sober enough, and that surprised me. Maybe he

hadn't been there long.

  "Okay, kids, whatta ya need me for?"

  As Johnny told him the story, I studied Dally, trying

to figure out what there was about this tough-looking

hood that a girl like Cherry Valance could love. Tow-

headed and shifty-eyed, Dally was anything but hand-

some. Yet in his hard face there was character, pride,

and a savage defiance of the world. He could never

love Cherry Valance back. It would be a miracle if

Dally loved anything. The fight for self-preservation

had hardened him beyond caring.

  He didn't bat an eye when Johnny told him what

had happened, only grinned and said "Good for you"

when Johnny told how he had knifed the Soc. Finally

Johnny finished. "We figured you could get us out if

anyone could. I'm sorry we got you away from the

party."

  "Oh, shoot, kid," Dally glanced contemptuously

over his shoulder, I was in the bedroom.          

  He suddenly stared at me. "Glory, but your ears can

get red, Ponyboy."

  I was remembering what usually went on in the

bedrooms at Buck's parties. Then Dally grinned in

amused realization. "It wasn't anything like that, kid. I

was asleep, or tryin' to be, with all this racket. Hank

Williams" he rolled his eyes and added a few adjec-

tives after  Hank Williams. "Me and Shepard had a

run-in and I cracked some ribs. I just needed a place to

lay over." He rubbed his side ruefully. "Ol' Tim sure

can pack a punch. He won't be able to see outa one eye

for a week." He looked us over and sighed. "Well, wait

a sec and I'll see what I can do about this mess." Then

he took a good look at me. "Ponyboy, are you wet?"

  "Yes," I stammered through chattering teeth.

"Glory hallelujah!" He opened the screen door and

pulled me in, motioning for Johnny to follow. "You'll

die of pneumonia  fore the cops ever get you."

  He half-dragged me into an empty bedroom, swear-

ing at me all the way. "Get that sweat shirt off." He

threw a towel at me. "Dry off and wait here. At least

Johnny's got his jeans jacket. You ought to know better

than to run away in just a sweat shirt, and a wet one at

that. Don't you ever use your head?" He sounded so

much like Darry that I stared at him. He didn't notice,

and left us sitting on the bed.

  Johnny lay back on it. "Wish I had me a weed."

  My knees were shaking as I finished drying off,

sitting there in my jeans.

  Dally appeared after a minute. He carefully shut the

door. "Here" he handed us a gun and a roll of

bills, "the gun's loaded. For Pete's sake, Johnny, don't

point the thing at me. Here's fifty bucks. That's all I

could get out of Merril tonight. He's blowin' his loot

from that last race."

  You might have thought it was Dally who fixed those

races for Buck, being a jockey and all, but it wasn't

The last guy to suggest it lost three teeth. It's the truth.

Dally rode the ponies honestly and did his best to win.

It was the only thing Dally did honestly.

  "Pony, do Darry and Sodapop know about this?"

  I shook my head. Dally sighed. "Boy howdy, I ain't

itchin' to be the one to tell Darry and get my head

busted."

  "Then don't tell him," I said. I hated to worry

Sodapop, and would have liked to let him know I had

gotten this far okay, but I didn't care if Darry worried

himself gray-headed. I was too tired to tell myself I was

being mean and unreasonable. I convinced myself it

wouldn't be fair to make Dally tell him.  Darry would

beat him to death for giving us the money and the gun

and getting us out of town.

  "Here!" Dally handed me a shirt about sixty-million

sizes too big. "It's Buck's-you an' him ain't exactly

the same size, but it's dry." He handed me his worn

brown leather jacket with the yellow sheep's-wool lin-

ing. "It'll get cold where you're going, but you can't

risk being loaded down with blankets.

  I started buttoning up the shirt. It about swallowed

me. "Hop the three-fifteen freight to Windrixville,"

Dally instructed. "There's an old abandoned church

on top of Jay Mountain. There's a pump in back so

don't worry about water. Buy a week's supply of food

as soon as you get there-this morning, before the story

gets out, and then don't so much as stick your noses

out the door. I'll be up there as soon as I think it's

clear. Man, I thought New York was the only place I

could get mixed up in a murder rap."

  At the word "murder," Johnny made a small noise

in his throat and shuddered.

  Dally walked us back to the door, turning off the

porch light before we stepped out. "Git goin'!" He

messed up Johnny's hair. "Take care, kid," he said

softly.

  "Sure, Dally, thanks." And we ran into the darkness.

  We crouched in the weeds beside the railroad tracks,

listening to the whistle grow louder. The train slowed

to a screaming halt. "Now," whispered Johnny. We

ran and pulled ourselves into an open boxcar. We

pressed against the side, trying to hold our breath

while we listened to the railroad workers walk up and

down outside. One poked his head inside, and we

froze. But he didn't see us, and the boxcar rattled as

the train started up.

  "The first stop'll be Windrixville," Johnny said,

laying the gun down gingerly. He shook his head. "I

don't see why he gave me this. I couldn't shoot any-

body.

  Then for the first time, really, I realized what we

were in for. Johnny had killed someone. Quiet, soft-spo-

ken little Johnny, who wouldn't hurt a living thing on

purpose, had taken a human life. We were really

running away, with the police after us for murder and

a loaded gun by our side. I wished we'd asked Dally for

a pack of cigarettes.

  I stretched out and used Johnny's legs for a pillow.

Curling up, I was thankful for Dally's jacket. It was

too big, but it was warm. Not even the rattling of the

train could keep me awake, and I went to sleep in a

hoodlum's jacket, with a gun lying next to my hand.

  I was hardly awake when Johnny and I leaped off

the train into a meadow. Not until I landed in the dew

and got a wet shock did I realize what I was doing.

Johnny must have woke me up and told me to jump,

but I didn't remember it. We lay in the tall weeds and

damp grass, breathing heavily. The dawn was coming.

It was lightening the sky in the east and a ray of gold

touched the hills. The clouds were pink and meadow

larks were singing. This is the country, I thought, half

asleep. My dream's come true and I'm in the country.

  "Blast it, Ponyboy" Johnny was rubbing his legs,

"you must have put my legs to sleep. I can't even stand

up. I barely got off that train."

  "I'm sorry. Why didn't you wake me up?"

  "That's okay. I didn't want to wake you up until I

had to."

  "Now how do we find Jay Mountain?" I asked

Johnny. I was still groggy with sleep and wanted to

sleep forever right there in the dew and the dawn.

  "Go ask someone. The story won't be in the paper

yet. Make like a farm boy taking a walk or something."

  "I don't look like a farm boy," I said. I suddenly

thought of my long hair, combed back, and the slouch-

ing stride I used from habit. I looked at Johnny. He

didn't look like any farm boy to me. He still reminded

me of a lost puppy who had been kicked too often, but

for the first time I saw him as a stranger might see him.

He looked hard and tough, because of his black T shirt

and his blue jeans and jacket, and because his hair was

heavily greased and so long. I saw how his hair curled

behind his ears and I thought: We both need a haircut

and some decent clothes. I looked down at my worn,

faded blue jeans, my too-big shirt, and Dally's worn-

out jacket. They'll know we're hoods the minute they

see us, I thought.

  "I'll have to stay here," Johnny said, rubbing his

legs. "You go down the road and ask the first person

you see where Jay Mountain is." He winced at the pain

in his legs. "Then come back. And for Pete's sake, run

a comb through your hair and quit slouching down

like a thug."

  So Johnny had noticed it too. I pulled a comb from

my back pocket and combed my hair carefully. "I guess

I look okay now, huh, Johnny?"

  He was studying me. "You know, you look an awful

lot like Sodapop, the way you've got your hair and

everything. I mean, except your eyes are green."

  "They ain't green, they're gray," I said, reddening.

"And I look about as much like Soda as you do." I got

to my feet. "He's good-looking."

  "Shoot," Johnny said with a grin, "you are, too."

  I climbed over the barbed-wire fence without saying

anything else. I could hear Johnny laughing at me, but

I didn't care. I went strolling down the red dirt road,

hoping my natural color would come back before I met

anyone. I wonder what Darry and Sodapop are doing

now, I thought, yawning. Soda had the whole bed to

himself for once. I bet Darry's sorry he ever hit me.

He'll really get worried when he finds out Johnny and

I killed that Soc. Then, for a moment, I pictured

Sodapop's face when he heard about it. I wish I was

home, I thought absently, I wish I was home and still

in bed. Maybe I am Maybe I'm just dreaming.

  It was only last night that Dally and I had sat down

behind those girls at the Nightly Double. Glory, I

thought with a bewildering feeling of being rushed,

things are happening too quick. Too fast. I figured I

couldn't get into any worse trouble than murder.

Johnny and I would be hiding for the rest of our lives.

Nobody but Dally would know where we were, and he

couldn't tell anyone because he'd get jailed again for

giving us that gun. If Johnny got caught, they'd give

him the electric chair, and if they caught me, I'd be sent

to a reformatory. I'd heard about reformatories from

Curly Shepard and I didn't want to go to one at all. So

we'd have to be hermits for the rest of our lives, and

never see anyone but Dally. Maybe I'd never see Darry

or Sodapop again. Or even Two-Bit or Steve. I was in

the country, but I knew I wasn't going to like it as

much as I'd thought I would. There are things worse

than being a greaser.

  I met a sunburned farmer driving a tractor down the

road. I waved at him and he stopped.

  "Could you tell me where Jay Mountain is?" I asked

as politely as I could.

  He pointed on down the road. "Follow this road to

that big hill over there. That's it. Taking a walk?"

  "Yes sir." I managed to look sheepish. "We're playing

army and I'm supposed to report to headquarters

there."

  I can lie so easily that it spooks me sometimes. Soda

says it comes from reading so much. But then, Two-Bit

lies all the time too, and he never opens a book.

  "Boys will be boys," the farmer said with a grin, and

I thought dully that he sounded as corn-poney as Hank

Williams. He went on and I walked back to where

Johnny was waiting.

  We climbed up the road to the church, although it

was a lot farther away than it looked. The road got

steeper with every step. I was feeling kind of drunk. I

always do when I get too sleepy, and my legs got

heavier and heavier. I guess Johnny was sleepier than I

was, he had stayed awake on the train to make sure

we got off at the right place. It took us about forty-five

minutes to get there. We climbed in a back window. It

was a small church, real old and spooky and spider-

webby. It gave me the creeps.

I'd been in church before. I used to go all the time,

even after Mom and Dad were gone. Then one Sunday

I talked Soda into coming with Johnny and me. He

didn't want to come unless Steve did, and Two-Bit

decided he might as well come too. Dally was sleeping

off a hangover, and Darry was working. When Johnny

and I went, we sat in the back, trying to get something

out of the sermon and avoiding the people, because we

weren't dressed so sharp most of the time. Nobody

seemed to mind, and Johnny and I really liked to go.

But that day, well, Soda can't sit still long enough

to enjoy a movie, much less a sermon. It wasn't long

before he and Steve and Two-Bit were throwing paper

wads at each other and clowning around, and finally

Steve dropped a hymn book with a bang, accidentally,

of course. Everyone in the place turned around to look

at us, and Johnny and I nearly crawled under the

pews. And then Two-Bit waved at them.

  I hadn't been to church since.

  But this church gave me a kind of creepy feeling.

What do you call it? Premonition? I flopped down on

the floor-and immediately decided not to do any

more flopping. That floor was stone, and hard. Johnny

stretched out beside me, resting his head on his arm. I

started to say something to him, but I went to sleep

before I could get the words out of my mouth. But

Johnny didn't notice. He was asleep, too.

                                CHAPTER 5.

I woke up late in the afternoon. For a second I

didn't know where I was. You know how it is, when

you wake up in a strange place and wonder where in

the world you are, until memory comes rushing over

you like a wave. I half convinced myself that I had

dreamed everything that had happened the night be-

fore. I'm really home in bed, I thought. It's late and

both Darry and Sodapop are up. Darry's cooking

breakfast, and in a minute he and Soda will come in

and drag me out of bed and wrestle me down and

tickle me until I think I'll die if they don't stop. It's

me and Soda's turn to do the dishes after we eat, and

then we'll all go outside and play football. Johnny and

Two-Bit and I will get Darry on our side, since Johnny

and I are so small and Darry's the best player. It'll go

like the usual weekend morning. I tried telling myself

that while I lay on the cold rock floor, wrapped up in

Dally's jacket and listening to the wind rushing

through the trees' dry leaves outside.

  Finally I quit pretending and pushed myself up. I

was stiff and sore from sleeping on that hard floor, but

I had never slept so soundly. I was still groggy. I

pushed off Johnny's jeans jacket, which had somehow

got thrown across me, and blinked, scratching my

head. It was awful quiet, with just the sound of

rushing wind in the trees. Suddenly I realized that

Johnny wasn't there.

  "Johnny?" I called loudly, and that old wooden

church echoed me, onny, onny.  I looked around

wildly, almost panic-stricken, but then caught sight of

some crooked lettering written in the dust of the floor.

Went to get supplies. Be back soon. J.C.

  I sighed, and went to the pump to get a drink. The

water from it was like liquid ice and it tasted funny,

but it was water. I splashed some on my face and that

woke me up pretty quick. I wiped my face off on

Johnny's jacket and sat down on the back steps. The

hill the church was on dropped off suddenly about

twenty feet from the back door, and you could see for

miles and miles. It was like sitting on the top of the

world.

  When you haven't got anything to do, you remem-

ber things in spite of yourself. I could remember every

detail of the whole night, but it had the unreal quality

of a dream. It seemed much longer than twenty-four

hours since Johnny and I had met Dally at the corner

of Pickett and Sutton. Maybe it was. Maybe Johnny

had been gone a whole week and I had just slept.

Maybe he had already been worked over by the fuzz

and was waiting to get the electric chair since he

wouldn't tell where I was. Maybe Dally had been

killed in a car wreck or something and no one would

ever know where I was, and I'd just die up here, alone,

and turn into a skeleton. My over-active imagination

was running away with me again. Sweat ran down my

face and back, and I was trembling. My head swam,

and I leaned back and dosed my eyes. I guess it was

partly delayed shock. Finally my stomach calmed down

and I relaxed a little, hoping that Johnny would

remember cigarettes. I was scared, sitting there by

myself.

  I heard someone coming up through the dead leaves

toward the back of the church, and I ducked inside the

door. Then I heard a whistle, long and low, ending in

a sudden high note. I knew that whistle well enough.

It was used by us and the Shepard gang for "who's

there?" I returned it carefully, then darted out the door

so fast that I fell off the steps and sprawled flat under

Johnny's nose.

  I propped myself on my elbows and grinned up at

him. "Hey, Johnny. Fancy meetin' you here."

  He looked down at me over a big package. "I swear,

Ponyboy, you're gettin' to act more like Two-Bit every

day."

  I tried unsuccessfully to cock an eyebrow. "who's

acting?" I rolled over and sprang up, happy that

someone was there. "What'd you get?"

  "Come on inside. Dally told us to stay inside."

  We went in. Johnny dusted off a table with his

jacket and started taking things out of the sack and

lining them up neatly. "A week's supply of baloney,

two loaves of bread, a box of matches."  Johnny

went on.

  I got tired of watching him do it all, so I started

digging into the sack myself. "Wheee!" I sat down on a

dusty chair and stared. "A paperback copy of Gone

with the Wind! How'd you know I always wanted

one?"

  Johnny reddened. "I remembered you sayin' some-

thing about it once. And me and you went to see that

movie, member? I thought you could maybe read it

out loud and help kill time or something."

  "Gee, thanks." I put the book down reluctantly. I

wanted to start it right then. "Peroxide? A deck of

cards."   Suddenly I realized something. "Johnny,

you ain't thinking of."

  Johnny sat down and pulled out his knife. "We're

gonna cut our hair, and you're gonna bleach yours."

He looked at the ground carefully. "They'll have our

descriptions in the paper. We can't fit them."

  "Oh, no!" My hand flew to my hair. "No, Johnny,

not my hair!"

  It was my pride. It was long and silky, just like

Soda's, only a little redder. Our hair was tuff-we

didn't have to use much grease on it. Our hair labeled

us greasers, too-it was our trademark. The one thing

we were proud of. Maybe we couldn't have Corvairs or

madras shirts, but we could have hair.

  "We'd have to anyway if we got caught. You know

the  first thing the judge does is make you get a

haircut."

  "I don't see why," I said sourly. "Dally could just as

easily mug somebody with short hair."

  "I don't know either, it's just a way of trying to

break us. They can't really do anything to guys like

Curly Shepard or Tim; they've had about everything

done to them And they can't take anything away from

them because they don't have anything in the first

place. So they cut their hair."

  I looked at Johnny imploringly. Johnny sighed. "I'm

gonna cut mine too, and wash the grease out, but I

can't bleach it. I'm too dark-skinned to look okay

blond. Oh, come on, Ponyboy," he pleaded. "It'll grow

back."

  "Okay, I said, wide-eyed. "Get it over with."

  Johnny flipped out the razor-edge of his switch, took

hold of my hair, and started sawing on it. I shuddered.

"Not too short," I begged. "Johnny, please.

  Finally it was over with. My hair looked funny,

scattered over the floor in tufts. "It's lighter than I

thought it was," I said, examining it. "Can I see what I

look like now?"

  "No," Johnny said slowly, staring at me. "We gotta

bleach it first."

  After I'd sat in the sun for fifteen minutes to dry the

bleach, Johnny let me look in the old cracked mirror

we'd found in a closet. I did a double take. My hair

was even lighter than Sodapop's. I'd never combed it

to the side like that. It just didn't look like me. It

made me look younger, and scareder, too. Boy howdy,

I thought, this really makes me look tuff. I look like

a blasted pansy. I was miserable.

  Johnny handed me the knife. He looked scared, too.

"Cut the front and thin out the rest. I'll comb it back

after I wash it."

  "Johnny," I said tiredly, "you can't wash your hair

in that freezing water in this weather. You'll' get a

cold."

  He only shrugged. "Go ahead and cut it."