The Outsiders by SE Hinton Page A

shivering. The stars had moved. “Glory, what time is it?”
    “I don’t know. I went to sleep, too, listening to you rattle on and on. You’d better get home. I think I’ll stay all night out here.” Johnny’s parents didn’t care if he came home or not.
    “Okay.” I yawned. Gosh, but it was cold. “If you get cold or something come on over to our house.”
    “Okay.”
    I ran home, trembling at the thought of facing Darry. The porch light was on. Maybe they were asleep and I could sneak in, I thought. I peeked in the window. Sodapop was stretched out on the sofa, sound asleep, but Darry was in the armchair under the lamp, reading the newspaper. I gulped, and opened the door softly. Darry looked up from his paper. He was on his feet in a second. I stood there, chewing on my fingernail.
    “Where the heck have you been? Do you know what time it is?” He was madder than I’d seen him in a long time. I shook my head wordlessly.
    “Well, it’s two in the morning, kiddo. Another hour and I would have had the police out after you. Where were you, Ponyboy?”—his voice was rising—“Where in the almighty universe were you?”
    It sounded dumb, even to me, when I stammered, “I . . . I went to sleep in the lot . . .”
    “You what?” He was shouting, and Sodapop sat up and rubbed his eyes.
    “Hey, Ponyboy,” he said sleepily, “where ya been?”
    “I didn’t mean to.” I pleaded with Darry. “I was talking to Johnny and we both dropped off . . .”
    “I reckon it never occurred to you that your brothers might be worrying their heads off and afraid to call the police because something like that could get you two thrown in a boys’ home so quick it’d make your head spin. And you were asleep in the lot? Ponyboy, what on earth is the matter with you? Can’t you use your head? You haven’t even got a coat on.”
    I felt hot tears of anger and frustration rising. “I said I didn’t mean to . . .”
    “I didn’t mean to!” Darry shouted, and I almost shook. “I didn’t think! I forgot! That’s all I hear out of you! Can’t you think of anything?”
    “Darry . . .” Sodapop began, but Darry turned on him. “You keep your trap shut! I’m sick and tired of hearin’ you stick up for him.”
    He should never yell at Soda. Nobody should ever holler at my brother. I exploded. “You don’t yell at him!” I shouted. Darry wheeled around and slapped me so hard that it knocked me against the door.
    Suddenly it was deathly quiet. We had all frozen. Nobody in my family had ever hit me. Nobody. Soda was wide-eyed. Darry looked at the palm of his hand where it had turned red and then looked back at me. His eyes were huge. “Ponyboy . . .”
    I turned and ran out the door and down the street as fast as I could. Darry screamed, “Pony, I didn’t mean to!” but I was at the lot by then and pretended I couldn’t hear. I was running away. It was plain to me that Darry didn’t want me around. And I wouldn’t stay if he did. He wasn’t ever going to hit me again.
    “Johnny?” I called, and started when he rolled over andjumped up almost under my feet. “Come on, Johnny, we’re running away.”
    Johnny asked no questions. We ran for several blocks until we were out of breath. Then we walked. I was crying by then. I finally just sat down on the curb and cried, burying my face in my arms. Johnny sat down beside me, one hand on my shoulder. “Easy, Ponyboy,” he said softly, “we’ll be okay.”
    I finally calmed down and wiped my eyes on my bare arm. My breath was coming in quivering sobs. “Gotta cigarette?”
    He handed me one and struck a match.
    “Johnny, I’m scared.”
    “Well, don’t be. You’re scarin’ me. What happened? I never seen you bawl like that.”
    “I don’t very often. It was Darry. He hit me. I don’t know what happened, but I couldn’t take him hollering at me and hitting me too. I don’t know . . . sometimes we get along okay, then all of a