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Although this is heavily implied, and most people who know "The Outsiders" well could guess, this chapter is from the point of view of Darrel Curtis. Also, if you wish for more context, just check out the description of the book! I hope you'll enjoy my take on the characters! Hopefully, I did them justice 💙.

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Walking is all I can do. Walking, faster. Walking away, out of there. Farther away. I don't even acknowledge my steps and the scenery simply blurs past my eyes, probably because of the tears which I now realize are welling up inside them. I desperately hold them back, my throat so tightly knotted that it feels on the verge of ripping open. Unable to breathe, I stare at the ground, walking faster as I hear the faint sound of someone following me. I don't care who they are, I want to be alone, so I pick up the pace.

Even the strands of grass under my shoe soles remind me of him. I raise my eyes and spot a faraway, unoccupied bench, which I head for immediately. I anxiously jam my curled fists into the pockets of my jeans, breathing a tad more steadily as I approach my destination. Luckily, the large park isn't crowded, no one will disturb me... Except whoever is stupid enough to be trailing me right now.

I don't want to hear Steve cuss at every single thing in the universe, I don't want to watch Two-Bit as he tries to deflect his anger and grief with half-hearted jokes... And, most of all, I really don't want to witness Ponyboy as he falls apart. I... Can't. I don't want to be the oldest, the cool-headed leader, the strongest, calmest member of our gang. Right now, I just can't. I don't know if I can manage it. At this very moment, nothing matters. I just gotta get to that bench. Get to that bench, then figure something out. While I'm walking to that bench, I don't have to think about his habit of playing with pieces of grass whenever we sat down in the stuff.

My whole body is stiff, every muscle taut and focused only on keeping those damn tears inside me. I ain't gonna cry. I should've seen this coming. Vietnam is a long way from Oklahoma, real far. When he stopped replying to our letters, we figured he... We hoped the mail office wherever he was had blown up or his letter got lost in the mail, or something. Any scenario, almost any scenario was good. He couldn't be dead, right? War is dangerous, violent, but not everyone dies. We had to keep believing he was hiding somewhere, probably teasing his new buddies with that contagious grin of his, bringing their spirits up. He just couldn't be dead, I wouldn't have allowed it. Pony, God, Pony could never have born it. So, we pretended like everything was fine. But, I guess that deep down I was also convincing myself. Really, all that time, I was fighting my own logic which kept telling me that my kid brother was dead. Without any confirmation, though, we didn't allow ourselves to think like that. How could he die? My reckless little brother, Steve's best friend and Ponyboy's favorite brother, let's be real... My Pepsi-Cola, my little buddy, our Sodapop. It was - it had to be - inconceivable that he would ever leave like that and never come back. Of course, now, we know better. Sodapop is dead and there's no denying it. I failed him. By running away, I'm also failing Ponyboy. What would..? God, what would Mom and Dad think?!

I drop onto the hard wooden bench, my eyes anchored to the horizon even though I'm barely able to register the soft waves that disturb the lake's surface. It's a big lake...

From the corner of my eye, I finally discover who was following me this whole time. I don't want to talk and I'm even less interested  to know what she has to say. What the hell is she doing, anyway? I keep my glance tied to her, waiting for an "Are you okay?", an "I'm so sorry" or any other variant. Knowing her, she'll most likely come up with some clever yet offensive remark.

She sits at the other end of the bench, I guess she's searching for her words. I divert my gaze away from her. Her. Ember. Soda and her used to date, they broke up before he left to join the army. Regardless, they remained close friends, something we most definitely are not - or ever were. I never completely trusted her, I still don't. There's no trusting someone like her, and I don't even mean a werewolf, either. Her moral compass is so faulty she makes guys like Dallas Winston or Tim Shepard seem law-abiding. And, of course, the whole werewolf thing is added to that. Arguably, her beastly instincts cause her to be so ruthless, but she has done inexcusable things. Which begs the question: how could my happy-go-lucky kid brother ever fall in love with that? I didn't approve of their relationship and I still can't understand it. She's undeniably very good-looking, but appearance isn't everything. I couldn't believe it when weeks turned to months, and months into years...

I bulge my muscles under my black T-shirt, clenching my jaw menacingly. I don't want to talk, but if she can't get a clue, I'll have no problem making myself clear. Strangely enough, she's still not speaking. What the hell is she sitting here for, then? Is just being alone for a single minute really too much to ask?!

Jr. Sodapop Patrick Curtis. His name, printed across the paper on that list of fallen soldiers, flashes before my eyes. I swallow with difficulty, pushing away both my dearest and my worst memories of my little brother. I lean forward, with my elbows digging into my knees to keep me from falling flat on my face. I press my clasped hands to my lips, ordering them not to shake. I lost Soda... I lost him, like I did Dad, Mom... And I couldn't do anything to stop it from happening.

Movement on my right startles me out of my thoughts. I let my eyes follow its source and freeze on the spot. Ember is holding out a Pepsi bottle, sealed and all, handing it to me. She has one for herself, apparently, resting on the bench next to her left thigh. I inadvertently meet her steady gaze, impressed by how determined it is. She tips the bottle closer to me, suddenly averting her eyes from mine. I guess I look as furious as I feel... Or not. She's not easily intimidated. I recognize what flickered inside her blue-grey eyes. They're simultaneously hardened yet melting away, they're the same way I noticed they were when she took a bullet for me. To be fair, she gets shot more than anyone else I know and she has gotten shot for all of our gang at one point. Maybe I should feel horrible, still doubting her loyalty and all after everything she sacrificed for us... But I just never felt at ease when she was around, regardless of her situation with Sodapop.

I grab the glass bottle, feeling the cold moisture of its surface against my palm, and yank it out of between her fingers. Avoiding her eyes and staring intently at anything else than her, I pop the cap off and take a swig of the sugary drink. She replicates my actions, and I notice that she's attempting to hide a disgusted facial expression. Ember hates overly sweet food and fizzy beverages... I bring my lips up to the opening of my bottle and gulp down some Pepsi, glancing at her this time. She takes a shy sip, pinching her lips afterward. The young woman sets her hands down on either side of her legs, letting the Pepsi bottle hover above the grass. I stare at it, then at mine... I raise my gaze back to her. Ember is watching the lake, a slight breeze lifts a few streaks of her dark brown hair off of her shoulders and... I see it. I see her. For a brief moment, it's sudden and definitely unexpected, yeah... But I clearly see the girl that my brother loved. Not a beautiful, hot-tempered, smart and quick-witted werewolf. Someone... What's the word? Thoughtful. That's what I failed to see all these years. Not calculating, manipulating, strategic... She's thoughtful.

I push my tongue against my teeth, the instant is gone. Impulsively, I stretch my arm out and clink my bottle of soda with hers. Her head doesn't budge, but I'm certain that the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

We don't talk.

We don't have any prolonged eye contacts.

We just drink our bottles of Pepsi, silently.

Then, we wait. Until the sun sets over the water and there's no one left in the park except her and I.

I heave my sore body off the bench, surrounded by the twilight. I sigh and pick up both of our empty containers. An owl hoots in the distance as I slowly head for the parking lot at the far end of the area. I hear Ember's leather boots flattening spots of the lawn behind me, she joins me within a couple of seconds. Walking side by side, we remain quiet. I throw the bottles away in the first trash can we cross. The clanging of glass against metal is the only sound that disturbs the peaceful state of the vicinity. I observe my brother's ex-girlfriend, she's fidgeting with her long nails, the brim of her jean jacket's sleeves and the bracelet of her watch.

   "Do you want a ride home?"

I know better than to ask a wise girl like her if she "needs" a ride or if "I can" drive her home.

   "Sure," she whispers.

I take a purposeful look at her, paying close attention to her face. Her irises glow in the dark, and she's really pale. She's awfully pale, even. She looks like she's about to faint. I mind my business and simply proceed to unlock the passenger-side door of my car, holding it open for her afterward. My eyes accidentally land into hers and she gasps silently. I release the car door and watch, dumbstruck, a single tear escape her right eye. She makes a soft, low noise, something like a whimper, and whisks her head away from me. She exhales shakily, hurriedly wiping the tear off her snow white skin with the denim sleeve of her jacket. Biting her lower lip, she clears her throat and jerks the door wide open, nearly throwing herself onto the seat.

We drive in comfortable silence, respectively ignoring the other's presence. Strangely, once I pull up in front of her house, everything comes swarming back. I lost Sodapop. I turn the radio on, almost smashing the button into the dashboard. Immediately, one of my second-youngest brother's favorite songs fills up the space, blaring in intensity. Ember sighs and her famous halfway smirk appears, along with another single teardrop. She stares at me, brushing it away. She doesn't turn down the volume, neither do I.

Without a word, when the song approaches its end, she just nods, gets out of my car and strides toward her front door. Without thinking, I slam the horn in the middle of the steering wheel. Who cares about her posh neighbors, anyway? The young werewolf spins around. I wave at her. She waves back. And that's when I realize Ember Oak has always been my friend... And she always will be.