No one's said anythin since the sun went down. News long since traveled to Johnny, Steve, n Two, gathered n pressed in, all of them exchangin looks that could mean nothin. If they wanted to pretend. Even Two's jokes are absent, the record players skippin, scratchin, tearin along worn nerves 'til someone lifts the needle. At some point Pony's dropped off to sleep right there on the couch, Curly pressed against one side, head restin on his shoulder, Soda bracketin in the other, arm draped around his lil brothers shoulders. Darry shuffles back n forth through the kitchen, absently touchin his chest pocket now n then. Soda watches him, eyes dartin back n forth.
'Darry?' Darry stops suddenly. Soda’s voice breakin an hours long silence. 'What are Tim n Dallas goin' to do?' Darry runs a hand up the back of his neck, fights against the fear that comes tumblin up his throat, presses his palm flat to the note tucked into his shirt.
'I dunno, Soda. I don't know.' N somewhere, faintly, in what may have been a world away, a police siren starts to wail.
