Johnny Cade lay in his hospital bed, staring up at the stark white ceiling. He was going to die, and he wasn't ready. His gang was in a rumble, beating each other up over, in part, him. He, who was unable to move much anymore, he, whose parents could be heard arguing just outside over medical costs, he, who usually was hurt pretty bad, this being the only time they cared, was the turning point in which everything had to go wrong.

He had only sixteen of many years of life lived, and even though they weren't the greatest, he had some of the best memories with the gang. Gone with the Wind sat on the desk beside him, a reminder of the events of the past few days. Why, he thought, did Bob have to beat him up? Why did the Socs have to be in the park at just the wrong time? Why did they have to near kill Pony? Why couldn't he have just stabbed his leg instead? Why did social groups have to exist? He couldn't answer any of them. He resorted to counting ceiling tiles in time to the beeps of the heart monitor.

There were 80 times in his room. That was also 80 beats of his heart. How many did he have left? He mentally slapped himself for being so pessimistic, but the question of how long he would live still hung heavy. He didn't want to leave anyone behind-especially Dally. They were the closest of friends. They understood each other. He knew that, when the time came, Dally wouldn't take it well. He was going to do something stupid that he would seriously regret. Everyone had their breaking points.

Then there was Pony. The five days in the church had strengthened their friendship. Pony wouldn't take it well either, but he'd be quieter about it. He'd look pretty normal, but he would be in denial. That, he decided, was the difference between his friends. Dallas was loud, aggressive, and spontaneous, like firecrackers. Ponyboy was silent, but when the time came, nearly as explosive. Pony was the kind of firework that climbs high into the night, waiting, until a loud, large, colorful explosion happens. What was he? Johnny decided he was a dud.

He could hear them now, running, reckless through the hall. They were arguing with the doctor, trying to get in. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and opened them again, smiling a tiny fraction. They would stay gold, he knew it.

Johnny Cade lay in his hospital bed, staring up at the stark white ceiling.