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The first time Johnny was introduced to the gang was when he was ten years old.
Of course, then he didn’t think he would ever join a gang at all at that age. Sure, he fit in pretty well in the neighborhood, mostly for his crummy home life. His dad hit and his mom screamed at him.
A background fit for a hood, he thought bitterly one night that year.
Johnny couldn’t leave the house for too long. If he left for good, he was afraid his old man would kill her. He spent most of his days outside, in his front yard or an empty lot, or wherever he could stay. Not too close, and not too far away.
One summer day, he decided to walk around. He was beginning to be tired of bumming around his own house. At that point, he’d memorized every crack in the fence, or nook underneath his porch. It wasn’t his fault he wanted to switch up his otherwise mundane daily routine.
He just strayed off to the local drugstore, nothing too special. Johnny didn’t feel like going inside, so instead he stared through the glass door. He saw a kid there, maybe around twelve or thirteen years old. He had rusty brown hair – styled with grease – and a wide grin plastered across his face. He was pacing the same aisle over and over again, so repetitive that Johnny started to wonder if he was up to something.
Johnny couldn’t quite see what the kid was looking at until he lifted something from the shelf. It was a blade, one with a black handle. By the looks of it, it was a switchblade to be exact. He smoothly slipped it into his back pocket. Johnny watched in awe as he made his way out of the store, even stopping to wink at the cashier. And he walked out just like that.
He rushed out of the door, brows furrowing when he saw Johnny standing right outside. Johnny stepped aside to make way for him to come out.
He nodded at Johnny once he exited. “What’re you lookin’ at, kid?”
Johnny considered himself a quiet kid. He didn’t really have anyone to talk to anyway.
“Nothin’,” he muttered.
The other kid studied him. “Are you new around here?”
Johnny shook his head.
“Huh. Don’t see you too often then. How old are you? Eight? Seven?”
“Ten.” Johnny said, looking at his beat-up sneakers. He knew he didn’t quite look his age, and it bothered him quite a bit.
“Ten?” The other kid gasped and cocked an eyebrow. Not in a mocking way, but genuine surprise. “Wow, when you’re fifty, people’ll think you’re twenty-five.”
“And when you’re sixty, people’ll think you’re twenty-six!” He started laughing at his own joke.
Johnny had to crack a small smile, something he hadn’t done in a very long time. Whoever this guy was, he had some magical ability.
“The name’s Two-Bit Mathews. Since you live ‘round here, you’re probably already part of a gang. Let me guess, Tim Shepard’s outfit?”
“I’m not,” he answered. “Not part of a gang, I meant.”
“Oh.” Two-Bit’s face fell for a moment, before coming up with something to say. “Well, I’ve got one. C’mon, I’ll introduce you! They’ll be happy to see a new face.”
Two-Bit started walking down the street, and Johnny instinctively started following him.
“What’s your name, by the way?” Two-Bit finally asked while walking.
“Johnny Cade.”
Some part of him worried about just where following him would take him, but he remembered he had nothing better to do. He followed Two-Bit to a small house. A bunch of boys sat down on the front steps, with a radio next to them playing some Elvis Presley song.
First, there were two boys that couldn’t be too much younger than Two-Bit playing cards. One of them had dark hair and a scowl twisting his face. The other had dark golden hair and was smiling expectantly at the dark-haired kid. They both also had their hair greased up.
There was also a much smaller kid sitting behind them, reading a book.
“Hey, Soda,” Two-Bit called to the blond kid. “Why are y’all outside?”
Without looking away from his hand of cards, Soda replied, “Mom said the music was too loud.”
“Then why’s Ponyboy out here?” He asked, gesturing to the kid reading.
Soda, Ponyboy. Johnny went over the names in his head.
“I, uh, don’t know,” shrugged Soda. “Probably just wanted to hang with me and Steve.”
“Guys,” Two-Bit announced, “This here is Johnny Cade. Johnny, this is Sodapop Curtis and Steve Randle.”
Soda nodded to the younger kid behind him and Steve. “And that’s my kid brother, Ponyboy.”
Steve looked at Johnny, “Nice to meet you, Johnny Cade,” his head snapped back to the game, where Sodapop was trying to sneak an ace into his hand.
Johnny gave a shy wave to them.
“This ain’t all of us, we got one more,” Two-Bit assured him. “Where’s Darry?”
“Football practice,” said Soda. “He comes back later this afternoon. And uh…” – he glanced at Johnny – “maybe you should hang out with Pony over here. He could use a good friend, so he’s not dependent on me or anything. Y’all are about the same age, right?”
“I’m ten,” Johnny clarified. Sodapop’s jaw dropped.
“We’re the same age. Well, I turn eleven in a couple of weeks,” he said, still processing the fact. “But I feel you and Pony will get along.”
Ponyboy, however, seemed to be oblivious to the entire conversation, with his nose still stuck in a book. Johnny, not wanting to disappoint his new acquaintances, went past Steve and Soda’s card game to say hi to Ponyboy.
Again, Johnny was a quiet kid. Social interaction wasn’t one of his strong suits at ten years old. “Hey.”
Ponyboy’s hair didn’t have any grease in it, unlike the others, so perhaps you had to reach a certain age, like a rite of passage. Without looking away from the pages of his book, Ponyboy raised his eyebrows.
“Hi. Johnnycakes, right?”
“Johnny Cade,” Johnny chuckled at what would soon become his nickname among the gang. Ponyboy finally made eye contact.
“What’re you reading?” Johnny asked with genuine interest. It was the summer, and Johnny had no idea who actually read books during the summer.
Ponyboy closed the book to see the cover, and spoke with ease. “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It’s about this girl who… falls down a hole. And she gets lost in a strange place with a bunch of strange animals and people. It’s kinda weird, but life’s weird, ain’t it?”
“You’re telling me.” He peered over at the cover. “What happens at the end?”
“I dunno yet.”
“When you finish, let me know.” Johnny leaned back, and tapped his fingers against the wood of the Curtis’ porch.
“Uh, okay,” Ponyboy smiled. Johnny didn’t mean it in a mean way, but none of the members in their gang seemed to be the type to talk about books. Maybe it was the first time someone had tried to converse with Ponyboy about it, even if it was the smallest interaction.
Ponyboy continued to read the book he was so invested in, and Johnny finally got to catch his breath for the first time that day. Between the yelling from card games, laughing, and music from the radio, for once, he felt like one place might be home.
***
2 years later.
Over the course of two years, Ponyboy watched as Johnny went from the new guy to the gang’s pet, even though Ponyboy was the youngest. Age didn’t have anything to do with it really. Everyone felt bad for him, and Pony knew the gang really was all Johnny had. Pony still had his parents, Darry, and Soda.
Ponyboy started wearing grease in his hair at ten years old. It was the first week he was wearing it, and somehow, it made him feel older. More like part of the gang.
Despite feeling “more like part of the gang,” he was drawing in his notebook in the empty lot. No one else in the gang really liked drawing, except for him. That afternoon, Johnny was walking toward him. He sat down next to him, looking off into the distance.
“Man, that Dally guy sure is tuff.”
He was referring to Dallas Winston, the newest member of the gang. He had lived on the streets of New York City with a criminal record, and had moved all the way to Tulsa. Pony wasn’t sure if “tuff” was really the right word to describe Dallas Winston. He knew everyone else in the gang was at least half-scared of the guy, even if he was only thirteen.
Ponyboy scribbled on the drawing he was working on. “I guess.”
“What was wrong with that drawing?” Johnny asked. It was a drawing of a horse. Ponyboy was starting to get tired of drawing horses.
“I gave a drawing like it earlier to Soda, to try and cheer him up,” he admitted. “He didn’t take it, and he’s still bawlin’ about his horse.”
“Mickey Mouse?” Johnny raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Ponyboy said, eyes glued to a new blank page. “They sold him.”
Johnny didn’t say anything. Ponyboy knew his brother cried a lot more than other kids his age did. He knew Soda was extremely embarrassed about it, so maybe it was better that Johnny didn’t say anything about it.
“If you’re tired of drawing horses,” Johnny suggested, “You could always draw people.”
Ponyboy almost laughed, but instead studied Johnny’s face. Johnny didn’t draw, so Pony figured he didn’t understand how hard it was for him to draw people.
“Can’t draw people good.”
Johnny looked around. “You could draw me, if you wanna. It’s gotta be easier with me sitting right here.”
Ponyboy took it into consideration. Johnny was right. “I’ll try.”
It took longer than it should’ve to just draw his face, but once he was done with the whole thing, he grinned. Of course it wasn’t the best drawing, considering he was only ten, but he thought it was good for a person-drawing. He ripped out the page and handed it to Johnny.
“Tuff enough.” A smile was brought to Johnny’s face, which wasn’t exactly common. “Thanks, Pony.”
Ponyboy returned the smile, watching as Johnny folded the paper and stuck it in his jeans pocket. He waved and ran off.