scar on my forefinger. Curly was an average downtown hood, tough and not real bright, but I liked him. He could take anything. "He's in the cooler," Steve said, kicking the ace out of Soda's shoe. "In the reformatory." Again? I thought, and said, "Let me fight, Darry. If it was blades or chains or something it'd be different. Nobody ever gets really hurt in a skin rumble." "Well" — Darry gave in— "I guess you can. But be careful, and if you get in a jam, holler and I'll get you out." "I'll be okay," I said wearily. "How come you never worry about Sodapop as much? I don't see you lecturin' him." "Man"— Darry grinned and put his arm across Soda's shoulders — "this is one kid brother I don't have to worry about" Soda punched him in the ribs affectionately. "This kiddo can use his head." Sodapop looked down at me with mock superiority, but Darry went on; "You can see he uses it for one thing— to grow hair on." He ducked Soda's swing and took off for the door. Two-Bit stuck his head in the door just as Darry went flying out of it. Leaping as he went off the steps, Darry turned a somersault in mid-air, hit the ground, and bounced up before Soda could catch him. "Welup," Two-Bit said cheerfully, cocking an eyebrow, "I see we are in prime condition for a rumble. Is everybody happy?" "Yeah!" screamed Soda as he too did a flying somersault off the steps. He flipped up to walk on his hands and then did a no-hands cartwheel across the yard to beat Darry's The Outsiders, S.E. Hinton 115