On the Wrong Side
Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to S. E. Hinton.

Ponyboy Curtis came to a realization that wintry day in January, 1967.

Unfortunately, it hit him at the same time as his math teacher, Mrs. Thomas, was asking if he knew how to do the question on the blackboard. Since he didn't answer right away, she said, with asperity, "Ponyboy Curtis, are you planning to come back to Earth anytime soon?"

To cover his embarrassment at having been caught thinking about things besides math, he snapped, "Yeah, I'm back. But this class is just so riveting; why, I lost my train of thought as soon as I came in today."

Strained laughter enveloped the classroom as Mrs. Thomas's lips thinned almost to the point of disappearance. She shook her head in apparent dismay, and called on one of the Socs. "Janice, would you come up here and show the class how to do the problem?"

The girl swiftly went to the blackboard to demonstrate how to get the roots of a parabola, while the class settled down.

Ponyboy swallowed nervously as he wondered why he'd smarted off like that. He realized he'd probably earned himself a stiff talking-to from the teacher, and from Darry. As much as they might be getting along a bit better now, he still didn't relish Darry saying he was disappointed that Ponyboy was displaying an attitude problem in school.

Sure enough, as the bell rang, the teacher said loudly, "Ponyboy, stay after class. You too, Nicholas."

Some of the guys in class snickered at Ponyboy, and one called out, "Hey grease, you ain't gonna be the teacher's pet that way!"

Forcing himself to keep looking at the teacher even as his cheeks burned, Ponyboy almost missed the other student coming up to stand next to him at the teacher's desk. He quickly took in the other guy's appearance. His dark hair was a bit longer than might be acceptable. He was wearing an army jacket, and his eyes were, Ponyboy thought, brown.

Or maybe hazel.

Or green? He was oddly interested in what those eyes looked like from the front.

With a start, Ponyboy flushed again and looked back at the teacher. She said, "Ponyboy, I'm aware that you've been the center of some publicity here and that you've been under some strain because of your family situation. However, I am not going to tolerate your sarcasm in this class. If you give me cheek again, you'll be in detention every day for a week writing lines. However, for this occasion, I've a more suitable punishment in mind.

"You are to tutor this gentleman here, Nicholas Westlake, in math. Nicholas, I will continue to help you when I can, but I think you would do better if you availed yourself of Ponyboy's services, now that I have volunteered him for the task. Ponyboy, you will tutor Nicholas until I see his grades improve – and don't think I haven't noticed your own grades slipping a bit. This will hopefully motivate you to pull your socks up in my class.

"Any questions?"

Mutely, Ponyboy shook his head, and noticed Nicholas did the same.

"Fine. Work out between yourselves what your schedule will be. We'll discuss your tutoring arrangements again in a month."

The teacher's dismissal was plain in her voice, and the boys left the room.

Outside, in the hallway, Ponyboy turned to Nicholas and said, "Okay, I guess you know what the score is. Just don't rub it in, all right?"

The other guy shrugged, saying, "Math isn't my thing. But trying to score points off the teacher ain't exactly the road to success. Uh, your name's really Ponyboy?"

"Yeah. Most everybody calls me that. Or if you don't mind it, you can call me Pony. Not Horse-guy, or some other weird name like people try to come up with when they forget."

Nicholas chuckled and extended a hand to shake. "People call me Nicky. Easier to say than 'Nicholas'."

Ponyboy automatically reached out to grasp Nicky's hand, and to his surprise, felt his heart pick up a bit as he felt the warmth from the other boy's hand when they shook. He released the grip a shade faster than might be polite, and nervously wondered if Nicky noticed.

To cover for his possible faux pas, Ponyboy said quickly, "So, um, did you want to come to my place some time? My brother always checks over my homework so maybe we can get him to check yours over, too. I've picked up some tricks from him that might help you, actually."

Nicky smiled and said, "Good. Lemme get your address and telephone number." He pulled out a little notepad from his jeans pocket and fumbled in his coat pockets for a pen. Unfortunately, as he tried to click the pen to begin writing with it, he dropped it and had to crouch down to pick it up.

Ponyboy had happened to look down automatically when Nicky dropped the pen on the floor, and as Nicky was picking it up while crouched, he suddenly noticed the boy's jeans were a shade too tight for his legs.

Shaking his head to clear the sudden strange rush of feelings going through his head as Nicky stood back up, Ponyboy quickly recited his address and phone number, then said, "You might wanna hold off coming over until I tell Darry; maybe call us tonight or something. I'd like to keep talking, but I gotta go. Listen, when you come over, just be careful if it's after dark. Socs might get you."

Grinning, Nicky said, "That anything like a sock, only you say it funny?"

Ponyboy snorted in disbelief. "You know, greasers and Socials? Who are you, Rip Van Winkle?"

"Nah. I've lived here all my life and never had trouble from anyone."

"Socials are the rich kids – remember? Same rich kids as busted up my friend Johnny within an inch of his life and scared him so bad he wouldn't ever talk about it!" Heatedly, Ponyboy stalked off toward his locker, and while he was thankful Nicky had the discretion to not follow after him, a small traitorous part of him had wished the boy had followed.

For Ponyboy's realization in math class that day was that he liked boys. He liked boys the way Sodapop said he liked girls – he liked their looks, their gestures, their hair… and it worried him even as the realization had crystallized some feelings he hadn't known how to categorize before.

And Nicholas Westlake was going to be in close quarters with him for at least the next month.

Oh, brother.

Author Notes:

I want to thank Misfit Greaser for his kind permission to use his OC and aspects of his fic, "A Purpose for Being", as well as beta work to make sure I got Nicky in character. I also thank Marauder and the Q for her eye for detail in her beta work, and thanks go to "the forum gang" for help with choosing the title for this fic. :)

I wrote this because I wanted to write a realistic, involved, treatment of the experiences of gay teens in the 1960s in the American heartland, particularly as I've seen a lot of bad slash around here and I aim to raise the bar for this subgenre of Outsiders fic.