Johnny's fourteenth birthday wasn't great. He was in the lot, sitting and smoking a cigarette, all by himself. That was before a broad shouldered guy—who Johnny now knows is Darry—sat down next to him, and asked if he'd like to start hanging out with his gang. Johnny had seen the group around, and they looked awfully tight-knit. Despite the idea initially scaring Johnny, he agreed with a smile.

It's been a month or two since then. Everyone in the gang seemed to be apprehensive around Johnny, despite clearly liking him.

At first, he assumed it was because he was new, but he soon realized it was because they pitied him, or that's how Johnny took it. He understands. His parents hit him, and he's quiet, and he's sorta like a wounded puppy, but he can hold his own just fine. You're the only one that realizes that, it seems.

You and Johnny are roughing each other up at the Curtis house, and you're doing most of it. You're shaking him all around before you put him in a headlock. He struggles for a little while, squirming, before he finds a loose spot and slugs you right on the nose. You let him go and fall onto your back.

“Oh—oh God, man, I'm sorry,” he stutters, but there's a huge grin on his face, and he laughs loudly. He would've felt genuinely terrible if you were anyone else, but it's you. You don't even mind.