Helpless

Gym

TwoBit POV:

"Heads up Ponyboy!" I shouted, hurling a volleyball straight for him.

"Dang it, Two-Bit!" he hollered back, dodging and glaring at me. "How'd we ever end up in the same gym class?"

I laughed. "You're just lucky, ya know?"

"Curtis, Matthews, take a lap!" the Coach called from the side of the gym.

"But it was..." Pony started, then shut his mouth and glared at me. "Thanks a lot," he mumbled.

"We've gotta take a lap every day," I groaned, beginning to jog beside Ponyboy.

"'Well, glory, Two-Bit, maybe you could quit hurlin' stuff at me and maybe we wouldn't have to run everyday."

"It's all in good fun," I flashed my younger friend a grin, but Pony's labored breathing and pale, sweating face quickly chased it away. "Hey, all right?"

Pony nodded weakly, but he slowed down. We were practically walking now: not at all normal for Pony, who was one of the school's best runners.

"You look like shit, kid."

"Thanks," he mumbled, but his voice was airy. "I'm all right; gotta quit smoking," he mumbled, but it was half-hearted. He winced and rubbed at his chest weakly.

"Ponyboy..."

He gasped. I felt my stomach drop; his breath was deep and raspy, as if his lungs were filled. With what, I didn't know. He doubled over, coughing, slightly at first, then more and more violently. We'd stopped moving at that point, and I stood there shocked.

"Pony, Ponyboy, what's wrong? Are you okay? What is it?"

"Curtis, Matthews, you ain't through yet!" the Coach hollered from across the floor.

Pony's coughs jerked his whole body at that point. He stumbled and fell to his knees, gasping for air and coughing harder with each intake of breath. I looked up; greasers and socials alike had frozen, staring at the youngest Curtis. His coughs echoed off the high walls of the gymnasium. I grabbed his shoulders and tried to steady him.

"Take it easy," I tried to reassure him, not really knowing how.

"What's the matter?" the Coach demanded, racing to us. "Ponyboy, take a deep breath..."

But Pony leaned back, a single tear making its way down his face before he slumped over, out cold. But not before I noticed the trickle of red running out from between his teeth.

Blood. Coming from his mouth.

Shit, what's happening?

"What happened to him?" the Coach shouted, panic crossing over his face.

"I don't know!" I shouted back.

He leapt up and shouted toward the stunned students. "Run to the office! Get them to call a paramedic!"

Several students took off.

Don't let this happen, I thought numbly, remembering the lights of the ambulance that had shown over the street the night Dally was killed, the ambulance that had arrived to take away his corpse and ended up rushing an unconscious Pony to the hospital. It was my fault he had collapsed; I'd known he was sick and hadn't told Darry. Darry never would have let him fight if he had a fever. And now...

I was the reason he had to run. Oh God, not again...

He's sick again, I thought, staring at the unconscious boy, he's sick again and it's my fault.