Categories > Books > Outsiders > Wake Up Call
It was a hot afternoon. The lot behind the DX. Gravel, dust, and the faint smell of motor oil baked into the air.
Johnny had been there—leaning against the fence at first, watching like he always did. Quiet. Careful. Half in, half out of everything.
“You ever gonna actually try?” Ponyboy had asked, tossing a rag aside.
Johnny blinked at him. “Try what?”
“Wrestling,” Pony said, already stepping closer, a grin tugging at his mouth. “C’mon. You can’t just watch all the time.”
Johnny hesitated. That was his way—always a pause, always measuring. But then he gave a small shrug.
“Alright… but don’t expect much.”
Ponyboy grinned wider. “I don’t.”
They squared up in the dirt, loose and casual. No crowd, no noise—just the two of them.
Pony moved first.
He shot forward, quick and confident, grabbing Johnny by the shoulders and trying to hook a leg behind his. Johnny stumbled, surprised more than anything, and Pony used that hesitation—twisting, pulling him down into the dust.
They hit the ground with a soft thud.
“Gotcha,” Pony said, already shifting his weight, sliding behind him.
Johnny struggled, but not with the same rough force as the others. It was lighter. Careful. He wasn’t trying to hurt Pony—just get out.
Pony took advantage.
He looped an arm around Johnny’s neck from behind, locking it in tight—a sleeper hold. Not perfect, but solid enough.
“Tap out,” Pony said, breath a little heavier now.
Johnny’s hands came up immediately, gripping at Pony’s arm. He squirmed, trying to twist free, but Pony tightened his hold.
“C’mon, Johnny,” he added, a little smug now. “You’re stuck.”
Johnny coughed slightly, shifting under him. “Not… yet.”
Pony huffed. “Yeah? What’re you gonna—”
And then—
Johnny’s hand slipped downward.
At first, Pony didn’t even realize what he was doing.
Fingers brushed along his side.
Light.
Testing.
Then—
Johnny dug in.
Right into the soft spot along Ponyboy’s ribs.
Pony jerked like he’d been shocked. “Hey—!”
Johnny didn’t stop.
His fingers moved fast now, pressing, scratching, finding every sensitive spot like he’d always known where they were.
Pony’s grip faltered.
“Johnny—wait—!”
Too late.
Johnny twisted sharply, using that split-second of weakness to slip halfway out of the hold. Pony tried to tighten his arm again, but his body betrayed him—another burst of laughter breaking loose as Johnny went right back to his ribs.
“Sorry,” Johnny muttered—but he didn’t sound sorry at all.
Pony laughed harder, completely losing control now. “No—no, that’s not—haha—fair!”
Johnny shifted again, quick and clever, and suddenly he was on top. Pinning Pony’s wrists. Knees planted just enough to keep him down.
It wasn’t force.
It was timing.
Pony squirmed beneath him, still laughing, trying to twist free—but Johnny adjusted, steady and surprisingly sure.
“Uncle?” Johnny asked quietly.
Pony clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head stubbornly.
Johnny hesitated for a second.
Then—
His fingers went back to Pony’s sides.
Pony broke instantly.
“Okay! Okay—uncle! Uncle!”
Johnny froze, then pulled his hands back like he’d touched something hot.
Silence fell between them, broken only by Ponyboy’s breathless laughter fading into panting.
Johnny shifted off him quickly, sitting back in the dirt. “You okay?”
Pony stared up at the sky for a second, then let out a groan, dragging a hand over his face.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I was winning.”
Johnny gave the smallest hint of a smile.
“Not at the end.”
Pony turned his head, glaring—but there was no heat behind it.
“Man… you fight dirty.”
Johnny shrugged, almost sheepish. “I had to.”
Pony huffed, then—despite himself—cracked a grin.
“…Yeah. Guess you did.”
__________________________________________________________________________________________
It didn’t take long for the story to get out.
It never did.
Ponyboy should’ve known better the second Two-Bit strolled into the lot that evening, hands in his pockets, grin already halfway to trouble.
“Hey, Pony,” Two-Bit called casually. “Heard you and Johnny had yourselves a little match earlier.”
Pony stiffened where he stood near the fence. “Who told you that?”
Two-Bit’s grin widened. “Oh, y’know. Word gets around.”
Johnny, sitting on the curb nearby, suddenly looked very interested in the ground.
Steve leaned up from under the hood of a car, wiping his hands on a rag. “Wait—Johnny?” he said, eyebrows shooting up. “You’re telling me Johnny took you down?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Pony muttered quickly.
Sodapop, who’d just walked out of the DX with a bottle of Coke, paused mid-step. “Hold on,” he said, eyes lighting up. “Johnny beat you?”
Johnny shifted, uncomfortable. “It wasn’t really—”
“He got lucky,” Pony cut in, a little too fast.
Two-Bit let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s rough, kid. You let the quietest guy in the gang take you out?”
“I didn’t let him—”
“What’d he do?” Steve asked, clearly entertained now. “Trip you? Or did you just fall over outta sympathy?”
Soda was already laughing, trying to hide it behind his hand. “No, no—Johnny doesn’t fight like that.”
There was a beat.
Then Two-Bit’s eyes narrowed slightly, piecing it together.
“Oh no,” he said slowly, pointing at Pony. “Don’t tell me…”
Pony’s face flushed. “Don’t.”
Two-Bit snapped his fingers. “He tickled you, didn’t he?”
That did it.
Soda burst out laughing, doubling over. Steve let out a loud bark of laughter, slapping the side of the car. Even Johnny cracked a small, guilty smile.
Pony groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that,” Two-Bit said gleefully. “Johnny Cade—Johnny Cade—took down Ponyboy Curtis with a couple wiggles of his fingers.”
“I had him in a hold!” Pony protested. “I was winning!”
“Yeah,” Steve snorted, “until you weren’t.”
Soda clapped Pony on the shoulder, still laughing. “Man, I wish I’d seen that.”
Johnny finally spoke up, quiet but honest. “He almost had me.”
That shut them up for half a second.
Pony glanced at him, surprised.
Johnny shrugged a little. “Just… got lucky, I guess.”
Two-Bit shook his head. “Nah. That ain’t luck. That’s strategy.”
“Dirty strategy,” Pony muttered.
“Effective strategy,” Steve corrected.
Soda grinned, still amused. “Guess it just proves something, huh?”
Pony narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Soda took a sip of his Coke, then said, “Doesn’t matter how tough you are—everyone’s got a weak spot.”
Two-Bit snapped his fingers again. “And Pony’s is definitely his ribs.”
“And feet,” Steve added.
“Don’t forget his sides,” Soda chimed in.
Pony threw his hands up. “Alright, I get it!”
The guys laughed, the sound easy and familiar, echoing through the lot.
Pony tried to stay annoyed—but after a second, even he cracked a reluctant smile.
Yeah, he’d lost.
Again.
But somehow… it didn’t feel quite as bad when they were all laughing about it together.
Still—
He shot Johnny a look. “Next time,” he said.
Johnny met his gaze, that small, quiet smile returning.
“…We’ll see.”
And that only made Pony more determined.
Johnny had been there—leaning against the fence at first, watching like he always did. Quiet. Careful. Half in, half out of everything.
“You ever gonna actually try?” Ponyboy had asked, tossing a rag aside.
Johnny blinked at him. “Try what?”
“Wrestling,” Pony said, already stepping closer, a grin tugging at his mouth. “C’mon. You can’t just watch all the time.”
Johnny hesitated. That was his way—always a pause, always measuring. But then he gave a small shrug.
“Alright… but don’t expect much.”
Ponyboy grinned wider. “I don’t.”
They squared up in the dirt, loose and casual. No crowd, no noise—just the two of them.
Pony moved first.
He shot forward, quick and confident, grabbing Johnny by the shoulders and trying to hook a leg behind his. Johnny stumbled, surprised more than anything, and Pony used that hesitation—twisting, pulling him down into the dust.
They hit the ground with a soft thud.
“Gotcha,” Pony said, already shifting his weight, sliding behind him.
Johnny struggled, but not with the same rough force as the others. It was lighter. Careful. He wasn’t trying to hurt Pony—just get out.
Pony took advantage.
He looped an arm around Johnny’s neck from behind, locking it in tight—a sleeper hold. Not perfect, but solid enough.
“Tap out,” Pony said, breath a little heavier now.
Johnny’s hands came up immediately, gripping at Pony’s arm. He squirmed, trying to twist free, but Pony tightened his hold.
“C’mon, Johnny,” he added, a little smug now. “You’re stuck.”
Johnny coughed slightly, shifting under him. “Not… yet.”
Pony huffed. “Yeah? What’re you gonna—”
And then—
Johnny’s hand slipped downward.
At first, Pony didn’t even realize what he was doing.
Fingers brushed along his side.
Light.
Testing.
Then—
Johnny dug in.
Right into the soft spot along Ponyboy’s ribs.
Pony jerked like he’d been shocked. “Hey—!”
Johnny didn’t stop.
His fingers moved fast now, pressing, scratching, finding every sensitive spot like he’d always known where they were.
Pony’s grip faltered.
“Johnny—wait—!”
Too late.
Johnny twisted sharply, using that split-second of weakness to slip halfway out of the hold. Pony tried to tighten his arm again, but his body betrayed him—another burst of laughter breaking loose as Johnny went right back to his ribs.
“Sorry,” Johnny muttered—but he didn’t sound sorry at all.
Pony laughed harder, completely losing control now. “No—no, that’s not—haha—fair!”
Johnny shifted again, quick and clever, and suddenly he was on top. Pinning Pony’s wrists. Knees planted just enough to keep him down.
It wasn’t force.
It was timing.
Pony squirmed beneath him, still laughing, trying to twist free—but Johnny adjusted, steady and surprisingly sure.
“Uncle?” Johnny asked quietly.
Pony clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head stubbornly.
Johnny hesitated for a second.
Then—
His fingers went back to Pony’s sides.
Pony broke instantly.
“Okay! Okay—uncle! Uncle!”
Johnny froze, then pulled his hands back like he’d touched something hot.
Silence fell between them, broken only by Ponyboy’s breathless laughter fading into panting.
Johnny shifted off him quickly, sitting back in the dirt. “You okay?”
Pony stared up at the sky for a second, then let out a groan, dragging a hand over his face.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I was winning.”
Johnny gave the smallest hint of a smile.
“Not at the end.”
Pony turned his head, glaring—but there was no heat behind it.
“Man… you fight dirty.”
Johnny shrugged, almost sheepish. “I had to.”
Pony huffed, then—despite himself—cracked a grin.
“…Yeah. Guess you did.”
__________________________________________________________________________________________
It didn’t take long for the story to get out.
It never did.
Ponyboy should’ve known better the second Two-Bit strolled into the lot that evening, hands in his pockets, grin already halfway to trouble.
“Hey, Pony,” Two-Bit called casually. “Heard you and Johnny had yourselves a little match earlier.”
Pony stiffened where he stood near the fence. “Who told you that?”
Two-Bit’s grin widened. “Oh, y’know. Word gets around.”
Johnny, sitting on the curb nearby, suddenly looked very interested in the ground.
Steve leaned up from under the hood of a car, wiping his hands on a rag. “Wait—Johnny?” he said, eyebrows shooting up. “You’re telling me Johnny took you down?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Pony muttered quickly.
Sodapop, who’d just walked out of the DX with a bottle of Coke, paused mid-step. “Hold on,” he said, eyes lighting up. “Johnny beat you?”
Johnny shifted, uncomfortable. “It wasn’t really—”
“He got lucky,” Pony cut in, a little too fast.
Two-Bit let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s rough, kid. You let the quietest guy in the gang take you out?”
“I didn’t let him—”
“What’d he do?” Steve asked, clearly entertained now. “Trip you? Or did you just fall over outta sympathy?”
Soda was already laughing, trying to hide it behind his hand. “No, no—Johnny doesn’t fight like that.”
There was a beat.
Then Two-Bit’s eyes narrowed slightly, piecing it together.
“Oh no,” he said slowly, pointing at Pony. “Don’t tell me…”
Pony’s face flushed. “Don’t.”
Two-Bit snapped his fingers. “He tickled you, didn’t he?”
That did it.
Soda burst out laughing, doubling over. Steve let out a loud bark of laughter, slapping the side of the car. Even Johnny cracked a small, guilty smile.
Pony groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that,” Two-Bit said gleefully. “Johnny Cade—Johnny Cade—took down Ponyboy Curtis with a couple wiggles of his fingers.”
“I had him in a hold!” Pony protested. “I was winning!”
“Yeah,” Steve snorted, “until you weren’t.”
Soda clapped Pony on the shoulder, still laughing. “Man, I wish I’d seen that.”
Johnny finally spoke up, quiet but honest. “He almost had me.”
That shut them up for half a second.
Pony glanced at him, surprised.
Johnny shrugged a little. “Just… got lucky, I guess.”
Two-Bit shook his head. “Nah. That ain’t luck. That’s strategy.”
“Dirty strategy,” Pony muttered.
“Effective strategy,” Steve corrected.
Soda grinned, still amused. “Guess it just proves something, huh?”
Pony narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Soda took a sip of his Coke, then said, “Doesn’t matter how tough you are—everyone’s got a weak spot.”
Two-Bit snapped his fingers again. “And Pony’s is definitely his ribs.”
“And feet,” Steve added.
“Don’t forget his sides,” Soda chimed in.
Pony threw his hands up. “Alright, I get it!”
The guys laughed, the sound easy and familiar, echoing through the lot.
Pony tried to stay annoyed—but after a second, even he cracked a reluctant smile.
Yeah, he’d lost.
Again.
But somehow… it didn’t feel quite as bad when they were all laughing about it together.
Still—
He shot Johnny a look. “Next time,” he said.
Johnny met his gaze, that small, quiet smile returning.
“…We’ll see.”
And that only made Pony more determined.
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