This story is because I totally know how Steve feels. It is dedicated to everyone who has ever been in this position. It's REALLY not that easy to grasp, because I couldn't get the right feeling of it into words… I was trying to have this make sense, but it probably doesn't. And the end was supposed to mean something, but you'll have to figure it out alone, even though it probably makes no sense.

"That's Steve Randle."

"Whose Steve Randle?"

"Soda's best buddy."

"...OH! Him!"

The two faceless greasers on the other side of the street spoke loud enough for me to hear them. I could always hear people when they spoke about me. Me: "Soda's best buddy". As if I wouldn't exist if it wasn't for him.

Quite basically, that's absolutely true. Who else am I?

Everyone I've ever met has had their own title. Two-Bit was the funny one. Dally was the tough one, Johnny was the pet. Darry was the strong one. Soda was the optimist and Pony was the baby. I'm kind of like a place-holder. Just there. I just happen to always be around them.

And even with my title being as it is, I'm always on the edge of the risk that I am going to lose Soda. Whenever Pony has a problem, Soda disappears, and I am out of the group until he comes back.

That stupid kid is ruining my only chance of belonging.

For the longest time I didn't want to belong with them. I thought that I was strong, and if they didn't want to except me for who I was instead of "Soda's best buddy", I didn't want to be part of them. I thought that I could survive without being part of a cozy group.

I was wrong. I'm not strong at all.

I want to be a part of them... I need to.

"Gosh." One of the greasers across the street says, "I hardly recognized him without the rest of his group."

My point exactly.

I sit here with no personal identity, only alive on the standards that I can be with Soda. And if I stopped talking to Soda, the rest of the group would forget me. If Soda and I were to fight, the group would back him up without a second thought.

Funny how things work out sometimes. I have become so dependant on their excepting me, that I have lowered myself to envying a little thirteen year old kid. That's too bad, because Pony's not that terrible a person. He just fits in so perfectly...

...And I don't.

You can go ahead and say that I'm being a baby. Go on. I know you're dying to tell me that. That I have no right to complain about something like this. Like this is a minor issue.

And I bet that if you think I am being a baby, I bet everyone who thinks that this is minor, belongs. You all know the warm feeling of being part of a group.

I know that feeling too. It taunts me... being so close but so far out of grasp. It's devastating how hard I have to hold on just to keep from floating away from them. I play no important role. They wouldn't lose anything by losing me, the way they would if they lost Two-Bit or Dally.

"Hey, Steve!" Someone calls from across the street. I know who it is. There's only one person who would waste the time calling my name.

"Hey Soda." I said softly as he came up to me, smiling as usual.

"Something wrong?"

I look up to him and have to smile. You can't help smiling when you're looking into the eyes of Sodapop Patrick Curtis.

"Wanna go get a Pepsi?" He asks cheerfully.

I wonder absently if I should finally tell him that I don't like Pepsi. But then again; if I tell him, another thin rope holding us together will snap, and I will drift further away.

"Sure." I almost whisper, "Course I would."