Title: The Divide
Author: Marianne
Rating: T
Summary: "Soda looked down at his tennis shoes. Maybe he had been wrong about Cherry. Maybe the divide separating greasers from Socs was just too big to cross – even for a girl like her." Soda and Cherry share a touching moment following the deaths of Johnny, Dallas, and Bob.
Author's Note: I'm a huge fan of the Cherry/Soda pairing. Consequently, I'm very disappointed by the lack of stories about the two of them. And that's why I'm writing this little number. I think it really illustrates the difference between the Socs and the greasers. Please, let me know what you think. I love feedback. Not to mention, I'm always open to constructive criticism. So, that being said, please enjoy.
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Sodapop took a long swig of Coca-Cola to settle his nerves. It was almost 2:20, the official quitting time of every high school in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Leaning against the hood of a battered Deuce Coupe, Soda contemplated the best approach to the Cherry Valance problem. For three weeks, she had been avoiding Ponyboy like the plague, sticking her nose up in the air every time he passed her in the school hallway. Princess. Soda shook his head. Just because she was rich and beautiful, Cherry thought she could walk all over Ponyboy and pretend like he didn't exist. Well, she was about to get an earful. Sodapop had never been afraid of confrontation, and seeing as Cherry had deliberately wronged Ponyboy, he wasn't about to let her off the hook. Oh, no. He was going to give her a piece of his mind. Soda polished off the rest of his Coke and headed for the back of the parking lot. It didn't take long for him to spot Cherry's red Stingray.
Parked in between a busted Oldsmobile and a Cadillac DeVille, Cherry's 1963 Corvette Stingray glistened like a ruby in the midday sun. Soda shrugged. Mr. and Mrs. Valance had given it to Cherry for her Sweet Sixteen – a gorgeous car for their gorgeous daughter. Soda remembered. Just before dropping out of school, he had seen Cherry and her sleazy boyfriend Bob driving around the parking lot in it, their arms draped carelessly over the side doors. In Soda's opinion, Socs had far too much money for their own good. Blowing God only knows how much on a set of wheels for a sixteen-year-old girl was basically the same as lighting a stack of money on fire and watching it burn. Soda shook his head. What a waste. If Darry had that kind of cash, he would spend it on food, schooling, and other important things. Not fancy cars.
Soda leaned against the hood of Cherry's Stingray, his brown eyes squinting against the autumn sun. It was now 2:19. Cherry would be released from class in less than a minute. If Soda played his cards right, he could confront her, head back to the DX in time for his shift, and avoid Ponyboy all in one fell swoop. His plan was perfect. Soda reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Camels. He really needed a smoke. Placing a cigarette in between his lips, Soda reached for his lighter. He didn't normally smoke in front of girls, but for some reason, he felt the need to look tough in front of Cherry Valance. Soda took a long drag on his cigarette. The final bell had just chimed. Within seconds, he observed a cluster of students pushing each other out the gym doors. Gee whiz – 2:20 P.M. at a high school was like feeding time at the zoo.
Soda sat casually on Cherry's car, a cloud of cigarette smoke hovering mere inches above his head. For several minutes, he watched the students bustle out of the building, their voices echoing across the blacktop. It took five minutes for Cherry to show up. Strawberry locks blowing in the breeze, she walked down the school's back staircase, her arms clasped tightly around a stack of books. She was beautiful. Even Soda, in his state of irritation, had to admit that much. Taking another hit on his cigarette, Soda made eye contact with Cherry. For a moment, her hazel eyes widened in surprise. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting to see him.
"Sodapop," she said, her stride increasing. "Is that you?"
He nodded. "Yep."
Cherry smiled, her white teeth glistening in the sunlight. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Oh, you know," Soda said, watching as she placed her textbooks in the passenger's seat, "just thought I'd stop by and have a little talk with you."
"Really?" Cherry crossed her arms over her chest. "About what?" she asked.
"Well," Soda sighed, releasing a breath of smoke into the air, "I guess I'll just come right out and say it." He bit his lower lip. This wasn't going to be as easy as he had originally thought. "I want to talk to you about Ponyboy," he said.
"Ponyboy?"
Soda nodded, holding the cigarette in between his forefinger and thumb. At that moment, he was pretty sure he looked the part of a rough-and-tumble greaser. "I just don't think you're doing right by him, Cherry," he stated, his brown eye squinting against the sun.
"Wait," Cherry stammered, her lily-white brow furrowing. "What do you mean by that?"
Soda felt a sudden rush of bravery. "You know exactly what I mean," he said, pushing himself off the hood of her Stingray. "You've been ignoring Ponyboy ever since that juvenile trial last month. You never say 'hi' to him in the hallways, and you sure as hell don't acknowledge him in front of your Soc friends."
Cherry leaned against the driver's door, her hazel eyes foggy and moist. "You wouldn't understand, Soda. Things are different here."
"No they're not," Soda said, tossing his cigarette onto the ground and putting it out with his heel. "Things are exactly the same as they've always been. I only ditched this place a year ago. I remember what it's like. You Socs think you're better than us greasers just 'cause your folks have a ton of cash to blow on you. The only time any of you bother to notice us is when we're walking home alone. And that's only 'cause we're easy targets for you to jump. You just –"
"Stop saying you," Cherry whispered, her voice meek, and at the same time, very controlled. "We're not all the same, Sodapop."
He shook his head. "You could've fooled me."
Within an instant, Cherry lifted a hand to her cheek and wiped away a stray tear. She didn't want to look weak in front of a greaser. Especially Ponyboy's older brother. "You know I'm not like that, Soda," she said, her lower lip trembling. For a moment, Sodapop felt like the world's biggest jerk.
"Cherry," he sighed, his brown eyes softening. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant –"
"Exactly what?"
The sound of Cherry's voice, steady and determined, attracted several stares from around the parking lot. Brawny football players and gum-chomping cheerleaders narrowed their eyes in disapproval as Soda and Cherry stood facing one another, their shoulders squared assertively. No doubt most of them were wondering what a hood like Sodapop Curtis was doing talking to a high-society girl like Sherri Valance. They were all so predictable.
"Is this hoodlum bothering you, Cherry?"
Soda turned around. A tall, muscular Soc was headed their way, his hands jammed into the pockets of his letterman's jacket. For a split second, Soda wished he still had his cigarette. It would have made him look tougher. Although Soda had always been thankful for inheriting his mother's good looks, sometimes, he viewed them as a handicap.
"Cherry," the Soc said, his left hand coming to rest on the small of her back, "do you want me to get rid of this greaser trash?"
Cherry shook her head. "No." Apparently, the burly Soc had been expecting a different answer, because his brow furrowed in confusion. Cherry was quick to remedy the problem. "I'm fine, Danny. Honest," she said, a tone of warning evident in her voice. Soda knew Cherry hated fights – Ponyboy had told him so.
"Are you sure?" the Soc asked, his beady eyes narrowing. Something in their black, animalistic depths told Sodapop he was itching for a fight.
"I'm sure," Cherry stated, taking a protective step towards Soda. "We were just talking. That's all."
The Soc seemed to consider this for a moment, and then, as if satisfied, stalked reluctantly off. Sodapop shook his head. Socs were always looking to for a fight. Every last one of them – except Cherry. For some reason, she couldn't stand the thought of blood being spilt. It didn't matter whether or not someone deserved to have the tar beat out of them – she still couldn't stand it. Soda turned to face her, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Thanks, Cherry."
She smiled – a sad, bittersweet kind of a smile. "You're welcome."
Soda looked down at his tennis shoes. Maybe he had been wrong about Cherry. Maybe the divide separating greasers from Socs was just too big to cross – even for a girl like her. "You know something?" Soda said, running a hand through his wheat-gold hair, "You dig okay."
Cherry nodded, "You too."
For the first time in months, Soda felt a hot blush creep up his neck. "I…well…I guess I'll just, you know," he stammered, his ears reddening, "head back to work."
Cherry nodded, her eyes downcast. "Of course." Before she had the chance to say anything more, Sodapop was gone.
Quickly, and without thinking, he left Cherry alone in the parking lot, his heart beating like a jungle drum. What on earth had he been thinking, confronting her on Soc turf? Soda sighed. That had been a boneheaded move. And yet, he didn't regret it one bit – because there was something about Cherry, something special. She was different from the rest – real, genuine, hurt. Soda remembered the way her eyes had welled up with tears at the mention of social fights and his heart ached for her. There was something about her eyes, sad and luxurious, that seemed familiar, almost painfully so. For some reason, they reminded him of Johnny Cade's eyes. Huge, deep orbs, darkened by the pain of life experience. Cherry, at the tender age of sixteen, had plenty of life experience – most of it culminating in death. Soda shuddered. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like to know that three boys had died because of something you did. Well, maybe not something you did directly, but something you did accidentally. Something completely innocent. Like sitting beside two greaser boys at the drive-in movie theater. Fate was cruel. No one knew that better than Cherry Valance. Soda could see it in her eyes – the pain and guilt she felt over the deaths of Bob, Johnny, and Dallas. A guilt that had been wrongly and cruelly distributed. A guilt that she would carry with her for the rest of her life.