"We always just stick our heads into each other's houses and holler "Hey" and walk in. Our front door is always unlocked in case one of the boys is hacked off at his parents and needs a place to lay over and cool off. We never could tell who we'd find stretched out on the sofa in the morning . . . Once we even found Tim Shepard, leader of the Shepard gang and far from his own turf, reading the morning paper in the armchair . . ."
Exerpt From: The Outisders by S.E. Hinton
AN: So, fellow readers and writers, how goes it this wondrous morning/afternoon/evening? I, myself, am skipping Spanish class to be here with you today. But, hey, who needs that foreign language stuff, eh?
Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy this fic. I was just reading the book when I came upon this part and said "Hmmmmm . . .I wonder . . ." So, enjoy!
Breakfast With Shepard
I stared, my jaw nearly dropping off its hinges as I took in the sight before me. Tim Shepard, the Tim Shepard, as in leader of the Shepard gang, as in Curly's older brother, as in . . . Tim Shepard . . . was sitting in our living room in Darry's favorite chair reading our morning newspaper.
He looked up, glancing me up and down slightly before returning to his reading.
"Hi," he said unemotionally, wetting his finger and flipping to another page. "You look like shit, little Curtis. Seen a ghost or somethin'?" I shook my head of all thought, realizing I had been staring at one of the most dangerous Greasers in town.
"Um, no, sorry. I, uh . . . Rough night," I managed past the lump invading my throat. I swallowed hard and forced myself to move forward and sit on the sofa.
Tim looked at me again over the top of the newspaper, this time studying my reaction to him. He smirked and gave a throaty chuckle, the same one that his brother had.
"You a bit freaked, Kid?" He asked humorously, setting down the current section in his grip and snagging a new one.
"Nah," I said defensively, shifting in my seat and furrowing my eyebrows as I had seen Soda and Darry do when they wanted to look tough. "Just a little . . . surprised is all. It ain't everyday we get someone from the Shepard gang out here."
"Well," Tim sighed, lowering the newspaper and giving me a good, hard stare, "Curly talks about ya so much, I decided I'd come and check out the famous Curtis B n' B myself."
"Oh," I replied nervously. Curly? Talks about me? Oh boy. Is that good or bad?
"Plus, I hear ya make great chocolate cake," Shepard added with an almost sincere smile. I doubted right then that he truly had a sincere smile, but this was probably the closest thing to it.
I grinned in return.
"How d'ya like your eggs, Tim?"
"Over easy with pancake syrup," Shepard said, returning to the newspaper in his hands. "And burn 'em a little, would ya?"
"Sure thing." I stood from the couch and headed into the kitchen, quickly finding a pan and pulling the eggs out from the back of the fridge. Boy, were Two-Bit and Steve ever in for a treat when they came over. I smiled at this, breaking an egg into the heated pan and watching as the clear viscous-like embryo turned to an eggshell white.
Waiting for the eggs to cook, I set plates, cups, and silverware on the table, searching desperately for some syrup. Finding none, I bit my lip in panic. What would Tim do if we didn't have any syrup?
Wracking my brain, I tried to remember how Mom had always made it from scratch. Brown sugar, margarine, corn syrup, maple extract. We had all these things, so I quickly found a pot and began heating these ingredients next to the eggs, which had already started burning.
"Hey!" A loud, annoying voice echoed in from the living room, a voice that could only belong to one person, and that person was-
"Well, hey there, Two-Bit, how's it goin'?" Tim's tone sounded cheerful, even glad. It was official. Two-Bit Matthews could make friends with just about anyone, be they Greaser, Soc, or Convict. Well, Socs not so much, but he had been known to use his overly buoyant personality to get him out of trouble before.
"Tim Shepard," Two-Bit cried happily. "Well, shoot, you're the last person I expected to catch hanging around this dump."
"Hey!" I yelled indignantly, turning the corner to stare at Two-Bit through narrowed eyes. "You want to stay in a dump, Tim, try this slob's house right here." The leader of the Shepard gang laughed at this, a sound that put a smile on my own face. It wasn't often that you heard a Greaser laugh, least of all one like Tim Shepard.
"Something burning?" Two-Bit asked, sniffing the air.
"Aw, shit!" I cursed, running back into the kitchen to take the eggs off of the stove. They were fine. A little burnt, just like Tim had wanted them.
I checked on the syrup, and turned off the heat. It smelled great! Reminded me of Mom and Dad, and I stopped for a moment, losing myself before shaking my head of the distant memory and grabbing a glass measuring cup to pour it in.
Throwing the eggs on a plate, I set it on the table, starting a pot of coffee and digging into the icebox for the chocolate cake that Sodapop had made last night.
"What chya like to drink, Tim?" I called, setting the cake on the table as well and heading back to the stove to make more eggs for my brothers. Two-Bit would, undoubtedly, be eating whatever of the chocolate cake we didn't finish while flipping on some Mickey Mouse.
"Ya'll got milk, right?" He asked.
"Yea," I confirmed, checking the fridge hurriedly. "White or chocolate?"
"White's fine."
"They got beer," Two-Bit proclaimed happily, causing me to roll my eyes.
"Beer for breakfast?" I heard Tim laugh again. "Shit, Two-Bit, you are one crazy son of a bitch!"
"Don't I know it," Two-Bit crowed, entering the kitchen just as the front door slammed again.
"Yo, Pony, your brother up yet?" Steve called, knowing it was me up and about. I was always first one up on the weekends.
"Nah, I think he's still sleepin, but you can go check if you'd like," I answered, knowing that Soda's best friend would ignore me and go wake him anyway. Steve was always like that. Talking to me because I was 'Soda's kid brother.' But he never really listened to what I had to say.
"Shepard," I heard Steve greet the gang member, a hint of surprise coating his tone.
"Randle," Tim returned. "How's that gas station treatin' ya?"
That's one thing I liked about the Shepards. They could meet ya once and remember you for a lifetime.
"Fine. Gotta new manager last week. Damn, but he's a bastard."
"McCroon," Tim laughed. "Yup, he ain't one of my favorite people. But he sure as spit fire can fix up anything on wheels. Crashed my 'Bird few months back racing it up on the Eastern side, you know? Ol' Croon had it up and running within a few days. Looked brand spankin' new."
"Yea, I'll give 'im that, I s'pose," Steve agreed, "but he sure as hell ain't no fun to work for, I tell ya."
With that, I heard Steve pad off down the hall towards our room.
"Shoot, you guys sure are busy in the morning, aren't you?" Tim asked, entering the kitchen finally. "This mine?" He pointed to the eggs on the table, and I nodded, flipping Darry's over-easy eggs onto a piece of toast and adding a few slices of bacon and a tomato to make his favorite breakfast sandwich before pouring Tim a large glass of white milk and setting the carton of chocolate milk on the table for Soda and me.
"Damn," Tim said as he tried syrup-drenched, slightly blackened egg before him. I froze, halfway between the stove and the table, wondering if anyone had ever been killed because they had made bad eggs for someone.
"I oughta eat here more often," Tim smiled, taking another bite. "Compliments to the chef." I released the breath that I had held tight in my lungs and smiled in relief.
"Glad you like it," I replied, starting toward the stove to finish Soda's eggs. "Help yourself to the chocolate cake. Beer's in the cooler, Two-Bit."
"Pony, you seen my DX shirt?" Sodapop scurried into the kitchen, his hair still mussed from the night before. I handed him a plate with two sunny-side-up eggs and poured grape jelly on both. He didn't seem surprised to see Shepard, so I assumed that Steve had told him he was here before he came out.
"Darry ironed it last night," I told him, placing a fork on the plate as well. "Should be hanging in his closet."
"Thanks, Buddy," Soda smiled that famous grin that could get anyone in a good mood and kissed my forehead. He turned slightly, but stopped, looking back at me. "Pony, you got a fever?"
"Nah," I smiled, knowing that I did. I had been up all night with a painful, stinging sensation in my stomach, but I hadn't the heart to wake Soda or Darry. They worked too hard. They didn't need me waking them up in the middle of the night and making them tired in the morning.
"Just been runnin' around this morning. No big," I assured him. He stared at me hesitantly, but soon decided to go scarf his breakfast and hunt for his work shirt. The room grew silent with just Two-Bit, Tim Shepard, and me, and I quickly realized that it was because they were both staring at your truly.
"You are a bit flushed, Pony," Two-Bit pointed out. "You sure you're feeling okay?"
"Don't start in on me too," I snapped, roughly placing myself in one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm already gonna hear it from Darry, so just lay off."
"Hear what from Darry?"
I groaned as my oldest brother's deep voice reverberated throughout the small kitchen, and I lay my head on the table, covering it with my arms.
"Pony's sick," Two-Bit replied through a mouthful of cake.
"I am not either," I argued, lifting my head up and glaring at him, "so just keep your trap shut, Two-Bit. No one likes a smart ass."
"You see?" Two-Bit replied in his defense. "You think the kid would be mouthin' off to me like that if he was in his right mind?"
"Yea," Darry said matter-of-factly, "I do. And he's right. No one likes your smart mouth remarks."
"I believe what little Curtis, here, said was 'smart ass'," Tim replied, starting into the chocolate cake himself.
"That goes for you too," Darry said, pointing at the gang leader humorously.
"Morning, Darryl," Shepard stuck his hand out across the table, which Darry took without hesitation.
"Shepard," he nodded. "What brings you here this morning?"
"Your fine cuisine, of course," Tim winked at me before draining his glass of milk.
"Here, lemme get you another glass," I stood and reached for the empty cup in his hand, but he merely shook his head.
"It's about time I hit the road," he replied, wiping his mouth with a napkin and standing. "Thanks for breakfast, little Curtis. Curly was right about you. You're an all right kid."
"Thanks," I smiled and blushed somewhat, but the way that my face was already heating up from fever, you probably wouldn't have been able to tell.
Tim turned to Darry, saying, "Nice to see you, Darryl. Catch you later tonight, Two-Bit. Merril's having a bash on account it's his girlfriend's birthday."
"Didn't he have a birthday party for her last week?" Darry asked incredulously.
"Yea," Shepard grinned like the Cheshire cat. "And the week before."
"How many birthdays can she possibly have in a year?" Steve asked from the living room as he flipped on a Mickey Mouse cartoon.
"Dunno," Tim shrugged, "but we figure with all the parties she's had so far, she must be over five-hundred by now."
Two-Bit laughed, spraying beer all over the table as Shepard left the house. Another thing I liked about Tim Shepard: He didn't slam the screen door on his way out.
AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?
Buenos Dias, Cats and Kittens! See? I know enough Spanish to get by in life. Anywho, hoped you liked it. It was sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing. I didn't really have time to think it through very much, and I wrote as it came to me . . . Enough babble, though. I must be off to English, for this is one class I don't EVER plan on skipping. (Especially with that damn paper coming up soon . . . Grr)
Oh, and P.S. To those who are reading my other Outsiders fic, Heart Stopper, Breath Taker, Fate Maker, I promise to try and update asap. :whines: It's really hard to update stuff when you're in college. I have no time for anything . . . Except the all-nighter I pulled last night for no apparent reason . . . Hmmmm