A hard day's night

[A/N: I do not own the outsiders, unfortunate, I know.]

[Reviews, Criticism, Witticism, even Requests! All wanted by me]

Two hardworking men of the Tulsa, Oklahoma DX Gasoline Station (east-side establishment) had had almost all they could take of convenience store fare. They had worked hard for their weekly pay, today perhaps being the hardest. No more would two male adolescents try to chip the constant ache of teenage hunger with candy bars and kettle cook's. Though just 16 and 17 respectively, they needed the food of a man…something of the grill variety. These two boys were in luck however, for just across the street was a newly minted diner. One with rollerblading waitresses to boot.

As they approached their oasis, they began to make a bet. For two hoods in their element, a little gamble was pure sport. It began when they both caught sight of a pretty skirt gliding past the window.

"Steve, I have a mighty fine proposal for ya'" Spoke one, his golden hair gleamed and his brown eyes shone with mischievous warmth as they followed the skating waitress. The others attention perked, and his hands fiddled in his pocket. Steve's hair was less slick with more dark, nearly charcoal, and his eyes were the very same but with a hard steel dullness.

"Soda, I'm up for it all as long as I get some grub." Steve Randle the dark said with a smirk. He was actually fairly excited for some stakes to be raised, but didn't voice it too much (didn't want to sound like damn Pony).

Sodapop Curtis the gold quickened his pace to keep up with Steve's long strides. The former was a head shorter than the latter, but infinitely more handsome and charming. It almost (but not quite) evened things out.

"Well there Stevie, I know as good as you only one of us should have the privilege to eat free for a meal…And flirt with that doll waitress." He added with a wink. "So I say we cut a deal. Whoever reaches that door first gets free food, and a wingman."


The race began, and with the diner being just across and up the street a bit from the DX, it was a short one. Badly patched chucks slapped the asphalt with determination. You'd think that the brother of Track Star Ponyboy Curtis could pull a lead based off pure genetics, but that one head of height (and inevitable leg length) difference was the nail in Soda's coffin. Mr. Randle reached the deco-handle at least 50 yards ahead of the unfortunately short Mr. Curtis.


Steve at least had the sportsman like conduct to hold the door open for a huffing and puffing Sodapop. Soda was so put out by his defeat though that he swore a blue streak at poor Randle, who in turn cussed him out to the moon and back. You'd suppose two young men would think twice before taking up dirty talk in a diner, but these guys were greasers. They only had so many standards. Thankfully, those standards were high enough that they found the decency to clean the talk as the young waitress they had bartered for skated up.

At the notice of her approach, both Soda and Steve slid roughly into the glossy red vinyl booths. They barely glanced at the menu before they started taking her in with hungry, vaguely hormonal, eyes.


She was on the short side of average height, even on her blades, a fine tallness for 15 or so, but not by much. Her hair was long and smooth, tamed, but there was far too much of it for it to hold any style. The only adornment on this head of thick, straight hair was a navy blue bandana pushing it back from her forehead, and the colour itself. Not blonde by any stretch, yet not brunette either, it was what they could only think of as golden brown like a piece of warm toast. The shine and soft scent was mighty irresistible, even considering the complete lack of curl. Her face was framed well by this, pretty and doll-like. She had big eyes, long lashes, darkly arched brows, a ski-slope nose, and pearly cupids-bow lips. Each feature was pretty but not special, together they were beautiful in a simple, elegant form. For example, her eyes were not 'striking' or her smile 'stunning'. Her eyes were clear in a contradicting shade of dirty green (decidedly not 'bright' or 'sparkling') and though she had decent teeth she never showed them in a smile (certainly not 'mega-watt' or 'gorgeous'). Her body was not rail thin nor was it wonderfully curved. Her chest was just the size to ensure her second shirt button could never stay closed for more than three minutes (not a blessing, more like a mild annoyance), her hips would always feel too wide, and her shoulders too round. The only thing she was proud of in way of figure (so to speak) was her always available shoe size and the ability to stand adequately straight (good posture is quite the hit when trying to impress authority). Of course, the boys in the booth did not think so deeply (more along the lines of "Gosh, she's pretty-wish I won that stupid bet-" and "I'm sure glad stupid made up this awesome bet!"). They would soon think on the aforementioned appearance with greater detail, but at the moment, the waitress was looking particularly irked by their attentions.


She looked down at their glazing eyes with contempt. It had been a long day for her too, and only five minutes stood between her and the end of a 9 o'clock shift. But first these idiots had to order, eat, and get out. The freckles on her nose (giving it a perpetual tan on an otherwise god awful pale complexion) got lost in skin folds as she scrunched it upwards, rightfully irritated. Glancing had turned to staring and it had been going on for an uncomfortable 30 seconds. She cleared her throat a little, pulled a pen from behind her ear and tapped it on the notebook peeking out of her apron. She was putting on a stance of impatience but they didn't seem to get the hint. Ripping the pad of paper from by her waist and raising it in front of her face she asked the question she had been trying to get them to answer for the past minute or so.

"Are you wanting a drink to start?" she said for the second time loudly. Her nerves were shot and her temper was already ticking. Seeing her dishevelled look the boys should have known better than to ignore her once again.

"We'll come back to that. What's your name doll?" Soda asked innocently with his best southern swagger.

"You was supposed to be helping me to the goods, not yourself Soda!" Steve shrieked leaning over to take a swipe at the still smiling Sodapop.

The waitress's eyes flashed as some very un-ladylike terms for these two hoodlums crossed he mind. Her feet ached and her baby blue button-down-dress uniform was starting to itch. She was too tired to bat away the flirtations, so she answered his question and posed hers once more.

"Constance Winston. Now, would y'all like some drinks or not?" Constance said through gritted teeth. Her voice was sweet but clearly strained, a city accent with a southern belle lilt near the ends now had an aggressive touch.

Soda could see they were fast on their way to losing any possible interest they may gain. Patience and obedience was now key.

"Sure doll, two cokes please, in the bottles no glasses. We won't be needin' no ice either, we ain't that classy." He said with another grin.

In about as long as it takes to make your mind up about someone, Constance dropped two Coke's on the table with a thunk.

"Are y'all ready to order?" She asked, Steve popped open his coke. It was as cold as her voice. He took a big swig preparing to say something smart when Soda had a realization.

"Hey, you say your last name's Winston?"

She nodded.

"Boy howdy! You don't happen to know a Dally Winston? Dallas, that is." He said, eye's up and bright.

Constance coughed and rolled her strained eyes.

"Well I ought to, him being my brother and all."

She said that last part absent-mindedly, too exhausted to consider these greasers would care much (or even react for that matter).

But react they did.

Steve sputtered Coke in more than a fine mist all over her apron, and Soda's eyes were busting their sockets. A million questions on his tongue, and he still managed that stupid grin.

Noticing their mind-blown expressions, Constance supposed that perhaps they were acquainted with Dallas. She also judged from their surprise that he had never once mentioned his sister Constance, or even a sibling at all! But she knew this, though they seemed harmless enough (greasers be greasers) Dallas had done everything in his power to ensure they never met.

"So, are ya ready to order?" Constance said with no subtlety that they better be.

They were still gawking, mouths open and eyes agog. Minds whirling, they searched every corner of memory for any talk of a Winston sister.

"Listen kids." She sighed shortly. "I'd love to tell the tale of Dallas Winston and Co., but at this in-opportune moment I gotta serve you and send ya home, and then take a hike there myself. So until you leave I'm stuck. Order or don't, just please leave in the next quarter hour."

They snapped from their reverie, a cohesive thought now forming in Soda's delinquent brain.

"I have an idea Constance, but first, can I call you Connie? -easier on my tongue ya see- any who, Connie it's an idea for the ages. We'll leave now, but you gotta come with, you see, we're gonna give ol' Dally-Cat the shock of a lifetime!" Soda looked up at her expectantly.

"Well, now what's in it for me?" She responded raising her eyebrows, asking, hands perched on hips.

"Doll, this'll be so good I'm willing to pay for your involvement!" Soda practically screeched.

"Do I look like a street-corner lady? I'll do it for free. It's about time Dallas learned who was the better Winston." The rebel smirk gave way more than a hint of the relation.


The two boys sucked down their Cokes eagerly as Constance skated into the back to change up. She peeled off her rollerblades, the sweat and grime leaving her feet feeling raw, and yanked her hair from its blue bandana confinement. It pooled over her shoulders, more than a little frizzy from deep fryer steam and Oklahoma humidity. She felt less than fit for meeting people and their moods, least of all her brother's wrath, yet the temptation of cracking the stony façade of Dallas was far too compelling. She left her uniform on, popping in that pesky button, and walked barefoot, saddle-shoes in hand, into the dusty Tulsa parking lot.


The only truck left in the lot stood quivering, ready to run. It was a maroon coloured thing, polished like a beauty but not without its rust. Both Steve and Soda were leaning against its bed looking tough with Soda's upturned collar and risky expression, and Steve's mouth, lazy with a cigarette and eyes cold with a screaming 'come at me, if ya dare'. Their hands were shoved into their pockets as they stared down the street. No one was there, but a greaser can never be caught off guard looking anything but dangerous. Heads turned at the sound of her padding feet and shifting dress.

"That's what I don't get about you greasers, no one around to touch ya but you still wanna look untouchable." Connie said with a shake of her head and another hard Dally smirk.

"Can't be caught looking pansy, 'specially not now a days. Them Socs are gettin' cockier, they'll jump anyone who's not on the lookout." Steve said on the defensive, he put his weed out on the fender of the pickup, then ground it into the pavement for good measure.

Soda looked at her with agreement to Steve's argument, she couldn't be sure, but perhaps a look of honest worry was there. Even if for just a second.

"So, where are we headed?" Connie drawled trying to diffuse the tension. She always had a way of making situations more awkward than need be. "Are you sure Dallas'll be there? I may need the protection 'round you two greasers." She winked. Sure Dallas was a grease too, but he was one that actually gave a hang about her wellbeing no matter how he tried to hide it.

"My house." Said Soda, all tenseness gone from his expression. "And sure he'll be there, he gotta eat don't he? This close to a rumble I bet he do!" He exclaimed, followed by a nervous laugh. Now Soda didn't know that for a fact, sometimes he could go weeks without seeing Dally touch a bite, but now it was a few days before the rumble. Surely he'd be wantin' his strength.

Constance gave that some thought as Steve helped her haul into the cab. Socs and rumbles. Rich kids and brawls. It made sense that Dallas would be wanting her to steer clear, but eight years was long enough. Eight years in Tulsa from New York not knowing where he slept half the time? Sure meeting up with him seemed like a joke to the guys, but to her it was also important. She needed to prove to big brother just how capable she could be in a block-away neighbourhood.

The truck lurched as Steve pulled out into the street, but ran smooth. He looked over at her.

"You been living in Tulsa the whole time? I never even seen ya before. You a Soc or something?" He looked genuinely confused.

"Call me middle-class, it's what everyone else does. But the truth? I'm just as greasy as you guys. Don't tell Dallas though. He's been trying hard to keep me from it." Connie chuckled softly. "Ya'll wanna hear the story loud and clear? It's short and none too sweet…"

Both boys nodded eagerly, Sodapop even leaned in from the backseat to her shotgun spot out of attentiveness.

"'Bout eight years ago, Dally and I were roaming New York City. Mom left when we was kids, and Dad moved us out later. Well, to be completely honest, we ran like hell. Dad was a constantly present dead-beat. Always there but doin' nothin'. We didn't plan much. I put on my sweet thing voice over the phone to our Oklahoma aunt and uncle. They let us in. They didn't like Dallas though, not one bit. He left, I stayed. He made his own way, only came to sleep and snack a couple a nights out of a week. We talk all the time, never lost touch over those eight years. He made me swear up and down that I wouldn't go lookin' for him though. Even convinced auntie to put me in a uniform catholic school to avoid me ever meetin' his gang! I live in a less Socy neighbourhood, but a nice one at that. Not too far from here, 'bout a block or so." She said pointing out the cool window at the Curtis's street. "I ain't allowed to walk passed Hydrangea Boulevard back there lest I come across a grease in his territory. He looks out for me I guess, but I'm too damn sheltered! I need to learn about life, not everyone wears a uniform." She tugged at the end of hers, ending the tale.

It was short and hurried. Once again Constance had the knack of making the group fall silent in uncomfortable thought. It wasn't sad really, just uncertain and odd. Dallas was a lone ranger as far as Soda, and Steve, and the rest of the gang were concerned. Thinking of him going to such lengths for protecting someone was a foreign idea concerning Dally, especially when the thing protected from seemed so trivial.

"I just don't quite understand what he fears for ya, are gang ain't so bad. We ain't nearly as hoody as the Sheppard's or even the Brumley outfit." Soda nearly whispered. Her words had hurt almost as much as if Dallas had spoken them himself. "But we got a prank to pull nonetheless." His grin returned. Never one to stay down was that Sodapop.

Steve pulled himself from daydreams of New York City, and young Dally warning off the Curtis gang.

"I'd say he deserves it even more now. A goddamn eight year secret you are Constance!" Noticing his use of harsh language in front of a lady, Steve flushed, but of course a sister of Dallas would have a little immunity. Despite this, the conversation had turned a little too emotional for Steve and he turned to stone, doing a sharp turn right up to the Curtis brother's door.

Soda hopped out, opened Connie's door, and helped her teeter onto the gravel. The small stones bit her feet's arch, but she just chewed her lip and picked a path to the well-kempt screen door. For such a ratty lil' place everything sure seemed to be in working order. She raised her fist to knock, but Soda just shouldered through. Steve was halfway following before he remembered the attention he was trying to earn. Just in time he caught the door with his heel, propping it open and preventing Constance from getting a busted nose on her first visit.

Steve held her up before she entered.


"First ya should know a thing or too. There's a couple 'a other sleazy grease types joining us in this little abode, Two-Bits downright dopey so watch-out, Johnny may not speak to you so don't be offended, Ponyboy'll be ass deep in a book so I wouldn't even bother, and if Darry's home, you let Soda do the sweet talking." He said their names with part contempt, part pride. What a situation to be thrust into.

"Oh, and they don't got no parents, so sensitivity is advised." Steve added casually. Constance had to admit she was a little thrown. Perhaps she would end up more confused than Dallas at the end of this ordeal.

She stood in the first room off the porch, blinking in the weak lamp light. It was a tidy spot, a bit worn in, but for a house of teenage boys, it was impressive. A lanky (but well-muscled) teen was sank into a sofa. He looked about 14, had a very handsome face, and wore mahogany hair that though greased, looked smooth as silk. She couldn't gauge his full features on the account that he was indeed 'ass deep in a book' as Steve had predicted. He tensed only slightly at the sound of the door slam, but was otherwise unmoved.

Another teen (this one on the 'cusp of manhood', AKA; 18 or so) was leaning against the skirt of the sofa, eyes glazed on the television, bud in hand. He was also fairly handsome (lean and stocky at the very same time) in a common way, he wore his rust hued head of dirty blonde hair less greased than mahoganies', but more styled. Short, trimmed sideburns framed his face in a surprisingly nice way. His eyes, still focused on the screen, seemed silvery. A very nice addition to a decent southern face.

The final character (besides Steve and Sodapop) was a man looking 'round 20 or so. He looked stern but despite that, utterly confused. He kept raking his calloused fingers through dark hair as he moved around stacks of envelops. She watched as he picked up one, opened it, and then jammed it back into the envelope, away from him. His icy blue eyes had widened something fierce at whatever sum was on that bill, and the finger-combing intensified. Whoever this was, he was certainly out of his element. His hard, muscled façade may have fooled some, but not all.

Steve had apparently hopped in the shower, and Soda was priming up his speech to brief the gang.

"Guys, listen up, this is good –wait, where's Johnny?"

At that moment the screen was pushed open by a kid even shorter than Soda, brushing a sheet of newspaper from his shoulder. This looked like the kind of greaser Dallas would warn against. More black, greasy hair than his head could handle. Bigger deep brown eyes than his sockets could hold. More bruises and scrapes than his olive complexion could contain. His hands were raised, stuffed into a too small jean jacket, and he looked scary at the get go. Until he spoke.

"Right here Soda, I was just catching a wink in the lot." He said softly, though he had been making an attempt to bury it under a rough tone. He looked tough, sure. But there was more to it.

"Allrighty then. Now Two-Bit [Matthews] you pay attention off that screen, and Ponyboy [Curtis], put down that book and hear me out. We got an idea…" Soda burst, pulling the attention of the room towards him. He explained the scheme in basics, then assigned each individual their own role.

"Pony, you go in the kitchen and do homework at the table, Connie'll go in soon ta 'help' ya, ya know, just till we're ready to re-introduce her, so to speak."

Ponyboy nodded, blinking his grey-green eyes slowly. All this information was a little suffocating, and obviously surprising. He pulled himself up, grabbed his books, and faced Soda with a little adolescent snark.

"Great plan Soda, but I ain't taking the fall for this when Dallas goes ballistic." Ponyboy said with an eye roll, he really didn't see how messing with the volatile Dallas Winston would bring them anything but a few loose teeth.

Soda's grin stayed steady, and he winked all clumsy.

"Aw sure Pone. Now Darry [Curtis], I know you're opposed to this, all huffy and puffy like a beached whale over there, but it's just harmless fun. Plus, she needs to meet us, all cooped in with Socs and middle-class folks up at that catholic school, eight years we missed the opportunity of knowin' her!" Soda pleaded. Darry (the icy eyed, rough, muscly one) looked up from his situation, eyebrows furrowed and mouth popped open prepped and ready for a lecture. Upon seeing Soda's hangdog expression though, his forehead relaxed, his mouth closed, and he sighed, back to his work and shaking his head.

"Soda, do what you want, but I'm not responsible for any blood spilt over this." Darry caved. He made eye contact with Constance, a look of pity on his face. In Soda's tellings they had all been made more than aware of her life story and Dally's protection.

Soda moved on to the new kid. Johnny [Cade].

"Johnny, you stay in here with me and the rest, keep it lookin' unsuspicious."

Johnny nodded his agreement and slid down beside Two-Bit who clapped his shoulder with his free hand in greeting.

"As for you Two-Bit, no sarcasm or wise-cracking that'll spoil our surprise, just keep your concentration on the set." Soda said in a warning tone, pointing at the cartoon.

A lazy smile spread over Two-Bit's kind face. He cocked one eyebrow up and lifted his bottle.

"Here's ta keepin' secrets, and a pretty one at that!" He let out a short laugh, the most uplifting she had ever heard, as his attention fell back to the TV screen.


Less than 30 seconds after that exchange, Constance was being ushered hurriedly into the small linoleum kitchen. Before Soda finished rushing her in –"Dally could be here any minute, good gawd!"-Steve sashayed out of the bathroom, hair soaked with water and fresh hair oil, DX shirt buttoned up all lopsided even.

"Took ya long enough!" Soda exclaimed. "There's one last thing we need to get straight, just to mess with Dallas to the best of our abilities, we're gonna introduce Connie as my date."

"Now you just wait one second there ya filthy Sodapop! I won that bet by a mile, she'll act as my girl!" Steve shouted, fists clenched.

Soda sighed reluctantly. "I thought you'd say that and I 'spose your right."

He gave Constance a look that said "Sorry you're stuck with that, but he did win". With this, he made one last hurrying motion with his long hands sending her to her place at Ponyboy's side.

In the cramped quarters of the kitchen, Constance leaned up against the mysteriously dented oven door. Ponyboy had pulled out his math sheets, and was just breezing through them. That she could understand, once you cracked the code of numbers, it never changed. So unlike anything else in life.

Hands on the small plastic table, Ponyboy turned to face her.

"I'm sorry for whatever Soda put you through, he can get kinda excited, but you'll like him a lot. I promise." He said colour rising to his cheeks only slightly, a small smile on his lips. It'd been about ten minutes in the kitchen and they hadn't talked much. It only then occurred to Constance that a guy like this may be kinda nervous around the opposite sex (especially one this close to her age, yet younger still). She was just about to start a real conversation with this handsome young man about school, work, or some such subject when she heard a familiar voice drift through the door ajar.


"What the fuck are you guys doing? Soda? Stop with the fucking twitching man! You're freaking me out. Matthews, you dead or something?" Dallas said nudging Two-Bit with a weathered cowboy boot.

"No sir, not dead. Just keeping my concentration on the set." He said in a falsely robotic voice, mimicking exactly what Soda had said when talking about what he needed to do. Dallas grunted in a disgusted tone delivering one more kick (harder than the first) to the sitting Two-Bit before shifting to face Johnny. Behind Dally's back Soda shook an aggravated fist at the now lively and grinning Two-Bit.

"Johnny, you know what's up? I mean look at these posers…" Dallas turned in circle, gesturing to the gathered gang. Suspicion was clearly rooted in his mannerisms.

Before Johnny could choke out an unconvincing lie, Soda played his card.

"Well Dally, Steve brought a date through here. She's in the kitchen helping Pony with his homework." He interjected.

"Must be one smart broad if she's any help to that kid." Dallas scowled. He had an unlit cigarette taking a break between his lips.

"I'll get her. Now Dallas be nice, she ain't no hood like you." Said Steve in mock warning.

Dally shook his head and stared at the ceiling.

"You do that, ya mouthy grease."


Both Ponyboy and Constance were bonding in a very interesting way.

Pony, being considerably taller than Constance, had his ear pressed to the top half of the peeling wooden door. Connie had the determination to pull a glass from the cupboard as a listening device, following Pony's example but with bending slightly at the knees. This must have been a mighty precarious operation considering the tumble they took as Steve bumped the door wide.

"What're you two jokers doing?" He said in a fierce whisper.

"Aw lay off Steve, we only wanted to hear." Pony said in a hushed voice of barely veiled dislike.

"Well come on out wise-ass, Dally's here to meet Constance. Hold on, Constance, does he ever call you Connie?" Steve inquired softly.

"Not once." She replied surely.

"Okay, that's what I'll introduce you as, but only for now." He said almost to himself. "You two count to five then walk in real casual like."

He slid back out the door. Constance smoothed her hair and fixed her dress. Ponyboy fidgeted behind her nervously. They were both uncertain as they entered the centre of attention.

Constance stood there stiff, waiting anxiously for Dallas to turn around. Ponyboy took the opportunity to return to his book. From his sofa spot his eyes peeked over the page, surveying the scene as an outsider. Time passed, Dallas was still talking down to Johnny, Constance realized just how tired she was, Two-Bit smiled all boozy up at her, and she glared. She was tired of him. She was tired of all of them.

Steve apparently caught on to her impatience.

"Hey Dall, this is my girl Connie." He said after clearing his throat deeply.

Dally turned his head slowly, hands in his leather jacket, unlit cigarette still peeking between his teeth. He started to look at her from the bottom up in typical Dallas fashion.

"Oh Doll, you could do better." He said real sleazy just before his gaze passed her neck. As soon as his eyes met hers, the room's tension skyrocketed.

He squinted, his ears red. His teeth automatically clamped on his weed, and he shakingly lit it with what she could only assume was rage. With one shuddering pull of smoke he regained his composure, assuming the gang was just as oblivious to the relation as he had always intended.

"Connie huh? Well Connie, don't you look familiar." He said long and slow, never taking his contemptful stare from hers.

Everyone was hanging off his words with wild excitement and none too mild enjoyment.

"She really don't look anything like you, for a sister too!" Two-Bit screeched choking back laughter unsuccessfully. He was practically keeled over from drunken entertainment and Constance couldn't help but be thankful of how he cracked the joke wide open pre-awkwardness.

Dally's fists clenched and unclenched tightly at his sides.

"Man you guys have some nerves, you know that? I'll get each and every one of you –you first Sodapop Curtis!-" He gasped as Soda slinked back towards his room. They were all laughing now, except Dallas and Johnny (who was only following by example). "Constance. I can't believe, I just can't believe-We need to talk right now you, you-" His rage spilled over right then. He grabbed her just above the elbow and yanked out onto the porch, ending abruptly her spiteful giggles. This would be one of the more unpleasant talks between Dallas and his sister, but not the last of them.


"For fucks sake Constance. What the hell were you thinking?" He sighed in indignation, pacing the porch out front.

"Oh Dallas, I don't know! They came in the diner, made the connection, and well…It's about time I knew something about your goddamn life!" Constance cried out. It was then that it occurred to her just how hurt she was by the way he kept her sectioned off from everything he cared about.

"Jesus Constance I, I-wait, what diner?" He looked up from his pacing, an incredulous look twisting his features.

"Just a lil' new one up and across from the DX, not nearly as big an rowdy as the Dingo. I got a job there, waitin' tables…but you would know that if you'd visited this month. Even once." It was her turn to look down. She'd hidden her worry up until now, but she supposed it was the reason for her taking that job. Being near the East side gave her hope for catching a glimpse of her elusive brother, just to check up that he wasn't dead in a gutter someplace (and the extra cash flow didn't hurt none).

"That place'll be a grease hangout within the week! What the hell are you doin' 'round here?" He shouted the first part like it was the most obvious thing in the world, in reality, Constance hadn't given any of it much thought.

"Well ya can't keep me from the East side forever! I only live a block away, most consider that the East side as it is." She ended with a sigh. Her lids fluttered, she just wanted sleep.

"It's for a damned good reason and you know it! A block is enough, enough for now. The Socs are gettin' worse towards us. Don't need them knowin' you're a grease! Middle-class is the way to be in this day and age, and don't I know it. It's best you stay a distance from this place. From me." He looked hard and mean to her then, cold. His stare softened. "Now then, I'm driving you home. Oh, and you'll be quittin' that waitress gig." He said with a smirk.

"Like hell I will." She retorted sticking out her tongue. Constance picked up her saddle shoes and sashayed down the steps in her uniform, suddenly not so itchy. They bumped and shoved each other all the way to Dally's ride. It was probably stolen, but she didn't care.


When Dally returned to the Curtis home, the mood was grim. Dallas's reaction to Soda and the rest had been a little threatening, yet common behaviour as it goes. It was surprising that Dallas just ate some and left, right afterwards with less than a word. Perhaps he was in one of his quiet, dangerous moods (arguably more terrifying than the cussing out and spasm prone fists). Ponyboy couldn't stop thinking about the implausibility of hiding a girl (a sister!) in plain sight. Implausibility aside though, if Dally wanted something to stay a secret, he had the connections. 'Round 11 or so, Soda was sitting with Two-Bit and Johnny, Darry had gone to bed with an exhausted 'told ya so' and a yawn, and Steve was polishing off a slice of chocolate cake. He had a dreamy look in his eyes, and Pony could just tell he had fallen for Constance. That's stupid, he thought, he don't know anything about her besides the way she looks. As well as her and Dally's basics. Pony hoped she would just ignore Steve, she could do better, and didn't he have a girlfriend anyhow? She was real pretty though, and seemed quick in words. Maybe Ponyboy could add another person to the miniscule list of those who understood him.


Two-Bit left soon after with a fresh bud in hands and a sloppy disposition. He was headed home the street over to turn off the porch light and kiss his kid-sister goodnight. He could've gone out drinking till the wee hours in the morning, but he was weary. A night full of excitements and little to no wisecracks able to be let loose! He didn't think much of the whole situation however, he had expected sly little Dally to have a deep dark secret, that towheaded ol' tool.


Steve had won the bet and he sure as hell wouldn't let Soda forget it. He'd need dear Pepsi-Cola's help in the matter of wooing a girl, one so pretty and so related to the feared Winston.

[A/N: Ok guys...my first stab at the Outsiders genre. If you like it (or if you don't), take a sec and drop me a review, whatever you say I won't lash out at you! ;)]