Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Eddie Cochran owns "Summertime Blues."

I'm gonna raise a fuss, I'm gonna raise a holler

About a-workin' all Summer just to try to earn a dollar

June 25, 1966

It was boiling out.

Dallas could feel the heat hot on his skin, the sun's rays scorching his arms and face as beads of sweat glistened on any visible part of his body. Bringing a hand to his forehead, he swept his damp hair out of his eyes, licking his lips to moisten them. Good Lord, but it was sweltering, and the blond-headed teen wished that he wasn't the only one mucking up horse shit and cleaning out stalls that day. But he really hadn't expected much help to begin with, considering that Buck was keeping things hushed up, like the fact that he was bootlegging horses again.

It had been three weeks since Dallas had gotten out of that blasted hell-hole, otherwise known as Will Rogers High School, and he'd been doing absolutely nothing worthwhile, save for cleaning the horse stalls, playing bartender three nights a week at Buck's, and jockeying. It wasn't what he really saw himself doing as permanent jobs, but he needed the dough and this was as good as it got, so he kept his trap shut and continued to work. Buck had been a real pain in his ass lately, mostly because he'd been drinking more and more with each passing day. Dally had always been able to handle the older cowboy, push him around to keep him in his place, but Buck had been pushing him harder, too, and Dallas was getting aggravated.

Speaking of which . . .

The sound of a truck pulling up brought the hood back to the present, a scowl on his face as Buck Merril slammed the driver's side door shut, his cowboy boots heavy as he approached his younger rodeo partner seconds later.

"How much longer are ya gon' be?" he asked, looking around the stable with a curious expression, a toothpick hanging limply on the corner of his mouth.

Dallas rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, wiping away more sweat. "Got one more stall."

The older man looked him up and down. "Yer racin' Marigold this evening. She's in good shape since you've been trainin' her. I think she's ready to really stretch her legs."

Dallas pictured the dark brown Thoroughbred in his mind—she was strong and tough, and she didn't take to too many people, but she'd taken to him for some reason. Dally liked her real well; she listened to him, trusted him, even. He'd never raced her before, and he wasn't quite sure that doing so that evening was a great idea. Sure, Marigold was a good horse, sure she was strong, but she got spooked easily, even if she was a tough ol' girl.

"Ain't sure 'bout that," he replied, walking into the back stall. "She's good an' all, but she ain't ready to race yet."

Buck followed after him, an unpleasant look on his face. "Yer gon' race that horse. I don't care what you think otherwise, Winston. I don't got any other one worth ridin', so it's her or nothin', and I need the dough, so either you race her or you can git yer shit outta my place and move back to yer daddy's." The whiskey on his breath emitted into the teen's nose, but he didn't move. Buck was usually easy to push around, but recently, he'd been getting awfully brazen, mostly since he'd been bending his elbow a lot more. "What's it gon' be, kid?"

Dallas glared at him hardly. Sometimes, he really considered on belting the lanky cowboy, but he was still relying on him for room and board, so he refrained. Besides, Buck had gotten him back in the Slash J, and he wasn't about to fuck that up—no, jockeying was the only thing that he did honestly, that he really allowed himself to enjoy. There was something about being around the horses that made him calm, that made him forget, if only for a moment, every other thing in his life—his fucked up life that should have ended back in fucking September of last year. An image of Johnny Cade flashed through his mind, and he ground his teeth as he tried to shove it aside.

His fingers closed around Buck's sleeveless flannel, lips curled back and revealing his small, animal like teeth, before he gave him a rough shove. "If we lose, it's on you."

And when the truck's tires peeled away from the stables a minute later, Dallas's fist rammed into the side of the stall, a hard expression present in his icy irises.

"How's she doin'?" Evie asked, a concerned look in her eyes as she stared at her friend.

Ella sighed, lips pressing together as she thought about her mother. "She's . . . better, but she's not up to full par yet." There was a worried sound in her voice, but she forced a small smile across her lips. "The doctor is hopeful that she'll make a full recovery soon, though."

Evie nodded, patting the shorter girl on the shoulder. "That's great, El. Glad to hear it."

And Ella offered her another masked grin, attempting to conceal the worry that was plaguing her deep inside. Frances Mitchell had fallen ill again, experiencing similar symptoms to those she had several months earlier. Her daughter had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn't being quite honest with her about how she was really feeling, and only when she'd called out of work for the fifth time did Ella begin harping on her about calling for the doctor. Unfortunately, Frances had collapsed, leaving Ella to rush her to the hospital in the middle of the night. She'd been there for four days, and even though Dr. Andrews reassured her that her mother would be just fine, Ella couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in her gut whenever she thought of her mother up in that room by her lonesome, still awfully sick.

"So," Evie continued a moment later, changing the topic, "Steve and I are going to the rodeo later this afternoon. You gonna be there?"

"I have to work," came the hollow answer. "I'd love to, it's just—"

"I understand," the younger girl cut in. She didn't expect Ella to make an appearance, but she figured she would ask anyway to be considerate. Before they reached the exit, Evie turned to her, reaching a hand out to stop her from walking any further. Ella's brows furrowed as she stared up at her friend, wondering what was going on. "You sure you're alright?"

Ella bit her lip, eyes avoiding Evie's. She desperately wanted to admit that things weren't alright, that she wasn't feeling okay, but she couldn't bring herself to say so. She had been working more hours at the grocery store since it was Summer, but she'd even requested more since she was the only working member of the household now. The bills would pile up, and Ella wasn't sure that her rinky-dink paycheck was enough to cover everything, including medical bills. She knew that she would have to start looking for job number two so long as her mother remained unable to work. Truthfully, Ella was okay with that, it was just the toll it was taking on her, that and the worry that seemed to be eating at her from the inside out.

"I'm fine," she answered, mentally kicking herself for sounding so unsure.

Evie pursed her lips, nodding. She didn't believe her friend for one second, but she knew that Ella wouldn't be honest with her anyway. She was the type of girl who didn't ask for help, who didn't go looking for attention—she kept quiet and did whatever she needed to make things right, even if that meant she would silently suffer through it. Evie admired that trait, but even so, she worried. She could see the obvious expressions of sadness and concern that were etched in the older girl's eyes, and it made her feel downright lousy that there wasn't much she could do to help.

"Ya know," she began, trying to put a smile on her friend's face, "Dallas is racing tonight."

And for a second, Ella's eyes sparked, though it was quickly diminished. "Is he?"

She hadn't seen Dallas Winston since the last day of school, and even though she still felt for him, she told herself that pursuing him wasn't worth it. Besides, it wasn't like they really saw each other, as there really wasn't a need for them to. Ella had been busy working day in and day out, and when she wasn't, she was at home, or doing some aimless shopping, cleaning . . . all the things that could possibly label her as a future domesticated housewife. The girl inwardly cringed at the thought, although it wasn't exactly a horrible one. But she hadn't bothered to think much of Dallas, even if the thought of him alone was enough to color her cheeks and make her heart beat a little quicker.

"Sure is," Evie answered, sounding hopeful. "I really wish you could be there. I think Ponyboy is gonna come, well, him and Soda."

Ella smiled. "I wish I could be, too, but it's just not possible tonight."

"Oh, alright," Evie said, dropping the discussion, an ounce of disappointment leaking through her voice. "I was tryin', ya know."

The brown-haired girl chuckled lightly. "I know."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Ella nodded, stepping out into the blistering heat, eyes squinting instantly at the harsh brightness from the sun. "Yeah, I'll be here."

As she walked out of the hospital, Evie watched her with a solemn expression, wishing that there was something she could do for her, but the only thing that she really could do at that moment was simply be there for her. A sigh fell from her lips as she turned around and headed back inside the gift shop, her eyes downcast as she reached for another bouquet of flowers to deliver. It was odd, she thought, how something so pretty could look so fitting in such a lousy place.

The screen door slammed shut hardly, causing Ponyboy to inwardly cringe. No matter how many times he and Darry told the boys not to slam the door, they never seemed to listen. Two-Bit was always the worst of the bunch, though—him and his dirty boots that always tracked in every particle of the outdoors along with himself. Glory, but Ponyboy surely hoped that it wasn't—

"Hey'ya, Ponykid!" came the instant greeting, and the younger teen forced a grin across his lips as he turned to face the intruding rusty-haired boy. "Say, whatcha doin'—"

And before Two-Bit Mathews could step one foot into the kitchen, Ponyboy darted in front of him, nearly sliding across the newly shined floor to block him from entering. His arms jutted out on either side of his body, green eyes wide and firm, almost reminding the older teen of Darry when he was a lot younger.

Pony's arms dropped back to his side a second later. "You ain't walkin' in here, Two-Bit. I just cleaned these floors."

Two-Bit's lips parted as he glanced around the red-headed boy, gray eyes lighting up. "Oh, hell, kid, I just want an ice cold beer." He licked his lips. "It's hell out there."

"Don't I know it," he grumbled in response. "But we're outta beer."

"Say what now?"

Ponyboy sighed, reaching for the cleaned mop and placing it outside, trying not slip on the small path he'd made for himself to get back to the living room. The floor was still slightly damp, and he mentally groaned at the marks he'd made when he rushed over to stop Two-Bit from walking in and destroying his work—well, it was too late now, he'd already messed it up himself.

His gaze flashed toward his friend. "We ran out last night. We wouldn't have if you'd quit comin' here and helpin' yourself to our refrigerator whenever you'd like."

"Shoot, kid," Two-Bit laughed, "I need to get my fill somewhere, don't I?"

"How about getting a job?"

The older greaser grinned, reaching out to swat his younger friend across the back of his head. "See now, I'd be ruinin' my own sleek reputation if I did that, kid. 'Sides, with all that focus I put into last school year, I think I'm well-deserving of a break."

Ponyboy rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Whatever you say, Two-Bit."

"And say I do!"

As Two-Bit plopped down on the couch, fanning himself with the morning newspaper, Ponyboy got back to work on cleaning the house. Boy howdy, but Two-Bit sure was right—it was hotter than hell, and the one fan in the house wasn't doing much to circulate air. Ponyboy sighed again, a bead of sweat trailing down his face as he made his way into his and Soda's shared bedroom to collect the dirty laundry. He had promised Darry that he would clean the house up before the social worker got there to do his monthly check-up, a day which none of the Curtis brothers were looking forward to. The teen shook his head at the silent thought as he separated lights and darks, thankful that Darry at least did his own, even if he left them piled up inside of, and in front of, the hamper sometimes.

As he was sorting the clothes, Ponyboy's eyes landed on his book that was delicately placed on the shelf above the desk, right beside Gone with the Wind. He internally grimaced, having not touched that book in a while. Johnny's death still greatly upset him, but he had come to terms with his grief and the events that led up to it that terrible week back in September. Looking at his own completed work seemed to bring up those memories, and for a moment, Ponyboy closed his eyes, breathing in deeply to calm his nerves; he hadn't felt that strongly in quite some time. It was still a shock to him that he was on his way to becoming officially published, and that in itself was enough to settle his mind for the time being. His brothers had been impressed with the story, even excited for him, although Darry's expression of shock at him and Ella going up to Mr. Franklin's office was quite comical.

In three weeks, Ponyboy had received the signed consent forms from each person he used in his story, excluding Dally Winston, who had yet to even hear about the book. Pony felt bad, but he'd hardly seen the towheaded hood since school let out. The only thing he knew was that Dallas had been working quite a bit, and that Buck Merril had been giving him an awfully hard time. For once, Pony felt sorry for Dallas, instead of thinking that he deserved whatever he got in terms of misfortune.

"Hey, Pony," Two-Bit's voice rang out, pulling the younger teen from his thoughts.

"In here," he answered, tearing his gaze away from his book. He quickly got back to work with the laundry, tossing one pile in the basket and gathering the other in his arms.

Two-Bit poked his head in, before reaching for the basket. "You wanna head down to the store with me to pick up some booze?"

Pony furrowed his brows. "You actually buyin' it, Two-Bit?"

"Hey now," he smarted, "I can be honest when I want to."

"Wish it was all the time."

The rusty-haired teen shook his head. "Don't get mouthy, huh. I figure I can help y'all some way, some how, yeah?"

"Sure."

And then Two-Bit smirked. "We can even visit your friend, Ella." He winked playfully. "Maybe she's workin' today."

Ella. Ponyboy hadn't seen her around since the last day of school, either. He wondered about her, how she was doing and all, if she'd seen Dally. He figured she probably hadn't, and he wouldn't blame her if she didn't bother with him at all. Deep down, he was grateful that Dallas and Ella had met, but he wasn't really a supporter of Ella's feelings for the former jailbird, even though she had never directly admitted them out loud.

"Sure," he eventually agreed, tossing the clothes in the washer. "Sounds good."

Jan was fanning herself at the register while Ella arranged the candy counter, a tired look in her blue orbs, her lips pressed into a straight line. Jan watched the girl, her brows creased a little. Truthfully, she was concerned for her younger co-worker, as she had been expressing nothing but sheer unhappiness for the past week or so, working herself to the bone to remain occupied. Ella was a deep thinker, and rational though she was, she was also prone to thought exaggeration.

"How's your mamma, hunny?" Jan inquired, moving away from the register. When Ella didn't respond, she stepped beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder lightly. "Ella," she said, and when the girl's eyes were on hers, she took the box of candies from her hands. "You need a break."

Ella shook her head. "I'm fine, Jan."

"Ella." That time, her name was said with more firmness, and her shoulders dropped. "I know you're worried about your mamma, but you're not exactly helping yourself acting like this."

The teen nodded slowly. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that . . ." Her cheeks turned a shade, humiliation setting in as she realized how ridiculous she sounded. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"Tell you what," the older woman said after a moment, stepping around her, "I will arrange the candies and you can work the register. It's not too busy after all."

"Sure," Ella replied, body seeming to sag down a little. She remained quiet while Jan worked through the aisles, switching and rearranging all the candies. Honestly, Ella felt bad, she did, never wanting to worry anyone, even if she felt so terrible. She wasn't sure what was making her feel so bad to begin with; she kept telling herself that her mother was fine, that she was in good hands, and that she would be able to pay the bills on time, so what was her problem?

The door chimed, signaling a customer's arrival, and Ella stood up straighter to appear a little more professional. As her gaze flickered around the aisles, she realized that Jan was right—it was awfully slow, but she figured they'd both rather be stuck inside where it was cool, rather than be out in the heat. Golly, but Ella was positive that if she stood out there longer than a few minutes, her skin would crisp immediately—the sun and her just didn't mix.

The brown-haired girl shook her head at the thought, before a pair of dark boots entered her view, causing her to look up. Her heart nearly stopped at the sight of who was in front of her, recognition flooding her face instantaneously, a kind of recognition that she wished hadn't existed. His dark blue eyes bore into her own, black curly hair slicked back almost expertly, the scar on his face almost standing out against his dark skin. She had never seen Tim Shepard up close like this, and in the light, no less, and she felt herself cowering back a bit.

"Hi," she mumbled stupidly, internally wincing. "Um, what can I—"

"Two packs of Kool," he stated before she could finish. His voice was low and oddly quiet, and Ella remembered him from that night when she, Dallas, Two-Bit Mathews, and Dennis Wilde had trashed Principal Davis's car and property.

She licked her lips, turning around to get the packs, trying not to remember that night at all, as it reminded her too much of Craig Bryant. No, she was done thinking about him and letting him make her feel bad. She could feel Tim's eyes on her as she reached for the cigarettes, her hands turning clammy, and when she'd turned around to place them on the counter, the top one slipped through her fingers like butter, falling to the floor and slipping under the counter. Ella felt her heart begin to race, drumming against her rib cage hardly. Deciding not to make more of a spectacle of herself, she jerked back around and grabbed another carton of Kool before placing it on the counter beside the other one.

Tim's eyes were stony, but there was a small indent on one side of his mouth, as if Ella's misshape was amusing. He paid her, watching silently as she gathered up the change, carefully handing it to him, eyes focused on the counter top. The skin of her hands was rosy, her cheeks burning with embarrassment, but she remained steady otherwise. The dark-haired hood eyed her coolly for a moment, remembering the night Dallas had him pick her up to take care of some childish antics. He couldn't remember the exact reason—something about Ponyboy Curtis and George Clayton, and the girl and her ex-boyfriend—but it didn't matter anyway.

"Ella, isn't it?" he asked casually.

Ella nodded slowly. "Yes, and you're Tim Shepard." Her eyes followed his hand as he placed the cigarette packages inside his pants pocket. Dallas smoked Kool, too, she recalled, and almost smiled as she thought of how many times he'd ran out during one of their tutoring sessions and had gotten annoyed when she only had Lights to share. "I remember you."

There was a slight pause, as if Ella had said something wrong, but after a moment, Tim merely nodded, a grim look on his face. "Sure."

The girl immediately felt awkward, eyes scanning the store for Jan's petite frame. "Have you seen Dallas around?"

Tim made a sound like a light chuckle, though it didn't sound friendly. "Heard he was working for the Slash J, but I ain't seen much of him." And then he stared at her for a second, and remembered exactly who she was. "Weren't you his tutor?"

"Yeah," she replied, a hesitant sound in her voice.

"Well, if you're lookin' for Dallas, I reckon he'll be at the—"

"Rodeo," she finished, nodding. "I heard he was racing tonight, but I can't make it."

The older teen was staring at her almost intently. If not for her crazy hair, he would have never been able to remember who the hell she was. Thinking back to that night several months ago, he remembered her—long frizzy tresses, clean face, plain features. She looked different now, a lot different, and although Tim would admit she looked pretty good with the straighter hair, he thought all the makeup around her eyes made her look like a raccoon.

"Workin' or something?"

She nodded quickly. "I need the extra hours. My mom is sick, so things have been . . . tight."

The door chimed, and a familiar voice reached Ella's ears. She swiftly saw Two-Bit Mathews swagger into an aisle, followed by none other than Ponyboy Curtis. Their eyes met for a brief second, and Ella smiled, perking up almost immediately. Ponyboy's lips curved ever so little, his eyes seeming to shift from their previous expression to a more surprised one, and Ella knew it was because Tim Shepard was standing there in front of her. She realized that it probably looked as though he was hassling her, even though, surprisingly, they were making small talk.

Ella glanced back at the notorious gang leader, registering that he was looking over his shoulder at Ponyboy Curtis, too. In a second, his gaze was back on her, and instantly, she felt like a tiny little insect beneath his smoldering gaze. Then again, Tim Shepard was a dangerous person, and even though he was being almost cordial to Ella, she knew about him, and she couldn't bring herself to feel comfortable in his presence. It was the same with Dallas, she noted, because even though her feelings for him were incredibly strong, she still felt wary around him.

"See you around," Tim said, the softness of his voice sounding almost bizarre in comparison to his cool appearance. Before Ella could respond, his back was already to her and he was walking away, leaving an odd feeling creep up her spine. She saw him nod once at Two-Bit and Ponyboy, who were headed in her direction, two six-packs of Bud in hand.

She merely stared at Two-Bit's quirky expression as he placed the items on the counter for her to ring up, and she rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Now you know I can't sell alcohol to you, Two-Bit," she pointed out, glancing around for Jan.

"Shucks, sweetheart, can't you make an exception?" he asked, offering her a goofy grin. Beside him, Ponyboy smiled. "See, my birthday wasn't too long ago, and—"

"You wisecracking liar," Ponyboy cut in, shaking his head. He looked at Ella. "It was nearly a month ago."

"So what?" Two-Bit asked, eyes full of humor. "You can make the exception for me, can't you, Ella?"

The brown-headed girl sighed, mentally debating if that was a good idea or not. "You know, just because I like y'all doesn't mean I can ignore the law." Her face looked almost solemn. "You're not twenty-one, Two-Bit."

"Well, I don't see no one around," he replied, cocking an eyebrow. "C'mon, huh? I ain't gonna tell anyone, and neither is Ponyboy, right, kid?" He nudged the younger boy. "We ain't gonna say nothing if Ella sells us some booze."

Any other time, Ponyboy would have immediately agreed, because you stuck with your buddies, but some part of him actually felt bad about putting Ella in this predicament. Before he could respond, though, an older woman walked up behind Ella, her hands on her hips, a firm look plastered on her face as she glanced at him and Two-Bit.

"Well, howdy, Mrs. Clarke," the older teen greeted with an instant grin. "How're you doin'?"

Jan raised an eyebrow. "Just fine, Keith. How're you an' your mamma doing?"

For a split second, Ella saw Two-Bit's face pale, and she realized that Jan was silently reminding him that she knew his mother, and she had seen the beer on the counter that he had been trying to purchase, a situation that Ponyboy seemed to be finding some amusement in, as his eyes held a light spark in them, his lips curved upward. But while Two-Bit stepped aside with Jan, Ponyboy and Ella became engrossed in their own conversation.

"How's your Summer going?" Ella inquired.

"Not too bad," came the answer. "I got the consent letters for my book."

"All of them?"

Ponyboy's eyes flickered down for a second. "Not exactly. I ain't seen Dally around lately. He doesn't even know about my book yet."

Ella felt her heart drop. "I'm happy for you, you know. That really is quite an accomplishment."

"Thanks."

The two stood in silence for a minute, before Ella nodded toward Two-Bit and Jan. "Tell Two-Bit that I'm sorry about"—She gestured to the cases of Bud—"this. I just can't risk my job right now with everything going on." At the younger teen's look of bafflement, she quickly explained. "My mom's been sick. I took her to the hospital a few nights ago because she collapsed and wouldn't call for the doctor, so it's been hard . . ."

"Gee, I'm sorry, Ella," he responded, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Is there anything that I can do?"

The girl shook her head. "I don't think so, Ponyboy, but thank you. I appreciate it."

He smiled in return. "Of course."

And as they went on to another subject, Ponyboy watched her expressions shift, unable to help but feel that there was more to the story with her mother.

Dallas stalked away, a sneer blanketing his face, eyes unforgiving. He was going to rip Buck a new one, beat his fucking head in. He knew that the race would end badly for him—Marigold just hadn't been ready, and Buck had lost the race for them. Jesus Christ, Dallas thought bitterly, gritting his teeth, if only he hadn't raced her, if only—

"Winston!" Buck called out, grabbing him roughly by the back of the shoulder.

The blond-headed teen whipped around, shoving the cowboy back into the side of his truck. "This is yer fucking fault," he growled, slamming him back again. "I told you that horse wasn't ready to race yet!" A string of profanities fell from his mouth as he shook his head. "You fucked yourself this time."

Buck was scoffing. "Ya know what I think, kid? I think yer ass if gettin' too damn mouthy talkin' to me like that. I may not be yer scumbag daddy, but I'm givin' ya a cheap room and food, so's unless you wanna be out on yer ass again, you'd better quit talkin'."

But Dallas was already blue in the face, a burning anger fueling his mood all the more. "You fuck," he spit, and before the lanky blond could react, Dallas's fist connected with his face, sending his head flying backward into the side of the truck.

Buck was cradling his head with one hand, eyes bloodshot and full of vexation. Raising his free hand, he swung an empty whiskey bottle at the hood, narrowly missing his face but cracking it down against the space between his neck and shoulder. Dallas's face scrunched up in pain, his right hand reaching up to cover the new wound. Buck was still holding the back of his head, a small trail of blood coating his fingers and moving down the back of his hand. He scowled at the towheaded teen in front of him, before spitting the toothpick out of his mouth and tossing the bottle aside.

"You can git yer shit outta my place tonight, Winston," he stated, the words passing through his pressed teeth. "Go back to yer daddy."

Dallas said nothing as Buck climbed into the truck and peeled out, leaving him standing there with a stoic expression on his face, his eyes blazing.

Sometimes I wonder what I'm a-gonna do

But there ain't no cure for the Summertime blues

And we're back, guys!

I hope y'all enjoyed the first chapter of "Wild Night," the sequel to "Green Light." There's a lot to come for this story, so stay tuned!

Thanks for reading! :3