Outsiders aren't mine ^^

Hi again, lovlies! No, this isn't TR2, it's just a little something I thought would be cute...This is set when steve and Soda are 15 and still in school.

One

The cool, smooth white oval sat in the Greasers' hands with the upmost care and gentleness. Perhaps the paralyzing fear of dropping the thing is what kept the eggs still, kept them in one piece.

"Mine's a boy, man! What's yours?" Sodapop asked excitedly, smiling down at his, "son," for a week and for fifteen percent of his final grade.

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. How can ya tell? It's not like they have-"

"Their eyes. Can I see yours?"

"No! You have your own baby."

"See, look. Yours is a girl 'cause she has…those…things on her eyes."

"Oh, you mean eyelashes," Steve said. "I get it."

The boys' class had been given each an egg to look after for one week, and no, Steve, you can't break it and get a new one, because the teacher had marked each egg specially and she expects each one back happy, healthy, well-adjusted…children. They were to fill out a daily journal of what they do with the egg each day, give it a name, birthday, feed it, clean it, and of course, love it.

"Know what? Guys have eyelashes, too, why does everyone think we don't?"

"Look! Lookit him, Steve! He's smilin' at me..." Soda sighed happily and hugged the egg to his face, just under his nose. "I'm gonna call him...Ethelbert. How do you like that, Ethelbert?"

"Ethelbert?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, from the Bowery Boys. That movie we just saw Monday night, remember?"

"No, not really."

"Yeah, you were drunk."

Steve again shrugged. "Can you name mine?"

Sodapop stood up from the table and walked into the kitchen where he kept Ethelbert's newly made sleeping quarters, which was really a soapbox with some Kleenex serving as the mattress and blankets.

"Nope. She's your kid, you name her." He tucked the egg in and patted the top if it with one finger. "Have a nice nap," he said.

"Sally," Steve answered automatically. Sally had been his mother's name, and it's sort of something he doesn't like talking about, but he really wished he knew her better. "It's gonna be Sally."

"Her," Sodapop corrected. "Call her Sally."

"Her. Right." Steve glanced down at the vegetable? Fruit? He really hadn't a clue as to what an egg technically was, besides just an egg, and, now, his daughter. This was probably the one of the stupidest things he'd ever done in his life. And Steve had certainly done quite a few stupid things over time. And what was it for? So he could graduate, ultimately, but he's just a Greaser, what good would school do anyone? The little face, the eyelashy painted on eyes stared up at him. Steve blinked hard. It didn't just…move. Did it?

"I think I'll be a good Dad," Sodapop said, gazing off into the distance as if imagining the future possibilities.

"Are you actually gonna take care of an egg, man?"

Soda looked incredulous. "Yeah."

"I ain't."

Now Soda looked astonished. "Why not?"

"'Cause it's an egg, man! You're actin' like it's a baby."

"It is a baby!"

"An egg baby!"

Gasping, Sodapop turned away, biting a knuckle. He looked towards the kitchen where Ethelbert slept away peacefully. "Don't let him hear you say that, Steve. Don't ever even think that again. Sally's never gonna love you when you talk like that, ya dig? So just shut up."

Steve put his hands up in defence. "All right, I'm just sayin'…Don't get what's so special about some hackin' egg…"

Soda gasped even louder this time. He indignantly marched to where Ethelbert was, and brought him back to the table. He held the egg up to Steve, saying, "Say sorry."

Steve couldn't help but laugh and laugh loudly, laugh until his sides hurt. Sodapop frowned and waited patiently for the attack to subside. "You done?"

"Yeah," Steve said, wiping his eyes before any tears streamed out. "Whoa. Okay, Ethelberg-"

"Ethelbert."

"Ethelbert, I'm sorry."

The familiar grin of Sodapop came whooshing back. "Thanks, buddy." He smiled at the egg again, and Steve swore he saw the look his own dad used to give him when he was a little kid and did something real cute, like trip over his untied laces or read a book upside down in his eyes. It made him get a really weird feeling, the feeling of wishing you hadn't grown up so fast. It wasn't the look his old man gave him when he said he was sorry for yelling at him the next day and handing him ten bucks. It was the exact opposite, one he wasn't used to seeing. Why was an egg making him think about such things?

When he went home that evening, carrying Sally in two cupped hands, Steve began thinking right about now would be a good time to drop her, or squish her in his fist, but that would be gross. He could just throw her as far as he can. Apparently he had a good arm, he's been told. He held Sally up to eye-level, looked into those pearly white, wide eyes…and said, "Hey." He's gone insane, that's for sure. Talking to an egg.

But that egg, Sally, somehow reminded him of the real Sally, his mother, whom he could barely remember besides her curly hair that looked so much like his and the way she patted the crown of his head when he came through the front door day after day of first grade.

Steve wiped his nose with the back of his free hand, while the other one held Sally high above the ground. His fingers loosened around the egg, preparing for the fatal drop. Just let it go and this whole parenting thing can be over with, and he'll never have to think about it again, because he was never going to have a kid. At least not now… His kid would end up worse off than him, and pretty soon Steve himself would be the one yelling and screaming at them and making them sleep on some friend's couch. He'd never get a look like his mom gave him so long ago again.

Except now, because even though that egg is just that-an egg- she looked at him like that right now.

Steve sighed and pulled Sally down, closer to Earth, down to his chest where he held her tight, but definitely not too tight.