Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders or any of the characters, ideas, etc. from it
I'm putting this up again after proof reading and hopefully improving it.
"Oh, come on, the Beatles are so monotonous. Every song sounds like the one before it," Melanie whined, as she tore the record out my hand and put it back on the shelf.
"Monotonous opposed to who? The Beach Boys?" I shot back.
Melanie and I were two of kind. We were neighbors and even though she was a high school junior and I was only a freshman, we did everything together. I figured the age difference was easily breached by the fact that Melanie could be unbelievably immature. That was just one of our many differences.
"Yes, the Beach Boys!! They ARE GODS! How could you ever say anything against their amazing hair and--"
"We were talking about the quality of their music, not their looks, for cryin' out loud!"
"What's the difference?" Melanie said scathingly. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she walked towards the door. "I'll meet you outside. There's nothing good here."
"That opinion might be proof of your flawed music taste!" I shot back.
Rolling my eyes after Melanie, I gave the store owner an apologetic smile. And just because I felt guilty for my friend's behavior (I seemed to be put in that position a lot with Melanie), I bought an Elvis record. It was one I already had, but I figured I could give it to Betsy. She had her locker right next to mine at the high school; I would have had to be blind not to notice the inside of the door was covered with Elvis pictures.
Tucking my purchase under my arm, I made my way to the exit. Right outside the door, I stumbled into a crowd and wondered fleetingly if Melanie had rounded half of Tulsa to defend her case against me. After looking around though, I noticed there were people congregating all along the sidewalk. Everyone was looking across the street at some exhibition I couldn't see. Pushing my way past a broad shouldered boy, I looked over the head of a little blonde girl.
On the sidewalk across the street, there were two kids goofing off with each other. At first, I wasn't sure what the attraction was. There was nothing notably odd about two boys pushing each other along the sidewalk. Then the one with long red sideburns pulled a flip, landing neatly on his feet. Laughing, the other boy copied him.
"Oh my god. I could watch Sodapop Curtis all day." I heard a breathy, feminine voice behind me.
A boy next to me snorted derisively, but he didn't dispute the fact that Sodapop was sinfully attractive. Squinting my eyes, I realized that the other boy, who was now climbing on top of car parked outside of Dan's Diner, was Two-Bit Matthews. Two-Bit wasn't nearly as handsome as Sodapop, but he was practically a legend; he was one of those people everyone knew. I didn't know if this was because everyone, even teachers, calling a kid Two-Bit attracted attention, or if it was because he always had something to say, something memorable, something that made you laugh - or roll your eyes.
Two-Bit stood up on the hood of the car, put a cigarette in his mouth, and did a flip right off it. He landed on the sidewalk in front of Sodapop, who pulled a match out of his pocket and lit Two-Bit's cigarette. Then Two-Bit began walking on his hands, his worn out combat boots sticking high into the air. He fell over when he seemed to be choking on cigarette smoke. With a laugh, Sodapop jumped over him and proceeded to walk on his hands toward the intersection.
I remembered the first time I'd met Sodapop Curtis. I had, of course, seen him in school hanging out with all the greasers that seemed to be his gang, but I'd never actually talked to him until a warm summer day not long after Melanie got her license. Thrilled to be driving on her own, she had been giving me rides all over Tulsa. We were cruising aimlessly down a narrow road on the east side of town when the car began to sputter, and then unexpectedly shut down.
"Oh no, oh no! What's wrong with my car? What's wrong?!" Melanie immediately went into panic mode. Turning to look straight at me, she yelled, "Jane! What is wrong with my car?"
I frowned. "Whatever is wrong, it's not my fault, so quit looking at me like that."
Letting out a dissatisfied huff, Melanie tried to start the car but to no avail. I began to get a little worried. This wasn't our territory. As much as I hated labeling myself, Melanie and I were Socials, and the fact that we were sitting in a shiny blue mustang did nothing to hide that fact.
"Um, Melanie. We should probably get out of here."
"Well, incase it's escaped your notice, that's impossible because the car won't start!"
I interrupted Melanie before she went into one of her rants, "Isn't there a gas station somewhere around here? They could tell us what's wrong with it. They fix it. We go home. Simple."
Melanie's irritated expression left her for a minute as she looked thoughtful. "Yeah, there's actually one right around the block. A DX, I think."
"Good!" I said. "Come on, let's get moving."
Melanie stared at me as I jumped out of the mustang. "How will we get the car there, smarty?"
"We're just going to have to push it."
Melanie practically howled, "Push it? Push it? I cannot push this car. We cannot push this car. It's an impossible idea, Jane! We need-"
I cut her off. "Listen. We're in a dangerous area and it's getting late. Now unless you want to go knock on someone's door asking for help, start pushing."
I guess the fear factor kicked in because, with a frightened look at the rundown houses along the street, Melanie joined me behind the mustang. By the time we'd made it to the DX, we were both exhausted. Melanie lurched to the side door of the mustang and fell into the soft seat, panting.
"I guess that leaves me to go get help, huh?" I said, disgruntled.
Melanie didn't even bother to answer me. I started walking to the front door of the gas station. I was feeling painfully self conscious. My shirt was wet with sweat and my usually wavy hair was falling across my face in stringy, blond strands. Luckily, the place was pretty empty besides an old man getting his gas tank filled.
I walked up to the cash register and saw who I knew to be Sodapop Curtis. Groaning inwardly (It was just my luck to meet someone as wildly handsome as Sodapop when I looked this bad.), I considered sneaking back outside and hiding under the car until Melanie worked up enough energy and courage to take care of her own bloody car problems. But then again, I reasoned, that might take weeks of waiting . . . As I studied my options, the Apollo behind the cash register caught sight of me.
"Hey there honey. How can I help you?" he said with a grin.
I almost fainted right there. He didn't seem to notice I looked like…well, like I'd pushed a car around the block. And he didn't say 'honey' in an I'm-hitting-on-you way, but more in a reassuring, friendly way I couldn't put my finger on.
I found myself smiling back at him as I said, "yeah, we had some car problems. It's the blue mustang." I pointed out the window at it. "Could someone here check it out?"
"You bet." He said, "I'm gonna get you the best mechanic in Tulsa. Hey Steve!"
A dark haired boy with a scowl on his face and oil stains on his hands, emerged from the back room. After a short explanation from Sodapop, he walked out towards the mustang. I prayed that Melanie was passed out from exhaustion; I wouldn't put it past her to scream when she saw the angry-looking Steve approaching. A voice cut through my thoughts.
"Want some pepsi?" Sodapop was sitting on the counter and holding an open, half-full bottle of pepsi.
"Sure," I said gratefully. Grabbing it and taking a big gulp, I sighed with relief. I was going to be too sore to get up the next morning. Lowering the bottle, I suddenly realized he had been drinking out of it. I had just drunk out of the same bottle as a greaser! With sudden apprehension, I wondered if he had just been asking if I wanted to buy my own pepsi. He had probably never intended for me to drink out of his pepsi!
In a dilemma, I looked up at him questioningly. But he just smiled at me, took the bottle out of my hands and took his own swig. Then he handed it back to me.
We were passing the soda back and forth like that when Two-Bit walked in. Putting his beer onto the counter next to Soda, he took a sip of our pepsi. When he handed the bottle back to me, I could taste the alcohol on it, but for some reason it didn't bother me. Two-Bit was telling some ridiculous and yet amusing story to Sodapop about some blond he'd exchanged words with at the Dingo. What struck me was the way he wasn't just talking to Sodapop; he was telling me the story too. As we passed the pepsi between us, I realized that what made Two-Bit and Sodapop so different from the other greasers was how accepting they were. Here I was: a girl, a Soc and a freshman. From my experience, this meant I was either nothing or a piece of ass to most greasers. But Sodapop and Two-Bit were talking with me like I was the kid that lived down the street and had been playing in the park with them since age three.
"That soda taste good?" Two-Bit said to me.
"Yeah," I said, blushing. And then, feeling confident under their twin grins, I added cheekily, "Especially after pushing the car around the block!"
Two-Bit chuckled, "Well, you know what? This kid," He gestured at Sodapop. " is named after that soda. And that's why all the girls say he tastes so good!"
Two-Bit laughed loudly at his own joke, Sodapop rolled his eyes, and I blushed. I heard a bell jangle as the gas station door opened. Steve walked into our circle and grabbed the pepsi from Two-Bit's hand. After drinking his fill, he looked at me. Strangely, he looked very amused, an expression I wasn't sure went with an overview of our car disfunctions.
"Well," he said slowly, "I checked out the whole rig and it's all in really good shape. It seems the problem is," He paused and seemed to be swallowing laughter. "you ran out of gas."
I gaped as the three in front of me exploded with laughter. Two-Bit somehow fell over the counter and landed on his head. I wondered if he was drunk or just naturally a klutz. Or both. When he got up from behind the counter, he looked pointedly at me, and said, "I really like you."
For a minute I wondered if he was making fun of me, but I finally decided he wasn't. His personality didn't fit with that. Steve sobered up and told me he'd filled the tank and we were set to go.
Sodapop looked out the window, "Yeah, you should get moving. You don't wanna be out here after ten."
For the first time, I noticed it was getting dark out. I paid Steve, who informed me there was indeed a gas gauge in the mustang and that when the hand was near the E, it meant that the tank was bordering on empty. I thanked him caustically for his advice and Two-Bit let me have the last bit of pepsi.
Out in the mustang, Melanie was sleeping in the back seat. Not feeling too friendly toward her and her addled brain at the moment, I kicked her awake. By the time we made it to our street, the stars were out and it was taking a healthy effort to keep Melanie awake. That night, I went to sleep exhausted and dreamed of Apollo's and pepsi's and mustangs, all falling over gas station counters.
Pulling myself back to reality, I watched as Sodapop and Two-Bit started walking on their hands right across the intersection! They were both grinning, and Two Bit kept trying to kick his leg over and knock Sodapop down. It looked like they were having an upside down chicken fight. The crowd of teenagers along the store fronts had started cheering them on, and the blocked traffic in the intersection let their frustration out through their loud horns.
It wasn't really a surprise when the police showed up. It took them awhile to catch the boys because they kept jumping up on cars to do flips back onto the ground. But when a cop was finally putting them in handcuffs, I saw him grin at some comment of Sodapop's.
The show over, I found Melanie outside a hot dog stand waiting for me. She had forgotten her wallet.
I came to school early the next day to finish a report. As I was walking down the hall, I noticed one locker had a bunch of papers stuck to it. As I came closer, I saw that a lot of it was trash. There were things like 'no good greaser' and 'white trash hood' written on banners stuck to it. I suddenly realized this was Two-Bit's locker. I'd seen him hanging around it with Steve and Sodapop often enough.
I saw this sort of stuff pretty regularly. There was always that hatred between us and the greasers, but for some reason that day, the sight made me think of the DX and that pepsi bottle. And the way Sodapop said, "I'm gonna get you the best mechanic in Tulsa." And Sodapop and Two-Bit laughing as they did flips down the sidewalk.
Looking down the empty hallways, I pulled the papers and trash off Two-Bit's locker. Then I gathered the whole pile into my arms, walked down the hall, and stuffed it all into the garbage.