A/N: This is PinkLikeCool, half of Haus of Hinton, changed from Haus of Authors. Just testing out the name. I personally like it better.

This is centered on Bob, since anything I find with Bob makes him a jerk. The OCs. in here are characters of our, Pearl Primrose and I, soon to be posted multi-chaptered story. It will feature many minor characters, including the characters from That was then, this is now. This is a prequel, and there may be more to come about. Maybe one with Sandy, not sure yet.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders, only other characters that you have never heard of or are in Solace, a related one shot.

~Eyes on Fire~

September 8th, 1967

The warm air was uncomfortable around me, as I stood waiting for Randy outside of school, in the parking lot in the back. He was inside, talking to Marcia about heading to the drive-in that weekend. I still needed to make sure Cherry wasn't busy that night, but she was also inside, talking to some friends.

I watched as the parking lot emptied, many of my peers leaving as quick as possible to get to their afternoon hang outs. There were still a few cars on the old, cracked pavement. Cherry's 'vette stood alone close by, vividly red and every girl's dream. She was so happy when she got it, couldn't stop smiling for weeks.

In the back of the parking lot, I spotted a familiar car and face. A black charger with a lanky, mean looking Soc dressed mostly in black except for his jeans. He leaned against under the shadows of two trees, the only two trees to ever grow in that lot. He was my kind of my buddy, but not the way Randy was. This guy, he was an obligation. He was just a job. He was just-

"Hi, Bob."

I turned to my right to find one of Cherry's many friend's, Noelle Dale, standing next to me. She was short, with light sandy brown hair that fell a little past her shoulders. She was smiling, the way she always was, in her naive facade that I knew for a fact was an act.

"Hey Noelle," I said politely, then thought of the only thing we actually have in common, besides being the rich kids. "You seen Cherry?"

"Yeah, she's coming outside right now. She's giving me a ride home." She said, her smile fading somewhat.

"Where's your car?" I asked, because it was the polite thing to do for Cherry's friend.

"It's not running. Won't start up right." She nodded, sighing as though it were the most horrible thing in the world. "I'm taking it to a shop this weekend."

I nodded too, trying to seem interested. "Why doesn't Lewis give you a ride?" And why does my girlfriend have to? But I wouldn't ask her that.

She turned around, glancing back at the Soc leaning against the black charger. "Lewis said that he was going to John's with you and Randy, so I asked Cherry."

Ah, of course. Lewis always wanted to go around, trying to find someone to mess with. "Isn't he just a nice cousin, huh?"

Noelle smirked knowingly, making me wonder what was going on in that empty head. "Lewis is... well, you've seen how he is."

Yup, sure have. The guy was a nightmare. "I'll tell Cherry you're waiting for her." Thankfully she took the hint, or just thought I was being nice enough to actually remind Cherry about her ride, and turned around, headed for Lewis in the back of the lot.

I felt a hand touch my arm, and I was glad to find Cherry standing where Noelle had just been. Smile in place, I draped my arm around her shoulders and leaned against the brick wall lining the stairs. "Hey, sweetheart."

"Were you waiting for me?" Her smile was coy, and I knew she just wanted to hear me say that, yes, I was.

"Who else?" I asked in my mock-cocky way.

She raised her red brows, thinking for a moment. "Randy, Lewis..."

"You busy Friday?" I asked, wanting to get to the point.

"No, why?"

"Drive-in? Randy's checking with Marcia."

Cherry shrugged. "Sure, why not? Don't have anything better to do..."

Neither did I.

"We goin' to John's again? Cause I'm tired of that place."

Ten minutes later I was seated passenger side of Lewis' car going down one of the main streets, where a ton of the kids from our school would walk up and down. Randy was in the back, complaining about all the greasers walking up and down the sidewalk, and of course about going to John's. That guy couldn't stand the same routines over and over again, and Lewis seemed to like going where ever he could find someone he wanted to fight, or someone he wanted to mouth off too. At that time, there was always someone at John's whose head he wanted to kick in. It was getting pretty old, but there was nothing better to do.

Lewis shrugged indifferently. "Just thought I'd find sir talks-a-lot and give him what he deserves." His dark gray eyes flashed dangerously, and there were hints of a New York accent in his voice.

"You mean Ben Cunningham?" Randy asked, leaning through the gap between the two black, leather front seats. "You're gonna fight him, the grease?"

Lewis shrugged, again, seeming uninterested. "He was talking about someone he shouldn't have been talking about."

"Who? Your cousins again?" I rolled my eyes, only because Lewis looked for any excuse to fight. From the smallest things, like a bad look to a mixed up message. "You sure he didn't just, ya know, look at you funny or something? Like that one guy a couple days ago?"

Lewis smirked deviously, and he nodded his head to himself. "Oh, I'm quite sure."

"He's a grease anyway, so who cares?" Randy conformed, just like always, to Lewis' words and sat back. "Just go to John's and we'll jump him."

That was pissing me off. Randy was my buddy, and so were the rest of my friends who were starting to follow Lewis around, listening to everything he said. They thought the things he did were so bad, and so insane, just because he was a scheming, rotten person who went behind your back to plan, instead of telling you outright to your face what his problem was. Sure, he confronted people and instigated fights, but it was stupid because he did it in such a sick, calm way.

"Hey, Bob, look," Randy sat up again suddenly, pointing out of the window to some grease walking down the street. He looked familiar, small and dark with his fists jammed in his pockets, head lowered and eyes glued to the ground. "That's that kid we jumped in that field, remember?"

I looked at him, and remembered with a wave of shame. I cut that kid pretty bad with my rings, and I couldn't even remember why I had been so harsh. "It is, huh?"

Randy told Lewis to slow down, then rolled down the back window and started shouting curses at him. "Hey, grease, take a shower and get that shit outta your hair!" He laughed, reveling in the fact that the grease kid jumped.

"Get out of the street, greaser!" I yelled, too, flipping him my middle finger and laughing along. No one else was gonna know that I felt bad. No one.

Lewis leaned over and scrunched his brow, peering at the grease for a moment before turning a disgusted look on us. "You jumped that guy?"

Randy answered for me, always the more talkative one. "We didn't just jump him, we beat the hell outta him."

Lewis' eyes widened slightly. "I know him, he's small and pathetic, my cousin Leo is bigger than him, and he's in junior high." He shook his head in a disapproving way, his black hair shifting slightly as he did so. "I can't believe you guys jumped a small guy like that."

Just as Lewis pressed on the gas and the engine revved, a car screeching to a stop caught my attention. I turned around to see an old car pull up next to that small guy and pick him up. There were two greasers in the front, and the one driving looked pissed off as hell.

"I think they're gonna start trouble." Randy said, leaning out of the back passenger side window and watching as the old car made it 's way toward us. We were stopped in the middle of the street, with a couple cars honking and going around us, waving fists and fingers as they did so.

Lewis sighed, and I caught this strange look in his eye as he watched the greasers knowingly. It was a mix of misery and exhaustion. Even so, as they pulled up next to us, he raised a brow, still managing to seem indifferent. The corner of his mouth pulled back in a sarcastic smirk. "Well, if it isn't Hub-Cap and Drop-out. Picking up Pathetic on the way to your box in the street?"

I had to smirk as the driver, a greaser with thick, dark hair with weird swirls, narrowed his eyes and looked ready for a fight. "Lewis, you should know better than to mess with Johnny. What would Ronnie think?"

Lewis got defensive, but he still managed to keep his cool like always. "Hey, I wasn't messing with him, it was these two losers." He jammed his thumb at me and Randy.

"Come on, Steve, it's Lewis, we can't fight." I heard the greaser on the passenger side saying.

"Glad one of you can see sense." Lewis said, his voice spouting sarcasm. "And of all of you, it's Soda, the one who couldn't quite cut it."

"You know these guys?" Randy asked Lewis, not bothered by the loser comment, since he made comments like that all the time. To anyone, I could tell then.

"It's a long, stupid story." Lewis brushed it off, then turned back to the greaser called Steve. "What do you want, Randle?"

The greaser leered at him, then revved his engine proudly. "To the end of the street, if you think you can win."

Lewis tensed up, revving the powerful charger engine right back. "I will." He said confidently, his voice never wavering or showing any sign of fear. Without warning, he slammed the gear shift in to first and stomped on the gas pedal.

"WOOOO!" Randy hollered in the back, and I couldn't keep the smile off my face as the charger tore down the street, passing many kids walking by. I looked back for a moment, shocked to see the greasers catching up, and the one on the passenger side yelling and whooping loud enough to hear. The driver knew what he was doing, I could see it in his scrunched brow.

Lewis pressed the gas harder, smirking when they fell behind suddenly. I would have yelled in triumph, but as I glanced back again, they were speeding up.

"Crap..." Lewis said loud enough for me to hear. Maybe thirty feet in front of us a car pulled out in to the street, right in front of the charger. The greasers took their chance, flooring the gas pedal and pushing the motor to it's limit.

I flung forward as Lewis slammed on the brakes, hitting the dashboard hard with my forearm. A sharp pain shot up my arm, but I ignored it as the smell of burnt rubber filled my nostrils as the vehicle screeched to a stop. The greasers zoomed past us, with the driver flipping us a finger and hollering away.

"What the hell? Why would you turn out in front of a race?" Randy asked angrily, pointing at the old, white bulky vehicle in front of us.

"'Cause they're stupid." I stated simply, rubbing my arm as I glanced at Lewis. He was eerily calm, with a dark emptiness in his eyes.

"Son of a bitch!" He suddenly yelled, slamming his fist on the steering wheel with startling force. It wasn't unexpected when he passed up the car, pulled in front of it, hit the brakes, and caused the person to stop behind us. Despite his usual calm, Lewis would randomly, and seldom lose his temper in such a strange way.

I caught a glimpse of the driver, shocked to see an old woman staring wide eyed at the charger. Lewis didn't care though, because he got out of the car, yelling obscenities as he approached her window.

"Is he really yelling at her?" Randy asked, just as shocked as I was.

"I don't know, but I'm tired of him." I said, finally saying it out loud. I couldn't hear him yelling anymore, but it didn't change anything. "I can't stand him, and I don't want to have to hang around him."

"You know we can't just stop." Randy said in a low voice, saying what I already knew. "He's a job, we have to watch him or we'll be in real trouble."

I didn't answer, because Lewis had opened the door and got back in the car. He wasn't pissed anymore, just quiet. "Did you scare that old woman?"

Lewis shot me a subtle look of disbelief. "Of course not. I told her she needs to be careful, and watch out for drivers like Steve."

Randy shook his head and sat back, deciding not to say anything. It was useless to try to talk sense in to Lewis; he was messed up in the head real bad.

"You losers still want to go to John's or not?"

I shrugged. "Who cares?" I decided to repeat Randy's words from earlier. "Cunningham's a grease, might as well jump him."

Because there was nothing better to do, and I had no choice.

A/N: Hope you liked it. We really would love ConCrit that is helpful. If you liked this, you can read our story soon to be posted, The Mirror of Grim.