warnings for period typical racism, sexism, homophobia, etc; instances here are not reflections of my own opinions. please be aware that this text will engage with intimate partner violence, homophobia, drug culture, and more, rather explicitly. i don't know how long this will be or how often i'll update but...enjoy? (ps. i still own nothing) (pps. reading "play it cool" will definitely make this make more sense)

part i | residual

and under the libraries, the asylums, the triumphant churches
and under you yourself and under your feet, half stiff already,
and under the gross canopy of family and class,
a little something always stays
(carlos drummond de andrade, "resíduo,"
trans. virginia de araújo)

The winter after Dallas and Johnny die passes slowly. Sometimes Soda wakes up and forgets; thinks he'll be giving Johnny a ride to school with the rest of the guys, or that he should head down to the race track to see Dally one of these days. Then he'll catch sight of Ponyboy's still-blond head and remember that, no, his buddies are six feet under and he's never going to see them again. It takes a lot of effort not to lose it, some mornings.

It's the last Friday of winter break for Pony, and Soda said he'd treat him to dinner at Joe's, nicer than the Dingo but still within their price range. He's doing better—Ponyboy, that is. Still a little listless in the eyes, still quieter than Soda'd like, but he's there. The old him, it's somewhere in that head of his, and little by little Soda and Darry are dragging him back out.

That morning at work there's not much to do. It's still cold out, and during the day during the winter there aren't too many customers around. Even on the East side, where most folks stick around for the holidays, there's a sense of quiet, like no one can bear to brave the elements for even a second to get up to the trouble they usually chase after.

A little after Soda's taken his lunch break, a familiar purple Pontiac pulls up to the station. He grins. Lisa Bernal's a regular, comes in to buy her cigarettes and flirt with Steve and Soda when there ain't a gaggle of girls around them. Steve tried hiding the fact that he was still seeing her for a few weeks after the Sandy situation, and even thinking about it makes something ache a little, somewhere in Soda's chest. To think that Soda had encouraged the two of them that summer. Nearly six months have passed since she first pulled up in that mighty fine car of hers.

Steve tried to hide it, but Steve don't know how to act when he's being honest, half the time, and between Lisa's incredulous reactions to his suddenly stiff way of talking to her with Soda around and Soda's own no-doubt hilarious facial expressions, it was clear that whatever he was going for just wasn't going to cut it. He'd even said so to Soda, one day a little after Soda's seventeenth birthday, a birthday he spent so spectacularly drunk he didn't even make it to bed that night. The hangover was almost as bad as the disappointment on Darry's face when he saw him the next morning, but he needed it. Needed a few hours to forget, Two-Bit goading him and Steve making sure they all got back home in one piece.

"It ain't serious," Steve said, like Soda didn't already know that. Like Soda had forgotten that Evie existed, as if Steve wasn't taking her out on dates once a week and walking her to her classes and generally acting like a good boyfriend, save for how he was still giving it to Lisa Bernal in the back of her Pontiac on the days Evie was busy. Soda ain't book smart, he knows it, he admits it. But he knows people better than most, and Steve best of all.

Steve might not think he's serious about that girl, but she's hooked her claws in him well enough for him to come back willingly, and that's a helluva lot of power in Soda's opinion. Once Steve got over himself it was almost like that summer again, Lisa swishing by with her long hair and a mouth made for smiling, her eyes on Steve and his on her like Soda was just a moment they had to get through. It was amusing, even if it sometimes made Soda think of what Sandy had done, and how he didn't see it coming, or like he really should have, and how maybe it was even his fault.

He walks over to the car, a cheery, "Welcome to the DX!" coming naturally, unthinkingly, when a man steps out of the car. Soda nearly trips. He's tall, with Darry's height and a lean build like Shepard. Dark hair like Lisa's and slicked back like any other Eastside hood, a leather jacket that glistened even in the winter sun, and his swagger an awful lot like Dallas Winston. Soda nearly swallows his tongue, finds himself straightening up like he's about to need to make a run for it.

The guy nods at him, says, "Fill 'er up," like an order and disappears into the DX all in one second, and when Sodapop looks towards the car he sees Lisa with one hand on her cheek, watching him carefully and looking exhausted. He tilts his head, jerks a little, like maybe she can explain something about it for him, and reaches for the gas pump while she leans over to roll down the window.

"My man," she says through the barely-open window, "in town through Sunday. Came up to see me this week."

"Your break's been good?" he asks, watching the numbers flip across the pump and glancing behind him to see the aforementioned boyfriend. He knows better than to try to ask about the guy while he's still close by, figures he must be the possessive type from the way Lisa keeps looking between the two of them.

"Yeah," she says, and then smiles, "I'll bring Vicky by after work one'a these days."

"Still at the diner?"

"Yeah," she says again, and then rolls up the window suddenly and settles herself in the passenger seat again. Soda doesn't bother looking behind him to see if it's her man that's coming back out, just slouches so he looks bored with the job.

Her man exits the DX within a few minutes, an unlit cigarette in his mouth and a ripped open pack in his hand. He nods at Soda again, offers him a few dollars and says, "Keep the change," before ducking back into the car. Soda's barely gotten the nozzle back on the dispenser before the guy drives off, tires squeaking louder than they need to be. Soda doesn't bother watching them drive off.

The rest of the day passes by smoothly enough, Two-Bit showing up near the end of Soda's shift to try and steal a few things before getting bored and telling Soda to clock out already, so he could just give him a ride home. He mentions something about his unfinished homework for the next week and Soda says, "You ever gonna graduate, Two-Bit?" and it makes him laugh.

"They'll kick me out soon if I don't," he says, but he's grinning, "I think there's a law."

"There's a law for everything," Soda says, and thinks of Johnny even if it hurts.

Darry's home already, winter making it so there ain't too many roofs his company can even safely get to, and it smells like lemon when he walks in. Figures Darry would get outta work early and immediately try to scrub down the house best as he could, not that it helps much. Underneath the layer of clean there's that rundown smell like always—or maybe not always, Soda thinks. Just since his parents have been gone, like his mother was the only thing between them and the dirt that seems to encase this whole side of town. They do their best but even that ain't a lot, most days, and at this point it seems like they're all just used to this weird new normal, where everything feels a little gritty and looks twice as rundown.

"Ponyboy home?" Soda asks, and Darry nods. He has a dishtowel over his shoulder.

"In his room."

"He finish up all his homework? For next week, I mean."

Darry raises his eyebrows. "Far as I know. We switching roles for good, now?" and Soda throws his work shirt at him, knowing it smells a little like sweat and a lot like gasoline. He ignores Darry's laughter while he walks through the house to his and Pony's room, finds the kid at his desk with a pencil in hand and a sheet of paper with his handwriting all over it.

He knocks on the doorway, says, "Hey, kid, you hungry?"

Ponyboy looks up, looking spacy, and shrugs. "Sure."

Soda tries not to flinch. He should have asked if he'd eaten already, or some other question that would've made going out to dinner sound better. He says, "You still up for dinner at Joe's? Might get stuck going with just Steve if you turn me down."

Ponyboy rolls his eyes, says, sounding more like himself at Soda's expense, "When's the last anyone turned you down?" and Soda has to laugh.

He comes close, puts him in a headlock and rakes his fingers through Pony's hair, edges still tinged blonde. He should get a haircut soon, before classes start. "Watch it, bub. You mind if Steve comes with?"

"Sure," Ponyboy says, getting out of Soda's grip and turning back to that sheet of paper he'd been staring at, running a hand through his hair. "We leaving now?"

"Gimme twenty minutes," he says. "I gotta shower."

"So twice that?" Ponyboy says, looking up at him again and lifting an eyebrow in a move that screamed Two-Bit from top to bottom. Soda does his best not to react the way he wants to, which is to tackle Pony and make him take it back. Their room's a mess as it is.

"You think you're real funny, huh?" he says, mussing Pony's hair again and then ducking out of the room before he could retaliate. The shoe that's thrown at him barely misses.

Steve's driving them; Soda wasn't sure what time Darry would be home and had asked him preemptively, not sure if he was in the mood to hang out with Ponyboy or if he had plans with Evie. She was out of town that week, though, down in Texas visiting her folks' family. By the time he's out of the shower and fixing his hair again he can hear Steve and Two-Bit shooting the shit, Darry's baritone coming now and again to say something no-doubt biting. Soon enough Pony's voice joins them, and Soda hops out of the bathroom with his shirt barely past his ribs and his pants still unbuttoned.

"Sheesh, Curtis," Steve says, catching sight of him, "you ain't even in a rush and you're still running around like that?"

"This is his natural habitat," says Two-Bit, "I learned it in biology."

Ponyboy says, "You learned it?" at the same time Steve says, "You took biology?" and then they look at each other like it's a standoff.

Two-Bit says, "Hey," like it matters, and Darry just shakes his head. Two-Bit clucks, making Soda laugh as he fixes himself up to something more presentable. He turns to the oldest Curtis this time, says, "C'mon, Darry, let's buy us a six pack, like old times."

Darry gives him his most unimpressed look, one Soda recognizes first hand from being on the receiving end of it and watching it thrown Ponyboy's way more often than not. "You want me to spend my hard-earned cash on you?"

"Who else but your best bud?" Two-Bit says, and grins goofily while Darry rolls his eyes.

"C'mon," says Steve, standing up and heading towards the door, "let's get outta here before Two-Bit tries to convince the rest of us that we're best friends."

"You spend most of your free time with me, Randle," Two-Bit calls out, and then goes back to convincing Darry to let loose while Soda and Ponyboy follow Steve out.

"You driving?" says Soda, and Steve says, "You drive like it's a race," and Soda says, "Well, sometimes it is."

It's a quiet ride, Ponyboy watching out the window while Soda and Steve offer empty comments about what work's been like lately, and then soon enough they're at Joe's. It's not too busy, but there are enough people around that they find themselves greeting the handful of greasers they do know, shaking hands and offering tips on where the action is going to be this weekend.

They place their orders and don't have to wait too long—another reason Joe's is a good spot for a night out. Soda's in the middle of trying to coax a disgusted looking Ponyboy into trying the ketchup-and-mayonnaise slathered French fries he's arranged in front of him when the bell over the door jingles and he looks up for a second. Does a double take.

Lisa and her man seem to walk in with a cloud of smoke. He still moves like Dally, Soda thinks, and it makes something small and bitter grow in his throat, like he's got a little Venus flytrap there waiting to bite. She seems to be swallowed up in the bomber jacket she has thrown on, a washed out shade of green that looks sturdy enough for all the wear on it. Her eyes don't find him, but something about her seems off in a way Soda just can't place. Maybe it's the way she moves, a little bit too smoothly, like she knows everyone's eyes are on her instead of just Steve's, when she comes by the DX.

He looks back towards Ponyboy, prepared to shoot of a half-hearted defense of his taste buds, and sees Steve turn his head back towards him, too, like he couldn't keep himself from looking towards the door either.

Soda says, like either of his dinner companions are going to appreciate the question, "Y'all ready for Monday?" not knowing what else to say, knowing that Steve needs an out. Maybe he does, too.

Steve gives him a deadpan look, like he knows what he's up to, and he shrugs a little helplessly at Pony's unimpressed expression. Part of him wants to laugh though, the look on his brother's face making him look as young as he really is—nothing like the tough image he tries so hard to project, even around Soda.

"I'm tryna make conversation," he says, grinning a little. They've all got burgers in front of them, but Soda and Steve have made more progress than Ponyboy has.

"That ain't your strong suit," says Steve.

"You kidding me?" Soda says, "My customer service skills are the best in Tulsa. Boss said so."

"Flirting with girls ain't customer service," Steve says, and Ponyboy nods, real sage-like, like he knows all about it. He's still ignoring the ketchup-and-mayo concoction in favor of the fried pickles he ordered, which is fine by Soda. More for him, he figures.

"It is a skill," says Soda, and nudges his brother, says, "I can teach you all you need to know. Ain't there a dance coming up?"

"No," Ponyboy says through a mouthful of pickle, though whether that's to the offer of stories about girls or to the dance Soda doesn't know.

Then Steve says, "There is a dance," which answers Soda's internal question. He laughs a little.

"You taking Evie?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"How 'bout you, Pony? No pretty girls in any of your classes?"

He ignores the question, says, "You're awful interested in school lately."

"Just the girls," Soda says, like that's even close to the truth. Ponyboy's gotten his grades back up, had in time for break, even, but Soda can't help but feel like a broken record, or like some sort of version of Darry. Like if Pony's grades get back up then he will, too, and the first few weeks of the fall semester will suddenly disappear and give him his brother back. It's not really working, but he's not ready to admit it yet.

He can't help himself, though and steals a glance towards the other side of the restaurant, where he thinks Lisa and her man might have gone. It's still not too crowded at Joe's, but the two of them were hardly the first to walk in since the three boys walked in. Plus, it ain't like Joe's is all that big, either, and it's easier to get into someone's business than it is to stay out of it just based off the size alone, not that too many of those types come around here. The Dingo's just fine for the rough and tumble crowd of the East side.

Soda looks over just as the guy Lisa's sitting with reaches over and grips her by the back of her neck, his fingers disappearing into her hair—a slick black sheet framing her face, like it usually is when Soda sees her. Ponyboy is saying something to him about school again, or maybe the dance or girls or anything else he thinks Soda likes to talk about, but all Soda can do is watch as her man pulls Lisa real close to him by her hair, a move so smooth that it can't be the first time he's done it. She's got her gaze directed somewhere on the table and doesn't seem to react much to the manhandling. For a second Soda thinks that someone's going to stand up and say, Hey, what the fuck are you doing? once they catch sight of their expressions—hers, neutral, his, hot and blustering when Soda's eyes skitter over his features, his mouth an angry slash that's moving, words lost to the loudness of the diner.

Then he remembers where they are, and who they are, and that Lisa hasn't made any sort of sound or move to get away from him. He glances over at Steve, sees his jaw clenched. He's looking towards Lisa again, too. To someone not looking closely—the norm here, at least—it's just a guy pulling his girl close to whisper in her ear. No one's going to say a word about it. He and Steve make eye contact, and Ponyboy says, "Why are you two staring?" and both turn to look at him again.

"We're not," Soda says, while Steve goes, "Mind your business, kid," and shoves at Ponyboy gently, like they're the best of friends now. It earns him a confused stare from both Curtis brothers, and Steve huffs.

"I'll be right back," he says.

"Steve," Soda says.

"I'm gonna have a smoke," he says, like he's the weed fiend and not Ponyboy. His brother ain't buying it. Steve leaves anyway, bell jingling again even if the sound don't travel very far.

"Who's the girl?" Pony says. He doesn't sound impressed, and Soda almost wants to ask why it is he seems to only like Socy girls but doesn't. Maybe if it were a year and a half ago he could say the comment and not feel guilty. Maybe the guilt will go away one day, and he won't think of Cherry Valence's face every time he sees a red car.

"Customer," Soda says. "She let Steve borrow her car for the races, remember? Over the summer."

He remembers Ponyboy being confused that day too, not understanding why Soda would pull Lisa real close to him, he and her sister bracketing her like a three-person chain. He remembers the way she smelled, like cold cream and cigarettes, girlish but not overbearing. She barely fit in his arms, smaller than her sister even if she had an attitude that Soda could tell more than made up for it. She's only ever polite with him—friendly, playful, but like she only ever has eyes for Steve. He wonders if the guy holding her close to him—her man from what she said, all over her in a way that's possessive and not protective, the way Soda had tried to be all those months ago—has an idea about what she gets up to when he's not around. Maybe it has to do with him not taking her out to movies, but then Sodapop'll have to wonder what it is that keeps them together and he's not interested in none of that.

Ponyboy doesn't answer, digs into his burger again, and when Soda looks over towards the window Lisa's eyes meet his. She's got real pretty eyes; he thought the so the second she walked into the DX with her tiny skirt and see-through blouse. They're dark as night, but even if he can't tell whether or not her pupils are blown he can see they're glassy, that glazed over look one that he's familiar with even if it ain't firsthand. He don't smoke dope and he keeps away from drinking for the most part, as much for Darry's sake as for his own. Hasn't been worth the risk since his folks died.

She looks absolutely gone, though, and when she quirks a lazy smile at him he finds himself looking away. Whatever it is she's doing—whatever that man of hers is trying to accomplish—he don't think he wants in on it.

When Steve gets back, smelling like he smoked half a carton, he doesn't say anything, just shrugs at the way Steve looks from him back to Lisa, and tries to forget the dead look in her eyes.