A/N: I don't own anything. Well, some things I own, but not The Outsiders, that's for sure! Title from a track by The Shangri-Las, who seem to suit this OC pretty well. And, in case you were wondering - this fic is not in the same universe as my Evie and/or Tim stories. Just general Outsiders-land. Please tell me what you think.

Darry Curtis didn't always hate me. But I knew exactly when he started to and I knew it was 'cause he found out; his attitude to me changed overnight and this one time a friend of his made a dirty comment that I caught the second half of, as I walked past the empty lot where they were hanging out.

Before that I was just his kid brother's friend.

After that I was the girl who lived in that house. With that woman.

I guess Darry and his friends were sixteen or so. The right kind of age to think they knew it all.

It didn't bother me too much; I was used to people's sideways glances and muttered comments. Besides, Pony didn't change and I still got to hang out with him and especially I still got to hang out at their place, where the kitchen smelled like I imagined those kitchens on TV would smell. I knew in my heart that June Cleaver's kitchen smelled of cookies baking, or maybe of something lemon scented and clean. Definitely not of spilled gin and musky, fat cigarettes.

We'd been on the north side of Tulsa for a minute by then. Enough time that everyone in the adult community had caught on, with the result that all the other kids had been warned to stay away from me. Ponyboy was floundering a little socially, being boosted a year, away from his friends. As for me, somewhere along the line I'd lost a year of schooling, not to mention my transcripts, so I was repeating. At twelve and ten, I guess we were the oldest and youngest in the class and ended up hanging out by default, when no one else was interested. That part wasn't new for me, it was how it had been at my last school and the one before, with the exception that there wasn't even a Ponyboy back in Tennessee or Kansas. I didn't remember all the other places.

And there was never anyone like Mrs. C.

I watched her. I was used to keeping quiet and watching. I think that's why Pony liked me; I didn't interrupt if he was reading or when he got to talking about something that only made sense to him. Watching Mrs. C. was something else though.

At first, I thought she was real clever. That she timed it so she never hit her boys, or screamed at them, in front of me. I knew all about 'keeping up appearances'. Patching up skinned knees and checking if anyone was hungry, okay, I had less experience of that kind of behavior. But gradually I realized that there was no front, what I was seeing was real life in their house.

What really blew my mind was something that happened one rainy day when Mr. C. came home early, the first time I'd met him. I automatically stood up, ready to split to wherever it was Pony would have to go, now that there was a man in the house. Stay quiet. Keep quiet. But Pony didn't move from the table where he was teaching me to play checkers, and his dad didn't put his hands on his mom –at least, not in any of the ways I was expecting.

Pony's dad kissed his mom on the nose, making her laugh and swat at the raindrops he shook onto her, and he said, "Hey, kiddo, who's your friend?" ruffling Pony's hair as he went past us and, "Nice to meet ya, sweetie," to me.

I never invited Ponyboy back to my house.

xxXxx

"Lainey, you hear about Curtis?"

"What about him?" I narrowed my eyes at Beth Ann Harper when she waylaid me in the hallway outside the Art room. She had a mouth like a broken faucet – it never stopped running.

"You used to hang around with him, didn'tcha?" She cracked her gum, prolonging her moment, even thought the final bell had gone.

I shrugged. This was the longest I remembered living in one place and it was slightly unreal to think that I could count a friendship with anyone in years. Although Beth Ann was right about the 'used to hang around ' part and that bothered me. Sometime in eighth grade, things shifted. That summer I was fourteen and the gap between me and Pony seemed to stretch. And when school started up this year, we weren't in so many classes together – I was struggling again and he was 'AP this and that', plus he was suddenly big enough to be included in his brothers' stuff and Darry made it plain, more'n once, that it was guys' stuff.

"Spit it out, Beth Ann." I was impatient. She and I weren't close, but I knew her well enough to know she could go on for hours if I let her. The novelty of me being someone even the Northside moms warned their kids away from, had worn off. I'd found a level, or it had found me, and now my relationships with other kids were pretty much what you'd expect; if they didn't like me now, it was for myself, not because of where I lived. That seemed like a more honest reaction to me.

Beth Ann leaned in, eager to pass on her gossip. "So, Ponyboy wasn't in school, right? An' Martha's mom knows his mom, right? And Carl's dad works the same construction firm as Curtis's dad, so this is definitely true...they're dead. Ponyboy's mom and dad. Dead." She made a cutting gesture across her throat.

"The fuck they are!"

"Miss Coleman!" A passing teacher was just in time to hear my response to Beth Ann's lie. But I didn't hear what else he said, I was running, away from Beth Ann's delighted face and towards the only place I could think of that would make this not be true.

xxXxx

There were too many cars outside, that was the first thing that was wrong. Then there was the parade of neighbor women carrying tinfoil wrapped plates and casserole dishes up the porch steps, as I stood on the other side of the street, shivering, watching the house.

I jumped when a quiet voice said, "You want a weed?"

I nodded dumbly and Johnny handed me a cigarette and his lighter. My hand was shaking and he took the lighter back and held the flame for me.

"What...?" was as much as I could get out.

He swallowed hard. "There was a car wreck. Out by the Brumly turn off. The cops was chasin' some guy and he spun into 'em."

I shook my head, glad to spot the flaw in the story. "The truck's right there."

"Wasn't their car. Mr. C. borrowed a real nice–" He broke off, swiped his hand across his nose, started again. "They was goin' out. Like a date, Soda said. It was a surprise. Dancing, somewhere..." He made the mistake of catching my eye and we were stuck there for a second or two, both of us, both knowing exactly how Mr. C.'s laugh would have sounded as he swept Mrs. C. off for an evening of fun. How she would have put on scent and told Darry to watch his brothers and—

I dropped my smoke, stumbling back a step. "Sorry," I mumbled as Johnny scooped the stick up. I waved it away, told him I didn't want it anymore and he pinched out the end and stuck it in his jacket pocket. Waste not, want not. I asked him if he was going inside and he frowned:

"I dunno. They got people..."

I chewed on my thumbnail, watching the front door again.

"We could wait a while. See if it quietens down any." Johnny jerked his head towards the end of the street and I fell in next to him as he started for the empty lot.

We sat under the stunted tree that stood to one side and Johnny offered me the weed back. I shook my head, but when he pulled a can of beer out of the other pocket, I said yes. He punched into it with the church key all boys seem to keep as a key ring and offered me first sip.

I closed my eyes and swallowed. I knew it wouldn't be enough. Nothing would ever be enough. I watched Johnny down the rest of the can and I sat on my hands to try and warm them.

He threw a couple of sticks onto the makeshift fire pit and pulled out his lighter again. It was getting colder quickly, as it got dark. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been here when we had a fire. Pretending to camp out and toast marshmallows seemed like a stupid kids' game, all of a sudden.

For a moment I wanted to put my hand into the flames, to see if they were real. If I could do it, if I could prove that the fire was fake, wouldn't that make the rest of the day fake too? Wouldn't that mean that everything could be okay again?

"Hey, kiddos." Two-Bit's greeting was subdued as he dropped down next to Johnny.

"Did you come from the house?" I heard myself ask. "You seen Pony?"

"Earlier." He shrugged. "What you want me to say? They're all a mess." The three of us watched the flames. Two-Bit pulled out a fifth of whisky and offered it to Johnny, then put the top back when he'd taken his own swig.

"What about me?" I demanded.

"You sure, kid? This ain't pop, you know."

"I ain't a kid! I'm as old as Johnny!" I snapped. "Just 'cause I'm in Pony's grade..."

"Whoa. Okay. I hear ya. I ain't one to judge by grades, you know that, girl." Two-Bit held his hand up, making peace as he held the bottle out to me. "Here. Knock yourself out."

I swallowed. Hard. Hard enough to wash down the evil, bitter feeling that was rising in me.

A fourth figure approached the fire, blond hair catching the light. Dallas didn't say a word as he sat down, just held out his hand for the whisky. I passed it over, avoiding his eye.

He tilted the bottle towards the fire, in a salute. "The last decent parents in the world," was his acid laden toast.

"Hey now," Two-Bit protested, snatching the bottle back and wiping the top dramatically before he drank again.

"Ha, 'pologize." Dallas was already drunk. "To the last decent parents in the fucking world, excepting Two-Bit's mom." He curled his lip. "But not in any fucking way, including mine."

"Or mine." Johnny added, real quiet. His eyes were shining in the firelight.

I hugged my knees and rested my head down on them.

"How 'bout you, Lain?" Dallas asked, slyly. "Where's the beautiful Stella, on the list of decent parents?"

I shot to my feet. "Fuck you, Dallas Winston! You can fuck right off!" I stormed away from the fire, the lot and the conversation, wishing I could leave the pain that radiated out of the Curtis house behind me in the same way.

He caught up with me as I made it to the sidewalk on the opposite corner, away from North St Louis, towards anywhere, anywhere else. I yanked my arm out of his grip.

"Lainey. I didn't mean anythin'. I'm sorry, yeah?"

I cussed him again, walking fast. He kept pace with me easily.

"Come on, cut me some slack. Don't you think I'm fucked over by this too? This whole thing...Mr. and Mrs. C...This is...fucked up." The tone in his voice caught me, made me stop. Dallas moved closer, seemed like he was genuinely distressed.

"I can't believe they're gone." I couldn't believe I'd said that out loud.

He hooked his arm around my neck, pulling me against his chest. "I know."

"I mean, like, just gone..."

"I know." He patted my back, then his hand slid down to my butt.

I shoved him away from me hard, with both hands. "I don't fuckin' believe you!"

"What?" Dallas tried to sound like he didn't know what my problem was. "C'mon Lainey. You know Sylvia don't get me, like you do."

I gave him the finger and stalked away.