Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders.

Okay, everyone, so I've FINALLY updated. Sorry about the long delay. I also have to apologize because I think this chapter is a little shorter than the others. So I don't have much to show for taking so long to get this chapter out! Anyway, forgive me and enjoy!

I froze. The book I'd chucked into my locker tumbled out and opened up on my sneakers. For a moment, I stared at it, as if it held the answer to why Sheila Winters was standing right behind me. But no, all it told me was something about Benedict Arnold being a traitor. I tightened my jaw, feeling a very uncomfortable kinship with Mr. Arnold ... betraying Darry, lying to Sodapop. Not feeling too hot, I gently kicked the book off my foot and turned around.

Sheila stood there, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail. And damn it, it was tied up with a yellow ribbon. Dragging my eyes away from her hair, I looked into her face. Her expression was cautious.

"Um, is now a bad time?"

I realized I was frowning and had my hands shoved deep into my pockets. Behind me, I was sure my locker looked like a disaster zone. Some way to persuade someone you're not a hood, I thought caustically. "No, its okay," I said as I forced myself to relax, "It's not you. I'm just ... feeling guilty."

She raised her eyebrows. Her eyes were brown. Something about them reminded me of Sodapop. "Guilty?" She questioned.

"Yeah," I sighed, cursing myself. It was likely she now thought I had spent my weekend shoplifting whatever's not tied down and hotwiring anything with wheels. I figured I could at least set her straight there. "It's just that-" I noticed the halls were beginning to clear. What was I trying to say anyhow? "-never mind."

I turned around and pushed my history book into my locker. It was obliging enough to stay put. Sticking my arm into the disaster zone, I rummaged around for my notebook. Sheila leaned on the locker next to mine and looked down at me. She was wearing a pair of white pumps. I wondered how she kept them clean, if she wiped them down every night or if her parents just bought her new ones every month.

"So, um, what about the pepsi?" She started slowly. "Because I can pay for it. I mean, I really should. I feel so stupid-"

God, she was blushing again.

I found the right notebook and stood up. "It's fine. Really."

"Are you sure?" Sheila said uncertainly.

The halls were deserted by now. I was going to be late for class, and I'd already been late enough times for that to mean detention. And then I'd have to deal with Darry – or maybe he'd just say it was alright, I was 'a good kid anyway'. The now-familiar, itchy feeling of guilt crashed over me in a wave.

Sheila was looking at me expectantly. Uncomfortable and feeling vindictive, I snapped at her, "It was a fuckin pop, alright? It's not like I can't afford it. Don't worry yourself over this poor, victim of the environment."

Slamming the door of my locker, I brushed past her.

I looked back once. She was standing frozen where I'd left her, staring down the empty hallway. I felt the sudden, strong urge to run back and apologize, but I didn't want to add a detention to my already lousy day.

I got to class in time.

I got sent to detention anyway, for 'sulking'. That was Mrs. Bernstein's way of saying you looked too threatening, too much like a hood. To be honest, I felt like a hood. What type of guy yelled at a girl for offering to pay for something she'd shoplifted anyway?

XXXXXXX

I slumped down into one of the plastic chairs and closed my eyes. It was really too bad they didn't let you smoke in detention. I forced myself not to think of the things I could be doing right now as other kids filed into the classroom. I heard the squeak of a chair next to me and I opened my eyes to see Steve sit down at my table. I wondered if he planned to ignore me, like the last time. Might as well find out right away, I reasoned.

I leaned onto the table. "Fancy seeing you here. What happened?"

Steve turned dark eyes onto me.

"I can see the gears working in your head, Steve." I told him dryly. "To ignore the kid or not to? That is the question."

"You know, quoting Shakespeare doesn't make your stupid face look any smarter."

"I wasn't quoting Shakespeare. I was quoting you. And don't worry. I sure as hell know quoting you doesn't make anyone look any smarter." I took a chance and grinned at him. He surprised me by smirking back, as opposed to giving me the finger and moving to another table.

"So, kid, you wanna know why I'm in this shithole with you?"

I pretended to think hard. "You took the hubcaps off the principal's car?"

Steve snorted, "No, once was enough for that. No, this time it's all your fault."

"Of course," I retorted sarcastically.

Steve went on without paying attention, as usual, to my comment, "You have to get me all worked up on the ride to school. And then, in class, I get busted for sulking."

I had to laugh, but I smothered it when I got a look from the teacher. "Hey, me too. But I thought Mrs. Bernstein was the only one who could send someone to detention for something like that."

Steve shrugged, "I wasn't just sulking. I guess I ignored the teacher and I might have kicked a few chairs over. Yeah, Mrs. Bernstein's the only one who'll bust you for just sulking."

"And do you know what the definition of sulking is? 'A display of aloofness or withdrawal.' How is it fair to go to detention for that?" I started to talk animatedly. "You know, I told Mrs. Bernstein that once, but she just sent a letter home to Darry that said something to the equivalent of me being a smartass."

Steve was looking at me strangely, "You're weird, kid." He laid his head on the table.

I kicked a chair into a position for me to prop my feet on and looked at Steve. "Just because you've never touched a dictionary before doesn't make me weird." When he didn't answer me, I added, "Savvy?"

"No. Reciting the definition of sulking still strikes me as real strange."

"Whatever, grease." I said amiably. I moved my feet off the chair and propped them on the table. I got yelled at for that, though. Putting my feet back under the table, I fidgeted. I could have really used a smoke. "Hey Steve, do you think-"

"Shut up, kid. I've gotta sleep. I'm going drag racing tonight."

I digested this news and after a pause, said, "Where?"

Steve picked his head off the table to fix me with a dark glare. "I told you to shut up, and I don't need no kid tagging along. It's not like you're missing out on any excitement anyhow. Why don't you go to Buck's, huh?"

I felt the retort die on my lips as he finished. I wanted to say sorry, to tell him I didn't mean to make it like this. Instead, I moved to another table. I glared down at its brown top, cursing Steve but knowing that I was really mad at myself. I leaned back in the chair and put my sneakers on the table.

I got yelled at again.

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