So Johnny was hurt and needed some place to go. Sylvia took a drag of her cigarette and let the smoke out slow. Fine with her. She glanced from him to the T.V. He wasn't looking at her, and the bleeding had nearly stopped. She couldn't help her attraction, what with his wounded little looks and big dark eyes and how he seemed sort of shrunken into himself, such a wounded kid. The exact opposite of Dallas, with all his bravado and invincibility. Nothing could touch Dallas. But everything could touch Johnny.

She shook her head, trying to decide if she wanted to be mad at him about blindly following Steve's orders. She didn't really know. She blew her smoke out in a long stream, watching it follow the straight line and then slowly disintegrate. The T.V. had a glare from the sun so she could hardly see the soap opera anymore, she could only hear the tinny voices.

It occurred to her that she didn't like all these games so much anymore. Always dressing and acting in this certain way to get boys to want her. To lust after her. What was it? It wasn't love with any of them, it was just some immediate gratification that had no carry over, no lasting effect on her at all. It was only Dallas that she could say with any degree of certainty, it was only Dallas she loved. The rest of the boys were like fast food.

But here Johnny sat in her living room with his torn shirt and bleeding lip, his beginnings of a black eye. Ponyboy hadn't been home and so he had come to her. What did it mean? He'd pushed her away at the vacant lot the other night, he'd said he wanted to be friends. Was he maybe serious? Did he want to be friends with her? Glancing at him, at his tan skin and scared eyes, she realized she didn't know how to be anyone's friend.

She felt quiet, unsure. What did she say? How did she proceed from here? She didn't know how to be around boys without trying to seduce them. It was uncharted territory.

"Uh, Johnny?" she said, and watched him glance at her. She licked her lips. Friends. It would be something to maybe try. Maybe.

"What happened?" she said, pointing her cigarette at his injuries.

"My old man," he said, and shrugged.

"What did you do?" she said, feeling kind of like one of those wind socks twisting in the wind. This is what friends did, right? Asked about shit and expressed concern? She could do that.

"Nothing' " he said, looking down. Sylvia shrugged, crushed her cigarette out in the glass ashtray by her chair.

This trying to be friends was giving her a headache. She tried to watch the dumb soap opera for awhile but it just wasn't holding her interest. Johnny smoked a few cigarettes and didn't say a word. Figures she'd try and be friends with one of the quietest kids in all of Tulsa.

"Look, Johnny, the other day at the lot, you said you wanted to be friends with me. Was that true? I mean, do you really want that or are you just being all nice? Cause I thought we could try and be friends, but not if you're just lying to blow me off cause Steve Randall told you to. So be straight with me," It was an exhausting speech, one of the most honest things she's ever said to anyone. Once it was out of her mouth she wished she could take it back.

He looked at her with his wide eyes and that kind of quiet thoughtfulness he had. She waited for whatever it was he would say.

"I wasn't lying," he said. That was all he said.

"Okay," she said, and she felt like this friendship thing was an uncomfortable new dress. She didn't know if she'd ever get used to it.