Disclaimers: SE Hinton owns, cursing...maybe a cliffie?

Even Steven

OoO

"Thirsty, mijo?"

I take the glass of water from Margarita. "Thanks." I wipe my mouth, dig the pitchfork into the earth and plop on a hay bale. I sneeze; all the hay and weeds I've been shoveling wreaking havoc on my nose. Sweat trickles down my back; it's not hot, but the work's hard.

"You are the spitting image of your mama," Rita says, bustling around. The Cowboy's left to check on a neighbor's pregnant foal, leaving me alone on the farm.

"You knew my mom?"

"Oh, I knew Miss Lara real well." She tucks a strand of gray hair behind her ear. "Always laughin and trying to fight those horses. Said she could tame the wild ones. She did once, nearly took her head off trying." Rita cackles. "She was special. Muy bonita."

I smile weakly and stand. "You forget mijo," Rita continues. "I've been with Tomas since he was just a baby. I raised that boy. And now…" She gives me a big smile. "There's you."

Giving her back the glass, I shrug uncomfortably. "You ain't got to raise me."

"I know, I know…" She talks fast. "It just makes my heart sing to see you here." She shoos me with her hands. "I let you work now, mijo."

As she walks off, I rip the pitchfork from the ground, raising it high above me. Pieces of yellow hay and brown soil rain down, landing in my hair and eyelashes. I wipe dirt from my face.

OoO

Everything's fallen into an easy rhythm. April's turning into May and life goes on.

I keep a close watch on Sodapop and an even closer watch on Ponyboy. Soda's anger has dissolved, at least for now. He's no longer bitter, but he's still wary when it comes to Thomas Mercer. He's trying at least.

Ponyboy keeps a calm face, soldiering through. He's quiet, goes to school, does his homework, and on the weekend works at The Cowboy's farm. He's almost done with this semester and I'm almost done with mine. It's hard to believe, in spite of everything, I've nearly completed my first semester of college.

OoO

"They still ain't home?"

Steve glances up from the TV. "Late shifts."

I frown. "Yeah, I'll bet." I plop on the couch and open my English textbook. I shut it five minutes later, unable to concentrate. I keep thinking about Thomas Mercer and my mother. While I told myself I didn't want to know a thing…suddenly I really want to.

Confused, Steve rubs the back of his head. "You, uh, want dinner or something, kid?"

"No."

"Then what's with the whole moping act?"

"Can't focus." I flop onto my back like a scarecrow, shoot the ceiling an eye roll.

"Tell me about it," Steve says. "I'm bored as hell here." Sitting up, the book falling off my lap, I give him a look. "No offense."

I crack a grin. For once Steve Randle and I aren't arguing, each of us slightly shocked with this new development. Steve moves the recliner into a sitting position. "So what do you want to do Ponyboy?"

"What?"

"Let's go out, go do something."

"With you?"

He scowls. "Shit, kid. I'm offerin ain't I?"

Smiling, I sit up on the couch, a faint idea in the back of my mind. The Cowboy's Corvette. "Teach me how to drive."

"Kid," Steve sounds exasperated. "You know how to drive. Remember? Two-Bit unofficially taught you last year. The whole Dairy Queen fiasco?"

"No," I lean in, wanting to do something impulsive. "Teach me how to drive fast. Teach me to race."

OoO

"This ain't the best to learn on," Steve says as he pulls his truck up to the lookout. "But it'll have to work."

I try to keep a straight face. "Why? No one will let you borrow their car?"

Steve glowers. "You want to learn or not?"

"Sorry," I say. We switch spots, me climbing into the driver's side. I rest my hand on the stick shift.

"Smart ass." He taps the dash. "You'll get the gist of this; you just won't go fast tonight. Which may not be a bad thing since I don't need another accident." I roll my eyes and Steve smirks, continues. "The most important thing is the start," he says. "You want to ease in slow; you don't want to pop the clutch or spin out. You just gotta trust the engine…"

As I listen to Steve Randle teach me the ropes, it's clear he knows what he's talking about. It's also clear he really, really loves this, the pride in his voice admirable.

"I get my cast off next week," Steve says, his eyes glowing in the dim light. "I can't wait to do this again." He relaxes back into the seat. "Some shit irony that Sodapop tried to help me out and ended up getting himself in the same position."

"He meant well."

"Yeah, I know he did, kid."

I quirk my mouth up. "Ready?"

"Give it a shot," Steve says.

I rev the engine, the RPMs climbing and launch the truck from a dead stop. It only moves slightly before the clutch slips and the tires spin out, gravel kicking up around us. "Again, kid." Steve makes a swirling motion in the air with his finger. "Again."

OoO

I'm standing in the pasta aisle for nearly ten minutes before realizing I'm agonizing over choosing between linguini or spaghetti. Finally, with a groan, I grab the spaghetti, deciding to stick with the tried and true.

I'm cooking dinner for Josie this weekend at her house. A move I never thought I'd make.

I drop the pasta in the cart, wheeling it down the aisle. I pick up the usual items: milk, Hershey's syrup, cereal, and meals for the week. By the time I'm ready to check-out half my paycheck is gone. But it's better than it used to be; before my raise at the construction site the entire thing would be obliterated.

"Darry Curtis?"

Cindy Mathews is waving at me from the produce section. I steer the cart her way. "Hey, Mrs. Mathews…how are you?"

"Doin' fine, Darry…my, I haven't seen you in ages." She looks haggard and thin, clutching her purse close to her and I almost wonder if she's been drinking again. "I've been meaning to call you," she says, catching me off guard since I haven't seen her since my parents died.

"Oh?"

"I heard about…well, Keith told me about Ponyboy…" Her gray eyes dart around the store. "I need to talk to you about that."

I frown. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"I need to talk to you about him."

"Mrs. Mathews, you already said—"

"Hey mama! There you are!" Two-Bit's sister Karen pops her head around the corner. She gives me an apologetic smile, ducks her head close to her Mrs. Mathews' ear. "You can't go running off like that." She looks at me. "Sorry 'bout that Darry."

"No problem," I say. "How you been Karen?"

She shrugs. "Been a lot better, actually." It's a truthful statement, not one out for pity. Two-Bit's sister has always been what Two-Bit calls "hell-on-wheels" but she's a good kid.

"Darry and I were just talking, Karen…" Mrs. Mathews says. She shivers and Karen wraps an arm around her shoulders.

"We better go," Karen says. She tosses me a smile, says, "See ya around Superman," and guides her mother down the next aisle. I watch them go; confused about what Mrs. Mathews wanted to say.

OoO

"She never said what she wanted?"

"No," Darry says, unpacking the groceries. He frowns and opens the fridge. "I honestly don't even know if she knew herself."

I flip a pancake, set it back into the pan. Add two dashes of blue food coloring. "Two-Bit hasn't said anything…you think we should ask him?"

Two-Bit's not one to talk about his home life. He handles it on his own, never bothering anyone with it, which seems unfair considering how much shit he puts up with at our house.

Darry hands me the bacon from the fridge. I unwrap it and drop the slab into another frying pan. "You think it was about mom?" Mrs. Mathews and our mom had been real close; our mom going over there often to check in on her. They were friends – and back then Cindy Mathews didn't have the best reputation, earning our mom soft whispers and unfair talk around town. It's the reason Two-Bit has a soft spot for our mom and probably Ponyboy as well.

"I don't know…" Darry slowly says, thinking hard. "Maybe." Finished unpacking, he sits down at the table. "I'll go see her this week. See what she wanted."

A door opens and shuts and then Two-Bit's in the kitchen. Darry busies himself, his back rigid. I wave the spatula. "Speak of the devil….Come for breakfast for dinner, Two-Bit? I have blue pancakes."

He barely cracks a smile. "Where's the kid?"

"At practice," Darry says, turning around. "Why?"

Two-Bit shifts, his eyes flinty. "I've been hearing some things around town…"

"What kind of things?"

"Oh…things along the line that Hank Greer still wants to pummel your little brother. That while he's even with this one…"

I let out a groan and turn the stove off, the smell of bacon and burnt pancakes filling the air. "Jesus Christ, I thought this was done with." My mistake keeps coming back to haunt me. I've never felt like such a fuck up.

"I think he's still pissed about the broken rib," Two-Bit says.

"What else have you heard?" Darry asks. Jaw tight, the ice in his eyes flashes.

"Just that. I think it's enough, don't you?" Darry nods. Two-Bit lounges against the wall, crossing his arms. "Those pancakes still up for eating?"

"They're all yours," I tell him, no longer hungry. I grab my jacket and the keys to the truck. "I'm gonna go pick him up."

"Good idea," Darry says, barely looking at me.

OoO

Rustling sounds behind me. I don't turn from my economics textbook but know it's Ponyboy because he's trying to stay quiet while I study. The only one to do that in this house. He moves fast, grabbing a banana off the counter and is about to sneak off before I raise my head.

I grab the sleeve of his jacket. "Hey," I say. "I want you talk to you."

Pony sits, long and lanky in chair. There's a cigarette stuck behind his ear. I've seen him carrying around the lighter of our mom's. He keeps it in his pocket, playing with it when he's nervous.

I shut my textbook. "How's it going with Thomas Mercer? You still okay going over there?"

"It's good," he says. "Honest, Darry." His face breaks out into an almost-crooked smile. "It ain't so bad."

I run a hand through my hair, hating that it's a part of his life I'm not involved in. it sounds bad, but it's something I can't control.

"So, uh…what do you two do?"

He gives me a really? look but shrugs. "Nothin much. I help out around the farm…talk I guess…"

"What do you talk about? Mom?"

"Not really..." Uncomfortable, Pony bites his lip. "C'mon, Dar…you ain't gotta worry."

"Speaking of worry, kiddo…"

Pony groans and rubs his face. "Ugh, I knew it. You just want to talk about that jerk."

"Can you blame me? C'mon Pony, he's going around town talking about how he's going to break your legs."

"Yeah, that's real great. As if my life weren't exciting enough," he says dryly.

"I just want you to be careful." I hold up a hand at his protest. "I know you can run and hide but for god's sake keep an eye out. Stay close to the house if you can."

"I will. And I do."

"Good."

He cracks a smile, eyes flickering to my textbook. "Glory, Dar. Don't you have some studying to do instead of worry about me?"

I laugh and the sound is loud.

OoO

"How's it feel? First day workin with two good arms?"

"You know, it feels pretty damn good, Sodapop."

Steve stretches his right arm, making a fist, finally free of the cast. It's paler and thinner than the left one but it's healed cleanly, which is a relief. I'm not sure I could take much more of Steve's bitching.

"I could challenge you to an arm wrestling match and win with that gimp arm of yours," I say, cracking open a Coke.

Sneering, Steve slams the hood of a Cadillac shut. "Not a chance."

"So uh…" I cross the shop, sit down on a stool and spin around. "What's goin on with you and Ponyboy these days?"

Steve scowls. "Ain't nothin goin on."

I try not to smile. While the two of them haven't been out-and-out friendly, they've both been more than civil. It's odd enough that we've all picked up on it. "You sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. Jesus Sodapop, that kid's a bigger pain in my ass than he ever was. Besides…" Steve moves to the register, ringing up an invoice. "I still gotta get that little shit back."

"Easy on whatever you do," I say, locking the front door and flipping the OPEN sign to CLOSED. "I don't think Darry can take much more."

Steve gives a nod, hearing me. He shuts the register. "Say, I'm going out with Evie tonight. She's got a girlfriend…c'mon Sodapop," he says when I start shaking my head. "You can't keep going home and moping. You still got a life you know."

We've been here too many times. Me, trying to weasel out of any relationship that presents itself; Steve, doing the prodding. "It's just a date, man," Steve says. "It ain't a proposal." His face clouds and I know he's thinking of Evie who's been on his ass every chance she can get for a ring.

I laugh, giving in. "Sure, Steve. I'll go."

"You'll go?"

"I'll go."

"Jesus Christ, there may be hope for you yet, Sodapop Curtis." Steve slugs me in the shoulder as he moves to pick up the phone.

OoO

Storm clouds blow in over the horizon. I shield my eyes, taking in the dust spiraling up in vortexes on the deserted stretch of road out on the lookout point. Steve whips his truck around, cranking it with both hands until we spin. I brace against the dash, laughing when we finally stop.

Steve gives me a cocky grin. "You think that's fast, kid? If we had a muscle car we could really fly."

"The Cowboy has a Corvette."

"Really?" Steve lets his truck idle. "You drive it?"

"No. He said I could though."

"Something tells me this isn't what he'd want you usin' it for." His grin gets wider. "You know Pony you're actually getting better at this whole drag racing thing."

I smile softly, surprised at the compliment. Steve and I've been practicing at least once a week, sneaking off after school or after his shift at the DX. While I'm no pro, I'm finding it's a fun release, being able to forget about reality for an hour or so.

Steve gives me a look, his eyes suddenly serious. "So you startin' to like the guy or what?"

"I don't know." I shrug, my face heating up. "He's okay."

"Because if you like him you know that ain't s—" I'm not sure what Steve's about to say – lecture or criticism – because he cuts off, staring at something in his rearview mirror. "Shit," he hisses.

I twist around to see Hank Greer, stepping off of a motorcycle that's pulled up behind Steve's truck. "Oh crap."

"Let me handle this," Steve says, watching Budweiser walk around the tailgate and come up to my rolled-down window.

Budweiser leans down, resting his arms in the window frame. "Ponyboy Curtis," he drawls. "I've been lookin' for ya."

"Why're you here, Greer?" Steve says, sounding bored. "Soda settled this. You're square."

"Sure, we're square," Budweiser says. "With Sodapop." His eyes flicker to me, a thin smile spreading across his lips. "I want to talk to you."

I meet his eyes. "So talk."

The smile disappears. "Outside."

Before either Steve or I can say anything the door I'm resting against is opening and I'm falling out of the seat. I hit the hard earth, dust kicking up in small bursts. Somewhere above Steve's swearing.

"I told you I'd get you…get even…" The boot that slams into my side is painful, knocking the air from my lungs. "…break both your legs…"Coughing, I pull my knees in, trying to roll up so I can stand. My stomach burns and I mutter a sharp moan mixed with a curse. There's one last kick to my side, hitting bone and softness, before the space around me clears.

Then Steve's yelling, "Get in the fucking truck, Pony!"

I scramble up, see Steve deliver a nice right to Hank Greer's face, and then hop in the driver's seat. I gun the engine and then Steve's inside the cab, shouting at me to go-go-go, his face filled with adrenaline. I punch the gas, the passenger door flapping open like a wobbly tooth, and Steve whoops as I peel the truck out of the dusty back road.

OoO

"Where've you two been?" I ask as Steve and Ponyboy slink through the front door.

"The prodigal son and the juvenile delinquent have returned," Two-Bit calls from the back bedroom where he and Sodapop getting ready to go out.

"Pony," I snap, dipping to pick up Soda's DX cap from the floor. "I told you, if you're late, you call."

"We got a little sidetracked," Steve says, something in his voice catching my attention. Pony stays close to Steve. He looks pained and at first I think they've had it out. Steve leans back against the wall. "We ran into Hank Greer out at the lookout."

"I've been spitting up blood for the last half hour," Pony snaps, his face stormy. "That asshole—" Turning he opens the front door, spits onto the porch and shuts it.

I straighten up. "Whoa, what?"

"You heard me." Pony's face is red; I've never seen him this angry, he's practically shaking. Soda and Two-Bit walk into the living room, stop and stare.

"He's okay," Steve says. "Only managed to get a few shots in, huh kid?" Steve elbows him and Pony's angry face cracks into a rueful smile.

"I'm gonna kill him," Sodapop's saying. "I am going to fucking kill him." He paces the room like a caged animal.

"Soda," Two-Bit says. "Calm down, man. The kid's okay. Look at him. He's still standing."

"I'm fine, Soda," Pony says, raising a hand as if to announce he's in the room.

Furious, I cross the room and make Ponyboy show me his stomach. He's embarrassed and barely raises his shirt. When I get a good look, I swear, thinking of all the very painful things I'd like to do to Hank Greer.

OoO

Pardon typos.

Thanks for reading and please review!

Hope everyone has a great, long weekend.

XO,

Feisty