Red's POV

I can't believe Ponyboy. I just can't believe him. I was thinking about him as I went down the narrow hallway. Boys are too confusing.

As I passed the bathroom, I noticed the door was cracked, and someone inside was...sobbing. I hesitated for a minute, then knocked on it lightly.

"Is that you, Pony?" Soda's voice broke as he said it.

"Uh, no, it's...me, Red," I replied stupidly. I pushed the door open a little to find Soda leaning against the wall of the bathroom. He wiped his shining eyes quickly.

"Are...are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, leaning back and sniffing.

"Need to talk?" I sat next to him against the wall.

"Nah, just..." he stopped.

"You can tell me, I'm not gonna blab."

His arm pressed against mine and I realized how pleasantly warm his skin was. Not feverish, like Ponyboy's, but warm and nice.

Soda pressed his hand against my arm. "Gosh, you're colder than the dickens!"

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'll tell you what's wrong," he replied quickly, lifting me. "I've felt ice cubes warmer than you."

"Hey!" I complained as he plopped me into his lap. "What're you doin'?"

"Trying to warm you up," he replied, grinning slyly and wrapping his arms around me. He smelled like lavender. It did feel nice...I realized how sleepy I was.

"Uh, Soda, ain't I makin' you cold?"

"Nope," he said, sighing and resting his chin on my shoulder. "I'm comfy as a cockapoo."

I wriggled a little, but Sodapop just grinned and held me there. What was he playing at? I squirmed a little more, but finally just gave up. I realized I didn't want to move.

"Soda?"

"Hmm?"

"What're you doing?"

"Bein' a good Samaritan."

"Holding girls captive in your lap counts as a good deed?"

"It does when they like it."

"Sodapop..."

"Cut it out, I don't feel like movin' anyway."

I said nothing after that, but the steady rise and fall of his chest made me sleepy. Before I knew it, I had drifted off. For once, I had a real, honest-to-God dream.

I was at an intersection. The street sign read Pickett and Sutton. Across the street, a light-haired guy in a leather jacket was smoking, and he checked his watch before glancing around. He seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place him. His attention suddenly focused on me, and I froze. Then as two boys passed me, I realized his attention wasn't focused on me at all, but them. One had dark hair and eyes, and scars on his face. He looked skittish, like a foal in an auction ring. The other one...was Ponyboy!

I looked closer, and Ponyboy seemed somehow younger looking, his face more carefree, and...innocent. But that seemed the only difference. Pony and the darker boy approached the tough-looking one, and they seemed to know each other well. They talked for a few minutes, then just...left. I began to follow them, but then a voice caught me.

"What are you two doing?"

My eyelids fluttered open and I felt Soda jump.

"What?" he asked groggily, his arms still wrapped around my waist.

I looked into the doorway to see a bewildered Ricky. His eyes were wide, but they had deep circles under them. His face was still bruised, but the bruises were yellowing, and the cuts on his face were slowly healing.

I realized I was still sitting on Soda, and sprung up haphazardly, making him tip sideways.

"Uh...we were...hah, uh..." I mumbled, trying to find a reasonable excuse.

Ricky just held up a hand, shaking his head. "Y'know what? I'll forget I saw anything if you two get out of the bathroom, I gotta take a whiz."

Too much information. I cleared my throat nervously and grabbed Soda's sleeve, dragging him along the linoleum floor out of the bathroom. Golly, was he ever heavy.

"Hey!" he protested still a little sleepily as I deposited him on the carpet in the hallway. "What woss that for?"

"Ricky needed to use the bathroom, and we were occupying the floor space."

Sodapop looked confused for a minute, and then it seemed to dawn on him. "Oh yeah," he said, a smile forming on his face. He wiggled his eyebrows at me. "You really loved that, didn't you, Red?"

I rolled my eyes. "Like you would know. You held me there like a captive. Flirt."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"Oh, shut up."

Soda stood up, brushing himself off, and held out a hand. I raised an eyebrow at him. "If you want me to hold your hand, it ain't happenin' buster."

It was Soda's turn to roll his eyes. "It was supposed to be a handshake—as in, a truce—but if you want to be a little more friendly, that's great with me," he grinned slyly, his hazel eyes sparkling.

I felt myself blush, and Soda chuckled. "You're a jerk," I told him, turning to leave. I began to walk off, go outside and get some fresh air, but Soda's hand caught my arm.

"Aww c'mon Red, I was only messin' with ya. Where are you goin' anyway?"

"Out. I need to get some stuff. You know what it is next week?"

"Your birthday?" He asked, his eyes lighting up. "Ooh, what do you want? I make a mean chocolate cake, and—"

"No, you doofus. It's Thanksgiving."

Soda's face was blank for a moment, then he shook his head slowly. "No...we don't really celebrate Thanksgiving."

"Well," I retorted, poking him hard in the stomach, but then suddenly drawing back and clutching my hand. "Ow! Soda that hurt!"

He gave me that blank look again. "What?"

"What do you keep under there, bricks?" I demanded, shaking my hand and biting my lip, gesturing to his belly.

"Oh," he flashed me a gleaming grin. "That's just the good old muscles," he said, patting his stomach proudly. "I didn't mean to hurt you with my awesome, I'm sorry."

"Ha. Ha," I snapped back. I noticed then that he had shifted so he was blocking the hallway, and thus the exit to the house. I raised an eyebrow, and he gave me an innocent look. Too innocent.

"Well," I said, "I gotta go. See ya later." I tried to move around him, but he shifted his weight at just the right second for me to sprawl forward over his leg. Golly, Sodapop must've had good reflexes, because he caught me around the waist as I almost collided with the floor.

"Uh..."

I glanced up to see Ponyboy standing in the entry of the hallway, and Sodapop was half twisted around, holding me up a few inches off the floor. Second time that day I had been caught in an awkward situation with Soda.

I laughed nervously, trying to seem nonchalant, which under the circumstances was completely unrealistic. "Hi, Ponyboy."

"Um...hey?" Pony replied confusedly. "What're you—"

"Oh, calm down," Soda said, hoisting me up with ease, using only one arm. "She tripped, and I caught her."

"Tripped over you," I pointed out.

"Oh," Pony let out a breath, and he looked...was that relief on his face? "Well, this house is so small that when you get up in the morning to put your boots, you have to ask whoever's in them to scoot over. So...I'm gonna go to my room, draw a little. Wanna try some sketching?" Pony asked me hopefully.

I shook my head. "No thanks, I have a couple things I need to do before nightfall."

He seemed to sink at that. "Oh, okay. Where are you goin', Sodapop?"

"I have a date with a girl." Soda had a girl? I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Not surprised, I guess. He probably had another hundred in line.

"Okay...well if you guys wanna do anything later, let me know?"

"Yep!" Soda and I said together.

I went into the kitchen to see what was in the cupboards, and was greeted with something out of a cartoon—old cans of beans covered in dust and spiderwebs. "Really?" I said aloud.

"Really," Soda replied, hopping up on the counter and slurping out of a juice-box.

"Really?" I asked, gesturing to the juice-box. "How old are you?"

"Narry a day over six!" he sang grabbing the end of my braid with his free hand and giving himself a mustache.

"That's reason one why I should cut my hair," I muttered.

Soda looked at me in disbelief. "Cut your hair? Ooh don't do that! I like your hair!"

"Going on reason two. Well if you'll excuse me, I gotta go find a grocer. You guys are horrible at shopping, and the key ingredient to thanksgiving is food."

"I thought it was giving thanks."

I scoffed. "What are you? A Soc?"

Sodapop shrugged. "No, just it's bein' called Thanksgiving and everything gave me that impression."

I rolled my eyes. "To give thanks, you have to have something to be thankful for, Soda."

"Well I have you," he said playfully.

"Yeah, uh-huh," I said sarcastically.

"Fine then, you have me, and that's an invitation for thanks right there," he countered jokingly.

"Whatever," I said, pulling my new jacket off the sofa. I really liked this jacket. It was a thick black leather aviator's jacket, and it had pockets in all sorts of unexpected places.

"Nice jacket," Soda noted.

"Thanks," I said shortly. I checked the inside pocket to see if the cash was still there. It was. "Don't you have a girl to go out with?"

"Oh yeah, that's right," Soda said, a silly grin spreading across his face. Must have been some girl. "I'll just stick with you until she shows. Mind if I walk with you?" he asked, and without waiting for a reply, scooped his own jacket off the armchair, and proceeded to slipping it on.

We walked for a while, Soda showing off, doing some acrobatics down the street, and I had to admit, I was kind of impressed. He was limber and coordinated—for a guy. I mostly watched him, and stood there in an awkward silence. He told a pretty funny joke, though I don't remember what it was, and I noticed that as we laughed, he slipped his arm around my waist.

I raised an eyebrow at him, and he grinned pearly-white but didn't say anything.

"Say Soda, where's that girl of yours?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Oh, she's kinda stiff with me, I'm working on it."

"What's she like?"

Sodapop looked pensive for a moment. "Pretty fiery. I like her a lot, she voices her opinion, and doesn't mind standin' up to people, but she seems to get nervous around guys."

"Oh. What does she look like?" I asked curiously, making conversation. I didn't want this to get any more awkward, and silence would do that.

"Well," he said as we neared the neighborhood grocery store. "She's got long, mostly dark curly hair, and pretty icy blue eyes. Sort of tall, but not too much. Maybe a little shorter than Pony. And she has the most fascinating scar," we stopped in front of the store, and I flinched as he raised his hand, but he only traced his thumb down past my cheekbone. "Runnin' down her face. I'll have to ask her how she got that," he flashed a grin, and bounded off, leaving me standing there, fuming, with my mouth hanging open.

What was he playing at?