Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Lorde owns "Sober."

These are the games of the weekend

We pretend that we just don't care

But we care

(But what will we do when we're sober?)

November 12 – 13, 1965

Ponyboy came jogging over to his older brother, who wrapped him up in his arms, congratulating him on winning the race. Steve merely clapped the kid on the shoulder while Two-Bit hooted, pumping his fists up in the air.

"I knew you could do it!" Soda said, dropping his arms back to his side, before chuckling. "Glory, Pone, but you sure are sweaty."

The younger greaser was still panting a little. "Well, I just—"

"We know, we know," Steve cut in, generously tossing him a rag. "You're drizzling down your face, kid."

Pony took the offered towel, wiping his face off, before wrapping it around his neck. He was honestly proud of himself, and he knew that his coach was, too. He wished more than anything that Darry could have been there to see him win, but the older boy had to work that evening.

Steve turned toward Two-Bit. "You coming to Buck's tonight?"

The older teen nodded. "Don't have nothin' better to do. You bringing Evie along?"

"She's the one who wanted to go in the first place," the dark-haired boy answered, shaking his head as he lit up a cigarette. "She's been nagging me 'bout taking her out."

Soda grinned. "Well, ya should, buddy."

Steve raised a dark brow. "You coming with?"

Pony felt his heart drop a little when Soda shot him a look, one he knew all too well. He didn't want his brother to know that he really wanted to hangout with him once in a while, too. He was kind of bugged that Steve had been "hogging" Soda more than usual, but he understood.

It wasn't like Darry was going to let him go out to try and pick up dames, and besides, it wasn't exactly like Pony was interested in that kind of thing yet anyway. Maybe he could get Darry to go to a movie with him or something, even though movies didn't really interest him anymore.

"It's alright, Soda," Pony assured, feigning a smile. "Me an' Darry can find something to do."

Soda frowned, but there was a hopeful look in his eyes. "You sure? I don't—"

"Yeah, you do," the younger boy exclaimed quickly. "Really, go on out and have fun for once."

At that, Steve's gaze landed on Ponyboy, a silent expression of gratitude on his face. Ponyboy merely gave a small nod of his head. He could feel Two-Bit looking between the two of them, probably real shocked that he had encouraged Soda to go with him and Steve.

Two-Bit grinned in spite of himself; Ponyboy was sure starting to grow up some. It was no secret that Soda's best friend and kid brother didn't exactly get along, so it had been a surprise to hear those words from the kid.

The rusty-haired teen wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Dallas came sauntering into the roadhouse, sporting a fresh black eye and a bloody nose. His cheek had turned a shade and was beginning to swell where Tim had socked him good. The blond could only grin lethally, having got what he went searching for—a good fight.

Ol' Tim really could pack one hell of a punch. On the other hand, Dally had busted his ribs up pretty well, and he was nearly certain that the older hood had a broken nose. The crunch it had made beneath Dally's fist was a satisfying sound indeed.

"Winston!" Buck called, snapping the teen from his thoughts. "I need you at the bar."

The blond rolled his eyes, before glaring at the cowboy. "What the fuck do you want, Buck?"

He wasn't in the mood to deal with Buck Merril at the moment. He just wanted to get up to his room and attempt to get some shut-eye for a while. It was a Friday evening, and the place was sure to be hopping in a few hours, and he knew he wouldn't be receiving sleep then.

"Yer workin' tonight, kid," Buck stated, eyeing him coolly. "Seven to ten, got it?"

Dallas gritted his teeth. He could take Buck, he knew that; nobody ordered him around and got away with it. Then again, Buck had been letting him stay for free with use of the car, so long as he filled it up when needed.

Glory, but he was getting soft, he thought, clenching his jaw.

Glancing at the clock, the hood realized that he only had a half hour to spare. Terrific, just fucking terrific. What the hell else could piss him off today?

Mumbling swears under his breath, Dallas made his way upstairs, wishing for one moment that he could have some peace and quiet. Once inside his room, he walked into the bathroom to nurse his nose, pulling his shirt off and running it under the tap so he had something to clean up with.

He was going to need to do his laundry soon. He was getting low on shirts, and he had been wearing the same pair of jeans for three days in a row.

Dallas Winston wouldn't be caught dead in a laundromat, and he only knew one place where he could go, besides his dad's, or Sylvia's.

Looks like he would be making an unwanted trip to the Curtis house after all.

Well, fuck.

Ella waited on the porch for Craig later that night. She was glad she had more time to get ready for this date; she was able to style her hair nicely and touch up with a bit of makeup, not enough to make her stand out, but just a hint to be noticed.

She actually felt good about herself for once, though the constant flipping of her stomach wasn't really helping her mood all that much. She wasn't sure why she was nervous—Craig had been so nice the last time, and he was always polite to her in school.

Perhaps it was just where they would be spending their evening.

The teen wasn't used to places like Buck's roadhouse, and going there last time to meet up with Dallas for a tutor session made her so anxious she had nearly passed out just walking there.

The sound of a car pulling up snapped the girl from her thoughts, and she perked up, a smile crossing her lips as she headed down the steps toward Craig's car.

He greeted her with a grin of his own and a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm really glad you called," he admitted as he started driving. He glanced at her quickly. "It won't be a lot of us going, just some guys from school and their girls."

Ella nodded. "Who?"

Craig began rambling off names while his date listened. She knew some he'd mentioned, having grown up around the majority of them, but others she didn't, or hadn't even heard of. She still couldn't believe she was doing this; she hadn't even told her mother about her first date with Craig.

The brown-haired boy noticed her apprehensive expression. "We don't have to go if you don't—"

"No, no," she said quickly, and then flushed. "It's fine. I'm just . . . new to all this."

Craig offered her a genuine smile. "Well, you're doing just fine. Besides, you look real pretty tonight."

Ella felt her cheeks heating. Craig had surely made her blush a lot, and glory, she really liked him. He made her feel good about herself, made her feel noticed. He didn't treat her like she was just some girl he'd picked up for a cheap thrill—he liked her.

She was flattered that he took notice to her appearance that night; Lord knows she had actually put effort into her outfit and style for once. She had done her hair real nice—half up and half down—and wore another pair of formfitting pants, along with a lower cut blouse that didn't give too much away.

She was pleased with the job, having never really dolled herself up before. Still, she kept everything to a minimal, not overdoing it.

Ella could hear the music from the building before they had even pulled into the lot. She had only been there the once, but that was earlier in the evening. It was almost nine o'clock now, and the place was crammed with people—teenagers, rugged cowboys, greasers . . . all kinds of people.

Craig glanced at her. "You alright?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah."

The two walked up the porch together, Craig taking Ella's hand, which had caused another blush to form on her cheeks; she was thankful that it was dark out. She would just about die of embarrassment if Craig saw how flustered he made her.

Buck answered the door, eyeing the two skeptically. It wasn't a secret that he was being strict about who he let inside now. Thing was, most of his service relied on the cowboys and select few greasers who partied there, and weekends were always busy.

Ella felt Buck's gaze on her, and she realized that he might have remembered her from a few weeks ago when she'd shown up looking for Dallas. The thought caused a knot to form in her stomach; she really hoped that the older cowboy wasn't assuming the wrong thing.

"Got room for two?" Craig asked, smirking a bit. At Buck's hesitation, he continued. "Come on, Buck, Fred and Will are waiting for us."

With a roll of his eyes, Buck motioned them in, pushing the screen ajar. Craig entered first, Ella following in behind him, the haze of smoke clouding her eyes and burning her nostrils. The bar was packed, people crammed at the tables off to the side and filling in the back room while others made their way upstairs.

The sound of voices, laughing and yelling, over the music was deafening, and Ella suddenly wished that she wasn't there. This wasn't her scene at all, and she suddenly felt uneasy. It hadn't been this insane the first time she had come, but it was also late, and it was a Friday night.

Craig pulled her closer, before leading her to the bar. "Come on."

Despite the crowded house, Craig was able to find two spare stools, nodding once at two other boys who were already seated. "Where's Audrey and Donna?"

"Restroom," came the answer.

Craig motioned to Ella. "This is Ella Mitchell, my date." The two looked her up and down, before Craig introduced them. "Ella, this is Fred Johnson and Will Farrow."

The girl smiled shyly. "Hi."

They gave her a curt nod, but other than that, didn't pay much attention to her. They seemed decent enough, though. Both boys were similar to Craig in terms of dress and demeanor; Fred was dark-haired with green eyes, and Will had red hair and blue eyes. Ella assumed that Audrey and Donna were their girlfriends.

"You want a drink?" Craig offered, but before she could respond, he was already waving the bartender over, asking for two beers.

Ella aimlessly kept her gaze on the counter in front of herself, but when she heard the voice from behind it speaking, she immediately looked up, wishing she hadn't.

There stood Dallas Winston, not even one foot from her. He placed two bottles in front of Craig, before his eyes snapped over in her direction, brows raising slightly. Ella, still angry and disgusted with him, looked away, nostrils flaring a bit. Apparently, his feelings toward her were replicated, because he sneered at her before walking away.

Well, that was just fine with her—she didn't like him anyway. He could go to hell for all she cared.

As the minutes ticked ahead, Ella grew bored. Craig had stayed with her for a while, before inviting her to watch him play a game of pool. He continued to order drinks for the both of them, Ella drinking hers slowly while he downed his. Even though she hadn't drank much, the girl was beginning to feel a slight buzz, not used to having alcohol in her system.

Audrey and Donna had joined the crowd, along with a smaller group of girls and their boyfriends, some who Craig had named earlier. Ella merely strolled back to the bar, absently watching everyone around her and trying to ignore the fact that Dallas Winston was only a few feet away from her.

It was nearing ten when Steve and Evie decided they were about to bail. Even though it was a Friday night, Evie's parents were still strict with her curfew, wanting her home no later than ten thirty. Two-Bit was already soused, putting the moves on a girl with wheat colored hair, and Soda sat at the bar across from Dallas, looking ready to leave as well.

"Want a drink or somethin'?" the towheaded hood asked, glancing at Soda.

The younger teen shook his head. "Naw, I think I'll be heading out soon. Might catch a ride with Steve 'cause ol' Two-Bit looks about ready to pass out."

Dallas's eyes moved across the room, landing on their crocked friend. "Yeah, well, whatta ya want? He couldn't keep his hands off of beer if he was offered money for it."

Soda grinned, before motioning to the girl who sat on the opposite side of the bar. "That gal has been sittin' there all night by herself. Wonder if she's been ditched or something . . ."

The blond resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "That broad is my tutor." He said tutor using air quotes, shaking his head at the girl. "Real pain in the ass."

Soda raised a brow, scrutinizing the oblivious girl. She didn't look bad to him, or how any of the other guys described her; she simply looked . . . bored with everything, or just bland. He didn't think she was ugly, but he hadn't found her all that attractive, though that was mostly because her looks didn't appeal to him in that way.

"Sorry to hear that," was his half meant response. His gaze shifted to the clock. "You about finished up for the night?" At the blond's nod, Soda continued. "I'm going to see if Steve is ready to head out, maybe we'll drag Two-Bit, too, drop him off at his house." He smirked at the thought. "You wanna come with? The couch is free if you need a place."

Although the idea was tempting, Dallas shook his head. "No, no, I'm gonna stay here. See what kind of trouble the rest of the night has planned for me."

He didn't truly mean that, not really. In all honesty, Dallas was tired, and he really wished he could bail out and go to sleep. He only had five minutes left, so he didn't really care anyway. Before Soda had a chance to respond, a girl with dark hair and green eyes approached the bar. Sylvia.

Dallas almost groaned at the sight of her, and Soda took that as his cue to leave. Once he was out of earshot, Dally faced his ex-girlfriend with a scowl.

"What do you want, Sylvia?"

"Can we talk . . . privately?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice, a sound Dallas wasn't used to. "It ain't nothin' like that, I swear."

He looked her over slowly, the scowl never leaving his face. "You sure you want to do that, baby? Last time things got private, you didn't leave." He gave her a bitter smirk.

The teen rolled her eyes. "Dallas, please," she nearly hissed.

After a moment of hesitation, one which seemed like forever, Dallas hopped over the counter, grabbing her arm and leading her up the stairs. Sylvia shrugged his hand away, crossing her arms over her chest as they entered his room.

Once inside, Dallas closed the door, reaching for a cigarette and lighting up, before cracking the window. Sylvia sat on the bed, her gaze focused on her lap, her lips in a frown. Usually, Dallas would be expecting her to jump his bones by now, but she merely sat there with an anxious expression.

"Well?" he pushed, wanting nothing more than to get this over with.

And that's when she finally looked up at him, tears staining her porcelain cheeks. Dallas's brows knitted together as he watched her, unused to this behavior. Sylvia was a tough chick, who didn't take anyone's shit—guy or girl—and she was fiery and calm at the same time. He'd only ever seen her cry once, and that was when he'd first cheated on her. Well, hey, payback's a bitch.

She'd been drunk, kissed another boy and tried to cover it up, before Tim Shepard came back and told him the whole thing. That night, he'd bedded another broad simply to let Sylvia know that he didn't need her, and that's when things spiraled downward. Still, the two had always come back to each other, whether in a drunken stupor, or because they were bored.

Last time, he had broken it off with her, after finding out that she'd cheated on him while he was in jail again, and that was over two months ago.

Still, little Sylvia was the only chick who ever put up with his bullshit; the only thing that she had done that floored him was when she'd come on to Johnny, which he had to find out through Steve. Glory, he had almost knocked her fucking head off.

Her sniffle brought him back to the present. "It's complicated."

With a roll of his eyes, the blond sat down beside her, leaning back against the wall. "Just spit it the fuck out already." And then he looked at her again, really looked at her, eyes narrowing. Her face was pale, eyes wide and glassy, but her skin . . . something was different. "You pregnant or somethin'?"

And then the fucking water works started. She couldn't just cry, no, she had to dramatically sob herself ugly until Dallas was sure she would dehydrate from spilling that much water out her eyes.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray. "Why the hell are you telling me this shit, Syl?" A pause. "It ain't mine."

"It's not!" she all but screeched, holding her face in her hands. "It's not even that, I just—" She looked at him again, green eyes meeting blue ones. "He'll kill me, Dally. He's gonna kill me, he's gonna fucking—" Glory, but her face was stark red, cheeks all puffy and tear streaked.

He knew she was talking about her old man. Dally had met him on several occasions, and though he wasn't afraid of him by any means, the guy was intimidating, and he didn't shy away from "correcting" Sylvia when she got out of hand. He'd seen the marks on her plenty of times, and it made him fucking sick, not that he would ever tell her that.

After a minute, he reached for his pack of cigarettes again, lighting one up and handing it off to her, before following suit with his own. Her sobs had died down after a while, but her sniffles were still evident, causing her body to tremble every few seconds.

Unsure of what to do, Dallas gritted his teeth, eyes hard, as he draped an arm around her shoulders, fingers pressing into her skin. Instinctively, Sylvia's frail arms wrapped around his torso, her head tucking under his chin.

They were quiet.

Ella felt dizzy. She wasn't sure how many drinks Craig and his friends had ordered, or how many she had consumed. Golly, she sure felt awful. Her head was pounding and her stomach ached, and she was sure she wouldn't be feeling any better come—

Her eyes landed on the clock. It was after one in the morning! Eyes darting around the room, the girl found that the bar was practically empty, save for the select few leftover strays who were hanging out at the tables talking among themselves.

How the hell long had she been sitting there? Glory, she remembered seeing Sylvia Evans and Dallas Winston head upstairs, and that was . . . over three hours ago!

A hand touched her shoulder. "You ready to leave?"

Ella whipped around, wishing she hadn't moved that fast. "Where have you—"

"Hey, relax," Craig said gently, gesturing toward the back room. "Will and I just finished a game of poker, I didn't know it would—" He noticed her expression, then, and his eyes lowered. "Gee, I'm sorry. I'm a lousy date, aren't I?"

The brown-haired girl sighed, pressing a hand to her head. "Would you please take me home?"

Craig nodded, walking beside her as she headed toward the door. He kept his eyes on her, unsure if she was truly angry or hurt. The relief in her eyes when he'd gotten her was almost shocking. She looked collected, but extremely unhappy, and he mentally kicked himself.

Once in the lot, he reached for her arm, causing her to stop. "Listen, Ella, I'm real sorry I left you alone like that, I really didn't mean it." He paused, taking her hands in his. "I want to make it up to you, though, because I meant what I told you . . . that I like you, and I'd really like for you to be my girl."

Ella's blue eyes widened, his face in her view somewhat blurry. His pupils were enlarged and his hands were clammy; she wasn't sure if it was the intoxication speaking or not.

She bit her lip. "I'll be honest with you, Craig, I really like you a lot, but I'd like to take things slow, you know? I don't want to be—"

"You're not," he insisted, cutting her off, and then sighed as he released her hands. They were quiet for another minute, before he continued. "Do you want to start over?"

Raising an eyebrow, Ella stared at him, wishing more than anything that they were sober. "I'd like that, but I—"

"Great," he responded, and then grinned. "Maybe we can—"

"Craig," she said firmly, stepping back. "Slowly."

The brown-haired boy ran a hand through his dark locks, but nodded. "Sure."

Ella gave him a small smile, but she honestly wished that she was home instead of there. This wasn't how she had pictured her second date with Craig, and it wasn't how she expected to spend her night. In a way, she'd blamed herself, since she was the one who had reached out to him.

She closed her eyes for a moment. She did want to start over with Craig, forget that she practically spent an entire night by herself at a bar surrounded by cowboys and greasers and road-whores, but she wanted him to understand that she wasn't ready to jump into anything big.

She wasn't even sure if he'd heard her correctly.

Glancing up, Ella caught sight of a dark silhouette in the window, and she wrinkled her nose as she took Craig's arm, leading him away.

Dallas watched the scene below him with mild interest. There stood Ella Mitchell, his godforsaken tutor, and her fishy-eyed boyfriend, Craig something-or-other.

They were completely oblivious to the fact that he'd heard every ounce of their conversation from his spot propped up on the desk in his room, blowing smoke out the window.

He still couldn't believe that she'd actually shown up for a date at Buck's. Glory, the thought was just unreal to him. He remembered seeing her for the first time at the bar, having not recognized her. She looked . . . different with her hair combed out and whatever shit was on her face.

The blond shook his head—dumb broad tried too hard.

Dallas watched as the two walked away, before getting into a car and driving off. He wondered about them for a brief moment, intrigued by the fact that Ella would even doll herself up for a date to a sleazy-ass roadhouse. She was dumber than she looked apparently.

Flicking his butt out the window, the hoodlum stood up, stretching a little before falling onto the bed; he was tired as fuck. He was glad that Sylvia had taken off when she had; he wanted to spend the rest of the night—morning—alone . . . without anymore interruptions.

In the morning, you'll be dancing with all the heartache

And the treason, the fantasies of leaving

But we know that, when it's over

In the morning, you'll be dancing with us

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