Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Christina Grimmie owns "Feelin' Good."
Before last night
I was down on my luck
There was nothing going my way
Before last night
Wasn't feelin' the love
No reason for a smile on my face
June 1, 1966
While the other students aimlessly chatted around him in the art room, Dallas sat quietly in the back, a stoic expression on his face. His arms were crossed over his chest, his legs drawn up on the stool across from himself, his ankles crossed. He eyed the clock every few minutes—on Tuesday morning, he had done the same thing, but he was anxiously counting the minutes down until he could bail. There were only two days left until graduation, and Dallas couldn't wait to receive his diploma and give Davis the finger on his way out.
He had found out just the other day from Davis that he had passed his final exam with a C, and the smirk that drew across his lips was enough to make the annoyed principal shudder. Well, at least it wasn't Philips—he couldn't stand that awful bitch, preferring the scrutinizing gaze of Davis instead, which was saying something, since Davis was more of an authoritative figure. The principal didn't bother to conceal his dislike of the blond-headed delinquent, unlike Philips, who played like she was high and mighty.
"Dallas?"
He jerked his head to the side to see Mrs. Girdlé walking toward him, her brows pressed together, a small frown brushing her lips. The teen rolled his eyes, knowing that particular look, as he had seen it one too many times over the course of the school year—Mrs. Girdlé was concerned, and he knew what it was about. He had yet to turn in his final project, and the woman had been questioning him about it since last Friday. But he had plans, plans which consisted of giving her the project on the last day of school, which was just two days away.
Mrs. Girdlé sighed as she rested her hands on the table. "You know what I'm going to ask you."
"Don't have it yet," came the monotone response. And then his lips curved up on one side as he turned to fully face her. "But don't worry yourself, Mrs. Girdle."
Her eyes only bore into his. "Dallas, there are only two days left of school, and if you don't turn your project in soon, I'm going to have to give you a zero, which will lower your grade significantly." She adjusted her glasses. "I'm sure you don't want that, and neither do I."
But he already knew that she would pass him. "Told ya not to worry about it."
"Dallas—"
Before she could finish, though, the bell rang. The blond teen had already sprung out of his seat, not bothering to spare a glance back at the art teacher as he bolted out of the classroom, entirely too glad for the shortened classes due to the half day.
Ella listened as Evie continued gushing about how the prom had gone. She hadn't seen or heard from the girl since the week before, and from the way the younger teen was going on and on about how much fun she'd had, and how great the experience of prom was, Ella figured that a lot of other people hadn't seen her, either—or she had just wanted to dump the majority of her night onto Ella.
"Oh, Ella, you should have just seen it!" she cooed, popping a stick of gum into her mouth. "It was surely something. I wish you were there."
The older girl smiled. "You're making it sound like it was something out of a movie." She shook her head good-naturedly. "Was it really all that?"
Evie expressed shock. "Um, hell yeah. Actually, I even got Steve to have some fun, and surprisingly, Two-Bit Mathews didn't have to spike his drink or nothin', which was a bonus." She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder as the two continued on. "Steve really hates dances and all of that kind of stuff, so believe me, I was mighty shocked when he asked me to dance. I didn't have to drag his greasy ass out there, or bribe him."
"Bribe him?" Ella questioned.
"Well, yeah," she answered, her words dragging a little. "You know . . ."
Against her will, Ella's cheeks turned a shade. "Oh."
Evie winked. "Well, c'mon, El, I know you've hardly dated, but you can't be that dense. 'Sides, with who you've had your eye on, you can't tell me you're . . . well exactly innocent, either."
To a lot of people, Evie's words might have been insulting and hurtful, but Ella learned a while back that Evie had a blatant way of expressing herself—she was a little outspoken and straightforward, blunt and not one to hold back—but right then, the truth had stung a little. Ella knew that Evie meant well, she did, but sometimes, she let things get to her a bit too easily.
She came to an abrupt stop by the bathrooms. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Dallas Winston," she pointed out, and then sighed, dramatically rolling her eyes. "Ella, there are two days left of school. I mean, we both know that you've been—"
"Stop," the older girl said, cutting her off. "Let's not talk about that."
Evie gave her friend a once over, but nodded understandingly. She admired Ella because she wasn't the type of girl to fall over anyone, especially boys, but Evie felt somewhat bad for her. Watching Cherie Peters hanging around the guy she'd been interested in for the last few months had surely been terrible, but Evie couldn't fault Ella for not making a move. Guys like Dallas Winston weren't worth it, and Evie wouldn't admit it to Ella, but the thought of her liking Dallas actually unnerved her.
Two-Bit had a grin the size of Texas plastered across his mouth. His gray eyes were bright and cheerful, an expression that made Mr. Davis scowl. Of course, the teen already knew why he was meeting with Mr. Davis—the man had already explained that he had passed his final, and now he was about to go over how things would work out for him come senior year.
He still couldn't believe it—he would officially be a senior, and it was all thanks to Ponyboy. Had it not been for that kid, Two-Bit would probably be on his way out of the high school for good. He knew that Mr. Davis—and the board—were sick and tired of dealing with him, and there would have been no way that he would be able to bargain with them about returning or trying again. But there was no need to worry about that anymore—he had passed the eleventh grade.
"Keith," Mr. Davis addressed, and the rusty-haired boy perked up. "I must say that I'm quite pleased with your grades, impressed actually." His eyes roamed down the teen's file again. "The majority of your grades are ranging around a B and C average, which is quite a turn around for you."
Two-Bit's smile stretched all the more. "Well, Sir, what can I say? I had one of the best tutors there is to get me there."
The man raised a bushy eyebrow. "Tutor?"
"Well, sure," he answered proudly. "Ponyboy Curtis. Reckon you've heard of him, yeah? He's been a great tutor this year. Shoot, if it wasn't for that kid, I'd never have made it this far." And then he crossed his arms, expression turning goofy. "I know what you're thinking, Sir, and you're absolutely right! That boy sure does deserve an award."
Mr. Davis rolled his eyes, glad that there would be almost three months separating the time between when he would have to see Keith Mathews again. Good Lord, but if there was one student that was almost as bad as Dallas Winston, it was Keith Mathews, and for an entirely different reason. Still, he was shocked to hear that Ponyboy Curtis had been tutoring the older teen. He was suddenly reminded of Dallas Winston's words back in October, a glint of surprise in his gray orbs. That no-good delinquent had suggested Ponyboy Curtis as a tutor, too.
He decided to bypass the topic, though. "Alright, Keith, you know what classes you'll need to take next year, correct? We've previously discussed that you'll have a full day to fit everything in." And then his features became fixed, a stern look in his eyes. "No screw-ups, Keith. Tardiness, absences, low grades, insubordination, anything, will count toward your grade." He shook his head. "This school and district are doing you a favor by allowing you one more year to attend high school, and if I were you, Keith, I wouldn't mess this up."
"Of course, Sir," Two-Bit replied, trying to contain the smile on his face from expanding more. What Davis didn't know, though, was that he already had things figured out for himself, and what Ponyboy didn't know, either, was that he wasn't out of his tutoring job just yet—he still had another year to go.
Mr. Davis shook his head. "I'll see you next year, then, Mr. Mathews."
Two-Bit merely laughed on his way out of the principal's office. "Thanks for the warning, Sir."
Ponyboy was excited, perhaps a little too excited, but today was the day—the day. He and Ella were going to pick up his book from Mr. Franklin's office, and he couldn't begin to conceal every emotion that he was feeling right then. Darry and Soda had picked up on his overwhelmingly bright spirit that morning, so he'd had to play it off by using the excuse that there were only two days left of school. Of course, Soda merely cocked an eyebrow at him, knowing that something else was up.
When the final bell rang, the red-headed teen rapidly made his way to the parking lot to meet up with Ella, who had promised to drive him up to his publisher's office. He really couldn't have been more grateful for the girl at that particular moment, and he was surprised to learn that she was just as excited for him as he was for himself.
What he didn't expect, though, was to see Dally Winston, who was leaning back against Buck Merril's T-Bird, which was parked right next to Mrs. Mitchell's Impala. Ponyboy almost cringed, hoping to the good Lord above that Dally wasn't there to hassle them again. He really didn't want to deal with it, but what he really meant was that he didn't want anything to hold him up, even if it was a member of the gang—he was just too excited.
"Hey, kid," Dallas called, puffing away on a cigarette. Ponyboy briefly wondered if Dallas would end up with cancer from the way he smoked so much. "Where ya headed?"
The younger teen nodded his greeting. "Me and Ella are gonna hangout for a while."
"Thought she worked Wednesday afternoons," the blond remarked, brows pressing together.
"In the evening, Dal," Ponyboy said, lighting up a cigarette of his own. He was more than relieved when he saw Ella making her way out of the school, headed in their direction. "Besides, it ain't like we're gonna hangout all day."
Dallas scowled, lightly whacking the kid on the back of the head for being mouthy, not that he really cared at that particular moment. It was interesting, though, seeing Ponyboy and Ella hanging around so much, and he had to wonder if it was all about the "incredible thing" that Ella had mentioned that the kid had done. It made him curious—curious to a fault, perhaps—but he really didn't dig being out of the loop—and what he wanted, he got.
"Where are y'all headed?" he asked once Ella was in earshot.
Ella flushed at the sight of Dallas, but kept her cool. She tried to focus on the fact that he desperately needed a haircut, that his wispy blond hair was falling into his eyes and curling up his neck and around his lynx-like ears. She hated herself for feeling how she did, and she knew that she had to ignore her feelings because what she wanted would never happen. Besides, she hadn't exactly seen Dallas since the other week, hadn't talked to him or anything.
Ponyboy was quick to think up a lie. "We're going to Gilcrease."
The blond scoffed. "The museum downtown?"
"Yeah," Ella replied, nodding along. "You know, for something real incredible." She gave him a hard look, making sure to purposely emphasize the last word to get the message across. As Ponyboy climbed into the car, she turned back to Dallas, pointing a finger at him. "Don't follow me, either, hood."
He grinned at her, seeing the smirk on the corner of her mouth. "Wouldn't dream of it, sweets."
Soda sighed deeply, cleaning his greasy hands on a spare rag. His eyes drifted up toward the clock over the door to the garage, glad that it was his lunch break—he was just about starved. Glory, but the day sure had been passing by quickly, not that he could complain. Tossing the rag over his shoulder, the teen made his way back inside, reaching for a Pepsi. He practically groaned in relief as the cool liquid ran down his dry throat, the carbonation causing his tongue to tingle.
"You look like you're enjoying that," a voice said, and Soda turned to his side, brows raising as a smile took over his lips—he knew that voice.
"Mary," he replied, taking in her beautiful face. Golly, but she was just about the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on.
Her own smile was large and genuine. "Hey, Soda."
The golden-haired boy made his way over to her, leaning down to peck her cheek, breathing in her light and airy perfume that made his head spin. He wondered why he hadn't felt this way with Sandy, why she hadn't made him such a sap like this. Of course he had loved Sandy, loved her so fucking much that it hurt, but with Mary, there was something else, something more, and he wasn't sure that he really understood it himself.
"I brought you something," she said, breaking into his thoughts. "I wasn't sure what you liked more, so I made both." There was a nervous look on her face, her brown eyes wide. "I—"
But Soda was already pulling the ham and turkey sandwiches out of the brown paper bag. "Oh, darlin'," he said, chuckling a little. "You didn't have to do this."
Her cheeks were flushed. "Well, I wanted to surprise you."
Any other girl, Soda would have advanced on already—would have leaned down to plant one on her good and long. But he found himself, for the first time with a girl, nervous, and his hands were starting to clam up a little as he considered kissing this girl. He remembered their date last Friday night, how it had gone so well, how Mary seemed to like him just as much as he liked her, how he hadn't thought about Sandy once. But there was still something about this girl that made him feel skeptical, as if she would realize that he wasn't good enough for her, that she would . . . that she would—
"Soda?"
He looked up, shaking his head. "Which do you like better? Ham or turkey?"
She chuckled, and the sound immediately caused him to relax. "Turkey."
"Well alright then," he replied, handing her the wrapped sandwich and a Pepsi. "How 'bout you an' me go outside and have ourselves a little picnic, huh?" His eyes were bright. "I gotta half hour break, so we've got plenty of time."
"I'd like that."
Soda couldn't control the faint blush that coated his own cheeks. No, Mary wouldn't do what Sandy had, she couldn't, because she was different. Still, the ache in his heart wouldn't go away, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't let go of that gnawing fear. He wondered what the guys would think of her—Mary—when they met her. She wasn't their kind, and he knew that it might cause some minor controversy, especially with Steve and Dally. Hell, he already knew that Steve would be wary of her, as he was already, and that wariness would come out harshly and bitterly; he didn't want Mary to be scared off.
He figured he would give it some time before he invited her to the house, give the both of them more time to get used to each other. Hell, she wasn't even officially his girl yet, and he wanted so, so bad to make her his, but he didn't want to rush things with her and make the grave mistake he had with Sandy almost a year ago.
Cherie was waiting for Dallas at the stables, a hard glare in her eyes as she watched him. She had been meaning to talk with him, but whenever she tried to, he had somehow found ways to avoid her, and she was growing more and more irritated. Cherie was a defiant girl—she didn't take anyone's crap, so she had to wonder why she constantly let Dallas Winston get under her skin. She knew he fucked around on her, knew that he used her, but she didn't care—she liked him, and that was that.
When she spotted him making his way toward the stable to gear up, she crossed her arms and headed in his direction, watching as his own face twisted up in complete annoyance when he spotted her. Cherie didn't care, though, her lips pursing together, nose stuck up in the air.
"Dally," she called, voice sweet like sugar. "You've been hidin' from me."
The blond scowled. "I ain't been hiding."
"Oh, no?" she bit out, placing her hands on her hips, looking down at him as he reached for a horse brush. "Because that ain't what it's been lookin' like to me, sugar."
Dallas, though, didn't give a shit about Cherie or her feelings. The only thing on his mind right then was getting his ass out on the track to practice for the rodeo in two weeks. Cherie was becoming more and more of a thorn in his side, one he was ready to pick and spray with herbicide. Glory, but just the sound of her voice was irritating.
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah? And what's it lookin' like to ya?"
Cherie stomped her foot beside him, an aggravated groan thundering from her mouth. "It looks like you don't want me no more." And then she gave him a rough shove. "Well? You gonna man up and tell me that you're sick and tired of me, Dally? Huh?" Her fingers were curling around his shirt as she tugged. "I've seen you, ya know, with those other girls, I've seen how you always try to make me jealous of them!"
Dallas had enough of this whiny broad, and he simply pried her fingers away from himself, reaching down to grab the bucket full of grooming supplies. He took a good look at Cherie Peters, wondering why in the fuck she was so attached to him. Lord, even Sylvia would have hit the high road by then, surely, but Cherie was clingy and annoying, and he was fed up with her and her antics.
He smirked at her. "I think that sounds about right, broad."
"Dallas!" she screeched, anger and disbelief laced in her voice. "Dallas!"
"Take a hike," he called out, not bothering to look back as she continued to yell out for him.
Ponyboy's eyes were practically glued to his book, unable to look away from it, almost afraid that it would magically disappear into thin air if he did. The teen still couldn't wrap his head around it—he had written and published a book, an actual book. The copy in his hands might have only been a proof, but it was still his book. Mr. Franklin had been so overwhelming generous and considerate, and Pony couldn't have been more grateful that the man had decided to work with him all those months back.
Beside him, Ella was smiling. "I'm really happy for you, Ponyboy."
"Thanks," he replied, eyes bright. He thumbed through the pages leisurely. "I just can't believe it, you know? It feels like forever since I started writing it, but in reality, it hasn't been that long at all, but it's just . . . unbelievable."
The older teen nodded along, eyeing the book thoughtfully. "You know, you never did tell me what it was about." At the boy's stunned expression, she continued on. "I know you said it had to do with the events back in September, but—"
Before she could finish, he handed her the book. "You can read it."
"I thought you wanted to show your brothers and everyone else," she said, licking her lips with a small frown. "They should be the ones to read it first, not me."
Ponyboy shook his head, though. "I'd like you to read it, Ella. I really think you ought to."
The younger teen could tell that she was skeptical, but Ponyboy had his own reasons for letting Ella read his book before anyone else. He still wasn't sure what his brothers and friends would say about the fact that he had ultimately changed Dallas Winston's fate in the end of the book, and gaining the opinion of an actual outsider—Ella Mitchell—he figured she would be more honest with him. Some part of him actually felt bad, but he had been angry with Dallas, something he was certain he would never get over.
Dallas had yet to explain a lot of things, but Ponyboy knew he couldn't ask the hood, couldn't bring up the topic concerning Johnny Cade, unless he wanted to get his head kicked in. Discussing those events was still hard to do, and Ponyboy knew that Dallas wouldn't want to hear anything about them, so he decided to go with his gut and leave his writing the way it was.
Ella simply nodded. "Alright, Ponyboy." And then she smiled. "Thanks a lot!"
As the two drove back to town, Ponyboy couldn't help but notice that this was the best he had felt in quite some time, and he realized that he was doing exactly what his family and Johnny had wanted, a look of pure happiness spreading across his features.
He was making something of himself and staying gold.
I got that sunshine
It's like the world is mine
I can't deny I'm feeling good
Can't stop from smiling
I'm bottled lightning
Deep inside I'm feeling good
Thank you for all of the positive feedback! :3
The final chapter is next! Stay tuned!
