Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The J. Geils Band owns "Centerfold."

She was pure like snowflakes

No one could ever stain

The memory of my angel

Could never cause me pain

May 18, 1969

Dear Ponyboy,

I'm so sorry things didn't work out with Julia. She sounded great for you, and I really had my fingers crossed! There's other fish in the sea, though, so don't lose hope! You're a great kid, and one day, you are going to find that special someone. All right, I won't get too mushy! I'll stop before you decide to chuck this letter straight into the trash without bothering to read the rest of it! Pete and I are doing well. Nothing has really changed since my last letter. I'm real happy to hear that you'll be going home for Summer vacation early this year; I bet Darry will be absolutely excited. It will probably be nice for him to have somebody else in the house again regularly. I've thought about visiting home, maybe for a week or so, to get away from New York life. It might be refreshing and do me some good! It sure would be nice to see y'all again, I miss everyone. I'm not sure how Pete will like Oklahoma, but I'll do my best to talk him into it. To be honest, Ponyboy, the idea of coming home makes me nervous, but you once told me that doing the thing that makes us afraid is probably why we should do it. Hopefully, with any amount of luck, I'll see you soon.

Your Friend,

Ella

Ponyboy smiled as he read the last sentence of Ella's letter. He figured it had been mailed at least a week ago, but that didn't matter. He really hoped that Ella would be able to come home to Tulsa, even if it was for a few days. Quite honestly, he missed his friend, hadn't seen her since that day she had taken off for New York over two years ago. It seemed like a long time ago, but in reality, he knew that it really hadn't been that long. Perhaps, it was all of the events that had taken place since that day, and the attempt to take a trip down memory lane felt more like fighting his way through thick fog rather than anything else. A lot really had taken place, especially since the teen had graduated high school nearly a year ago now. Ponyboy Curtis had made High Honors, was offered a scholarship to the University Of Oklahoma where he was studying to become an English teacher, and he was currently working on his second book. It wasn't quite like his first novel, as Mr. Dale Franklin had encouraged the teen to venture out and practice other writing techniques, which he had.

Only his brothers and Ella were aware that he was writing any new material. He wanted to keep it and himself under the radar for the time being, especially with what happened after his first publication.

It wasn't so much that any of it was bad, so to speak, but once his book hit shelves, reporters and the like started showing up at his doorstep at all hours of the day looking to speak with him, ask him all sorts of questions about himself and his friends, and Ponyboy honestly just wasn't ready for any of that, not in the least. As he had once explained to Darry, he hadn't published the novel to get recognition or fame, but rather to help people like himself who were in similar predicaments. It took some time, but eventually, the hype over him and his book wore off, and things seemed to return to normal, or about as normal as they could, considering the times.

Ella was right, though, he figured. It would probably be nice for Darry to have some regular company again, even if it was just for a few months. Ponyboy was only a little over an hour away, but he didn't have a car to travel back and forth, and he knew, with Darry's work schedule, he couldn't always come up for a visit. Darry had been working two jobs anyway—he still did roofing during the warmer seasons, but he now worked for a painting company five days a week. He seemed to enjoy that job a lot better, and plus, he got paid more. On the weekends, he worked helping one of his old buddies from high school detail cars. Ponyboy had been surprised to hear that, but in all honesty, he figured that his oldest brother had been trying to keep himself busy.

Ever since Soda had been drafted and left for Vietnam along with Steve, Darry had gotten more quiet, more forlorn. Things seemed different, or at least, felt different. When Ponyboy had graduated, he took up a job at the bowling alley three nights a week to occupy himself, save up some dough to help him with any supplies he needed for college. He also had incoming royalties from his book, but truthfully, it was hard to be around Darry sometimes. The two had found common ground long ago, and they got along good, but with Soda overseas and Darry working two jobs, Ponyboy needed something to do to keep himself sane. By the time college came around, the teen felt more as though he was leaving behind a shell of his home rather than his family.

Then he had met Julia.

She was nice, pretty, smart . . . and she had a great smile. Ponyboy thought that he was in love. And boy howdy, he thought she loved him, too. Apparently, he had been mistaken. The two had dated for a few weeks before ultimately becoming official. Unfortunately, the relationship had only lasted for nine months before Julia called it quits. She hadn't exactly given him a reason why, more or less declaring that she felt differently about them.

Ponyboy wasn't about to admit that he had spent a good portion of that night bawling his eyes out, but he had. Of course, the very next day, he had went out with a few of his college friends to get his mind off of his breakup with Julia, and then he had written to Ella. The older girl and him had become very good friends over the course of the past two years, despite not seeing one another. Ponyboy really hoped that she would make the decision to come home for a while. He thought that getting away from the city would do her some good, too. He had heard about what she was doing for work recently, and he didn't think it suited her at all. He had his own thoughts regarding Pete, but he wasn't exactly about to relay them to Ella. Ella herself had changed . . . a lot. Sometimes, Ponyboy wasn't sure she really was the same girl he had befriended back in high school, but she was, he supposed.

Other than his brothers and Ella, Ponyboy had spoken a few times to Mary DeVaney and Evie Martin, but he had run into Evie the few times he'd been home. Something about Evie still made him nervous, like if you pushed the wrong button she would bite your head off. That was Evie, though. Two-Bit was around, too, talked to Darry more than anyone else, but he was working as a night janitor at one of the elementary schools. He had graduated high school, and then his mom had gotten real sick, which sent Two-Bit Mathews down a very bad drinking path.

Other than that, he and his girlfriend had broken up, which hadn't helped with things. After he had gotten into an accident, a real bad collision with a younger driver, Darry had about knocked him out. Since then, Two-Bit hardly touched another drink, getting himself a job to help with his mother's medical expenses, and take care of his kid sister.

Then there was Mary. Ponyboy wasn't too sure about her, and Soda didn't mention her much in any of his recent letters, so the teen didn't really know what to think.

Maybe, if Ella came home, the two of them could pay a visit to Mary. Last he had heard anyway, her aunt had passed away . . . something with food poisoning.

His eyes opened, the lights overhead blinding him for a minute. He could register voices around him, but they seemed a million miles away. A soft grunt fell from his lips as he blinked, trying to figure out what the hell happened. Everything felt like a blur. He could hardly remember the sound of explosions, Julius Hicks shaking him and yelling at him to get his shit and go . . .

But he hadn't.

Julius had taken off, not once looking back. Lars was—

Fuck. What happened to Albie Lars?

Before Steve could process anything, his body seemed to jerk to life, the feeling returning tenfold, every part of him aching, his muscles burning. His head was throbbing, and he suddenly became acutely aware that his mouth felt like sand, his tongue thick and heavy. Another blink brought his surroundings into focus, and his nostrils scrunched as he made a face. He could see nurses a few feet in front of himself, members of the Red Cross, and holy shit . . . everything was blindingly white. Steve didn't have the slightest inkling where in the holy hell he was, and a surge of panic swept through him, nearly making him feel nauseous. It took less than a second for him to realize that he was completely unarmed, too, his gun and other possessions missing.

"You're awake," came a voice, and Steve glanced to his side, his expression seeming to smooth over just a bit—he remained on guard. The nurse sent him a small, reassuring smile. "It's okay, you are going to be just fine," she continued, as if nothing was wrong.

Steve, though, was anxious. "Where am I?" he bit out, not bothering to care how gruff he sounded. In reality, he knew that he was in a hospital of sorts, that he was being taken care of, but there were several different things that were bothering him. "Can you tell me what happened?"

The nurse's brows seemed to furrow as she studied him for a moment. She began speaking to him, her own voice almost weary as she attempted to explain to him what exactly had happened. Steve's head was spinning, though, and his fingers started curling back into a fist, his teeth grinding together. She had been talking for less than a minute, but the more she went on, the easier it became for Steve to remember. Julius had been yelling, there were multiple explosions, Albie was crying, begging Steve not to leave him there to die, going on and on about his family back home, that he didn't want to die out there by his lonesome, and by golly did Steve inwardly panic. He recalled feeling like somebody was ripping him apart by the seams, his eyes wide as Lars latched onto him, pleading and pleading and—

Steve jolted.

". . . but he'll be fine. You'll be going home soon, Mr. Randle." A smile. "Your personal belongings are on the table beside you."

The pillow felt cool as he lowered his head back against it, every fiber of his being tensed. The cot he was laying on didn't feel right—everything was too soft. Steve could hardly remember what it felt like to sleep on anything other than the ground. His eyes shifted as he turned. He didn't remember seeing his things there moments ago . . . Had they been there the entire time? Reaching for his flip case, Steve felt a tinge of cold shoot through his veins. He opened the lid, the first thing looking back at him being a picture of Evie.

Sweet, sweet Evie.

Steve let a small smile brush his lips as he stared at the picture. Lordy, was Evie a sight for sore eyes, he thought. Damn, did he miss that girl. She had stuck by him through thick and thin, and even though she had given him a good piece of her mind when he enlisted, she had never walked away. She was there waiting for him when he came back home after boot camp—even though it was merely for a week—and she had promised to wait for him until he was honorably discharged. Steve sure did love her, he knew that, and she was what kept him going most of the time. With Evie, he knew that he had something to live for, something to come back to.

Home.

Hadn't the nurse just said he would be going home soon?

He blinked once . . . twice.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he called to the nurse, and when she glanced back at him, he continued. "Would you be able to tell me if a guy by the name of Curtis is here? Soda Curtis. He's a soldier who is part of my group."

"Soda Curtis?" she repeated, looking him over.

Steve nodded quickly. "That's right."

When she walked away, he glanced back at the picture of Evie. Beneath it was a folded letter she had sent him some time ago along with a cross on a chain. There were also two sticks of gum, a two dollar bill he'd won from a night of poker, a picture of his buddies back home, and two crushed cigarettes. He might have had more at one point, if only that damn storm hadn't come through and washed away all his shit. Too bad. A copy of Ponyboy's book had been among the items he had lost, but he knew he could always pick up another. Steve would never directly admit it to that damn kid, but he wrote well, for a stupid ass, that is. He grinned. Steve was actually proud of Ponyboy—he had done good for himself in the past couple of years, he was going places, and he was going to make it big.

Hell, that knowledge alone was what kept Soda going sometimes. He sure was proud of his kid brother, and he liked to talk about him, too . . . or at least, he used to. Steve understood, though. He would just place a hand on his shoulder without having to say anything.

The nurse poked her head around the curtain just then, her expression unreadable. "I'm sorry, Mr. Randle," she said, "but there isn't a Soda Curtis here."

The case fell from his fingers.

Evie Martin would never directly admit that she missed the Dingo, but at that particular moment, she really did. They had the best burgers around, or so she thought anyway. It was too damn bad that it wasn't there anymore—some stupid fight or something-or-other had caused the place to go up in flames, the reminisce of the building being the only evidence that it was ever there to begin with. A lot sure had changed, and truth be told, Evie didn't like it. Well, she couldn't exactly say that she didn't mind that everyone seemed to get along these days . . . for the most part, that is. But they were at the end of an era, the seventies looming just around the corner.

Across from her in the booth was Mary DeVaney, an anxious expression shadowing her face. Evie had always thought Mary was rather shy, but something told her there was more to the reason that the younger girl had wanted to meet up with her—not just a mere social call. Evie herself was just fine with that; she figured it would be nice to hangout with someone different for a change. Truth be told, Evie spent most of her time these days working with her mother at the salon, as well as playing waitress three nights a week for extra income—and keep herself busy.

Still, none of her old friends, or the people she considered close, were really around that much, or they were usually busy with work, so Evie didn't really hang around much with anyone. Of course, she had heard plenty of gossip, a wonderful treat that came with being a waitress, or the lowdown she would get filled in on when she was painting a client's nails, or doing their hair . . .

It was a great way for the young woman to keep herself in the know.

Her attention was brought back to Mary, who almost delicately lifted her glass of soda to take a sip, a slight tremble to her hands. Evie cocked an eyebrow, watching the younger girl with interest. She and Mary had always gotten along alright, but they had never really bothered to divulge anything personal to one another—they weren't that close, not like Evie had grown to Ella Mitchell. Those two had kept closely in touch, either talking on the phone here and there, or sending letters—or birthday and holiday cards, in Ella's case—and truth be told, Evie was honestly thankful for her friendship.

Another moment of silence passed before their food was delivered, and Evie happily tossed a fry into her mouth, savoring the salty starch.

"So," she began, tired of the awkward setting, "what have you been up to?" Damn, she thought almost wryly, she could have asked that sooner. "I mean, it's been a while, you know . . ."

Mary actually grinned, and then she shrugged. "Nothing much. I mean, since my aunt passed—"

"Yeah, I heard about that," Evie quickly interceded, "I'm real sorry."

Glory, but Evie could certainly remember Vera DuPres, and it wasn't exactly fond memories that came to mind. No, Aunt Vera, as Mary had introduced her that one glorious day two years ago, was a very intimidating and imposing woman. Yeah, Evie remembered her with almost precise clarity. She had mistaken Evie herself as a girl scout one time when she had stopped by to hangout with Mary. Wicked Witch of the West had always summed her up just perfectly.

The raven-haired girl brushed her comment off. "Don't be sorry."

Evie bit into her burger, eyes raking over Mary. Her face appeared thinner, eyes holding a worried look in them that made Evie wonder if something else was going on. Her aunt's death couldn't have affected her that badly . . . could it? Evie wasn't exactly ignorant, or naive, to these types of situations—she had always been told that she was highly intuitive. Studying Mary right then was enough to let her know that she hadn't been wrong earlier . . . something was off with the younger girl.

She decided to approach the subject with ease. "You hear from Sodapop recently?"

And with that, Mary's eyes broadened, her heart seeming to beat a little quicker. She dropped the fry she had been about to eat, and cleared her throat lightly. She hadn't been sure about bringing up Soda to Evie, mostly because she thought it might sound funny, even considering the situation. Of course, she knew that sounded ridiculous, especially since her boyfriend was the best friend of Evie's boyfriend, having grown up together since they were kids. No, she told herself, it wasn't silly at all to inquire if, perhaps, Steve had told her anything about Soda. Besides, any bit of information that Mary could obtain would ease her nerves. She just hoped that she wouldn't sound overly desperate or dramatic about it.

"I was actually going to ask you if you had heard from Steve . . ."

Evie gave her a strange look. "I got a letter from him a week ago, roughly."

"Oh."

If Evie had been assuming that something was wrong only moments ago, she definitely knew that there was now. If Mary's downcast expression was any indication that something regarding Soda was heavily on her mind, Evie could see it clear as day. She felt her own stomach twist for a second as she tried to come up with some sort of response. Lordy.

She took a sip of her beverage, the carbonation tingling her tongue. "They don't come as often as they used to," she relayed, "but I reckon that's understandable. Steve ain't never been much of a letter person anyway, so . . . who knows?"

"I haven't heard from Soda in over five weeks now," Mary replied, her voice monotone. There was a sadness pooling in her own eyes, and Evie felt her heart sink. "I suppose I'm just worried is all." She made a sound like a chuckle, but Evie was pretty sure Mary didn't find anything humorous about the situation, and obviously, this had been bothering her for quite some time now. "I was going to ask you if Steve had mentioned him at all."

Evie tried to recall anything regarding Soda in any of Steve's letters, lips pursing. "I only remember him telling me not to worry myself sick or nothin'," she answered, and then sighed. "Last I heard, he just told me that he and Soda were doin' alright." Evie herself didn't personally believe that either Steve or Soda were doing alright, but Steve never wanted Evie to get upset, especially over him. (Because that would be the day). A thought crossed her mind, then. "You know," she began, "Ponyboy would be a great person to ask. I think he's comin' home in a few weeks from college anyway. Maybe you could write him or something. It should reach him before he leaves." A shrug. "And if not him, you could always ask Darry. I'm sure he'd appreciate the visit. I bet he's worried, too."

Mary nodded in agreement. Why hadn't she thought of that? Blame it on anxiety and guilt-tripping herself, she figured, but she knew she could trust Evie to have a ready solution for her. Glory, Mary hadn't seen Darry Curtis in . . . quite some time, and she hadn't heard from Ponyboy in a while, either. If anyone had any sort of news about Soda, it would be his brothers. Mary sure felt funny, then, but Evie didn't seem to mind. In fact, she had seemed rather happy to help, and the younger girl assumed that she was, in some way. Evie had always been good like that, always ready to help her friends in any way that she could, and honestly, Mary was glad for a friend like her.

Since he had gotten back in town, Dallas had hardly ran into anyone he once knew. Of course, he'd spotted a few guys he used to hang around and shoot the shit with, but they weren't important, or at least, not anyone he would consider in the circle of individuals he gave a shit about. Hanging around Buck Merril for the past two weeks was really beginning to make him feel sick, like he had never left that godforsaken shithole of a town. Well, it wasn't exactly the town itself that the blond despised, but rather, the memories that came with being there. Honestly, one thing that had crossed Dallas's mind was possibly visiting Johnny Cade's grave; it wasn't something he was exactly keen on doing, but he thought about it once or twice.

For the most part, Dallas had kept to himself. He pondered sticking around for maybe another few weeks, take ol' Buck up on his advice. Truthfully, Dallas loved racing, loved the feeling of freedom that came with it—he could have done it for a living. It was just that he enjoyed not having any real or true commitments, and involving himself in the Slash J would be making one. Really, he reminded himself, he just needed enough dough for some new wheels, and that was all.

Fuck everything else.

Besides, sleeping in Buck's dingy house wasn't something he enjoyed, either. For a second, he really thought about swinging by Darry's. Then again, Muscles would probably take a good swing at him for showing up asking for a place to stay, and Dallas wasn't itching to have Darry's trusty right hook make contact with his face, no sirree bub. Well, he had two choices, he noted. He could stay at Buck's place, work for the man until he had enough money, or he could pay a visit to Darry, and stay there (possibly) while doing the same thing. Racing horses was an afterthought, something he would seriously need to do a lot of considering on.

The cashier eyed him critically. "You gonna buy anything or what?"

Dallas smirked, a bitter look indeed. "Just lookin', man. Cool your tools."

Now, Dallas Winston hadn't been in any police trouble in . . . quite some time. The closest he'd gotten was that mix up at the bar he'd worked at a few months ago, but he had been smart, and had beaten it out of there before anyone could assume anything else. The last thing he wanted right then was to be interacting with one of Tulsa's finest, but honestly, he had wanted to get the fuck out of Buck's house for a while. The damn thing reeked of stale booze and horse shit, smells Dallas himself was accustomed to; he just hated sleeping with it.

He took a sip of the Coke he'd grabbed, leisurely turning into the next aisle to take a gander at the local newspaper, see what was going on. He didn't really care, but still . . . it was something to do and waste time on. He could tell that the cashier was getting antsy, probably thinking he was about to shoplift or cause some sort of trouble. Internally, Dallas had to gloat at that—he still scared the shit out of people without so much as looking their way.

Before another thought could cross his mind, however, something caught his eye. Holy fucking shit, he thought, grabbing the magazine. He knew those blue eyes anywhere, knew that face . . . He brought the cover closer to his face to examine the small picture off to the side, his jaw nearly dropping as he realized that he had, in fact, been correct.

Ella Mitchell was on the cover of a Playboy magazine.

Good fucking Lord.

How in the—

Dallas shook his head, fingers immediately flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for. Oh Lordy, Lordy, Lordy. There she was. Page seventeen. Ella "Dopey" Mitchell in one helluva outfit. His eyes raked over her small figure, remembering her with intense recall. Two years had done her good, he thought to himself, but what the fuck was she doing in a magazine like that? And what in hell kind of name was Lydia Belle? He thought that she was in college or some shit, making something of herself. Well, it certainly seemed as though she was doing just that . . . and then some. He almost laughed out loud; he had told her that New York was wild.

Guess she had found her brand of it after all.

"Are you going to buy that?"

A grin.

Damn right he was.

Ella relaxed back against the couch, her muscles beginning to loosen as the weed settled her. She glanced around the living room of Pete's apartment, her nose scrunching at the unfinished and empty beer bottles littering the area. A box of pizza was on the floor in front of where she sat, and Ella figured it was high time she do some cleaning up. Usually, she never let the place get too messy, always being a bit uptight about things like that. On the other hand, Pete didn't give a hoot how the place looked, so long as he was making bread and had a free piece of ass . . . along with a good meal.

But honestly, Ella was getting tired of Pete's antics. He was good to her, usually he was, but a lot of times, he really got on her nerves. She would ask him to do things, little things, like not leave his dishes and shit laying around the area, but he disregarded her like she wasn't even there. Ella wasn't dumb, and she knew that Pete really only kept her around for his own personal gain—she could have left at any time, she really could have, but she needed a place to stay. Plus, Pete was her main source of income at the moment, not that she was completely relying on that, though. No way.

She inhaled again, the smoke billowing out of her mouth before dissipating in the air. Ponyboy's letter from the other week crossed her mind, and she considered his words. He had told her that he would be leaving early this year for Summer vacation, even told her to consider coming home for a bit. Ella had been thinking about it lately, but the thought of returning made her stomach twist up in knots for some reason—one she wasn't exactly sure of.

Should she go back?

Truth be told, Ella Mitchell never really thought much of returning to Tulsa until Ponyboy had brought it up to her, and even though the idea itself was intriguing, something tugged her deep inside. She supposed somewhere, in the very back crevices of her mind, she knew why she was afraid to go back, knew the very reason. Over the course of the past week or so, Ella kept feeling the pull—something wanted her to return, and there was a very real possibility that she would. The only problem was getting Pete to go with her. Part of her honestly didn't care if he would or not, but . . . the offer would be generous, and still, he was her boyfriend.

She hadn't exactly told Ponyboy, or Evie, the bad side of her relationship with Pete, but she didn't want to, either.

Sometimes, Ella wondered what real happiness felt like.

"Lydia," Pete called from the kitchen, "how's pizza sound for dinner?"

A nod. "Sure, Pete."

She took another hit, eyes drooping. She recalled telling Ponyboy that it might do her some good to get away from city life for a while, and right then, she figured she was more than right about that.

My blood runs cold

My memory has just been sold

And there's chapter two!

Thanks for reading! :3