Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. The Cars own "Dangerous Type."

Can I bring you

Out in the light

My curiosity's

Got me tonight

August 1, 1969

"Are you nervous about tonight?"

Ella took a drag of her cigarette, an empty feeling in her gut. She wasn't all that nervous about the race that night, but there was a strange emotion surfacing in the pit of her stomach, something akin to guilt, which didn't make her feel too hot. Since finding out that Soda had ended things with Mary before he had left the other day, Ella felt miserable. There were things that she was unable to share with both Evie and Ponyboy—her two closest friends—because she had sworn to Mary that she wouldn't ever tell a single soul what she had done, and she meant to keep that promise . . . she would take it to her grave.

But she wasn't nervous about racing at all, hardly able to feel anything else but guilt. It wasn't so much that Ella herself felt guilty for doing anything wrong, but she felt bad, knowing that Soda had spent a good portion of his time helping her train while he was home on leave, and then the only two times he had bothered to see Mary were lengths of time apart, the second time ending with a breakup. Ella knew that Mary was absolutely devastated, hurt beyond comprehension, but she was too proud to show it, especially around anyone, even her friends. Ella had found out from Ponyboy, who had heard it from Soda himself . . . right before he left. Ponyboy hadn't exactly been shocked, but he had been stunned, as though somebody had slapped him in the mouth, according to what he'd relayed to Ella. When Ella had dished it to Evie, the younger girl was at loss for words, and Ella didn't blame her. Things had felt strange with Soda, and everyone was worried about him—that much was true—but breaking things off with Mary, the girl he had fallen head over heels for, was confirmation that Soda's issues went far below the deep end.

Ponyboy knew it, too, as he had told Ella, although he wouldn't elaborate, merely stating that he and Darry had a good, long talk about certain things . . . and that was all. He had left it at that, and Ella wasn't brazen enough to ask.

She shook her head, sipping her Pepsi. "Not really."

Evie leaned back in the chair, head resting against her towel, which she was using as a pillow. "I'd say you're honestly a lunatic . . . or you've got a bolt loose somewhere in that head of yours."

The older girl chuckled. "Probably a little of both, at this rate."

And Evie smirked. "You and me both." Truthfully, Evie was surprised to learn that Ella was going to participate in the Slash . . . against Dallas, the one person she usually bet on to win. She figured that she would hold out this race, though. Ella was bold . . . real bold to be competing against the likes of Dallas Winston and four other seasoned jockeys in the rodeo, but honestly, Evie thought it was pretty damn tuff. "I'm guessing Mary ain't tagging along for this one?"

"No," Ella affirmed, and a sigh fell from her lips. "This might sound weird, but in some way, I'm glad that she's not."

At that, the dark-haired girl perked up. "Why?"

A shrug. "Maybe glad was the wrong word to use," she said, and made a face. "I reckon I'm a bit more relieved about it, because of Soda." Their eyes met. "I feel guilty that he was spending all that time helping me out while blowing her off, only to break up with her later."

Evie's lips pursed. Really, she didn't know what to make of that whole catastrophe. Everyone was right, though—Sodapop was different, real different, and Evie had a good mind to say something to Steve about it. Oh, breakups happened all the time, were a natural part of life . . . but what had occurred with Mary and Soda was a little strange, Evie could agree with, and she really did feel bad for Mary. What Soda had done was wrong, and she knew that Ella felt the same way. She knew a few things from what Ella had told her from Ponyboy . . . and apparently, he thought things were off, too. It was too late to really confront Soda, though, but that didn't mean she couldn't talk to Steve about it. Evie knew that whatever happened to Soda in Vietnam was primarily the cause for his odd behavior, and she was pretty certain that everyone else knew it, too. Of course things would feel different to him, of course he would need space to readjust and feel himself out, but . . . glory, Evie did feel a little resent aimed at his actions where they regarded Mary . . . but there was nothing she could do now.

"You shouldn't," she told Ella, and sat up again. Boy howdy was that sun hot. "Look, how were you of all people supposed to know that Soda was going to end things with Mary?" At Ella's downcast facial expression, she continued, voice measured. "I wouldn't worry about it, El. That ain't your fault, what he did, I mean." She made a sound between a groan and a sigh. "The most we can do is just . . . continue to be Mary's friend . . . even if she doesn't want to hangout for a while. She's probably gonna need a bit of space, that was a pretty hard blow."

Yeah, Ella thought, it definitely was. Evie didn't know just how true her words were. Part of what Soda had done was bothering Ella, but there was more than what anyone else (beside Dallas Winston) knew when it came to Mary's dilemma. Oh, glory. It all felt surreal to her now, just knowing the guilt and shame that Mary must have been dealing with. She had known what her aunt had plotted, what she had done, and then . . . what Mary herself had done . . . and how she had waited for Soda, worried out of her mind because she wasn't hearing from him, and then he had gone missing . . . only to come home, blow her off, and then . . . end things with her right before leaving again. Oh good Lord, but when Ella thought about it all like that, she felt almost sick for her friend. That must have been a load to carry around on her shoulders, especially since everything had led Mary down into a spiral of depression, which had caused her to drink profusely . . .

Hard blow was right.

Taking another sip of her beverage, Ella suddenly grinned, an idea forming in her mind. "You're right," she replied after a good minute. "But what she also needs is fun. To get away from this place and that house."

Evie cocked an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

Now, "fun" was a word right in Evie Martin's personal dictionary, which usually meant something along the lines of shopping, makeovers, junk food, or the regular get-together with friends, which she and Ella were currently doing, so when Ella pulled a flier out of her bag, turning the front toward Evie so she could read it, the younger girl's jaw practically dropped to the ground as she slid her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, her eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

"I saw it in the market the other day," Ella went on to say, "and I was thinking about going, although I don't know how I'll get to New York and back again . . . but it says three days of peace and music . . . and well, it does sound like fun . . ."

Evie nodded in agreement. "It does." The side of her mouth curved upward, then. "Woodstock, huh?" She eyed the dates of the festival. "Hell, that's in two weeks . . ." She grinned, though, a spark in her eyes—the gears in her head were spinning. "So, you were actually thinking about going, you say?"

Ponyboy ran a hand through his greasy hair, eyes squinting as he peered up toward the sun. It was real hot out, and he was secretly glad that this was Dallas's final run that day . . . before the race later that night. They had been going at it since six o'clock that morning, starting with mucking horse shit and cleaning the stables . . . and then training. The teen figured that his older buddy was good enough to go, but there was a determined look set in his icy stare, a hard expression on his face, and Ponyboy had a real good suspicion that it had something to do with Ella Mitchell. Actually, he knew that it had everything to do with her, and for the life of him, Ponyboy couldn't understand why the two of them were so set on making the other miserable . . . unless that was just how they got along.

But he was relieved when Dallas came back with Denim, his blond hair sticking to his forehead and neck, beads of sweat running down his face. His ripped up shirt was wet, too, and Ponyboy figured that he didn't look much better himself. Well, the only good thing that came out of training with Dallas was the fact that he could get some running in, too . . . instead of going to the high school track. In some way, it offered him more of a challenge, and the teen had to admit that the ranch honestly offered a nicer view than Will Rogers High School did.

"Think Stella is gon' do real good tonight," Dallas remarked, his breathing a little uneven. He used his shirt to wipe at his face. "Didn't want to run her this morning, though . . . too hot out. I'll warm her up later . . . before the race."

Ponyboy's expression turned to one of surprise. "You're gonna race Stella?"

Dallas nodded. "Said that to you earlier," he replied, tone clipped. "Ain't you been listenin' to anything I said, kid?"

Of course he was going to race Stella. She was quicker than any of the other ponies, and she took to Dallas easily. He had raced her before, winning each time. The only time he hadn't raced her was when Buck suggested he enter Musket, who was a real wild thing. Dallas didn't have a problem with him, but he simply wasn't Stella, and he didn't have that connection with him. It had cost him first place, but Dallas was good, and had ended up in second. He was more than confident about the race that night, and quite honestly, he couldn't wait to hand over his stable job to Saint Ella, something he had been looking forward to for the past week or better. She wasn't a jockey, and more than that, she wasn't any kind of racer . . . She didn't stand a chance, and the blond was all but waiting for her inevitable fail that night.

Besides, he almost had enough dough saved up to get him a new ride, and once he had one, he was going to leave Tulsa . . . hit the road again and take things one day at a time. Well, at least this time around he would say something, even if it was just to Darry. Dallas figured that with his win that night, plus another two or three weeks working for Buck, he would have it made. He could continue helping out with the ponies, but he would gladly—and with a wide grin on his face—give Ella the wonderful job of mucking up horse shit. Even better than that, he would get to make jabs at her every single day until he bailed, and she would be stuck there . . . until she paid off Shar. Quite honestly, Dallas didn't know what in the hell she was thinking to make a deal like that with Buck Merril. And glory, but it wasn't like she was going to have anyone there to help her out, either, so why she would put herself on the spot like that was simply . . . stupid to him.

Ponyboy's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"I was," he said, and shrugged lamely. "I just forgot."

"Yeah," the blond bit out, "something you do a lot of." He began leading Denim back to the stables, the kid trailing behind him. "Got a feeling it's gonna be a smooth and easy race tonight."

The red-headed teen's brows raised at the comment. "Maybe," he responded. And then he leaned back against Denim's stall door, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hey, Dal, what would you do if Ella actually beat you?"

The question came as a surprise, but didn't rattle Dallas Winston in the least. "She won't."

"But if she did . . ."

Dallas was two seconds away from whacking the kid in the head. Ella Mitchell wasn't going to beat him, no matter what, so the "what if" inquires were beginning to piss him off. Besides, Ponyboy was helping him out and doing him a favor, so what did he care about Ella? Really, Dallas wasn't concerned about her or anything, so why was Ponyboy? It seemed that he really had some faith in the girl, though that didn't exactly surprise Dallas. He could give credit where it was due, and Ella did deserve some of it—he would hand it to her . . . she was alright. But being alright at something didn't make a person all that great, and it definitely didn't make them exceptional. Really . . . Dallas thought the entire thing was hilarious, as did Buck Merril, and Dallas was only humoring Ella. He didn't care whether or not she actually showed up to be in the race or not—it made no difference to him whatsoever.

His glare was enough to make Ponyboy quit talking.

Ella didn't bother to verbally thank Buck for bringing Shar with him that night, as Shar technically did belong to him, but she offered him a polite nod, a small smile on her face as the cowboy handed her the reigns. The young woman was able to tell that Shar was a bit antsy, and suddenly, her stomach started to fill with butterflies. She remembered what Soda had told her, even though thinking about that now made more guilt swarm in her mind, but still . . . Ella wasn't exactly nervous for the race itself, but being there right then was causing her to feel a bit on edge.

"You'll be owing me for transportation, too."

Her eyes met Bucks, who gave her a toothy grin . . . a sarcastic one. "Sure," she stiffly replied, and led Shar away, determined not to let anyone see her sweat.

Once inside, she dressed Shar in his gear, just as Soda had showed her, before changing herself. At one particular moment, she recalled a time when she and Dallas were together, how she used to hangout and talk to him while he was preparing for a race. It seemed almost comical to her now, the fact that she was actually going to be in a race, going to be competing against him. Glory, but who would have ever thought? She was suited up a few minutes later, and she gave Shar a few pats, her one hand gently moving along his face as she spoke.

"Either way," she began softly, "whatever happens, in the end you're going to officially be my pony."

A voice from behind startled her, and she jumped a bit. "Whatever happens? You ain't sounding all that confident, dollface."

She jerked around, nostrils flaring as she glared at Dallas. "I'm confident enough," she fired back. "But either way, Shar will be my horse, and that is worth winning or losing." She smiled, then, letting her gaze trail over his form. "You seem . . . relaxed."

A shrug. "Got nothin' to worry about."

"That makes two of us."

Dallas eyed her sharply, a glint in his icy orbs. She didn't appear nervous to him, but he knew her a bit better than what she thought he did . . . apparently. There was an underlying unevenness about her tone, a slight twitch to her eyes that let him know she was feeling somewhat off. He knew her well enough to know that she wasn't regretting her decision to participate in the race, but he figured that a part of her might have been second-guessing her choice to compete against him. He still wasn't sure what the big deal was, unless she was really that set on getting one over on him. Well, that was too fucking bad, as far as he was concerned, because really . . . Ella was going to learn a hard lesson that night. She was by her lonesome, the other jockeys having a partner, or someone there with them. He had Buck, and of course Ponyboy had helped him out . . . but Ella? She had no one, unless she was counting the likes of Evie up in the stands . . . but that was it. He considered her out there for a short second, racing against him and four other guys . . . and a thought crossed his mind. Shar was a fast pony, easy to maneuver around turns, and Ella was small, light . . . vulnerable, and one hell of an easy target. Being a girl was only a bonus cherry (a juicy one) to add to the top of that sundae, and Dallas wasn't sure why—because a major part of him didn't give two shits—but . . . he didn't dig the idea of some backward sleaze trying to roughhouse or manhandle her.

His voice was flat but direct as he spoke. "Keep your eyes sharp around the turns."

It wasn't much later when the race began. Dallas had been able to spot Ella quite easily, as she stood out like a sore thumb. She was slighter and smaller than the rest, her hair pulled back into a short braid, strands of it falling around her face. She looked ridiculous in comparison to Dallas and the other jockeys, and even they weren't all that big in size. Dallas himself towered over two of them, the other two closer in height. Ella only had one minor advantage, and that was the fact that she was light, which would allow Shar to easily fly around the track without feeling a thing.

The sound of the bell echoed in his ears, the doors flying open, and then they were off. Dallas could feel his heart thumping in his chest, the adrenaline pumping hot in his veins. He lived for this, loved every bit of it. He felt like he was practically flying in the air, the innate feeling of freedom swirling in the pit of his stomach, just like the open road. Here, like this, Dallas didn't feel any means of worry, didn't feel anything except his own heart beating with excitement, his eyes focused on the dirt track ahead of him. He was in first place, two of the guys in close range behind him, one of them pulling close on his right side—he was able to see the shadow out of his peripheral.

Back in fourth, Ella held her grip on Shar, remembering what Dallas had said to her. They were about to round the first turn, and she could see one of the jockeys, number three, getting mighty close to her, as though he were purposely steering his horse into her path. Ella gave a good slap on the reigns, her body bending forward as Shar ran faster, harder. Her jaw was set, teeth grinding together as her eyes narrowed the more she pushed. They rounded the turn, her body moving almost gracefully as she directed Shar with ease. It felt as though they were gliding smoothly, and before she could process it, she pulled ahead of number three. Just a few feet ahead of her was none other than Dallas, and Ella's expression shifted to pure determination as she continued to push Shar forward.

The former hood couldn't help the smirk that formed across his lips as he saw Saint Ella creeping up beside him. They rounded the second turn moments later, and she still stayed on his heels, never once losing traction, or falling behind. He couldn't exactly see, but he knew the others were gaining on her, but she never faltered, and instead stayed practically right behind him. There was a second or so where she pulled to the side to move ahead, but Dallas was more seasoned and had anticipated her move before she could even follow all the way through with it, and had cruised out a bit into her path, which kept her back in second. He could practically feel the annoyance seeping from her—that's how close they had gotten—but he merely grinned, enjoying the fact that he was irking her.

By the time they reached the third bend, Ella felt the other three much closer to her, and before she knew what was happening, two of them were on either side of her. Dallas was still in the lead, not far in front of her, but now she was drifting between second and third, and she felt her heart beating harder in her chest. She was unable to move out either way she went, having been boxed in by the other two jockeys, one who gave her a nasty smile, which was followed by a wink as he moved closer to her, their legs almost touching. Before she had a chance to try and move out, he cut over into her path, purposely bumping into her to throw her off balance. Shar let out a yelp of a sound, and Ella hissed as her body dropped onto the saddle, her ankle beginning to throb where the other jockey's boot had grinded against it. She mentally cursed herself as they approached the fourth and final bend, her blood pumping hot beneath her skin as she forced herself back up.

Up ahead, Dallas heard the commotion, jerking Stella to the side to intentionally cut in front of the guy diagonally behind him to his left. Really, he wasn't sure why he even bothered, but something was pulling at him, almost encouraging him to do it. Two or more years ago, he wouldn't have cared at all, wouldn't have so much as blinked if another jockey was fucking with another—unless it was himself, that is. A few seconds later—if it was even that long—he saw Shar's face poking up beside him to his right, the other jockey falling to the side in fourth. He glanced over quickly at Ella, her lips curled back, teeth pressing together hardly. She had gained speed quickly, moving up beside him like lightning, which had surprised him a bit. Damn lightweight.

That was okay with him, though . . . because he was still coming in first.

A minute later saw it happen, too—Dallas Winston with Stella in first, Ella Mitchell with Shar only half a second behind him.

It was over.

Ella gritted her teeth as she hopped down off of Shar, the pain in her ankle growing sharper. It wasn't anything that she couldn't handle, but she was pretty pissed about it. She wasn't the least bit upset that she had come in second place, or that Dallas had helped her out and won—in fact, Ella was quite proud of herself and how well she had raced, especially since it was her very first race. Coming in second place behind Dallas Winston, who hardly ever lost a race, said a lot to her, and quite honestly, Ella was mighty pleased with herself, even if it meant that she would be cleaning stables and mucking horse shit for free until Shar was paid off in full. In some way, it was a bit of a hollow victory, since she might not have even made second if Dallas hadn't bothered to veer out like he had done. But either way, Ella was still happy with herself. Well, it officially looked like she wouldn't be leaving Tulsa any time too soon, well, except maybe to a music festival in New York in the next two weeks, but . . . who knew?

"I gotta hand it to ya," Dallas said, walking up beside her a moment later, "that wasn't half bad."

Ella snorted. "Thanks."

"Oh, I didn't mean you," the blond jabbed, tone airy. "I was talkin' to Shar here . . . you know, the one who actually did the work."

If her jaw could have dropped to the ground, it looked like it had right then. Dallas always had enjoyed toying with Ella, enjoyed getting her all fired up . . . it amused him. She amused him, and even then, just seeing her eyes beginning to narrow, nostrils flaring back with vexation, he grinned in spite of himself . . . because it was funny—and it never took much to get her going, especially when it was him messing with her.

It was just too easy.

But she merely shook her head, not in the mood that night. "Actually," she began, "I'm quite satisfied with second place, and I'm proud of Shar, too."

Dallas's lips curved upward. "I'll bet."

To the blond's surprise, Ella stuck her hand out, a sincere expression on her face. "Thank you for what you did," she said. "And congratulations on your win . . . it was a good race, and you deserved it."

Now, Dallas Winston was a proud young man, but he wasn't too proud to shake the girl's hand. In fact, though he was slightly shocked by the action itself, it made him see her in a new light. Ella Mitchell was brazen, more than he had actually thought . . . originally. He could remember her three years back, all uptight and shy, always getting upset and frantic over the dumbest shit, but she was different now, had more wit about her, and not only did she respect others, she respected herself, too. And that was something Dallas appreciated . . . and could admire. For the very first time, Dallas didn't see her as a dope, or as his ex-girlfriend, or as some ditzy broad . . . or hell, even as a former Playboy model.

What he saw her as then was his equal.

She'd had enough brass ones to compete against him and stand up to him, go through with it all and still lose to him, and then congratulate him with dignity. To Dallas Winston, that meant something, though he would never directly tell her that to her face. It really said a lot about Ella Mitchell in that particular moment, and when he shook her hand that night, he offered her a curt nod, his grip firm but not tight, and it was done with sincerity, not mockery.

Buck had caught up with them a moment later to take Shar back to the trailer along with Stella. He didn't bother to say anything to Ella, only giving her a sarcastic grin, one which told her that he was going to be a royal pain in the ass while she was working for him, not that she minded right then. Evie and Ponyboy had joined them, too, both going on about how crazy the race had been. For the first time, Evie Martin hadn't placed any bets, which had caused Dallas to tell her that she could go straight to hell for doubting him, even though it was because she didn't want to take sides like that with Ella being part of the race. Ponyboy was still surprised that Ella managed to come in second place, but he wasn't going to admit that to his friend, not wanting to offend her. Ella was a good sport, though, and honestly, he knew that she wouldn't think less of him for it, but still . . . it was the principle.

Ella's ankle still hurt from where that one guy had nearly crushed her leg, and the more she continued to walk on it, the more it throbbed. She knew it wasn't broken or anything, but glory, it was still painful to be walking on, or even standing on, even though she honestly would prefer the latter.

What she didn't expect was for a flare of anger to burst through her body when she spotted the guy who had intentionally collided with her in order to mess her up. Usually, Ella wasn't aggressive, and she was never one to get violent, but on this particular night, Ella Mitchell was in a mood. It wasn't because she had lost to Dallas, but because she didn't like the fact that another jockey thought it was okay to attempt to cheat, or screw with her simply because she was a girl. Well, the last part was just fine and dandy with her, because she was about to show him exactly why it wasn't okay.

(And perhaps there was tiny part of her that was slightly put off that she would be mucking horse shit pretty soon, so . . .)

Oh well.

She marched straight over to the guy, a brash look to her overall countenance, and before he could even muster up the words to say anything to the young woman, she balled her hand into a fist and punched him square in the nose, not once bothering to say anything to him. Instead, she turned on her heel as he stumbled backward, the hit taking him by surprise, and returned to her friends without so much as batting her eyes.

Dallas glanced once at the guy, blood pouring out of his nose, before he looked back ahead at Ella, a million and one thoughts racing through his mind in the matter of seconds.

She's a lot like you

The dangerous type

She's a lot like you

Tonight

Ella and Dallas are surely something else, aren't they?

Thank you for reading! :3