Rydell, California
September 1st, 1960

Standing Johnny up hadn't been the plan, originally; Stephanie had meant to sit at one of picnic tables near the concession stand at the Grandview Drive-In theater and (try to) discuss how she was feeling (at least out in public, he wouldn't allow himself to make that much of a scene).

The restlessness, however, had been worse that night than ever: All day long – all week long – every nerve in her body had been on edge, buzzing with an anticipation she couldn't find the source for, driving her to distraction.

At first, she had thought it was her upcoming senior year – The Year – and maybe that was part of the issue, but that definitely wasn't all of it.

"Might be there's some kind of change coming for you," her father had said with a patient calm, his eyes observing her face carefully, after she had stood in the middle of the kitchen for a solid fifteen minutes, attempting to dissect her (erratic) emotions, the words taut and damn near rambling out from her. "Sounds as though there is. Aside from ending it with Nogerelli, I mean. Your mother used to get those same premonitions. About drove me up the wall ... "

He smiled, remembering, in a bittersweet rush, his twelve years of happy with his wife, Mary.

Stephanie had smiled faintly in return – she'd been eleven when Mary died – and Giacobbe "Jake" Zinone had tilted his head a little, his gaze still regarding his daughter with the patient calm – he'd thought it best given the frenetic gleam in her blue eyes.

"Senior year starts in four days ... ?" he had prompted.

"And I'm done being arm-candy to that jack-ass. I'm just so exhausted of him." Stephanie had breathed out sharply, the air whistling, all four limbs and her gut jittery all over.

... exhausted ... What a goddamn understatement ...

"All he ever wants to do is ride that stupid bike, comb his hair, and make out. And don't even get me goddamn started on his lines tryin' to get me in the sack. The other day his old man brought the Chevy in, the driveshaft needed a lube job, Johnny's lookin' at me, 'I got a shaft you can lube' ... Goose and DiMucci were there, they thought it was hilarious ... those two would laugh at monkeys tossin' peanuts ... I threw my toolbox at him. That started a whole different fight." Stephanie's voice had been stony with frustration. "Johnny's dad applauded me."

Jake had snorted, unsurprised – aside from the blue eyes, facial features, and caramel-blonde hair, Stephanie had also inherited Mary's Irish temper, right down to the last swear word. "Yelled at him good, too, from what Eddie told me. Didn't let him or the other two get a word in edgewise." He'd looked at her, then shrugged, proud and relieved. "So you're done with him. He'll get over it. And you can focus on whatever it is you're trying to find."

What I'm trying to find, what I want ... Respect ... I'm not someone's damn trophy ... I want a lover ... I want –

Mind turning over and over – sleep had been nearly impossible, but finally she'd managed to catch it – she had glanced at the clock on her bedroom wall at one point in the evening and discovered that she should have met with Johnny at the drive-in ten minutes earlier – a second go-round of 12 To The Moon and 13 Ghosts ...

Shit, who cares?

She had once spent a good two months asking after a nice dinner in a nice restaurant, because, why not? You pay your half, I'll pay mine, she'd repeated over and over, and finally he'd agreed, in a sour sort of way, for the previous Valentine's Day: A more upscale restaurant over in North Hollywood.

Things had started going downhill fast when Goose and DiMucci had showed up, bringing Rhonda and Sharon with, with Davey and Paulette trailing behind – Johnny hadn't had a problem with them being there, and Stephanie had wanted to smack him silly.

The shit had hit the fan when Johnny had gotten into a fight with one of the waiters, whom he swore was flirting with Stephanie ... which he had been, and Stephanie hadn't complained.

Nice to hear, "You're beautiful.", once in a while.

A few of the other waiters had gotten involved and somewhere in the middle of that someone (Davey) had decided to hurtle a bowl of gravy-drenched mashed potatoes at the nearest waiter's midsection. One happy little food fight later and they were banned from that place for life.

With buttered corn kernels in her hair, Stephanie had screamed several coarse obscenities at all four them – Johnny, Goose, DiMucci, and Davey (collectively known as the T-Birds, while Stephanie, Rhonda, Paulette, and Sharon made up the Pink Ladies) – before demanding to be taken home, after which she had refused to talk to or hardly even look at Johnny for a solid week.

It was over then, I should've dropped his ass then ... before then ...

Better late than never, she supposed; and now she could hear him out on the front lawn, bellowing her last name at the top of his lungs.

She could count on eight fingers and two thumbs the number of times he'd called her by her first name in the two years and four months since she'd started going with him.

We're not right, we're not right, we don't work, I can't imagine a life with you, I need more, I need –

– to be able to breathe –

– you to keep away –

"ZINONE!"

"Better get out there, girl, before he huffs and puffs and blows the house down." her stepmother, Helen, chimed in, a dry smile on her face, five-month-old Peter fast asleep in her arms and drooling.

Heart thumping, adrenaline shaking up and down her spine at the prospect of being free of him, Stephanie, dressed in a sleeveless purple shirt and sleeping shorts, had practically jumped down the stairs and yanked the door open with a sharply flung, "What?"

Johnny Nogerelli had stood four feet back, heavily muscled and bordering on the tall side, decked out in his biker leathers and T-Bird jacket, his black hair combed in a Presley-style pompadour that was all the rage among Italian-Americans, a Camel cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, his lips twisted in a sneer, his dark eyes glinting coldly.

You don't scare me.

"Never mind," she'd continued, waving a dismissive hand in his direction, steeling herself and frowning – it was much better this way, she'd realized, a cold-turkey quit rather than a weening off of. "I didn't show up tonight because you and I are over. We've been over for months. I need something more, so I'm not dating you, ever again. That's it, and that's all. Go home, Johnny. Good night." She had shut the door on him before he could respond, locking it, pressing her back to it, exhaling a long, slow breath, fighting back the trembling, the excitement buzzing so thoroughly that she felt like she was flying –

– out of my mind – why do I feel like this, what's wrong? –

"ZINONE!" Louder and angrier than before.

"Get out of here, boy, before I turn the sprinklers on, call the cops and then your mother!" Jake Zinone had shouted him down from the second-story window.

Smirking at the thought of that, walking up into the second-floor bathroom, Stephanie had stood before the mirror, halfway listening to Duane Eddy's "Rebel-'Rouser" playing out on her transistor radio from her room while examining her reflection closely: Five-foot-seven, a lithe figure with full curves in all the right places, almond-shaped blue eyes, long caramel-blonde hair, a heart-shaped face with a stubborn chin, a sun-kissed complexion ...

She'd won first place in a children's beauty contest at the age of nine. Thank God her mother had only insisted on the one, she'd hated it.

I have a brain, I have a brain behind the looks, you assholes!

And the restlessness continued.