RockabillyHippie: I love how protective you are of Wendy and Johnny -I thick you'll make a great mother someday! Glad this give ya somthing to do!
tomeii:You'll have to wait and see. And yes, Connie's twisted.
Jcuret98:Wow, I love that there was such a reaction to the tension between Wendy and Connie. Glad you liked it!
lovelyhatter:Before we get to Wendy's sence with Jack, we have a sort of scene with Johnny and Jack, hop you like.
Riariabookworm:I'm so glad you like it!
bookgirl18: Connie doesn't have much thought in what she does unfortunately.
guest: Here ya go!
Chapter XX
S*S
Relief glowed on Wendy's face, perking up the moment she sweep into sunlit room of English class with the fullness of rest and break. And the smile only grew wider when she saw that not only had she gotten to class early, but Johnny was there too, slouched in his seat in the back. And it was only the two of them there, so they had time to talk.
And she was so happy, Wendy didn't notice how Johnny shuffled into himself as she drew closer, solitary as an oyster.
"Hey Johnny," she chirped as she sat down, eager to share with him the one good thing that had happened today -when she gone to check the mailbox this morning, what had Wendy found waiting, but a pretty lil' certificate confirming that those stories she had submitted for the contest had gotten first place -with the prize of publishment in a magazine and prize money of a hundred of her own dollars. She'd never had so much money of her own before -and she had no idea what she wanted to to do with it.
Her feet crossed at the ankles, free of their shoes and rubbing together slightly.
But...she was hoping Johnny might have an idea or two.
But whatever she was hopin' for putter to a halt, as Johnny bare glanced up at her, mouth pressing as he gave a quick nod and went back to staring at his notebook.
Her smile vanished.
"Hey...something wrong?" she asked, shuffling closer, watching him intensely. He shrugged. She looked him over...nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He appeared no worse than yesterday, and hadn't been gone from school in a while now...something she liked to think had something to do with her.
"Are you...having a bad day?" She tried to touch his arm, but he pulled it back and shrugged again. Her heart sank, with a plop like a stone in a well.
"...Do...do you want me to leave you alone?"
Shrug.
Wendy couldn't ask anything more, cause that was when class started coming in, and she was force to scramble for her own supplies and notebook, flipping it to a clean page as Mr. Syme began the class what they thought about Pip relationship with Estella, and whether or not she actually loved him.
"Mr. Randle?"
Steve made a face as he was forced to sit up and stop twirling a pencil. He snorted.
"No way, that rich snob don't love nobody -not even herself if she wanted," he sneered. "Don't know how too."
"So maybe she does," a brown hair girl in a yellow dress, called Evelyn 'Evie' Hats said in challenge, glaring at Randle. "I mean...she keeps warnin' him 'bout her, don't she? She doesn't wanna hurt 'im."
Beth Mays rolled her eyes.
"That's not the same as lovin' him though," she huffed. "That's just feelin' sorry for 'im."
Johnny's shoulder twitched, and he ducked his dark head lower, like a fallen ember.
"Good points all," Mr. Syme approved, turning his gleaming spectcales 'round the room. "Miss Allen? What about you?"
Wendy jumped, blinking as she blushed and fumbled out an answer. "Well she...she cares about him for sure."
Mr. Syme nodded mildly. "I see. Can you explain?"
Wendy licked her lips.
"Well...when their at that party and she," she blinked, paled, and swallowed hard as two and two added up in her head, making a horrible four. When she spoke again, her voice was small. "She flirts with and pursues Bentley Drummle...right in front of Pip. And when he's angry and asks her why, she wants to protect him."
"Protect him?"Steve Randle turned around fully in his seat, green eyes narrowed in distaste. "That ain't what I'd call it, sweetheart."
"But it is!" Evie jumped in fiercely, violet eyes ablaze. "When she asked him if he wanted her to device him, she tell him that even if she been tricked by her crazy mother to used others, she doesn't want to use him."
"Do you want me then", said Estella, turning suddenly with a fixed and serious, if not angry, look, "to deceive and entrap you?"
"Do you deceive and entrap him, Estella?"
"Yes, and many others—all of them but you."
These are all good points," Mr. Syme agreed, delighted, scanning the room again, his gaze of choice landed on Johnny.
"Mr. Cade?"
His head jerked up, the embers in his eyes open and flying out in reconfiguration.
"Uh, what?" he stumbled, fingers curling on the edges of his desk.
"Which side do you agree with? Does Estella feel anything for Pip or doesn't she?" Mr. Syme prompted.
Johnny's gaze darted downward for a moment, and his hand reached for his bangs. He breathed out and shrugged, hand curled in a loose fist on the wood of the table.
"Donno know, sir. Can't say," he said flatly. So much so that Wendy and Steve Randle both stared at him.
Something glinted in Mr. Syme's eye, and he nodded quickly, turning attention away from his student.
"Well that's alright too -if fact, it might be better to hold off all judgement until you have all the facts," he said with a meaningful air, rocking back and forth on his toes. The subject changed to a new topic -redemption and second chances.
Wendy didn't hear a word. And when class was over, Johnny all but ran out the door with the crowd, and she was left desperately biting her lip till she tasted cooper on her teeth.
At his desk now, Mr. Syme looked over at her with concern. "Everything all right, Miss Allen?"
Taking in a long breathe, Wendy forced her feeling down into the box Mama had trained her to have -like Pandora in reverse, Mama called it- the lid closed and held shut as she shaky packed up and bore her burden.
"I'm fine sir, thank you," she answered, eyes down as she shuffled out of class.
S*S
Johnny didn't wait for any of the guys to catch up, once he was out of the school; flying down the step like the very stones o' this place was on fire. To stop was to burn, and God he was burnin' up already.
Glory...
He needed to get out. So he did, move fast down the road with harsh wind tearing at his jacket as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, puffs of air bursting out in silver mist. When he was little, real little, his grandmother would tell him he was making angels when he breathed in cold weather.
He didn't know why he did that. Why he did any of that...all his life, Johnny had thought he known a few things for certain 'bout himself -that he was quiet, that he was drifter, that save for the gang, he was on his own, and despite all that, he could take care of himself. And like Mr. C said, taking care of yourself meant being able to deal fair and square with other folk around ya.
He winced, and kicked an empty soda bottle further down the road. Normally he could do that -he'd never woke up in the mornin', deciding that today he was gonna hurt somebody. But today...well, he did just that didn't he?
No shit Sherlock.
He press his mouth tighter, gritting his teeth. He couldn't help it. Wendy...Wendy did things to him. With her hair and those eyes and that smile that lit up her face whenever she saw him. Him.
Her smile use to confuse the hell out him -he used to wanna look 'round, see who was really getting it...'fore it slowly dawned that it was him.
He shook his head.
He'd should've know better then to go reading more into it than he originally told himself too -telling himself that it was something special, something that was just for him. Wishful thinking, right.
Back in the start of the year, when he and Wendy first started talking, the safer, saner part of his brain -that snipped at him a little like Dally would- had strenuously warned him not to go readin' anything more than friendship in their time together...but honestly, that lil' voice didn't stand a chance, with those big cobalt mirrors went starin' into his own, open and shy and maybe just a little curious. But completely unafraid, to the point he hadn't wanted to hold her gaze.
Been a 'long time since he'd seen anything so pure.
His lips twitch in a wryly manner. Course, once he'd gotten to know her, he gotten to know that she was actually human, who left the halo at 'ome most days like the rest o' 'em. 'Stead she was a person, with ticks and humor and a nervous fear; one that made her take care not to step on cracks, or walk under ladders, or turn her homework in late.
Nervous fear that had bubbled up in her eyes, as he refused to talk to her today.
His hands shoved deeper in his pockets.
He couldn't help it. She did things to him. And seein' her accept Jack Pescare's invite to a date nearly killed him. But did he even have a right to be mad? It wasn't like she and him were...steady or somethin'. Hell, they'd never even been on a date, their one attempt stopped before it began. Like anything else good in his life. He ducked his head lower. Gave that bottle another kick.
And really, what did he expect from her? Huh? Johnny wasn't an idiot -he knew the score, and how it went for guys like him.
They didn't ended up with girls like Wendy -nice girls with soft lookin' hair, skin unblemished from not wearing too much make-up (Wendy only over wore a little eye shadow and lip gloss -and only if she remembered, sometimes she forgot) and millions of words and thoughts he didn't know, spoke in ways he never thought of before, babbling out of her in an unstopped cheerful steam.
Girls like Wendy always ended up with guys like Pescare; guys who could take 'em places, pay for it, and leave a tip like it was tossing bread crumbs to pigeons.
He winced again, and sucked air through his teeth.
And guys like him?
They ended up with girls like Sylvia, if they were lucky -with bottle blond hair, mean little smiles, hungry eyes (like she was Sylvester and you were Tweety), and claw-like hands that once actually tried to slide 'cross his stomach under his shirt...which hadn't felt all bad, 'till he saw her eyes, and saw how much of a game it was to her -the more people hurt, the better.
And Christ Jesus if that wasn't something to look forward too...he groaned, channeling his inner Ponyboy. He grabbed his bangs again, yanking 'em.
He really blew it. After a cold shoulder like that, Wendy sure as hell wouldn't want to talk to him no more. She'd brush him off as a friend she once had who turned out to be a jerk. She might even tell Pescare 'bout it, or some other Socy guy she could date if really she wanted too -and she could, Johnny knew more guys than just Pescare and him like her -why wouldn't they? Wendy was real pretty -prettier than she knew, Johnny thought sometimes.
As pretty as her heart, whose beat he'd felt through their clothes, when she hugged him that day of their failed not-date.
Which was why Johnny was careful when he was with her, making sure nobody else was 'round to see and tell -he didn't want to ruin her reputation. She might get a...he didn't know...pass, since she was new and all, and didn't get how bad the Greaser-Soc divide could be. He didn't want to chance it. But she kept pulling him in, unashamed of his company, or what it could do down the road.
He'd heard stories, though, 'bout what happened to Soc girls, when powers-that-be decided they were a little too nice to their kind. That their 'friends' would ditch 'em, and Soc guys would deem her 'easy', for keep a Greaser's company. And shit would happen to 'em.
And that really would kill him. Wendy deserved better -she deserved to grow up, marry a -he didn't know- doctor or'a lawyer or somethin', and write all 'em stories she wanted, whole book fulls. And when she was done with writing, she could have a couple a kids or more, with her dark hair and cobalt eyes, and shy, open smile...
He sighed, finally lifting his face up to the pale November sun.
An' she'd have a family that loved her, and didn't hurt her and could afford dinner every night -Johnny was just a Grease, he couldn't do nothing but dirty her up-
The blare of a car horn blasted him away from his thoughts, scattering them like dying leaves on the pavement as Johnny looked up and pressed his mouth -making his eyes go blank- as a blue mustang drove by slowly, just enough that the car-ful of jeering Soc's could get their jollies.
S*S
"Hey," howled one, with dark Superman hair, slapping the door of his car, and Johnny kept himself from starting as he recognized those Pharaoh rings. "No littering! So get yer-self of the street Greaser!"
"He's leavin' a grease trail where every he goes!" another curly haired guy laughed -the one that had sounded like Darry 'fore an' sure didn't know.
"Ever hear of a shower Greaser?" -that one was from Pescare, because God, when He woke up this morning, decided He hated Johnny Cade today (probably cause He knew what he would do to Wendy). His green eyes were gleeful, his smirk cold an' slimy, his speech slurred.
Something green and poisonous sloshed in his stomach. Mixed with disbelief. Wendy was going on a date with this guy?
"Why ya walkin' lone Grease?" Pescare keep at it. "Your girlfriend decide she could do better than ya?"
...Yep, it was official. God hated 'im.
He didn't say nothin', but at this point he'd stopped walkin' -not wantin' it to look like he was slouching away. This was a busy street, it wasn't likely they get out to jump him here. Sides he had that pop-bottle at his feet here -and he bent an' picked it up, so if push came to shove he had less thunder in his mouth and more lightning in his hand.
If he absolutely had to, he'd break it the way Two-bit 'ad taught him -an' hope he didn't cut himself to ribbons doing it. Either way though, he'd have a knife.
"She's makin' ya a cornuto right now isn't she, Greaser?" Pescare laid on, he and his friends enjoying his horseshit Italian, nails on a chalkboard that made Johnny's face scrunch up; all for the benefit of some girls Johnny hadn't noticed before, as drunk and laughing as their guys- "Piccola figa cavalca il mio cazzo non è lei?"
That made a little gasp escape him, with a cold smoldering feeling of burning in his eyes and his hands -that was the only way he had the guts to do what he did next.
"Vai a cagare, l'unica cosa che cavalca il tuo cazzo è tua madre," he shot back slowly, coldly, carefully, feeling the mask of his own mother's Sicilian disdain for anything and everything 'lesser' come alive to him.
It had the welcomed effect -his command of the language may have been shit, but Pescare knew 'nough as a fellow Italian that he'd frozen completely, and the laughing of the others in the car puttered out as little show went off the script.
Their script at least.
They didn't have the chance to do anything 'bout it though -the cars behind the blue mustang were fed up with waiting for it to move -they were people with places to go and things to do.
"Move it ya punks! Take up time on ya own watch!"
"The light's green!"
"Move it!"
Johnny grinned and didn't try to hide it -wasn't so fun when ya were at the receivin' end of it, now was it?
So cursing, they had to go, and Pharaoh rings scrambled to get into gear.
"You're dead someday Greaser!" Pescare shouted as he got smaller and father away. "You hear me! You-are-dead! Morte! Pick the flowers for ya grave!"
"See ya Joseph!" one of the girls cooed, tapping something in his memory he couldn't quite recall with the blood pumping.
Didn't mater he guess. Pescare carried on like this for as long as he could, and Johnny called out "Vaffanculo!", just cause he could, cause of the fierce, quiet satisfaction that came with it. Not quite of victory...they hadn't even fought, so it wasn't like he won nothin' really.
No, the question here was whether or not he gave an inch of his ground -literally or otherwise. On his mother's side he was Italian. But on his father's he was Apache -born and breed to fight losing battles. And choose to do so 'cause the shame be worse if you didn't even try...
...maybe that was enough.
"You'll lose fights, mutt," his father voice reminded him -from a time where he didn't wince to see Ray Cade's hand reaching out to him -that pet name once carried the faintest scrap of bemused affection he'd die three times over to get. The Bemused Affection that vanished completely once his grandmother and Uncle Joe died.
"You'll lose more in life than you'll ever win."
Johnny been 'bout...eh, he'd say eight...when he gotten that bit of wisdom, and he could sill feel his father's rough knuckles carding through his hair. He remembered cause it was the last time his father touched him without the intent to cause pain.
He sighed, and shoved the dirty pop bottle in his pocket with his hands, case any jokers tried to bother 'im again...he wasn't sure if he could honestly cut someone, but least it would help a bluff.
"...Ya ought ta start carryin' a blade Johnnycakes, if ya gonna be stupid and walk by ya lonesome"- Dal's voice gritted at him, in the same way he always pestered him in real life, over these things. "You may not care 'bout ya own ass but we do ya little -."
Johnny felt something on his mouth twitch faintly, 'fore it puttered out with a sigh and he circle back 'round to Wendy, and started kicking himself 'gain. He was too 'shamed to call her up and apology...hell would he even say? So it was a safe bet that he wouldn't be picking her up to take to the Curtis' this Sunday.
That could've been his chance, their chance, if ever been one. But now it was blown 'way in the cold wind.
Well the real world's crazy now, so hope this helps. Stay safe everybody! And Johnny's comeback to Pescare comes from Doc Holiday an' Johnny Ringo Latin Battle in Tombstone -cheak it out on youtube if ya like.