Kay: Well, here's more!

little miss michelle:Yes, I want Johnny and Wendy to be a memorable couple.

XxAwkwardAlienxX: Wow, I'm humbled that you love my story so much! I hope you love this chapter as well! And I hear ya, I loved Johnny since I was a little girl too.

boop:Well, it can't all be fun and games, so yeah, there's a little trouble ahead.

The Orange Seamstress: Nice of you to join!

Guest: Well, I don't have the words to tell you how much I like this review! I dearly hope you keep reading!

XXIV

S*S

Autumn darkened the sky and the trees, shortening daylight hours well into October, and then to All Saint's Day the First of November. But with all the ways the world around them changed, Wendy was most surprised at how much her life and Johnny's thankfully remained the same. They woke up at home, went to school, and went home in the afternoon to do it again the next day. That basic framework of their universe had not changed nor undergone any metamorphosis.

And yet everything had changed, in a kaleidoscope of iridescent that would put a monarch or swallowtail's wings to shame. Everything now had a gleam of delight to it, a breathlessness of waiting, waiting, waiting -for that moment at the school's front doors, within the hallways, the nearest empty classroom, or merely entering English at the end of the day...and seeing the black embers in Johnny's eyes light up and his mouth grin ever so slightly, letting her know that throughout his day, he'd also been waiting for that repeated moment, that hit of near idiotic happiness they were both proving to be such fearful gluttons for. So much that where before they'd started going out, Johnny would miss at least three days a week of school, now he made a stronger effort to be there, so at least Wendy didn't have to worry about him the way she did at night, when she knew he could be headed to his excuse of a home.

It was probably silly in some sense...stupid, the way no knowing where he was could make her frantic...Johnny was fifteen-years-old and more street-smart and silently clever and just plain dogged than most people could hope to be. He wouldn't have lasted this long if he couldn't take care of himself. Thankfully, he was tolerant of -heck, even flattered by- her needy fears and tried to ease them by giving her a call every night -though sometimes that meant they couldn't talk long, since he was using a payphone. Those nights were the worse, 'cause usually, it meant even he wasn't sure where he'd be sleeping. Which did nothing to help her gluttonous desire for his safety.

Glutton...Wendy was familiar with the word, of course, having learned its meaning in Sunday school as a young wide-eyed child. She shifted unsteadily in her seat next to Cherry in Study Hall, re-reading a line from her history textbook for the third time. But it simply refused to stick.

Glutton. Gluttony. It meant an over-indulgence -or over-consumption- of food, or drink, or wealth items, particularly as status symbols. In Christianity, it was considered a sin. And Roman Catholics like herself were taught to consider gluttony one of the seven deadly sins...but...she wondered if any of the saints or sinners had ever considered the possibility that one could become a glutton over a person.

She shuffled, and could just feel her face going ever so slightly pink as her own answer came to her, in Mama's stern warning tones.

"They have Chey, they have. And it is still a sin. Only they do not call it Gluttony then."

She blinked and shook her head, raven hair falling like a Magdalene veil over her suddenly stubborn eyes and jaw. Because giddy and tomfoolish as the merest hint of Johhny's gaze could make her feel, she simply couldn't pin all her newfound delight in him to any sin, be it Gluttony or...well...the...erm...other one...ehm. 'Cause by its very nature, sin involved something selfish, horrible selfish. So selfish that it devoured and consumed the thing you were greedy for, submerging its will with your own, instead of giving of yourself with something patient. Something kind.

And Johnny was. Both things. Always. Along with cautious, almost hesitant when they meet up in a brick corner just outside the school or lingered Afterhours, where they could have the hallways to themselves. Or whispered quietly to each other in Mr. Syme's room. And in this here, some things had remained the same from when they were merely friends: they talked, teased, joked, discussed. Anything and everything now.

Though now, more often than not, their fingers would shyly reach across space between 'em, now twined loosely together. Sometimes they played an inverted game of thumb wars -one where only their pinkies would link and they'd amused themselves by trying to twist their finger free of each other. Wendy usually won, but she was pretty sure that was because Johnny would let her -and she had reason to think it, cause just that small contest gave a telling hint to how strong, physically, he actually was. Fast too. Cause whenever she started to pull her hand away triumphantly, he'd catch it quick as a cat, and as easily as a fly with chopsticks. Holding firm enough that Wendy knew she'd never get loose unless she asked him to let her go.

"Wish ya could've seen the looks on guys' faces when I got off the phone that night-" he huffed one day, when they were both early to class, rolling his eyes but grinning as he drawled on. "They were all damn near piled on top each other tryin' to 'accidentally overhear' what was goin' down. It's good you an' I are such quiet talkers. But somehow, they just knew what was goin' on, 'cause the first thing Two-Bit said was "Well Johnnycake, that lil' gal may not be a blond, but she's a keeper if ya can get her." Two-Bit has a thing for blonds."

Wendy's hand flew to her mouth to hide her giggles as Johnny slurred his voice in a reasonably good imitation of his usually impaired friend. He grinned at her.

"How 'bout you?" she asked when she could, smilingly shyly. "You got a thing for blonds?"

He pretended to think that over, musing mildly, before reaching out to tug a lock of her raven ponytail. "Nah. They're nice n'all, but it's dark hair that drives me crazy. S'pcialy when it's shoulder-length an' down. 'Mind's me of Snow White."

She arched a brow at that, curious. "Snow White?"

"Yeah," Johnny said, the autumn note in his voice rustling softer, and he held her gaze this time, ember coals glowing honestly. Uncertainty. "Fairest of 'em all."

She went still with that, fingers curled 'round the edge of her desk, till the olive skin of her fingers really were snow-white, and that other sin she refused to name was knocking somewhere in her stomach. 'Cepect it didn't feel like sin -had none of that serpent bite of selfishness.

So...maybe it was actually a virtue. A Cardinal One that Wendy didn't dare to name either. 'Cause kind and lovely as it was...it was also nothing short of terrifyingly.

And about this time, other kids, and Mr. Syme were comin' in, setting up shop. Which meant their private time was over for now. They shuffled, glancing away and then back at each other -simultaneously annoyed and a little relieved.

"Miss. Allen. Mr. Cade." Mr. Syme's asked lightly, without even looking up from his desk -the better to hide his knowing smile. "Anything you'd like to share with the rest of the class."

Jumping in her seat like she'd been electrocuted, Wendy bit her lip and shook her head. "No sir. I'm sorry."

Mr. Syme hummed, and the matter was dropped.

But next to her, Johnny sniggered, 'till she had to risk looking at him.

"Shoot, ya really are a Soc, aren't you? 'No sir. I'm sorry.'" he parroted, turning his mimicking ability on her now, though he smiled soft-like to show he was only teasing.

Still, though, that was how he wanted to play it? Wendy's cobalt gaze narrowed in mock warning.

"Johnny Cade. If you don't stop making fun of me, I won't kiss you after class."

He stopped making fun of her real quick.

S*S

It wasn't always so easy. All their fun and play within their private world couldn't change the larger one around it, and the unfair meanness that ran it. Sure, they could meet after school, in the corner and the vacant classrooms. But Johnny couldn't be seen walking with her down the hall, or sitting together at lunch (and on her end, she had to bit her lip and bear it on the other side of the cafeteria, when a girl called Sylvia Marrow all but tried to slide into his lap...well, before Johnny and Steve together shoved her off and sent her packing. "I don't care if ya a girl, ya pulled this shit with Johnny again, n' I'll beat the tar outta you!").

Because if he was, the boys of her apparent socio-economic class might just kill him. Or at least, make him wish he were dead after how bad they beat him.

It was still something she struggled to wrap her head around...was there something in the fountain water here, that made twentieth-century teenagers regress to a medieval tribesmen mentality that put her mother's gypsy roots to shame? Maybe it had to do with the fact that they'd soon be simultaneously reading Beowulf and Romeo and Juliet next in English, once Great Expectations was done, but suddenly it was easy to envision Bob and Cherry as Chief and Chieftess, Ruling King and Intervening Queen in the olden days...the madras and sports cars were Bob's Viking-like mead hall...it occupants disturbingly delighted in violence and obedient to an oath of fealty to Bob's will. Rivaled only by Jack.

Wendy grimaced at her locker, and turned her head slightly, taking in the sight of Pescare in the hallway with an all too delighted Beth Mays tangled around him. So far, her prediction regarding him had been right -short of sour looks, he'd hadn't troubled her their aborted date, all to soon rebounding with another, much more willing girl. Sometimes Beth. Sometimes her sister. Always...in front of her locker.

...Oh. Okay, so maybe he was trying to trouble her, or at least make her jealous. Well. Thankfully, the only thing he was succeeding in was making her nauseous...and embarrassed for her older sister.

Sighing she shook her head, putting her books away. And the thought came to her mind to thank God Pescare was a twentieth-century kid. Cause he was a menace enough here as he was, without actually having any power over another human being-

"Hey Greaser!" Jack suddenly bellowed, shoving a dizzy-looking Beth Mays aside to bolt across a hall in a jump-attack, tangling his leg with another boy and sending him crashing down into the wall near a garbage can. "Who said you can walk here?"

Wendy's hands froze as she shut her locker, just about to head for English. And the gulf of dread that exploded in her gut nearly toppled her as she spun 'round, already knowing what she would see.

Johnny had already recovered his balanced, rising to a half-crouch before pushing Pescare backward and away from him, with a determined strength that took the other boy by surprise, if Pescare cursing was anything to go by. Johnny's eyes were blank and cold and hard, like Wendy had never seen them -they had no embers in 'em at all. No spark. No nothing that spoke of Johnny himself. And the urge to run, to place herself between her boyfriend and his attacker was just short of devastating. And the only thing that pulled her short was the knowledge of just how much worse it would be if she'd got involved.

Still, the urge pulled at her, rolling down in blood from her lip as her teeth broke the skin. And her feet took a step. But then Johnny's eyes looked at her, with the faintest shake of his head. The first emotion shone through his mask then, and it was panic -for her.

"Got anymore Italian to speak?" But Jack mistook it for fear. Of course, he did, Wendy grounded, before blanching at the two started going at it, grabbing and punching. Heart in her throat, Wendy tried to juggle the odds of a coming fight. Altogether, Jack was bigger than Johnny. But Johnny was fast, and in their conversations, her boyfriend had mentioned that bigger guys could go down easier because they never learned how to handle a punch. And oh, Johnny could take a punch. He was proving it right now, taking the hits he couldn't block or dodge without a whimper.

That was his greatest strength, almost oak-like in its resilience, to take and endure and still keep growing.

Of course, that was his main strength. But not his only one-

"Italian? How 'bout you master English first buddy o' pal?" Two-Bit Matthews gibbed lightly, as he, Sodapop Curtis, and Steve Randle came pushing through the gathered crowd to stand behind Johnny, giving him time to stand back up after being knocked down again (and he'd gotten some good licks in himself- Pescare's lip would be back and blue for a week). Matthew cocked an eyebrow and set an elbow on Johnny's shoulder, hand twirling in the air. Gone were the boys who had sat around the Curtis' table eating blue spaghetti -tucked away like a nesting doll. In their place were the hoods, tough and deadly, that Wendy had always been told they were.

Jack's face turned an interesting shade of red at the misconstruction of his words, but he never got the chance to say anything back.

"Alright that's enough, break it up!" Mr. Syme bellowed from down the hall, the rim of his glasses glowing more golden than an angel's halo, in Wendy's eyes.

"Pescare, you got a math class a floor above us, and your grade certainly can't afford you missing any more of them," here, Mr. Syme made a scooting motion with his hand, the look in his eyes allowing for no disobedience as the bell rang, causing most of the crowd to scamper. Sneering, Pescare had no choice but to stalked off. Then Mr. Syme turned to the Greasers, adjusting his glasses, taking them off to clean then on his tweet suit, his tone and features resumed their normally mild manners ways.

"Well, excitement's over boys, so off you go too -oh and Johnny?"

Jumping to the sound of his first name -it was the first time Mr. Syme had ever called him by it- Johnny blinked, the mask slipping slightly from its blank and unmoving state as he warily regarded his teacher.

"Uh, yes sir?" he asked, hands shoving themselves on reflex into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched and defensive with a bruise on his cheek, even if his tone was cautiously respectful. Mr. Syme took no offense.

"You think you could walk Wendy home, son?" he requested kindly. "She's not looking too good. I'll save your work for you both tomorrow. Oh, and Johnny? It might be best if you disappeared for the remainder of the day as well."

Blinking, the four boys peered over the teacher's shoulder see that alone of the kids who'd gathered 'round for the fireworks, only the slim little girl in blue dress remained. And truth be told, she really didn't look too good -pale and still and utterly heartsore.

Shoulders loosening, breathing going lax, Johnny nodded once, quickly, before turning back to his friends.

"Thanks, guys..." he muttered, low but meaning it.

Two-Bit clinked his cheek and ruffled his hair. "Don't sweat it kid, anytime."

Then his eyes flickered over to Wendy and his voice dropped lower. "Just take care of that lil' gal of yours, kay?"

"'Tend to," Johnny muttered back, brow pinched with worry as they parted ways.

"Say, Mr. Syme," Sodapop charmed sweetly, as they moved along. "And chance ya could give us permission to play hooky too?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about Mr. Curtis," Mr. Syme said with great dignity -though something in the rim of his glasses twinkled with a glint between humor and sadness.

S*S

She still hadn't moved from her spot, staring at nothing with her books clenched to her heart, which still had yet to beat at a normal pace. She was somewhat aware, though, of the shadow in the blue jean jacket moving steadily to her side, hesitating before his hand brushed her shoulder, and started guiding her back to her locker with a small release of ember-lit breath.

"What's ya number Wen?" he murmured softly, fingers quickly turning the dial left and right as she vaguely remembered giving it. Opening it, some of her senses came back, and Wendy helped load her bookbag with the subjects she'd need adjusting it on her shoulder. She nodded when she was ready, and Johnny breathed out again, one hand tugging at his bangs with a wordless frustration that bunched up the corner of his mouth. Wendy blinked, morbidly fascinated. It wasn't directed at her, but still, it wasn't often that Johnny's temper ran anywhere close to anger. Annoyed sure, stubborn occasionally, but this...this was anger.

But it was only for an instant, cause when he looked at her, she saw the effort he made to swallow it back, push it down, before his normal warmth reached out and gently began moving her along, hand on her back.

"Will go out the back," he muttered, thinking out loud. "Less rooms to pass."

"Okay," she answered, mumbled, and they started walking again, their footsteps condemning them across the linoleum floor until Wendy thought she'd go mad from it. And the fresh, cold air when they finally broke out the school's back doors did little to help her lungs recover their function of letting her breath, the route of her lungs remaining frozen, icy with gawing fear.

Johnny noticed -of course, he did, even a blind man would've seen it. And so as they had the cover of some buildings, his hand laced firmly with her own, squeezing slightly just enough to get her attention, make her look at him.

" 'M alright Wendy," he said quietly. And that was enough to make the icy break a roll of steam, tense muscles lax with it, it was a miracle her knees didn't buckle with it.

"I k-know," she gasped out, hand swiping at her cheeks, the cold trails that started rolling down it. "I just hate it. All of it."

Got to love Mr. Syme. A true educator understands what kids need even if it means leaving the classroom...though to be honest, at this point, he may have a little bias in favor of Wendy and Johnny at this point. He cares about them. Reviews make me happy so tell me what you think and I'll update sooner.

Merry early Christmas! And Happy New Year!