I hope you guys are liking the story so far.it's taking a little while for
me to work out all the kinks, so please continue to bear with me. Thanks a
TON to everyone who has taken the time to read my story, especially those
who have reviewed. Ya'll are keeping me motivated! ;)
Good Morning!
I woke up early the next morning in my warm bed, with Soda next to me. He always slept with me when I was sick or hurt or something. I did the same for him; it was kind of an unspoken thing between us. No one was awake yet, so I crept quietly out of bed and into the kitchen, still feeling wobbly and lightheaded from yesterday's events. I shook it off and removed a cake pan from the cupboard, then almost robotically began putting in the ingredients for our usual morning chocolate cake. Chocolate cake was just the custom breakfast for our house; for Two-Bit, it was cake and beer. It was sort of funny how a bunch of greasers still liked eating pastries for breakfast while watching cartoons (generally Mickey Mouse when Two-Bit's got the remote).
After putting the cake into the oven, I got the newspaper from the porch and flipped through the pages absentmindedly. Nothing new, really, just some Socs posing in the society pages, dressed up in their perfect little dresses and full skirts and beautiful blouses. I sighed, glancing down at my own torn sweatpants and oversized T-shirt that belonged to Soda. I would sometimes earn enough money doing odd jobs around the neighborhood so that I could buy fabric and make clothes, just to look halfway decent, but that wasn't often. I almost always found myself wearing something that belonged to one of the guys, usually Pony or Soda. Dally and Darry would always lend me their tuff leather jackets, too, which sort of made me stand out at school as a greaser. But I'd blow it off, just because I figure if people like you, they like you. It doesn't matter where you come from, or where they come from. I don't know, maybe I'm just an optimist.
"Hey, anybody home? Hel-lo!"
I smiled, instantly recognizing Two-Bit's voice in the hall. "In the kitchen, Two-Bit," I called back, washing out the coffee filter in preparation for my morning joe. Pony had his cigarettes, I had my coffee. What can I say, addictions run in the family.
"Robin!" Two-Bit grabbed me from behind and lifted me up in the air, causing the coffee filter to soar across the kitchen. Steve caught it mid- air as I was practically thrown back down by Two-Bit.
"Good morning to you, too," I said in response as Steve handed me the filter, which I put in the coffee machine and filled with grinds.
"Hey, how're you feeling? Last time I saw you, you were part of the living dead. You all right now?" Two-Bit had a way of lessening the grimness of a situation that was always appreciated by me.
"I'm good. You two hungry? Cake's in the oven, beer's in the fridge, and I think we still have some bread if you want toast." Once again, my maternal side took over, and I was glad to have my position as care-giver rather than one who needed care.
"I'm starved. Mind if I turn on Mickey?"
"Knock yourself out," I replied, grinning at Steve, who was still standing in the doorway.
"You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine, stop worrying," I told him, turning away to clean up the mess from the cake mix. "Geez, for a couple of greasers, you sure do worry a lot."
"Oh, yeah, so now we're greasers?" Soda said, tickling me in the ribs.
See, what you have to understand is that the term "greaser" is offensive to all of us-when it's spoken by anyone but us. If one greaser calls another greaser that, it's like a term of affection. But if another person calls us that, it's like talking shit about somebody's mom. It's beyond offensive, and a comment like that usually results in a fistfight-or more.
"You bet you are," I giggled, slapping Steve's hands away. "Anyway, stop, I have to go wake up Soda. He's gonna be late again, and Darry'll have another hernia."
"I'll wake the ole boy up, you take it easy. When was the last time you ate? Damn, girl, I can feel every one of your ribs!"
"I'm sixteen, Steve, I can handle my food intake. Anyway, I need to change so I'll go wake him up and get dressed, and by that time, the cake'll be done, and we can all eat. Sound good?"
"Yes, ma'am!" Steve joked as he messed up my hair and flopped onto the couch in the living room next to Two-Bit, who sat mesmerized by Mickey Mouse.
I laughed and wandered back into my bedroom, which is tiny, but I love it. I've got pictures of all of us coating the walls, a sign of my passion for photography. Darry got me a camera for my birthday that landed one month after our parents' death. It's one of my most prized possessions, and I constantly carry it around and take pictures of people or things or an interesting bird-anything. I've got books and shoeboxes full of snapshots, all labeled by date and subject. (I'll admit, I'm a bit obsessive about organization-my locker at school is sparkling.)
I nudged Soda's foot, which was falling off the side of the bed. He groaned a bit before opening his startling emerald green eyes and yawning.
"Hey, Robs, how're you feeling?"
"Popular question this morning," I muttered.
"Huh?"
"I'm fine," I replied, deciding not to confuse him more while he was still in his sleep funk. "I've got cake in the oven that's got your name on it. You just have to get up now or you'll have Darry on your back because you're late again."
"Great," he said, rubbing his eyes wearily.
"Listen, Soda." I sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Darry came back last night, right? Did you see him?"
"Uh.oh, yeah, yeah, he was fine. Why?"
"C'mon, you know why. He wasn't hurt?"
Soda averted his eyes. "Just a couple bruises, nothing serious. Promise."
"Did he find the Socs?"
"I think so.I dunno, Robs, you might have to ask him."
Darry appeared in the doorway. "Ask who what?"
I looked up at his face. There was a purplish sheen around his left eye, and his jaw had a jagged scrape that looked like the mark of a ring. I prayed he hadn't busted another rib bone, like he did at the last rumble.
"Dar, did you go out after those guys last night?"
Darry glanced at me. "I'm fine, Robs, forget it. Soda, get your stuff together, let's go."
"You know I hate it when you fight, Darry. Why would you go looking for one? Are you trying to scare me?" I was surprised at my own anger, almost as much as Darry and Soda were.
"Of course not, Robs. You know I would never."
"But you do, Dar, when you go out looking for a fight. Just please cut down on it, all right?"
Darry pulled me to him in a hug. "I'll do anything I have to to make you feel safe, okay, baby? Don't worry about me."
A/N: Okay, what did you guys think? Please let me know if you've got criticism or compliments, I want to hear it all. Thanks for reading! Check you later.
Much love, Ash
Good Morning!
I woke up early the next morning in my warm bed, with Soda next to me. He always slept with me when I was sick or hurt or something. I did the same for him; it was kind of an unspoken thing between us. No one was awake yet, so I crept quietly out of bed and into the kitchen, still feeling wobbly and lightheaded from yesterday's events. I shook it off and removed a cake pan from the cupboard, then almost robotically began putting in the ingredients for our usual morning chocolate cake. Chocolate cake was just the custom breakfast for our house; for Two-Bit, it was cake and beer. It was sort of funny how a bunch of greasers still liked eating pastries for breakfast while watching cartoons (generally Mickey Mouse when Two-Bit's got the remote).
After putting the cake into the oven, I got the newspaper from the porch and flipped through the pages absentmindedly. Nothing new, really, just some Socs posing in the society pages, dressed up in their perfect little dresses and full skirts and beautiful blouses. I sighed, glancing down at my own torn sweatpants and oversized T-shirt that belonged to Soda. I would sometimes earn enough money doing odd jobs around the neighborhood so that I could buy fabric and make clothes, just to look halfway decent, but that wasn't often. I almost always found myself wearing something that belonged to one of the guys, usually Pony or Soda. Dally and Darry would always lend me their tuff leather jackets, too, which sort of made me stand out at school as a greaser. But I'd blow it off, just because I figure if people like you, they like you. It doesn't matter where you come from, or where they come from. I don't know, maybe I'm just an optimist.
"Hey, anybody home? Hel-lo!"
I smiled, instantly recognizing Two-Bit's voice in the hall. "In the kitchen, Two-Bit," I called back, washing out the coffee filter in preparation for my morning joe. Pony had his cigarettes, I had my coffee. What can I say, addictions run in the family.
"Robin!" Two-Bit grabbed me from behind and lifted me up in the air, causing the coffee filter to soar across the kitchen. Steve caught it mid- air as I was practically thrown back down by Two-Bit.
"Good morning to you, too," I said in response as Steve handed me the filter, which I put in the coffee machine and filled with grinds.
"Hey, how're you feeling? Last time I saw you, you were part of the living dead. You all right now?" Two-Bit had a way of lessening the grimness of a situation that was always appreciated by me.
"I'm good. You two hungry? Cake's in the oven, beer's in the fridge, and I think we still have some bread if you want toast." Once again, my maternal side took over, and I was glad to have my position as care-giver rather than one who needed care.
"I'm starved. Mind if I turn on Mickey?"
"Knock yourself out," I replied, grinning at Steve, who was still standing in the doorway.
"You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine, stop worrying," I told him, turning away to clean up the mess from the cake mix. "Geez, for a couple of greasers, you sure do worry a lot."
"Oh, yeah, so now we're greasers?" Soda said, tickling me in the ribs.
See, what you have to understand is that the term "greaser" is offensive to all of us-when it's spoken by anyone but us. If one greaser calls another greaser that, it's like a term of affection. But if another person calls us that, it's like talking shit about somebody's mom. It's beyond offensive, and a comment like that usually results in a fistfight-or more.
"You bet you are," I giggled, slapping Steve's hands away. "Anyway, stop, I have to go wake up Soda. He's gonna be late again, and Darry'll have another hernia."
"I'll wake the ole boy up, you take it easy. When was the last time you ate? Damn, girl, I can feel every one of your ribs!"
"I'm sixteen, Steve, I can handle my food intake. Anyway, I need to change so I'll go wake him up and get dressed, and by that time, the cake'll be done, and we can all eat. Sound good?"
"Yes, ma'am!" Steve joked as he messed up my hair and flopped onto the couch in the living room next to Two-Bit, who sat mesmerized by Mickey Mouse.
I laughed and wandered back into my bedroom, which is tiny, but I love it. I've got pictures of all of us coating the walls, a sign of my passion for photography. Darry got me a camera for my birthday that landed one month after our parents' death. It's one of my most prized possessions, and I constantly carry it around and take pictures of people or things or an interesting bird-anything. I've got books and shoeboxes full of snapshots, all labeled by date and subject. (I'll admit, I'm a bit obsessive about organization-my locker at school is sparkling.)
I nudged Soda's foot, which was falling off the side of the bed. He groaned a bit before opening his startling emerald green eyes and yawning.
"Hey, Robs, how're you feeling?"
"Popular question this morning," I muttered.
"Huh?"
"I'm fine," I replied, deciding not to confuse him more while he was still in his sleep funk. "I've got cake in the oven that's got your name on it. You just have to get up now or you'll have Darry on your back because you're late again."
"Great," he said, rubbing his eyes wearily.
"Listen, Soda." I sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Darry came back last night, right? Did you see him?"
"Uh.oh, yeah, yeah, he was fine. Why?"
"C'mon, you know why. He wasn't hurt?"
Soda averted his eyes. "Just a couple bruises, nothing serious. Promise."
"Did he find the Socs?"
"I think so.I dunno, Robs, you might have to ask him."
Darry appeared in the doorway. "Ask who what?"
I looked up at his face. There was a purplish sheen around his left eye, and his jaw had a jagged scrape that looked like the mark of a ring. I prayed he hadn't busted another rib bone, like he did at the last rumble.
"Dar, did you go out after those guys last night?"
Darry glanced at me. "I'm fine, Robs, forget it. Soda, get your stuff together, let's go."
"You know I hate it when you fight, Darry. Why would you go looking for one? Are you trying to scare me?" I was surprised at my own anger, almost as much as Darry and Soda were.
"Of course not, Robs. You know I would never."
"But you do, Dar, when you go out looking for a fight. Just please cut down on it, all right?"
Darry pulled me to him in a hug. "I'll do anything I have to to make you feel safe, okay, baby? Don't worry about me."
A/N: Okay, what did you guys think? Please let me know if you've got criticism or compliments, I want to hear it all. Thanks for reading! Check you later.
Much love, Ash