The Outsiders © S.E. Hinton.This story is non-profit.
All notes/disclaimers in Chapter 1.





Not Today
Chapter 7: Lessons in Aggression

When I thought through how exactly I was going to teach Jules to fight, I realized I needed our old punching bag. Which was all fine and good except that we were going to be having the lesson over at her place and I was pretty familiar with the construction of her apartment, specifically the roofing. It was not going to hold the weight of a punching bag. We were gonna have to bite the bullet and do it at my house instead.

Jules didn't seem to mind the endless, usually juvenile observations of my friends, and I started to convince myself that maybe it'd help, having more of us around. I'm pretty proud of the boys; they're a good bunch of fighters and don't usually stoop to dirty tricks. If a fight's fair, it's fair, and they ain't afraid of using their fists. Sometimes I thought the Shepard's wouldn't know a fair fight if it punched them in the face, but then, if you were fighting the Shepard's, you should know well enough to carry a blade even if you said you weren't going to.

She came over right after breakfast on Sunday, and all of us were on the back porch. I was getting the punching bag hung up with Two-Bit and Steve's help, and Soda was giving unhelpful suggestions about getting it just right. Pony just smoked cigarette after cigarette and watched us, which is what Pony usually ends up doing anyway.

When she walked around the side yard and appeared next to Sodapop, I thought I wasn't gonna be able to do this after all. Her hair was back up in a ponytail, like the first night she'd come over to the house, and she had on these real tight black pants that had a drawstring waist. I couldn't figure out why pants that tight would have a drawstring waist; they weren't gonna be falling down anytime soon. She also had on a black tank top that didn't quite reach the top of her pants and if I thought her back looked smooth, well I hadn't seen nothin' until I'd seen her stomach. Maybe it was better to have the boys around after all. It would force me to keep my mind on what I was doing.

I quickly introduced Jules and Two-Bit, and Two-Bit of course had to appraise her in the creepy way he appraises every female and it usually makes them uncomfortable. She didn't seem to mind, and when he cocked an eyebrow at her she cocked one back, and they both cracked up laughing.

"I heard you have all these crazy superstitions," was the first thing Two-Bit said, and I shot a nasty look toward Steve but he wasn't paying attention at all. He could see his reflection in the window pane and he was staring at his hair.

Jules only nodded proudly. She put her hands on her hips. "I do," she confirmed, and Two-Bit inclined his head slightly as he pulled a cigarette out from his jacket pocket.

"You dig okay," he said with finality.

Two-Bit had no trouble with people's eccentricities as long as they were willing to admit they had them. The way Two-Bit figured it, everyone was wacky in their own way, some were just better at hiding it than others. He kept a "to do" list in his pocket, with nonsensical things written on it like, "Bang Elizabeth Montgomery" and "Set School Bathroom on Fire". It also said, "Find Darry's Craziness" and he liked to show it to me on occasion to make sure I didn't forget that he was always looking.

"You ready?" I asked Jules, shrugging off my jacket. It wasn't raining anymore but the sky hadn't cleared up, not by a long shot. As an afterthought I added, "Maybe we better warm up first."

Jules shook her head. "I jogged over here," she said, and I was sorta surprised. Off my look she clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "It's only two miles."

Soda had hopped up onto the porch and was standing next to Jules. He grabbed one of her arms and held it out. "You better stop jogging and start putting some muscles on. Look at these arms!"

She had real skinny arms. With a glare, Jules pulled her arm back and elbowed Soda in the stomach. He doubled-over, gasping for air, and the rest of us doubled-over laughing. When he was finally able to, he held up one finger. "That's a start," he wheezed.

She was smiling sweetly at me. "Great idea, to do it here," she said, and I noticed the twinkle in her eyes. She winked at me. "Can we get started?"

It made me real weak in the knees when she winked at me. Like we had a secret no one else knew. "Guys, clear off," I said, and without hope that they'd amble into the house, I wasn't surprised when they all sprawled out in the yard. Soda and Steve were tossing a football, but Pony and Two-Bit were chain smoking and had nothing better to do than to watch us like hawks.

I tried to ignore them and concentrated and wrapping the boxing gloves over Jules' hands. I'd noticed her fingers the first day we'd met, they were long and slender, but not bony or anything. She had nice fingernails; not too long but not too short, and she didn't wear nail polish except maybe clear. Most of the girls we dated had red or hot pink fingernails. I got real sick of looking at it all the time.

Once the gloves were on, I went around to the back of the punching bag and put my hands on either side of it. I looked around one side of the bag, saw her just standing there looking at me, arms hanging limply at her sides.

"Put your hands up," I commanded, and she did. I moved behind her and breathed in that same clean-air smell of her hair. I tried to concentrate on positioning her hands to hit the bag, then put my hands on her waist to get her feet right. That was real distracting, on account of touching the skin that I'd thought looked so soft, and now actually knowing that it was as soft as I'd imagined.

"Put your left foot a little forward," I said.

Two-Bit's low whistle from the yard got me real agitated. "Cut it out," I snapped.

He whistled again and I growled out his name. I can sound real threatening when I want to.

Two-Bit only shrugged. "Okay, I'll keep my mouth shut but I was just thinkin' her right foot should be forward seein' how you've got her hands positioned."

I wasn't joking when I said I was real distracted by her outfit. It killed me to admit Two-Bit was right. I said, "Switch your hands," and she did. It was sort of a relief to retreat back behind the punching bag.

"Okay, whenever you're ready go ahead and -- "

She hit the bag with a quick one-two punch.

"Start," I finished needlessly.

Steve and Soda had stopped throwing the football and were watching with avid interest. "Not bad, but your form needs work," Steve called out.

Jules just grinned at me. I corrected her form and taught her the difference between jabs, hooks, straight rights and uppercuts. The boys yelled things like, "Put your whole body into it!" and "Don't leave yourself open!" and although it was getting on my nerves, Jules seemed to be listening because she always corrected herself. Steve yelled, "If you're facing west and throw a punch, my car won't start tomorrow!" And even I had to laugh at that.

When she had those punches down and I'd drilled her through patterns, we started in on kicks. Sometimes when she'd kick I'd shove the bag back at her. The first couple of times she didn't adjust and lost her balance. Soda said, "C'mon Dar," and Pony told me to take it easy. But I looked right in Jules' eyes and I said, "Opponents don't stand still."

She looked at me real long after that, and I thought for a minute she was mad. Had the boys really gone silent or was I just unable to focus on anything else? Then she grinned and hooked her hands like, "Come on," and I shoved the bag toward her again.

This time she adjusted her feet and landed two quick kicks in succession. The boys hooted and hollered on the lawn. Jules looked real proud of herself but I said, "That doesn't really count 'cause you knew it was coming."

"Jesus Darry," I heard Soda complain. "Lighten up, wouldja?"

Those kinds of comments roll off my back. I hear them so often and the truth is I've got good reasons behind most everything I do or say. Jules looked at me like she understood and she just shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

"Next time, surprise me," she said, lifting her hands up and readying for the next round.



After over three hours straight of punching bag drills, the boys got bored and drifted inside. Jules had sweat pouring down her face and neck, but she didn't seem to be tiring out.

"You're doing great, you've got this down," I said, hoping to sound encouraging.

She only gave me a look and blew out a frustrated breath. "This is all fine and good but I wanted you to teach me to fight, not to box," she said.

I was surprised. Knowing how to swing punches and how to block punches and how to duck punches are pretty good fundamentals of fighting. Sure, none of us have any formal training and we do okay, but it wasn't like I could just throw her in a random street fight and call out instructions from the sidelines. I started to feel like maybe I hadn't thought it through, and it was stupid how much I was worried about disappointing her. I don't worry about disappointing anyone except my boss, usually.

"Well, what'd you have in mind?"

Now she didn't look disappointed, just discouraged. She shrugged and looked around as if an answer were going to present itself in the grey sheen that seemed to have permanently attached itself to the air. "I don't know. There's nothing else to work with."

A plan was beginning to form in my mind. I wasn't exactly sure how it would come to fruition, and if I was completely insane for even thinking it, but I knew one thing. In order to carry it out, we had to be away from my house.

"Take those off," I said, indicating the gloves. While she did that, I picked up the pair of sparring gloves that were near the front door and an old, dirty duffel bag with a broken zipper that mom used to carry her gardening tools in. It had been a long time since there was even grass in our back yard, much less a garden. The boys sat on patches of weeds so they wouldn't get dirt on their jeans. Stuffing both sets of gloves into the bag, I opened the screen door.

She gave me a look of pure confusion as we walked into the house, but didn't ask me anything and I didn't volunteer. Pony was sitting in my armchair reading a book and Soda, Steve and Two-Bit were at the table drinking Pepsis and playing cards. All four looked up as we stepped inside. I hadn't even bothered to check what time it was, and I probably should have before I'd gotten us all ready to go, but it was too late to back out now. If I didn't go through with it today, I would lose my nerve tomorrow.

"I'm going out." The clock read 12:45. "I'll be back in time for dinner. You boys stay out of trouble, you hear?"

Steve and Two-Bit nodded noncommittally but both Soda and Pony met my eyes and gave me a silent promise that they would. Jules said goodbye to everyone but her hand encircled my forearm when I stepped out onto the porch.

"What are we doing?" she finally asked.

"We're jogging to your place," I told her, shifting the duffel bag from one hand to the other. "Actually, we're racing."

Jules cocked her head but a smile was playing on her lips. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Do you even have to ask?" I said back, and didn't bother to give any more warning before I shouted "GO!" and took off toward the park.



I beat Jules, but not by much. We were both sweating pretty good once we got into her apartment, and I couldn't help but think she must be pretty exhausted after the run to my house, the boxing lesson and the run back to her place.

"I have this theory," she said, when I asked her if she wanted to call it off for the day. "If I work real hard today, I won't have to do anything tomorrow."

As her theories went, that was probably the most realistic one. I didn't tell her that. She helped me move all of her furniture to the edges of the room, creating a wide space for us to work in. I had dumped the duffel on her table and gave her the gloves to put back on. I did the same, then swung my arms in wide arcs to get the blood pumping through them.

I could not believe what I was about to suggest.

"I have this theory." I almost laughed at her pause and the raised eyebrow as she struggled with her right glove. "The only way you're going to learn how to fight, or to fend off an attacker if that's what you want to use this training for, is to fight an actual person."

Her gloves were on but her arms were hanging loosely at her sides. "You?" she asked, and I heard the disbelief in her voice.

I held my arms out. "Me."

"Uh uh. I don't think so."

"Your opponent will be mobile. A punching bag is not."

"Most of the time," she grumbled, flashing me a dangerous look. "I seem to remember falling on my butt because of a mobile punching bag."

"It's not the same thing," I coaxed.

She was shaking her head, her ponytail swishing from side to side. Although it was relatively cool in the apartment, I could still see the fine sheen of sweat on her exposed skin. "I won't hurt you," I said in a last-ditch attempt to get her to agree.

She didn't say yes, but she stepped forward and put both her hands up. I did the same, and then waited for her to make the first move. Her right knee flinched a second before she jabbed left, and I moved my arm, easily blocking the blow.

"Don't let your opponent see your plans," I reminded.

No answer. Her left knee flinched as she crossed right. Instead of hitting her arm away, I side stepped.

"Stop readying for each punch. I can see what you're about to throw."

A strong exhale and she looked up at me, but only for a second before retreating back to wherever she went when she was concentrating. Her hands dropped fractionally, and I swiped her shoulder lightly with my glove.

"Don't leave yourself open."

Under her breath, and maybe it wasn't meant for me to hear, she said, "I knew that."

I didn't wait for her to get back into position. She wasn't training for a boxing match, she herself had reminded me of that. I snaked a left hook toward her gut. If it had connected, it would have been harmless, but it didn't. She side stepped and bounded away, turning on me and landing a hard right cross into my shoulder.

She was grinning.

"Good," I said, trying not to sound too proud. I was, but it was way too early to admit it. We started sparring, neither one of us hitting hard enough to actually hurt. While I was landing more blows than she was, she was definitely improving with every hit. I figured any opponent she had would be bigger than her, so I used my size to gang up on her, aiming for torso hits and above. It took a while, but she finally figured to use her smaller frame as an advantage too, and she ducked low and kicked out, landing her foot firmly in my shin.

It hurt.

Still, I saw the opportunity and I took it. I'm still wondering if it was the wrong thing to do. When she kicked me, she left herself balancing on one foot, and I arced around, landing a left hook into her left hip.

We crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. I was on top of her, my right leg pinning both of hers down, my forearms hooked through her elbows. Gazing down at her face, my heart stopped beating for a second. She looked mad. Real mad. Part of me wanted to scramble up and apologize, and the other part wanted to remind her of what her goal was in this little exercise. If I wasn't mistaken, it was to learn hownotto get pinned down by a man my size. I settled for moving my weight slightly so she could wiggle out from under me and when she looked at me again, I said, "Are you okay?"

She nodded. The anger in her expression was gone, and she pushed herself back, scooting on her butt until she was resting against the displaced sofa. I got up and went into her refrigerator for the bottled water I knew she kept in there. I handed her one.

"You sure?" I asked, more because I didn't know what else to say at this point in time. She looked perfectly fine to me.

"Of course I'm okay," she said, sipping the water. Then, as if to prove the point, she bounced up and faced me again. "I'm ready for round two."

Julia's grin is one of the best things I've ever seen. She suddenly looked like she was having the time of her life.



Two hours later and Jules looked like she was going to fall down in front of me. She still wouldn't give up, and I had to admire her determination, but being so sore that you can't move the next day isn't too smart. I'd graduated her from punching and kicking to basic wrestling moves, and repeatedly played the attacker from behind until I was convinced that she could swiftly and easily elbow me in the stomach (which she did for real a few times) and bring the heel of her foot up for a kick in the groin (which, thankfully, she did not do for real) before I was able to dominate control of the situation.

"I'm real proud of you," I said after we'd both collapsed to the middle of the floor and were sucking down bottle after bottle of water. "You did great."

The corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled. Lots of stray hairs had fallen loose from her ponytail and she brushed them impatiently from her forehead and tucked them behind her ears. "Thanks for doing this, Darry," she said, and her breath was still coming in little gasps. "Mostly thanks for not treating me like I was gonna break. That was really -- "

She didn't seem to be able to find her words and I started to shake my head and tell her it wasn't a big deal. But she scooted toward me real quick and before I knew it her lips were on mine, and I sorta forgot everything else that was going on.

There was no one to walk in on us then, and I thought my head might explode by the time she pulled away. Her hands had gripped each side of my neck and it was one of those kisses like you see in the movies; the if-I-don't-do-this-now-I-might-die kinds of kisses. I think I could hear her heart pounding, but it might have been mine. When she pulled away, she was even more out of breath and she rubbed her forearm across her lips before standing up and going into the kitchen. I just sat there, because I don't think I could have stood up if you'd paid me to.

When she came back out of the kitchen, she handed me a dishtowel and was using one to mop the sweat off of her neck. I did the same, also running it once over my hair and when I pulled it off my face, she was gazing at me unabashedly. She kneeled, putting her water bottle between her knees.

"I like you a lot, Darry."

I blinked stupidly. "I like you, too," I finally managed to croak out. When had I gotten so bad at this? It was hard to believe not thirteen or fourteen months ago I was making out with Cathy Sutherland (the last girl I went out with before mom and dad died) in the back of the truck behind the Dingo, trying to make every second count since it was already past her curfew. Was I really so smooth back then, or was I just as clueless but too cocky and stupid to know I was clueless? I shook my head. It hurt to try to figure it out. I was damn tired.

Her smile was warm and genuine. "I just wanted to make it a little more clear where I stand," she said. "It seems like I'm always making the moves and I think you like me but -- we never really said anything."

I shook my head because I meant to disagree with her about always making the moves. I supposed, except for kissing her on the porch swing, she was always kissing me out of the blue. But I kinda liked that. It was different from other girls. I liked not knowing what to expect. I supposed I wasn't making too many moves because part of me was still scared to go through with it. I constantly lived in fear of letting down my brothers; neglecting them in some way. I worried about the boys, Two-Bit and even Steve, and after losing Johnny and Dally I sort of felt like I didn't need anyone else to worry about.

One time in high school, one of my buddies was killed in a drunk driving accident after a game. I was devastated, and for while I didn't do anything outside of school, practice and games. My mom had told me, "You can't stop living just because you lose someone." I said the same thing to Pony after Johnny died.

I looked at Jules, with her unruly hair that wouldn't stay put, with her huge green eyes, the freckles on her nose, the skinny arms, nice fingernails and reckless smile. Her theories and superstitions that I thought were completely stupid, and the way she liked to tease me because I worked too hard and played too little. I knew I liked her; I'd known that for some time. I felt bad that she hadn't known the whole time I had. I felt bad that maybe she didn't know that I not only liked her, but I probably could love her. I mean, I don't know much about love, but I think I could.

I didn't say anything, I just watched her chewing on her bottom lip. Nervous. Anxious. Embarrassed. Beautiful. Reaching my hand out, I caught her around the neck, pulling her closer to me. She gasped a little in surprise. Then I kissed her again, with every sort of feeling I could muster, and I felt her melt in my arms.

I had this teacher once, a real progressive save-the-world type, and she used to say that perfection was only a moment recognized in hindsight. Maybe that's true most of the time, but I could think of plenty of instances where things were perfect and I knew it. When I scored the winning touchdown in the Division AAA championships. When my dad and I would come home from skiing, and as soon as we walked in the door we smelled roast chicken and mom had hot chocolate waiting for us. Extra marshmallows. When Soda and I saw Pony at the hospital for the first time after Johnny killed Bob. All sooty and dirty from the fire, but alive.

Moments of perfection. This was one of those. I kissed Jules, and it was perfect.

TBC…

.

.

.

.

Reviews for Chapter 6:

Thanks again everyone for reviewing. I'll try to keep my notes short.

Makado- Thanks for stopping by and reviewing! You know what they say, better late than never!

Raggedy Anne- Ah, you had to go another 3 days, didn't you? I hope you didn't have a heart attack. LOL I'll never abandon you for too long, I promise.

kaz456- Glad you liked the dinner table conversation. Well, not liked. Glad youappreciatedthe dinner table conversation. Thanks for the feedback.

pisiform- Hope the fighting lesson was up to your expectations. ;) Thanks for your consistent reviews.

Bandit-Gurl42- I'm trying to balance everything that needs to be addressed, without dragging out the story or missing anything important. I think we're looking at two or three more chapters before I tie it all up. Stay tuned!

JPSquire- Thanks for the compliment about the table scene. It was tough to do, and I nearly took it out several times. Glad I bit the bullet and posted!

Greaser Chick- I have the story planned out but thanks for the suggestion. Good news is, you can find lots of stories with that sort of plot line here at , so just dig around a while. ;)

Tessie26- Darry can handle two women. ;)

mizjif- Wow, you do flatter me. Thanks for your kind comments! I always wonder about the 60's and the role that women had in, what I like to call, the in-between decade (between the traditional 50's and the hippie 70's). I try to keep the women's liberation movement of the 60's firmly planted in my mind, while remembering it wasn't as "free flowing" as the 70's, so it's always a struggle for me on what to write. Thanks for your viewpoint!