He surprised me by kissing back, moving so that I was against the wall. I felt a pull, a neat twisting of my stomach I didn't feel with Bob anymore.
We were the same height, me and Johnny. He had high cheekbones and such dark hair and eyes, maybe he was Indian.
"Hey," he said, then kissed me again. He was a little clumsy and inexperienced, but it was cool, raw.
"What?" I said it so softly, pulling away.
"Let's take off,"
I shook my head no. We couldn't just up and leave everybody. But I could see them from here, saw how chummy Marcia and Two bit were getting. That left Ponyboy. Odd man out.
"What about Ponyboy?" I said, still peering over at them, smaller in the distance. Two bit touched Marcia's hair, and she tilted her head and laughed. Ponyboy innocently watched the movie, glancing at the two of them from time to time.
"What about him?" Johnny said, looking over at them, squinting.
"Well it's…I don't know,"
"He'll be fine," Johnny said, taking my hand, "c'mon," He pulled me along and I went with him, surprised at how persuasive he was. He walked fast and I had to run a little to keep up, my dress swirling a little as we went.
We went out the back way, slipping out.
"They'll think we were kidnapped or somethin'," Johnny laughed, and I liked how it felt holding his hand, letting him pull me along.
"Where are we going?"
"Shhhh…you'll see," he said.
Down back alleys, past the drug store and the Dingo, Jays. Into neighborhoods I didn't know, had never seen. I felt like I was on an adventure.
We reached a brick apartment building, small windows, iron fire escapes nailed to the side.
"Through here," Johnny said, climbing through an open window. I looked around, hesitated, then climbed in.
We were in an apartment that was lit only by the large neon sign across from it, and there was an old couch, nothing else.
"Who lives here?" I said. The living room led to a tiny kitchen, the matted rug stopping at worn linoleum.
"No one. Squatters' rights," he said, and came over to where I stood, put his arms around my waist. I kissed him again. It wasn't like I hadn't kissed Bob a thousand times, but with Johnny it was softer, sweeter. And this place, I knew we weren't supposed to be here, whatever squatters' rights were.
We kind of fell on the couch, he was on top of me and I liked his weight on me, we kissed so long I forgot where I was.
Then he pulled away, smiled at me. He took a cigarette out of his pocket.
"Want one?" he said.
"Sure," I took it though I didn't smoke. It was a night for new things. Necking with greasers, smoking, hanging out in deserted apartments.
He smoked like James Dean in a movie, like he'd been doing it all his life. I lit mine, inhaled, started coughing. Johnny eyed me and smiled. I felt my cheeks turning red.
When I could breathe and talk again I took a smaller puff, blew out smoke, started to feel the happy buzz of nicotine.
"How long have you smoked?" I said, envying his practiced ease.
"Uh, seven years, I guess,"
"Seven years!" I scrambled around in my mind for his age, what had he said? He was 14? No, 16.
"You started smoking when you were nine?"
"I reckon," Calm, smoking another cigarette. Nine? I felt kind of sad, all of a sudden. What kind of life had he had that he'd start smoking at nine years old?