Author's Note: Yeah, so this chapter really has no point, at least that I can see. I'll get back to Angel in the next chapter, kay?
Nextbigthing92: SERISOUSLY! That's so awesome! I can't wait! Guess what stupid Blockbuster did! Their tape of The Outsiders is BROKEN and the movie is NO LONGER IN PRINT! I almost DIED right there on the cold hard tile in front of the checkout counter. Ack.
Sodapops#1gurl: I'll do exactly that next chapter, kapeesh? I think I'm gonna make Angel around 18, you think two years is too big of a difference? Unless you're not against the whole Tom and Katie thing...
Disclaimer: Look at the chapter below, S.E. Hinton would be EMBARRASSED if she wrote that.
Chapter 5 (Darrys POV)
"Are you okay?" I asked her again, looking down at her from my perch on top of the ladder.
"Yeah, I was more surprised than anything." She tipped her head back to look at me, her hair falling down her back in a cascade of dark waves. I wanted to stroke that hair again. I wanted to—
"Curtis! Get movin'!" The foreman's voice broke through my thoughts and wants. I finished climbing down the ladder, bombing her with questions for every rung my foot touched.
"What are you doing here? Didn't Soda drive you home? Did your father—" She held up one hand and I stopped the interrogation. I do that, especially with Ponyboy, except sometimes I yell. I don't mean to, honest. The kid gets me so worried sometimes, I just...I dunno. I've been trying not to though, hard as it is to trust him sometimes.
"Sodapop wasn't even up when I left. Neither of them were. I walked."
"All this way!" It was a good two miles from my house to here. "You could have woken Soda up."
"Nah...I needed to think about some things...Where to go and what to do, ya know?"
She looked sad for a minute, lifting her fingers lifted up to brush the bruise on her face. Then she smiled, "I was about to head to the orphanage again."
"Again?"
"I was just going to drop in and see how Sophie, the little girl with the bad dreams, slept last night. That's all."
"And then what?"
"And then...I don't know."
"Can I come with you?" I swear, I don't know where that came from. I only had about a half hour for my lunch break and if I remembered correctly, it took at least ten minutes to get to the orphanage. And I would have to eat somewhere along the line. You can't exactly roof houses on an empty stomach.
"You can just leave anytime you want to?"
"It's my lunch break."
"Okay, let's go." She turned and started walking across the street, taking long strides. I actually had to hurry to catch up. Normally that's reversed.
"How long is your lunch break?"
"I've got about twenty five minutes left." She nodded and turned down an alley.
"So, are you going home after your visit?"
"I don't know. I might leave town for a couple of days."
"And he won't worry about you?" I knew from personal experience that it would. People vanishing into thin air overnight is quite troublesome.
"If I had left for a few days about six months ago he would've. I don't think he will now."
"What do you mean?"
"He doesn't worry anymore. He stopped caring when Mom left."
"But when she was around he did?"
"Oh yeah, he cared when Mom was around. She never cared. I guess he had to make up for her. He loved her so much; he thought she wouldn't look bad if he did more."
I didn't see the logic in this. But before I could ask I looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her jaw was tight. I could only guess at how mad she was at her mom. Steve often looked like that right after he and his dad had done a few rounds of verbal abuse. Distraction often got Steve cooled down, so I gave it a shot.
"What was it like when he cared?"
"It was fun. He would take us out to the park and play football with us. And at night he'd turn on the radio and teach me how to do all sorts of dances. The foxtrot, waltzes, swing, you name it. And then on Saturday mornings we'd go out for breakfast, just the two of us. Tommy never woke up early enough. He made me read all kinds of books, and then on those mornings we'd talk about them. When I got older we'd debate on some of them. He'd always show me something I hadn't noticed before or make me see beyond what was written on the page. And now...Now it's like he's dead."
She went silent, the animated look fading from her face. Mom and Dad used to go dancing on weekends. When I was in the seventh grade I had begged Mom to show me how to dance right before my first ever middle school dance. She's misunderstood and every Sunday she'd show me how to do the dances Angel had mentioned and more. We'd stopped lesson when summer began, but every now and then a song would come on the radio when no one else was home and she would make me dance with her for that one song. I told Angel this.
"What was your favorite type of dancing?" She asked me.
"I liked swing dancing, the music is livelier. What about you?" We were at the front porch of the orphanage surprisingly faster than I had figured. The orphanage was an old, Victorian style, brick house, and would have been pretty nice if it wasn't so run down. The porch sagged a little bit and the paint on the trim was peeling. The yard around it was kept pretty nicely though, with flowers and small neatly trimmed lawn.
"I love waltzing. The music, the position, the dreamy look you get in your eyes that you can see mirrored on the other persons. I love it." She opened the door and walked inside. A nun was scurrying down the hall, but she stopped when she saw us.
"Oh Angela, dear, we're just sitting down to lunch. Will you and your friend join us?"
Angel smiled at her and politely declined, explaining that we had just stopped in for a moment.
"But your young man here looks positively famished, could I at least bring him to the kitchen while you have your little chat with the Mother?" I felt heat creeping up my neck. I glanced at Angela and found that she was blushing furiously too.
"Well?" the nun asked impatiently. Angel looked at me and I shrugged.
"I don't suppose I'd be able to stop you, would I Sister Martha?" The Sister shook her head. "I shouldn't be too long. I'll come back and get you, alright?"
"Sure." And I was whisked away by Sister Martha to the kitchen, which was large, but falling apart. The sink was dripping, a few of the cabinets were still on their hinges and one of the many windows looked like it had been hit with a small rock. Yet the room was immaculately clean and bright. The Sister motioned to a platter of sandwiches on the counter and told me to help myself. She poured me a glass of lemonade and left the pitcher out with an empty glass which she said was for Angel. After she gave me firm instructions to make Angel eat at least half a sandwich she disappeared and I was left alone in that huge kitchen. About two and a half sandwiches later Angel came to the kitchen with her brow furrowed and her eyes dark. She didn't say anything, just walked out.
