"JUKEBOX PLAYS HANK 'I'M SO LONESOME I COULD CRY'." - George Strait (Every Little Honky Tonk Bar)

Maybe I'm just being biased because they're my siblings, but I don't understand how they have so many people following their every move. Christ, Ang's fourteen and I've already had to chance more guys off my lawn than Mr. C, and the guys treating Curly like God were like the twelve apostles of Will Rodgers. The shrill yell of the bell was still echoing through the halls and growing out the last few announcements before we all took off for the weekend. Kids were pushing through the doors like water when a dam burst, a weird mix of leather jackets, knit sweaters, and wealth was all I cared to notice before I pulled my hands into my pockets and looked around. Curly and his friends were standing in front of me, taking turns body-checking each other to the ground. Angela, on the other hand, was next to Sylvia Jones and popping a bubble between her teeth.

She didn't look half bad - Sylvia, I mean. Her short skirt and dark eyeshadow made her look more like a hooker than a high schooler, but she'd always been like that. Besides, I didn't pay enough attention to her to care about that kind of shit, all I cared about was the St. Christopher hanging around her pale neck. I pushed past Curly and whatever kid he was fighting with now and moved towards the two girls leaning against the cold brick wall. Angela was picking at her chipped nail polish and dropping the flakes onto the dying grass. Beside her, Sylvia was twisting a strand of her freshly bleached hair around her finger. The second she noticed me, her once soft gaze hardened and ran her tongue over her poisonous smile. At this point, Ang tipped her head back and groaned. "Can I go one fucking day without you starting a fight?" If she were Curly - or I was three percent less stable, I woulda popped her in the mouth. But I've never hit a girl, and I wasn't about to stoop that low. So, I took the high road and yanked on one of her curls before threatening to wash her mouth with soap. She muttered something under her breath but had enough sense to shut up and walk away while my back was still turned. But Sylvia was a whole different broad.

"Nice necklace," I said immediately. Sylvia's snarl depend as she raised one manicured hand to hold the saint against her palm, the closest thing she's ever felt to holy. I guess it was kind of ironic, the only time Dally didn't have it around his neck was when it was clasped around hers. "What?" She asked with fake pity, "sad I'm off the market?"

I swear, girls like Sylvia came with receipts in their bras. And guys like Dallas Winston took full advantage of them. Throwing words like that around didn't do much to me - sure we slept around a few times, but that was outta jealously and not because I gave a shit - besides, I knew she'd be "back on the market" by this time next week. "I'm lookin' for the guy who gave it to you."

She raised an eyebrow, slowly running her tongue over her teeth. Then, with her hands on her hips, she smiled. "Why do you wanna know?"

I didn't hate Dallas. He was a weird kid who showed up in town, spends most of his nights sleeping in a fucking bar, and decided beating the shit outta some Socs was his purpose in life. We've had a few Rumbles of our own, usually on the Curtis' front lawn or outside of Buck Merrill's bar, but we never stayed pissed at each other for too long. If I decided tomorrow Bryon Douglas was getting too cozy with Ang, Dal would jump him with me, no questions asked. But apparently, I meant the asshole could chuck a rock at my window last night without a reason, too.

I leaned back on my heels and cocked my head to the side. Syl was still watching me close - close enough I could see the gears turning in that empty skull of hers. "C'mon doll," I hummed, "you like a good fight just like the rest of us." I knew I had to be quick. I wasn't afraid of Dallas, not one bit, but hitting on some other guy's girl doesn't go down real smooth around here. If Syl didn't take a swing at me herself Dal would, Angela would, most of the Curtis gang would try, and I doubt Marley of all fucking people would let it go. "Didn't he cheat on you last time? How'd that make you feel?

But before I had to push my luck any further, her eyes lit up and I heard the last gear click into place. Carefully, her dark eyes flickered around the emptying schoolyard before she traced her lips again. "I heard from a friend he left first period. Went back to Buck's to sleep off his hangover. Don't rough him up too bad, yeah?"

Signature fucking Sylvia. She'd sell you to the Devil for a dime, as long as he doesn't tell you who was behind it. I didn't bother answering as I turned back around and cuffed Curly on the back of the head. "Get your homework done, dipshit. I got some stuff to do."

The bar hadn't changed from the last time I'd been here. It was still a plain wood building stuck in the middle of downtown, desperate and washed-up day-drinkers smoking their rent away on the front steps. The few windows on the main floor were too filthy to see through, but that did help cover all the illegal shit going on through all hours of the night. I climbed the two steps quickly and pushed the door open, trying my best to ignore the thick haze of smoke that never left the bar. There were a few tables and chairs on the outskirts, occupied by silhouettes slumped against their drinks, the wall, or each other. The middle of the room was clear, a single chandelier hanging from the ceiling and shining dimly through the film. Opposite the door, I caught sight of white-blonde hair busy talking to the waitress behind the bar.

I made my way across the floor, feeling like a cowboy in those old movies. The only thing that was missing - besides some decent music- was a gun hanging on my hip. To prove the point, the floorboards creaked, even audible over Hank Williams singing out from the jukebox. Dallas didn't flinch, but at that moment he was the least of my concern. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you the same thing," Marley snapped. Her hair was pulled back from her face, a few whisps occasionally blowing in front of her eyes before she pushed them back impatiently. The sleeves of her blouse were pulled up to her elbows, a damp rag and glass in her hands. I took a few more quick steps forward, all while Dally dropped his head into hands before slowly lowering them to the splintering wood of the bar. "Can you two shut the fuck up for a minute?" He hissed. Marley's squinted eyes darted between me and Dally before she rolled the rag nice and tight. I realized what she was doing too late. It landed on his exposed neck with a wet thud, Dally's head went up like a shot, and Marley crossed her arms over her chest. "Well then, maybe you shouldn't get soused on a Thursday night!" Before she could respond, the stairs to my left began to creak as someone made their way down them. "Quit hollerin' at him, girl and do the dishes, alright?"

"Shut your trap, Buck, I can do my job and chew him out just fine.

Buck Merrill. A twenty-one-year-old hillbilly busy running his daddy's bar and apparently, employing underage girls. Outside of rodeo season was the only time I caught sight of his real hair, long and dirty blonde that he usually hid under a cowboy hat. His undershirt was stained and filthy, but he hid it under a blue flannel and a pair of blue jeans with a belt buckle that probably cost more than the whole joint. Buck walked around the bar lazily, his eyebrow cocked and the corner of his lips twitching up as gave Marley a light shove. "Watch it, missy. Remember who's paying you?" He teased. Marley rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the soapy glass in her hand. That's when Buck leaned against the bar, nearly tripping his employee as he kicked one foot out behind him. "Whatchya doin' here, Shepard? Your daddy came by the other night-"

For a greaser, Buck gossiped worse than the ladies in the beauty parlours. Still, he knew something about everyone and expected to keep on top of what was going on around town. I shrugged my shoulders and copied him, leaning against the bar before I let my eyes glance behind him. First, they found the shotgun hanging above his line of homemade white lighting. For a minute, I thought back to the first time I stepped in here.

Dad's hand was heavy on my shoulder as he talked with Mr. Merril Senior. I couldn't have been older than ten. I could still remember the cheap booze burning my nose and my eyes fixated on the barrel of the gun in the weak rays of light. I could still remember their voices — quiet and deep to the point I could hear it echoing inside my skull instead of the bar. The only thing I couldn't remember though was what they were talking about.

Then, my eyes locked with Marley's.

A swirl of green and grey, they almost resembled the thick fog floating through the air. She was looking over her shoulder at me - occasionally Dallas while he drummed his fingers against the wood - and I found myself wondering how the hell she ended up hanging with Sylvia Jones. Sylvia was loud and obnoxious, the kind of girl you'd expect to find at a place like this with her skirt hiked up to her thighs and showing enough cleavage to make a hooker blush. Her nails were long and sharpened to a point, her own sense of protection against the same guys she was swapping spit with on the daily.

And Marley was the opposite. Up until that day in the office, I couldn't tell you the last time I had spoken to her, looked at her, or even remembered her name. She was just a girl living on the east side of Tulsa, still stuck in her big brother's shadow. She didn't want to be an east sider, that was the other thing. Sylvia had no problem flirting with the guys her daddy's age or getting high in dumps like this, she ran her mouth a mile a minute, as long as she had a guy to take all the punches for her. And Marley? She stood behind the bar, biting her tongue and nearly dropping the glass when she realized I was looking back at her.

My hand landed on Dal's shoulder as I pushed him. He groaned in response and brought his hands to his ears, his forehead pushed against the wood Buck was leaning against. "You got drunk and decided throwing rocks at my window was a good use of your time, didn't you?"

Dally didn't answer, he didn't need to. His groaning, Marley's laugh, and Buck's stupid smile told me all I needed to know. I thought about pushing him off the bar stool for a while and getting the fight I came here for, but I decided against it in the end. Dallas was the wildest kid in town, and I doubt a hungover version was any better. The last thing I needed was to get stuck with a broken bottle and bleed out with "I Saw The Light" playing in the background.

"If ya'll are gonna knock the shit outta each other, just do it outside, savvy? Bloodstains make the property value go down," Buck scoffed carelessly. Dally flipped him the bird lazily but stayed silent. Marley on the other hand dropped the dishrag into the sink and placed her soaking hands on her hips. "That's a load of bull," she chuckled, "you just don't wanna pay me extra for scrubbin' blood outta your floor."

I was still tryna figure out the dynamic going on here. Buck didn't seem like the guy to get off on fifteen-year-old girls, but I learned a while ago not everything is as it seems. Hell, maybe Marley was more like Sylvia than I gave her credit for. Regardless, Buck dragged a hand across his jaw before digging through the pockets of his filthy blue jeans. "Just go wipe those tables, will you?" He ordered as he slapped a coin into her hand. Marley rolled her eyes and slipped the coin into her own pocket as she wrung the rag over the sink and sauntered past me. "Wow, a whole quarter, just for little ol' me?"

"It'll be the only thing you get if you don't do your job!"

After that, I pushed myself away from the bar and turned back towards the door. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss and the last thing I wanted to hear was what else Marley was supposed to get. The floorboards creaked a bit more - this time less noticeable than the first, but it was still loud enough to catch her attention. "Hey, Tim?"

I paused and tucked my hands in my pockets while she walked towards me. Her eyes darted around the bar and its patrons quickly, like a deer risking a second of vulnerability for water. Who the wolves were in the situation, I had no clue. I followed her eyes for a second, back to the bar. Dal still had his head against the wood, Buck was humming along with the jukebox with his back to us. "I'm not gonna be around tomorrow," she said quickly. "Darry's got a football game an' Momma's draggin' us all down to watch it. J-just flip through your textbook, yeah? I made a few notes about all the important stuff."

Just as quickly as she spoke, Marley turned on her heel and returned to the table as if nothing happened. I did the same thing - only focused on the door in front of me and the damp bronze doorknob clenched in my fist. As much as I tried to keep my mind blank, I couldn't help but wonder. I thought back to Monday morning when Marley dropped the stupid book at my desk, her eyes void of any emotion, "found this in the hall. It's yours, right?" I didn't bother telling her I haven't flipped past the front cover. Then I thought about what kind of dirt Mr. R could have on her to make her tutor me.

I ended up thinking about Buck, and how Marley ended up working for him, too. I guess greasers were kinda the same like that - we didn't appreciate being left outta the loop.

When I stepped outta the bar, only to notice a black t-bird and my dad behind the wheel, I should've realized I was about to have bigger things on my mind. Bigger than some chick and a science grade, anyway.