"YOU AND ME, WE BALANCE EACHOTHER OUT."

The ice swirled around in my glass, clinking together before pushing each other under out of view until my straw could push them to the surface once more. The Dingo was loud for a Sunday, even if it was already the afternoon. The boys had decided they wanted the house today and now that Momma's mood had seemed to wear off some, I was more than happy to get away. Now, I was tucked in the corner booth across from Sylvia, occasionally picking away at the french fries we'd agreed to split.

"-Honestly, the things I woulda done to him if we were alone. Jesus, I hate him so much, but he is so fucking hot- are you even listening to me?"

If I'm being honest, I didn't realize we were still talking about Dally and how he beat up a kid from Brumley after he stuck his hand up Syl's skirt, but we were. "Sorry," I say quickly, "I was just thinkin' about something else." Her smile is sharp and her eyebrows are raised, the kind of reminder to say she doesn't believe me for a second. I'm the first to drop my gaze to the table and my fingernails. Sylvia managed to file them nice and round, she even painted them a nice pale yellow. I didn't know how long they'd stay like this - clean and pretty - but I'd savour them until then. Underneath the table, Sylvia's toe nudges my shin as she lowers the thin red stars from between her lips. "Angela Shepard's really grown up," she mentions casually. "She's only a year younger than us," I remind her. "We started lookin' grown-up at fourteen, too."

Because at fourteen, Sylvia learned how to stuff her bra and line her lips. At fourteen, Sylvia learned about all the seedy places in town that won't check for ID if you show enough skin. At fourteen, I learned to take full advantage of being the middle kid and was able to slip away unnoticed whenever she needed to forget the world for a little while. Not that I minded though, sneaking into Charlie's bar on the south side under thick clouds of dope, smoke, and cheap cologne was much better than finding her unconscious on the side of the road. At fourteen, Angela Shepard was hell on three-inch heels, and she knows it.

"Whatever," Sylvia sighs as she drops a fry into her mouth. Suddenly, something catches her eye. I can see the glimmer, this time it's not just because of the sunlight bleeding in through the window. I can practically hear the gears turning in her mind as she prepares to strike. "All the Shepards are pretty wild, aren't they?"

To think that the only Friday Sylvia Jones decides to attend school would have to be last Friday. Just my luck. But I grin and bear it, tapping my nails against the side of my glass and looking around the diner cooly. "I guess you could say that. I don't see 'em much except for when Curly comes 'round lookin' for Pony."

Sylvia loves to play, but she can't stand being pulled into her own game. She and Dally are the same like that - they love to lead you on, but God forbid you flip the script. She'd claw your eyes out with a smile on her painted lips. But playing the fool has never been that hard for me. All I've gotta do is bat my eyelashes and cross my arms under my chest, and most of the boys I know would talk to me like a little kid. They'd end up telling me too much, too.

Sylvia wants an answer to a question she hasn't even asked yet. I know that the second I open my mouth, she'll twist my words in a way only she can and try to figure out the whole story. I can see it swimming in her eyes, the desire. This is just a game to her - to us - that she wants to win, no matter the prize.

"God, do I have to spell it out for you?" Sylvia hisses venomously. Just like that, she's admitted to her own defeat. With a smile on my face, I kick my feet up onto her legs from under the table and lean back in my seat. "Why Sylvia, whatever do you mean?"

My converse hit the tile as Sylvia curses. "This is why you've never had a boyfriend, Marley," she spits. The hostility vanishes as soon as it arrived though. In an instant, Syl drops another fry into her mouth and wipes at the leftover salt and grease with the back of her hand. "What's goin' on with you and Tim?" Sylvia laughs when I whip my head around. No one's looked at us, or noticed us at all, but that was all the proof she needed to know I wasn't as honest as I claimed. "Nothin's goin' on with me and Tim," I mumbled desperately.

She stares me down. Her gaze is cold and menacing, even if I've grown used to it over the years. With a sigh, I say something I know I'll regret later. "You can't tell anyone though, alright? He'll kill me and toss my body in a ditch." Her dark eyes flicker back and forth as she nears the edge of her seat. Her fingernails are a wine red and tapping against the table incessantly. "Well?"

"I'm tutoring him in science."

She can't help but laugh as she leans back in her seat, face in her hands. "Only you, Curtis," she teases. "Only you."

I can only imagine what is going on in Sylvia's twisted little mind. I come to the conclusion it's nothing good since she's still giggling into her hands like a first grader by the time I finish my coke. "My dad came around yesterday," I say softly. "While everyone was over in Brumley."

Her pale cheeks have finally returned to their natural hue as she tilts her head to the side. "See? Told you he would. He wasn't even gone a week, was he?"

"Came around" isn't the same thing as "came back" I wanted to yell, but the words got caught in my throat. I knew who I was mad at, I knew who I really wanted to yell at, and Sylvia didn't fall into either category. But I sat there, like an idiot, pretending I had a leg to stand on. Sylvia was right. It hadn't been a week yet, it had barely been three days, and I was still pacing my room in the early hours of the morning wondering where he could've gone. Sylvia's mom left in the middle of the night. No note or explanation, all that's left of her now is a few unsigned documents and cheap perfume tucked away under Syl's bed. "I'm sorry," I say a bit louder this time. Sylvia turns her head back from the window, the sunlight catching just right on her bleached curls. "You're right, he's only been gone a few days, and Momma's already gettin' better... I don't have much to complain about."

"BItch all you want," she scoffs, "this is what friends do. I call you out for takin' advantage of your parents, you'll call me out for flirting with some guy tomorrow at school when Dal ain't around to stop me." The last of her coke disappears up her straw and leaves the ice to melt. "You and me, we balance each other out, Marls. It's just the way the world works."

Somehow, we strayed away from our original topic of conversation and busied ourselves with rumours we'd heard about the people coming in and out of the diner. unfortunately, it couldn't stay that way for long. I was dragging the last fry through the remnants of ketchup when Sylvia cleared her throat and nudged my leg again. I raised my eyes to hers as she bat her lashes. "So you've been helpin' him every Saturday, right?" I nodded stiffly and looked around the diner, still anxious about how long we could keep discussing this in the open. "And yesterday was Saturday." I nodded again and pop the fry in my mouth before my teeth can sink into my tongue. "And you said your daddy came by yesterday-"

"For the love of God, just spit it out, Syl."

She bits her lip, but it doesn't stop the smile from spreading across her cheeks, all the way to the way she crinkles her eyes. "Did your dad catch you and Tim?"

Usually, I can get away with lying to Sylvia. But, the last I tried and she found out, I had bite marks on my arm for a month. I was willing to bet she hadn't forgotten about that - and that her teeth had gotten sharper since the first grade, too. "Yeah, we were just flipping through some notes when he knocked," I admit. Sylvia's dark eyes roll as she slumps back in her seat. "Details, Marlene, give me some fucking details."

I love my brothers dearly, I really do, but no one listens like Sylvia. So, I told her about Uncle Jim and the accident. I told her about the funeral, and Mr. Shepard's surprise entrance, and even how Daddy ushered us home the second he caught sight of him. I ended up telling her about Momma and her moods - even though she already knew ow bad those could get. I told Sylvia about the fight, Momma screaming, and the door slamming shut. I told her about the truck and Daddy driving up to Pawnee for a friend. I told her about him coming back and catching me and Tim there alone. Before I could stop myself, I told her about his hand brushing against mine, too.

The smile never once left her face, not even after I finished the story and bit at my lip anxiously. Instead, Sylvia blinked and glanced over her shoulder. "Jesus, no wonder Timmy wanted to keep you a secret."

"Don't do this," I groan, "Tim just doesn't want his buddies knowing he gives a shit about his grades."

'Okay, Marley, whatever helps you sleep at night." Before I can say anything else, Syl reaches down the front of her blouse and pulls out two crumpled bills and drops them on the table. "Who knows," she says again, "maybe he's hoping you'll tutor him in anatomy next."

I'm up like a shot and following her out of the restaurant, for once completely oblivious to the eyes following us.

"Sylvia Renee, you take that back or I swear to God-!"

The boys were in the living room when I got home, all with the exception of Darry. Two-Bit is the first to turn and face the door from his spot on the couch, one arm tossed around Pony's shoulders. "Hey, Soda!" He hollers, "call off the search party!" In the doorway to the kitchen, I can see Sodapop's silhouette as he whispers into the telephone and drops it back on the hook. He leans against the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest in a sorry attempt to look tuff. At least, that's what I think it is. "You're lucky you're here, I was about to call JFK to send in the military. Said you were missin' in action and all."

I cock my head to the side as I kick off my shoes and straighten the wrinkles from my skirt. I know what he's tryna say, but you don't hear too many greasers saying they were worried for their big sister. Before I can say anything, Ponyboy's voice calls out from the couch. "JFK's dead, Sodapop, remember? He got shot... last week."

Just like that, I am officially the least interesting person in the room - second best to the ex-president's corpse. I don't mind though, I have bigger things to worry about, like how it's five o'clock and dinner hasn't even been started. I drop my jacket on the arm of the couch and give Two-Bit a pat on the shoulder as I pass him. As usual, Steve is sitting on the floor and flipping through a pack of cards. Dally and Johnny are sitting together in the corner of the room, besides Daddy's chair. "Y'all staying for supper?" I ask. Steve and Two-Bit shake their heads and wave the question away. Johnny, on the other hand hesitantly asks, "if I can?" Ponyboy answers for me. "Sure thing, Johnnycake!"

Sodapop is waiting for me in the kitchen with a poorly peeled potato and band-aid in his hand. "Darry went out with Donna, and Momma took off. I didn't know when you were gonna be home so I tried-" I cut him off by ruffling his hair and pushing a wet cloth to the line of blood running down his hand. "Not too shabby for your first time peelin' a potato," I tease. I take it from him and finish where he'd left off, dropping the skins into the sink for me to clean up later."What else is on the menu?"

"Momma's doin' a lot better today," Sodapop adds as he pulls open the fridge and pulls out one of their prizes. We don't hunt big game often, so pheasants are the perfect substitute for chicken when it gets too expensive. "Got outta bed before I had to wake her up, even had a shower too." He drops the bird into one of our dishes and pokes around the spice cabinet before pushing our dinner into the oven. "Dad called, too."

The potato falls from my fingers just as I drag the knife across its skin and plunge it into the side of my thumb. With a teasing smile, Sodapop pushes the rag against my hand and tuts his tongue. "Who left us in the kitchen unsupervised?"

I can't help the dread winding its way through my chest as U twist the rag around my hand and pull away from my brother's grasp. Maybe Sodapop didn't notice, or maybe he didn't want to mention it here, within earshot of our friends, but he turns back to the oven carefully. "Said he was in Pawnee and needed Momma to come pick him up."

"And you let her go?" My voice is higher and more strained than I wanted it to be, but I couldn't help it. "I told you already," Soda sighs, "Momma's been fine all day. What else was I supposed to do? She's a grown woman for Christ's sake!"

"Don't you snap at me," I scold him. Soda doesn't bother turning back to face me, but I can tell he regrets it. He and Ponyboy have never been able to handle getting snapped at the way Darry and I can. The potatoes are peeled and sitting on the counter as I wash my hands and watch the blood chase the water down the drain. All I need is the cutting board before I toss them in the frying pan. "Momma took her pill today, right?" Sodapop nods as we move around each other in the kitchen and pull the dishes from the cupboard. "Yeah, I think so. She put 'em back in the cabinet."

I open it before I can stop myself. Staring back at me is a bottle of aspirin and rolls of bandages, hydrogen peroxide is tucked away on the top shelf, just above the first aid kit. None of it matters as I search the shelf for the small orange bottle with Momma's name stuck to the side.

Dread acts like a dead man's hand. Cold and strong, it wraps around my throat until not even air can make its way past. Still, my hand raises on its own accord and slams the cabinet closed, as if that would change what I saw. "When's Darry 'supposed to be home?"

"Said he'd be home for dinner. Momma said she and Dad would be home before we left for school in the morning."

I can breathe a little easier now, but not by much. One part of me is glad Momma's doing better, especially if she promised Sodapop she'd be home in the morning. Us Curtises could do a lot of things, but I don't think any of us could lie to Sodapop. I'm glad I only have an hour or so until Darry gets home.

But the other half is wondering how many pills Momma had to take to get outta bed today.

I'm wondering how I'm supposed to tell Darry the bottle is empty after two and a half weeks.