SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

Dropdown

Four-

Tim had Two-Bit and Hazel drop him off at his mom's place. He walked up to the front of the house, but didn't go inside. Instead, he sat down on the steps to wait for Curly. He knew his step-father was probably in the house, his mother too, but he didn't feel like the fight or the guilt trip that no doubt awaited him if he went in. Hazel had agreed to meet him at Buck's at six. He was only halfway joking about Kansas. It was an hour up to a town on the state line called Caney. He'd been there enough times to know where to find a bar.

The bells from the Catholic church began to chime three o'clock. Tim figured maybe a ten to fifteen minute wait for Curly to appear. His car was parked on the curb, and after a few minutes he stretched and then walked down to it to find out if she'd turn over.

In theory, no one had started the car since February. He'd left the keys under the front seat and told Curly he'd tear him a new asshole if he took it joyriding. Tim opened the passenger side door and leaned across the seat and fished around underneath. No keys.

"Son of a bitch," he mumbled, turning onto his stomach to see beneath the seat. No keys, but just as disconcerting was the absence of a loaded .357 that he also kept stowed there. He hadn't even warned Curly about that since Curly wasn't supposed to be rooting around looking for the keys. Tim rolled over onto his back and lay there staring up at the roof. He sighed.

Six months in a cell, and never a moment to himself- Tim just wanted to be left alone. Just for an hour or two, then drive up to Caney with Hazel. Have a couple of drinks, maybe hop in the backseat. She hadn't said much until he dragged it out of her, the story about Billy Simon. Maybe, if he didn't try to drag any stories out of her, she'd keep her mouth shut on the way up to Caney.

He heard footsteps on the sidewalk, and- out of habit- he reached for the blade in his back pocket. Six months away, and all of the habits came right back: the cigarettes in his front shirt pocket, the knife in his jeans, the gun- the real parole violation- in his car. Without a weapon and laying on his back- exposed- like an overturned turtle, Tim could do nothing but wait.

He didn't have to wait long. The shadow rounded the open door and the rest of the figure materialized before him.

"I thought you were Curly," his sister Angela said. No fanfare. Just her wrinkled nose and heavily made-up eyes looking down at him, turning on her ankle like she was flirting with God-knows-who.

"Ma let you out of the house in that skirt, Angel?"

"Yeah. You're the only one who thinks he gets to tell me what to wear. Don't think I'm going back to that either."

"Was Curly in school?"

"Yeah. I saw him at noon."

"Has he been driving my car?"

Angela shrugged.

"If he was, he didn't take me anywhere."

"Well, you would've known not to ask him to, right?"

Again, Angela shrugged. It was either hot or cold with her- that much hadn't changed- she was either talking his ear off or she was clammed up and looking at him like he had the plague.

Tim hoisted himself up and sat in the open door, looking up at his sister. She was beautiful in the same way that he and Curly were handsome- dark and a little mysterious, of indeterminate ethnicity. Billy Simon had looked at Tim once, and asked, "Shepard- what kinda name is that?" Tim had told him he didn't know, that he didn't know his dad.

It was a well-practiced lie, and it seemed to satisfy Billy. The truth- check the Dawes Rolls and most of the Shepards will be Cherokee, Chickasaw, and Creek Freedmen- didn't sit well with the half of Tulsa that wouldn't willingly desegregate its schools. When he was trying to get a job, the lie always got him farther.

"Did you see Curly after school?" Tim asked Angela. Curly should've been there by now, if not close enough behind their sister to be kicking the backs of her shoes to hear her curse, then at least within a couple of blocks.

"No, not after lunch, but he goes to shop after lunch."

Tim looked up at her and winked.

"If you tell me, I'll make it worth your while."

"Tell you what?" She was too easily baited.

"If he was driving my car."

Angela grinned.

"Yeah, a couple of weeks ago. He said he just wanted to see if it would start after sitting for that long."

"Then where'd he put the keys?"

"How the hell should I know? Probably above the visor like everyone else does."

Tim reached back and pulled the visor down. The keys fell into his lap.

"What are you going to give me?" Angela asked.

"A swift kick in the ass. Go on up to the house now."

"Jesus, Tim. You're such a liar."

Tim rolled his eyes. He pulled out his wallet while she turned back and forth on her ankle.

"Here," he said, handing her a five. "Go buy yourself a longer skirt."

Billy Simon waited in his car across the street from Central High School scanning the crowds of kids pouring out through the doors. He was pretty sure he'd know the Shepard kid if he saw him. Same black, curly hair as his brother, maybe not as tall, not quite enough of him to fill out a t-shirt. The both of them looked like Gypsies to Billy, at least what he imagined Gypsies to look like.

The kids scattered and the busses pulled away. No sign of Curly Shepard. Maybe the little fucker was skipping. Maybe Eleanor was wrong about the school. No way these kids had the dough to go to the Catholic school, and they were a little too wayward to justify giving scholarships.

Billy turned the key in the ignition. His mind was already moving on to Plan B- really, at this point, Plan C- when he noticed a movement from a second floor window. The window was half-open already, but now there was a body slipping through the opening. Billy watched, amused. It was a helluva drop, and the drain pipe was two rooms over at the corner of the building. Whoever was sneaking out the window needed a Plan C himself.

The body swung out the window and hung there, clinging to the sill, looking down and calculating. Or maybe not. Maybe just closing his eyes and praying. A few more seconds and down it went. On his ass into a shrub.

It was definitely Curly Shepard. Probably cutting out of detention, and risking a broken arm to do it. Billy remembered how Curly had been over at the house- all of his brother's bravado, but nothing going on in his head to back it up. Tim Shepard would've found a way out of the detention room without risking life and limb. He probably would've just walked out the door. Hell, he probably wouldn't have gone in the first place.

At least the boy was fast. He was up and out of the shrub before you could say 'boo'. He didn't bother to brush himself off, just ran for the street and straight towards Billy.

Billy reached his arm out the open window and waved. Curly came to a skidding halt next to the car.

"Remember me?" Billy asked.

"Yes, sir," Curly was nearly breathless. Fifteen and already a seasoned smoker. "Yes, Mr. Simon. What're you doing here? You got a kid?"

"No. I was waiting for you."

Again, the vast gulf between their personalities: Tim would've questioned that, the way he questioned everything. Curly seemed to accept it like it was divine intervention.

Billy asked him, "Do you need a ride, son? You look like you could use a getaway driver."

Curly grinned. "Yes, sir."

He darted around to the passenger side and got in next to Billy.

It was so easy that Billy almost didn't trust it, but then he liked to think he knew a sure thing when he saw it.