Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.
A/N: This is my first time publishing a story in the second person perspective. Please excuse any mistakes and/or awkward phrases. Enjoy!
Too Good To Be True
You are standing at the front door, watching her move. You notice the dried blood on her cheek, and you wonder who would ever want to mess up a face that... beautiful. Beautiful. You've never used that word to describe a broad. Most of the time sweet words are forced through your lips out of lust, but this time, you're in awe, as if it's love at first sight.
You snicker; love at first sight? What a joke.
Nobody notices you standing there, so you watch for another fateful moment, taking in her dirty face, her curves, and you suddenly wish you had a photographic memory, so whenever you needed a smile, she'd be there, laughing the way she does.
She suddenly turns your way, still smiling, and approaches you.
"You must be Dallas Winston." Her voice is husky, coming deep from her throat, but also hauntingly sexy, like that of a jazz singer. You only look about two inches down at her from your reign at 6'2", and she beams, radiating confidence.
"Dally, call me Dally," you say. Her eyes sparkle when you speak, and you sense that she's heard about you and your notorious antics.
"Janice."
You smirk despite the quite absurd fluttering sensation in your gut, and lick the tip of your finger. Her cheeks blush a deep crimson as you gently wipe off the blood on her face, revealing a scratch. "Nice to meet you, Janice," you murmur as you smear the crimson on her flannel shirt. "So, what're you in this shithole for?" you question, trying to create conversation as you light a cigarette.
"Shithole's where my cousins live," she snaps. She steals your cancer stick and takes a long drag, exhaling a perfect ring of smoke in front of your eyes. Normally, you'd beat the tar out of anyone who dared to blow smoke in your face, but you like her a little bit, so you refrain. Instead, you take the cigarette back and stick it between your chapped lips. You taste her on your tongue: pleasant mint and burning liquor. Your legs move in the direction of the open door, and they carry you to the park with Janice following close behind.
"What've those Curtis boys told ya 'bout me?" You think you sound tuff with your thick New York accent and it gives you great satisfaction. She lays on the moist grass beneath a Weeping Willow and lights a cigarette of her own. You can't help but lay next to her, as if the force of gravity is pulling you down.
"They tell me you're a grease, you smoke, you drink, Soda tells me you fuck, and you don't give a shit 'bout no one but Johnny Cade," she mutters. The cusses sound sexy coming from her mouth, and as angry as you are about the Johnny comment, you simply ignore the talk and comb your fingers through her honey hair. She looks at you then, and although she's only known you for mere moments, presses her lips against yours. The moment is blissful, totally strange and brand new for you. There is passion and desire, but the kiss is slow. You pull apart, but before you can open your eyes to see her hazel irises shining in the faint moonlight, you hear a masculine voice, and realize Sodapop is screaming to Darry to find his DX shirt.
Your eyelids flicker open to the all too familiar ceiling of the Curtis's living room, a deep sigh escaping your mouth. You suppose that some things are too good to be true.