"She had become accustomed to being lonely. She was used to walking alone and to being considered 'different.' She did not suffer too much."

—Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Two-Bit shifted in the driver's seat of his car, eyes darting around as he searched for Dallas. Golly, if that lousy hoodlum needed a ride so bad, the least he could do was meet his buddy on time. Two-Bit was two seconds away from just driving out of the school parking lot and leaving that towheaded thug behind to walk. He squinted against the setting sun, his eyes making out a lean figure headed his way, a catlike stance with elfish features—Dallas.

"The hell took so long?" the older teen inquired, shooting a look at the blond.

Dallas shrugged, rolling the window down as he lit up a cigarette. "Nothin'." A sigh. "I can't believe this shit, man. I've been put on the fucking Homecoming Art and Design Committee by Mrs. Girdlé. Can you believe that?"

So it wasn't just a regular detention he was serving, then, he noted.

Two-Bit had to refrain himself from laughing, his cheeks turning a shade of red as his lips pressed into themselves, a comical look in his gray orbs. "Well, how 'bout that?"

"How about what?"

The red-headed teen shrugged as he pulled out onto Fifth. "You being put on the Homecoming Committee." He tried to keep his voice level. "Say, what'd you do to ol' Girdlé that she gave you that kinda job anyway, 'cause it sure as hell can't be because she just adores your artwork."

"Fuckin' Jerry Thompson, man," came the harsh response. "Clown started with me in class, so Girdlé decided I'd make a terrific fucking candidate for this shit she's got me doin' now." His eyes were hardening with vexation. "Bitch knows she's got me, too." He went on to mutter a few choice words, teeth grinding together.

Two-Bit sighed, trying to think of a solution to the situation. He knew Jerry Thompson alright, didn't think much of him, either. His face contorted into a mischievous expression as he thought about Thompson and Bridget Stevens. Word had it that Jerry had asked her to homecoming, and the teen wouldn't ever admit it out loud, but he was strongly opposed to that little escapade taking place. The thought alone was enough to make him cringe, actually.

Considering his options, the older boy thought about homecoming. Of course, Vickie Harper had blabbed to just about anyone who would listen that it was her idea to name the damn thing 'Midnight in Paris', like it was actually something to blab about. Golly, that girl. Two-Bit remembered her being the first blond he'd ever had a crush on—good thing that crush was long gone. Wouldn't it be something, though, if Two-Bit himself somehow found his way on the Committee? Vickie would have a cow for sure if that news reached her ears.

And then, as if someone switched on a light, Two-Bit found his solution. "Say now, how about I join you on this little adventure of yours, huh?" At Dallas's perplexed look, he continued on merrily, a prominent grin ever so present on his lips. "I'll join the Committee, you know, help out with all this design and all."

The blond's eyes lit up a little at the thought, an impish curve of his lips being the answer the older teen beside him needed.

XXXXX

Steve was equivalent to a crazed animal when it came to doing the hanky-panky. Evie didn't mind, though, not one bit—her boyfriend could make her forget about just anything whenever his hands were left to roam across her body to uncharted territory, uncharted to anyone other than him, that is. The girl moaned, letting her head fall back against the backseat of his car, hair spilling around her face as her glassy eyes closed, relishing in how good he was making her feel.

Glory.

His name fell from her lips as he drove her over the edge, both of their faces reflecting sheer pleasure, skin flush and gleaming with perspiration, eyes dark and glossy. And what better way to spend a Saturday night, Evie thought to herself. Steve had won against Will Johnson in the drag race down the Ribbon just a few hours earlier, and Evie was more than willing to show her man just how proud of him that she was, even if that meant being crammed on top of each other with barely any room to spare while getting it on in the backseat of his car.

"Here," Steve said, lighting up a cigarette and passing it to her. His focus turned straight ahead, causing a bead of sweat to trail down the side of his face. He exhaled slowly. "That sure was some race tonight, huh?"

Evie nodded, pulling her hair away from her damp neck. "Sure was."

The two were quiet for a while, that is, until Steve glanced over at her with an inquisitive look. "So, you're really up for going to homecoming, ain't ya?"

The girl's brows shot up. "'Course I am." She huffed. "C'mon, Stevie, don't tell me that you're gonna back out of taking me now. I already got my dress picked out, well one that I'm real interested in wearing, and I promised Ella Mitchell I'd help out with her hair and makeup, too, so—"

"Wait, what?" he cut in, jerking around to fully face her. "Ella Mitchell is going to homecoming? Who the hell asked her?"

Evie scowled at the shock in his voice. "I asked her if she was going, and we got to talkin', so I offered to help her out with her makeup and hair."

Steve inwardly cringed as he thought about Ella's wild hair. Lordy, but Dally was right—that untamed, unruly mess could surely use something to fix it, or at least, attempt to, and it sure as hell wouldn't be a regular hair tool, that was for sure. Then again, Evie was quite the expert when it came to working with hair and the like, and Steve didn't put it past her to take care of, or fix up, anyone who needed help cosmetically.

"Well," he mumbled, tossing his cigarette butt out the window, "good luck with that."

"And just what is that supposed to mean, Steven Randle?"

The dark-haired boy flinched a little at the expression his girlfriend wore. She could turn into quite the savage when she wanted to, and she wasn't afraid to shut him up and put him in his place, either. Evie was wild like that, and truthfully, Steve enjoyed every second of it. Golly, could that girl do things to him—she was a wild cat like that at times.

"Nothing," he replied, draping an arm around the back of her neck. "Just means that you're still gonna be the prettiest gal at the dance."

A blush colored her cheeks, and he knew that he had her. "So you're taking me, then?" Her eyes were sparkling with anticipation and excitement. "Really?"

Steve wished more than anything that Evie didn't have to get so hyped up about things like school dances and other activities that didn't interest him, but then again, she was a girl who was into all that cosmetic and beauty shit, so go figure.

He sighed. "Yeah, yeah."

"Oh, Steve," she cooed, pressing her lips against his. "You make me so happy."

The older teen grinned, pulling his girlfriend onto his lap. "Yeah?" he said, moving his mouth to her neck, the pads of his fingers sliding down her backside. "Because you make me so fucking happy, too, baby."

And when she moved against him, all of his ill thoughts regarding homecoming were forgotten in the back of his mind, clouded over with what was currently happening in the heat of the moment.

XXXXX

Ella moved to the back corner of the library, placing her bag on the table as she looked around for Evie Martin. The two had agreed earlier that morning during English class to meet up during their lunch period to work on their assignment together. Pulling her copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn out of her bag, Ella's eyes scanned the cover, wondering what Miss Tracy could have been thinking when she had paired her and Evie up with the other girl's copy of The Scarlet Letter.

The two teens had only gathered a little bit of information of what their books had in common, and they weren't really all that great. Ella could only imagine the look on Miss Tracy's face if she read their notes on the main characters being females—that would surely serve them an A. The brown-haired girl chuckled to herself as she immediately thought of Evie's assigned book and the sole fact of their grade being an A.

"Hey," Evie's voice rang out, seeming to echo about the room as she approached the back table. "Sorry I'm late."

Ella feigned a smile. "No problem."

"So," Evie continued, plopping down in the chair and tossing her book in front of herself, "I only read a little bit of it, not too much. What about you?"

"Same, but that's only because I worked during the weekend and didn't have a lot of time to really get into it," Ella replied softly, casually thumbing through the pages of her book. "From what I've read, though, I actually like it."

Evie almost rolled her eyes. "Glad that you got a book you like."

"You don't like yours?"

"I still think Tracy is tryin' to say something, but—" She shook her head. "Never mind. What have you got for your character so far? We can compare notes."

And that's how the next hour went. Ella and Evie compared the first chapters of their books, jotting down notes and similarities of their characters, settings, and other things they thought would be beneficial to their English grade. The more time the girls spent together, the more they both seemed to relax, and Ella found that Evie was quite easy to get along with.

"I think I like your book better than mine," Evie stated after a while. "It's not as drastic, and it seems to teach more of a lesson."

Ella's eyes shot up from the notebook they were using for their notes. "Really?" The girl internally disagreed with that remark, but she didn't bother to voice her opinion. "Well, I suppose that maybe this story has more depth to it. Yours in straightforward and blunt."

The other girl merely shrugged. "If you say so. I still dig yours more, though."

With a smile, Ella placed her book inside of her bag, lips pursing a little. While it was easier to get along with Evie now that they were both comfortable enough around each other, Ella still felt a bit inferior to the other girl. She envied her shiny locks, wishing more than anything that her own hair would flatten out and stay straight. Instead, she was cursed with her mother's bushy hair, the kind that wouldn't do squat even if you attempted to force it to. The girl wasn't even sure if Evie could honestly help her out, but she sure seemed confident in herself.

"I was thinking about homecoming," she suddenly blurted out, cheeks heating up as the other girl's eyes shifted in her direction. "I, well, I'm not sure if I . . . if I'll be attending after all." The last part came out so quietly that Evie had to strain to hear it.

"Why not?"

The floor suddenly became interesting to stare at just then. "I don't have a date, and I guess I'd feel weird showing up without one."

Evie chuckled. "Don't be silly, Ella." She tried to make her voice sound firm, but the thought of Ella being so strung out about not having a date was actually comical. Glory, no wonder the girl didn't have a boyfriend—she was too anxious about everything. "It don't matter if you were asked or not. Look, I offered to help ya out with your hair, didn't I? Now surely, you won't be the only girl that shows up to homecoming without a date. You'll find a friend or someone to hang around with." She flashed the shorter girl a genuine grin. "I'll see ya there, too."

Ella slowly nodded, remembering her conversation with Cathy Carlson a few days ago. She felt like she could relate so much to the other girl, but even Cathy seemed more confident than her. Ella was suddenly doubting the entire idea of showing up to the homecoming dance, and she wondered why she had even let Evie humor herself with the idea of helping her out. Who was she kidding? She didn't think she was pretty girl at all. Decent? Sure. But not pretty. Dances and parties just weren't places for a girl like Ella Mitchell.

But she didn't mind. She had grown used to the idea that she would most likely live her life alone, but she wasn't going to let herself suffer, either, because she had become accustomed to the thought at an early age—the message had long ago sunk in.

XXXXX

Ella tried her best to conceal her emotions throughout the rest of the day, only it wasn't working as well as she hoped it would. Evie's words kept replaying in her mind like a broken record, and no matter how hard she attempted to remove that conversation from the forefront of her mind, she continued to picture herself standing at the homecoming dance with nobody to talk to, nobody to laugh with, nobody to . . . well, do anything with.

Golly, she would probably end up sitting in a bathroom stall for the majority of the entire thing, before deciding to bail out. She wouldn't fit in, even if Evie gave her an entire makeover; she just wasn't one of those girls, plain and simple. Every time she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw a girl with waist length, bushy hair, and milk-white skin that made her faint freckles stand out. Her eyes were nearly too big for her face in general, and her nose was slightly too wide—she wasn't attractive. Maybe, just maybe, if her hair wasn't so frizzy, she wouldn't look so ridiculous, but like she had said to Cathy, that mane had a mind of its own with the weather being its biggest enemy.

The girl was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn't see the boy headed in her direction, a smile on his lips as he stopped in front of her, nearly causing her to plow straight into him. Her eyes went drastically wide, mouth spilling open as she looked up to apologize, breath catching in her throat as she realized who was standing there—Craig Bryant.

"Craig," she breathed, her cheeks turning stark red. "You were, I mean, I didn't, you, and I—" She shut her trap immediately, cursing herself for somehow developing speech impairment. Of course it would happen when her crush was standing right in front of her, looking as if he wanted to talk to her. "I'm sorry."

The boy was chuckling, but he was quick to brush it off. "No, no, it's fine," he said, eyes looking her over slowly. Glory, he was charming. "I didn't mean to startle you like that."

"Oh," she mumbled, and smiled a little. "It's okay." Looking around them, she suddenly felt awkward, wondering what Craig Bryant could want with her. "Did you . . . need something?"

"I was actually going to ask you if you'd be interested in accompanying me to homecoming," he stated, standing a little straighter, chin tilting up as his lips curved, caramel colored eyes boring into hers.

Ella just about dropped like a dead fly. Was Craig Bryant, the Craig Bryant, asking her out? Was this even happening? For a second, the girl entertained the idea that she had somehow went crazy and ended up in the loony bin, a place where the likes of Dallas Winston probably belonged.

"Ella?"

Craig's voice brought her back to reality, and she found herself nodding. "Yes, yes, I would love to go with you, Craig." She almost asked if he was being serious, but quickly swallowed that question from the tip of her tongue.

He looked at her, brows crinkled together. "You don't seem too enthused."

"Oh, it's not that," she replied, licking her lips. "I was, well, I wasn't exactly planning to go."

"You mean nobody asked you?" He sounded shocked, surprised even, and the look in his eyes only confirmed that he was.

Ella shook her head. "Not exactly." A light laugh fell from her lips. "Well, I might have gone, I guess, but it was indefinite. Evie Martin is trying to rope me into letting her beautify me and all, but I wasn't really—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

Craig merely looked amused. "It's fine, Ella. I like hearing you speak." He moved a little closer to her, lips stretching wide as he grinned, revealing almost perfect teeth. "So, you'll go with me, then?"

"Yes."

Her heart was thundering in her chest. Her skin felt warm and flush with excitement, her eyes broad and almost seeming to sparkle with pure joy. Craig Bryant had asked her to homecoming, and she had said yes—she was going to homecoming after all, a boy had asked her out. She couldn't contain the blush or smile that adorned her face as she made her way to her locker.

For some reason, she wanted to tell both Evie Martin and Cathy Carlson about Craig asking her out, and for a split second, her heart leaped with absolute delight at the thought of not being alone for once.

XXXXX

"I just don't want him getting any ideas with her, that's all," Two-Bit said, taking a drag of his cigarette, gray eyes stormy. "Them talkin' just ain't healthy for either party, know what I'm sayin'?"

Ponyboy nodded, although he was having a hard time deciphering his friend's words. He couldn't really understand why Two-Bit was so upset with the situation—said situation being Bridget Stevens offering to pay for a carton of cigarettes that Dallas had planned on stealing over the weekend. For some reason, Two-Bit seemed awfully put-off with the concept that those two—Bridget and Dallas—had even had contact with one another, which was baffling to say the least.

The younger teen looked at his friend. "What's the big deal?"

Two-Bit shook his head, looking more serious than Ponyboy had ever seen him. "I dunno, kid, but I just don't want Dally socializing with her." He paused for a moment, and the next words out of his mouth were so low, his voice was barely audible. "She ain't like the rest of them."

Before Ponyboy had a chance to respond, Dallas came sauntering up, a scowl ever present on his face as he nodded once to them.

"What's goin' on, Dal?" Two-Bit asked, already handing him a spare cancer stick.

The blond shrugged, lighting up. "Nothin'." He squinted at a group of Socs piling into a car on the opposite side of the lot from them, a bitter reflection in his pale orbs. "I hate this fuckin' place."

Pony flinched a little at the edge in his voice. "Everything alright?"

Dallas eyed the kid for a second, exhaling slowly. "Just peachy."

There was a silence that surrounded them for a minute or so, before Two-Bit spotted Bridget Stevens making her way out of the school, Vickie Harper, Lucy Radner, and Cherry Valance flocking her all the way to the latter's red Stingray. And it didn't take but for a second for Winston's gaze to land on the girl as well, lips pressing together as he watched them.

Two-Bit felt bad for Bridget getting involved—unintentionally as it was—with a guy like Dallas Winston. Nobody in their right mind would want anything to do with the rugged hood, and Two-Bit honestly never wanted Bee Stevens to have any interaction with the blond-headed criminal. Dallas was his buddy through and through, but Bee, well, Miss Bee was different. Glory, he didn't even know what the hell that was supposed to mean, but he knew it was true.

Dallas's voice cut through his thoughts like a sharp knife. "That broad has nerve."

The older teen raised an eyebrow. "Look, Dal, she didn't mean nothin' by what she did. She don't know the score 'round here." He shook his head, dropping his cigarette butt on the gravel. "What'd you say to her anyway?"

The towhead's expression only turned more menacing. "Told her exactly that, Mathews—the score. Let her in on how it goes around here." Their eyes met. "Pick one side and there's no turning back. Who the fuck knows, anyway? Maybe the message will sink in."

A shiver moved down Ponyboy's spine as he digested those words carefully. Cruel and hard as they were, they were true, but the thought of them were as cold as the hood himself, as bitter and harsh as the city they resided in, but as Two-Bit would say, like it or lump it. It was clear that Dallas Winston, no matter what, would never change his views, and as Bridget Stevens rode off with her friends, Ponyboy found himself wondering about Dallas's words and Two-Bit's concern.

XXXXX

"What?" Steve asked, eyes narrowing as he stared at his girlfriend. She'd been giving him the eye for the past five minutes, and he was growing awfully annoyed.

Evie moved back in the booth, crossing her arms over her chest. "You asked me out earlier, and now that we're here, you hardly say one word to me, Steve." She rolled her eyes. "What do you mean, what?"

The dark-haired boy sighed, aimlessly picking at the basket of fries. True, he had asked Evie to come with him to The Dingo that afternoon, said he wanted to talk to her, but now that they were there, he suddenly didn't feel like talking all that much. Evie was a great girl, really she was, and he was certain that he loved the shit out of her, but when she was anxious to know something, she always made it her business to get the information she desired, and if that meant becoming a dramatic bitch, she would do just that.

"I've been thinking," he said, gaze set on the table.

Evie raised an eyebrow. "Really? That explains your silence, then." And then came the dramatic sarcasm. "And that's it? You invite me out here tonight to let me know that you've got a functioning brain—that's terrific, Stevie, really. Congratulations!"

Her boyfriend rolled his eyes, scowling as he tossed a fry onto his plate, the unfinished burger staring back up at him as his stomach rumbled. But even though he was half starved out of his mind, he couldn't seem to find his appetite just then. No, there were too many other things on his mind, and he wasn't sure how he was going to bring them up to Evie.

"Listen," he started after a minute. "It's about us."

Now that got her attention, and he didn't miss the curious expression on her face, either. "What do you mean?" she asked, pulling herself forward, hands resting on the table. "Steve, what's wrong?"

"It's about Soda," he said quickly, keeping his voice calm.

"I thought you said—"

"I did," he cut in, rubbing his hands over his face. "Evie, I've been giving half of my paychecks to the Curtis family." At her look of bewilderment, he continued on. "They're having it real rough, ya know? I thought I could help them out, especially since they've always been good to me." He sighed. "The kid don't know what's going on, but Soda said they ain't lookin' too good financially, and well, shit—" He paused, feeling slightly humiliated, not to mention aggravated.

Evie bit her lip. "It's alright, Steve. I understand."

She wondered if he thought that she would be angry that he was helping out his buddy, but she wasn't, she would never be. She knew how close Steve and Soda were, and she would never, ever attempt to step in the way of that. Golly, she was just shocked that they'd been having it that bad. Her heart sank in her chest as she recalled the events that had taken place several weeks ago—none of the boys had really gotten over losing the Cade kid, and Evie sympathized.

"Well, it ain't just that," Steve said, and his eye met hers. "How the hell am I supposed to afford a suit or anything for the homecoming dance? Or the fucking tickets?"

The girl merely stared at him. "Steve, I can—"

"Like hell," he bit out sharply, before she could even finish her sentence. He knew. "That ain't gonna happen, so you can just forget that idea right now, savvy?"

Evie rolled her eyes, casually taking a sip of her Coke. Well, there went that, she thought sourly. Steve refused to let her pay for the damn tickets just because he wanted to be a gentleman like that. Evie wasn't complaining; she loved Steve, but golly, sometimes . . .

Staring at her reflection through the side window, Evie wondered. Steve had always come through for her, and whether he liked it or not, she was going to get those tickets, come hell or high water.

"You hear about the Mitchell girl?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

The girl turned back to face him. "Ella? What about her?"

Steve was smirking, but Evie knew he had only changed the subject to avoid a fight and to forget about their dilemma. "She got asked to the dance . . . by Craig Bryant."

Evie almost choked on her drink. "What?" she gasped. "Craig Bryant?" Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, was the first thought that crossed her mind. "Is she—"

A nod. "Yup. I heard George Clayton talking about it during English. Craig asked her out, so—" He trailed on for a while, and Evie nodded along, her thoughts occupied with Ella and Craig.

Well, that was certainly something, but now that Ella was definitely going to the homecoming dance, she entertained the idea of how she would style the girl's hair, and how she would do her makeup—oh, yes, the perfect project indeed. Evie smirked at the thought. She would definitely be speaking to Ella the next day in English class, that was for sure.

"Her intellect and heart had their home, as it were, in desert places, where she roamed as freely as the wild Indian in his woods."
—Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.

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