"Nothing was changing. She was the one who was changing." —Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Ponyboy was going to ask Cathy out.

Just not this particular day. No, because on this particular day, he was too crammed with school work and other things to approach the black-haired beauty properly. If he was going to ask her out, he wasn't going to be a bumbling mess that was all flustered. Good Lord. Not even Soda knew that he had plans to ask Cathy Carlson to the homecoming dance—none of his friends knew. Ponyboy had been doing a great job of concealing his feelings because he didn't want anyone—anyone like Two-Bit Mathews or Dallas Winston, or even Steve Randle—interfering with them.

The teen maneuvered his way into the locker room to change for gym, his small smile fading once he saw the back of George Clayton's bulky frame up ahead. Beside him stood Craig Bryant and Kevin Rogers, and the younger boy hurried into the aisle where his locker was located. He didn't want anymore trouble from that group—the same group that had been starting in on him ever since he'd returned to school almost two months ago.

"Hey, greaseball."

Too late.

Ponyboy's fingers, which were spinning his combination, came to a halt as the sound of footsteps reached his ears. He turned to face the other guys in one swift movement, a scowl on his face as he slouched his shoulders, eyes narrowing just a little as he sent a hard look at George. Glory, he was doing his best to put up with this guy, really he was, but George was relentless, and his buddies were constantly backing him up. Ponyboy was alone in gym, and he suddenly missed Johnny Cade more than anything—they would have been in the same class.

"What do you want, Clayton?" he asked, trying his best to sound bored. He didn't want Clayton to think that he had the upper hand here. Then again, it was three against one. Pony could hear Dallas's voice in his head telling him to get tough, to get mean. "Well?" he continued, taking a step forward.

George smirked. "Say, Craig, how about we teach this little puke a lesson?"

"Yeah," Craig encouraged, a bitter smile forming on his lips. "How about we cut his hair off even more?"

George continued. "Or we could just finish what Bob didn't . . ."

The threat was left dangling in the air, and Ponyboy felt his hands becoming clammy. He didn't like thinking about that night a month ago, didn't like remembering Johnny's death, or Bob, or the incident; he just wanted to forget, but George's taunting words and mocking expression refused to let him.

"How about it, greaser?" Kevin chimed in, taking a step forward. He took in the younger boy's facial countenance, noticing just how perturbed he appeared. Another step forward, then another, and then another. "Or how about this!"

And before Ponyboy had a chance to react, Kevin's fist collided with his cheek, sending him back a step or two, his one hand instinctively reaching for the reddening area—Kevin had socked him good, real good, enough to leave one helluva bruise. Ponyboy glanced around himself and them quickly—unsure of what to do. If he attacked Rogers, Clayton and Bryant would jump in and whip him, and he wasn't looking forward to visiting Principal Vernon to take the blame, either. Lord just knew that the man had it in for greasers.

"Clayton! Bryant!" Coach Micheals called. "Two minutes until class starts. Let's go!"

Ponyboy inwardly sighed in relief. Kevin backed away from him to follow his friends, but not before promising him that they would be back, which only fueled his anger further. Oh, glory, but there was no way he could get these guys off of his back. No way in hell was he telling his friends about it, either; he had to take care of the issue himself.

You'd better wise up, Pony . . . you get tough like me and you don't get hurt. You look out for yourself and nothin' can touch you . . .

XXXXX

"So, you're friends with that Soc chick now?"

Two-Bit shot Dallas a look. "I'm lookin' out for her, man. Cool it."

But Dallas's glare only hardened. "Heard she took a slam from Hopper the other day or somethin', or at least that's the word goin' around." He lit up a cigarette. "Heard you didn't so much as stick your nose in it, except to tell him to lay off or whatever."

It was Two-Bit's turn to glare. "Look, Dal, I told ya, it ain't nothin' personal, alright? Bee is . . . well, she's different, don't quite fit in on either side, know what I'm saying?" He suddenly wished that he hadn't mentioned that him and Bridget had seen a movie together last Friday evening. And with Steve's inquires over the weekend about why Evie was on the nominee list was only driving Dallas up a damn wall—he hated being on the committee, and the entire Soc ordeal was aggravating both him and Two-Bit. "Just leave her outta this."

But the blond merely rolled his eyes. Of course Two-Bit would choose to do something so foolish and stupid—probably cause another mess for everyone else to clean up while he was at it. Bee Stevens, huh? Yeah, he remembered—that's what people were calling her now, all because of Two-Bit, who was mighty proud of his nickname for the raven-haired girl. No surprise there. It didn't matter, though, at least, not to Dallas it didn't. See, this buzzing Bee was trouble, as far as he was concerned—she was friends with that Harper bitch, the one who Two-Bit was sure had something to do with Randle's girl making the dance nominee list, or what-the-fuck-ever, so why in the almighty fuck would he even bother to look out for the bitch's friend?

"Seems to me like she has a side." His blue orbs zeroed in on Two-Bit's gray ones. "And you would do well to stay the hell away from her. She ain't nothin' but trouble."

Even though his words were bitter, the side of Two-Bit's lips quirked. "See, now, that's funny, 'cause she thinks the same thing about you."

The hood's eye twitched. "Yeah, the kinda trouble she don't wanna tangle with."

And Two-Bit shut his trap. He was no coward, not by far, but there were times when you knew when to just zip it, and this was one of those times. Dallas was a walking time-bomb, and his vendetta against the Socs ran thick and deep, reaching higher for the surface more and more with each passing day, and Two-Bit was looking out for Bridget Stevens, he was, so he didn't bother to say anything else.

Besides, he had Dallas on his side for dealing with George Clayton and Vickie Harper anyway. It was safer to keep Bridget Stevens out of this.

XXXXX

Evie was chewing hard on her gum. She kept telling herself that it didn't matter that she was one of the nominees for the homecoming dance, that she was right up there with Vickie Harper, Bridget Stevens, Cherry Valance, and Lucy Drysdale. But it did matter. It mattered a lot. And she was still pissed about the whole thing. See, Steve was worried, too, not that she could fault her boyfriend there, and he had so kindly decided to take matters into his own hands—matters which included talking to Two-Bit Mathews and Dallas Winston about the issue.

To make things worse, Steve had taken some of his anger out on Two-Bit because he thought, having heard from Two-Bit, that Vickie Harper (and Steve's input of Bridget Stevens) were setting her up. Evie really didn't think so—not Bridget, at least—but she wouldn't put anything past that Harper bitch. Evie didn't care, though, she didn't, or that was what she told herself.

She glanced at the brown-haired girl beside her, who was busy scribbling down the rest of her English essay on A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Evie had hardly made a dent in her own final essay on The Scarlet Letter, but she was preoccupied with other issues—issues that included the salon service, how she was going to go about telling the other girls that her business would be held on the other side of town . . . Oh, good Lord, she wasn't looking forward to that—not at all.

"Evie?"

The brunette turned her head, one brow raising at Ella. "Hmm?"

"You okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," she answered, reaching for her nail buffer. "Just peachy. Did you hem your dress at all?"

Ella nodded. "Yeah, I even took your advice." A blush colored her cheeks. "I've been thinking a lot about Craig, you know? I want him to . . . well, I want him to really notice me."

"And he will," Evie pointed out. "You just take care of your dress. I'll take care of everything else." A smile brushed her lips. "How short did you make the dress?"

And that's when the other girl's face contorted to utter embarrassment. "Well, I—" She used her hand to indent the length of the dress against her skin. "It's about . . . here." The side of her hand pressed about two inches above her knee. "I think it's a bit short, but . . ."

"I think that's great," Evie replied, startling her. "Mine ain't too short, but it's short enough. Believe me, Steve ain't a fan of the color green, either, but he's gonna suffer wearing a green tie an' all."

Ella smirked at that. "Craig was glad that I didn't pick anything too extravagant."

"Lucky both of you," she said, and then shook her head. "Alright, so what do you got done for your book essay?" Her eyes fell on her half-written paper. "I ain't exactly finished."

"Well, both of our stories deal with some self-realization, bad circumstances, and learning to accept situations." She began tapping her pencil against her desk. "I'm not sure there's a lot that Francie and Hester have in common as characters overall, but there's, well, the self-acceptance for one . . ."

"Fucked up circumstances."

Ella nodded. "I think my character had it easier than yours."

"Well, in the end, they both made out okay, I'd say," Evie piped in, pursing her lips. "Then again, I don't think I'd wanna end up like ol' Hester."

The brown-haired girl shook her head. "Me, either."

As that particular thought drifted leisurely through her mind, Ella wondered what she would be like years from then. She wondered about Evie, too, and without even meaning to, she found herself wondering the same thing about Cathy and Bridget as well.

XXXXX

Spirit week meant dressing in the school colors, the jocks going crazy over everything, all the girls getting hyped because of the dance on Saturday, and everyone else in general being overly excited about the pep rally and big game Friday afternoon and evening. Of course, Ella was excited for the dance, because she was excited about being with Craig. Craig made her feel good, made her feel like she was noticed, and that was something. She had liked him for a while, but now that he had actually realized that she existed, she was swimming in a blissful oasis.

So engrossed in her daydream was she that Ella hadn't realized that she was being trailed by none other than Vickie Harper, until the blond called out her name. Truthfully, Vickie unnerved Ella, made her feel like a tiny little insect that needed to be squashed—it was her piercing eyes, though, the blue irises filled with immense cynicism.

Ella inwardly shuddered, but smiled anyway. "Hi, Vickie," she managed to say.

Vickie was grinning, face softening. "Walk with me?"

The shorter girl wasn't sure it was exactly an invitation, but more of a demand. "Okay."

Vickie stared down at Ella, eyes narrowing a little. She had decided last Thursday at lunch that Miss Ditz was going to be the one she would pry information from, having been able to tell that she was a timid tucker—mainly, she was just pathetic. For the life of her, Vickie couldn't understand why Evelyn would choose this girl to help her out. It just didn't fit. They didn't fit together. No, Evelyn belonged down in the gutter, Miss Ditz and Miss Sunshine, well, they could just get lost, and Bridget? Bridget belonged with her group, not these girls.

"So, you're friends with Evelyn Martin, right?" Vickie asked, trying to make her voice as soft and as friendly as possible. Her teeth grounded, though, when she thought of Two-Bit Mathews's words to her the other week.

Ella nodded, though she wasn't quite sure that Evie thought of her as a friend. Then again, the two had been spending a lot of their time together, and Ella was Evie's assistant, as far as the salon business was going. But Ella thought of Evie as a friend of hers, like she thought of Cathy and Bridget. She wondered how the other girls saw her, and a small, barely noticeable smile, crossed her lips as she remembered the evening they had spent at Bridget's house last week.

"Why do you ask?"

Vickie tossed her long hair over her shoulder. "Oh, well, with this whole salon ordeal, I wasn't sure." A cat-like grin stretched over her full lips. "You know, Evelyn—Evie—is a nominee for homecoming queen, right?" There was something in the sound of her voice, something that made Ella's skin crawl, something that wasn't quite settling with her. "Have you heard?"

Ella nodded again, wondering what Vickie really wanted. "I did, yes."

"So you know what people are saying, right?"

At that question, Ella's brows pulled together in perplexity. She was never one to involve herself with petty gossip, and she didn't like to include herself with the social class divide, so whatever anyone was talking about, or whatever was the latest trend, she was clueless to all of it. But Vickie seemed to be egging her on as if she was beating around the main reason she wanted to talk to her.

"I . . . don't really care what people are saying, Vickie," came the response, and even though Ella was doing her best to sound stern and less intimidated than what she really was, her voice only came out as soft and timid, and Vickie looked completely unfazed by her.

She glared down at the brown-haired girl as they came to a stop by the cafeteria. "Well you should care, Ella Mitchell, you really should." She took a step closer to her. "And here's why: You see, there's a rumor going around that Evelyn Martin cheated to get her votes; well, that's the word going around anyway, and were I you, I'd watch my back and remember what kind of girl you're friends with."

Ella blinked once, twice. As Vickie's words sank in, a terrible realization dawned on her, one that made her feel worse than before. Now, Ella wasn't the type of girl to believe these types of rumors, and she wasn't about to let the likes of Vickie Harper talk lousy about Evie, either. However, Ella was too nervous to really open her mouth and settle the score with the blond.

"That's a lie," was all she could respond with, her gaze lowering to the floor. "Evie doesn't even care to be on the nominee list, so whatever people are saying . . . they're wrong."

"Are they?" Vickie's gaze was sharp and piercing as she squinted down at the girl in front of her. Well, Miss Ditz wasn't as much of a ditz as she had originally thought, but she still needed information. "So, tell me this, where exactly does Evel— Evie think she's doing this business of hers again?" At Ella's troubled look, she quickly changed her tone of voice. "I was just curious because my friend Bridget plans on getting her hair done by her, too, and . . . well—"

But Ella quickly cut her off. "Then why don't you talk to Bridget?"

Vickie's glare was oh so cutting. What was it? Did Evelyn have these girls wrapped around her fingers now or something? The blond couldn't understand, couldn't piece the puzzle together, and she had to wonder—really wonder—what was so alluring about that low-class, slutty greaser girl. What did she have that was causing all of these girls to want to be a part of this business of hers, and how had she roped Bridget Stevens into it, too?

The more she allowed herself to dwell on it, the angrier she became. She told herself that it didn't really matter, because come hell or high water, Evelyn Martin was going to be made a fool of, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that was going to ruin those plans. No, Vickie Harper was going to make sure that Evelyn Martin and this sleazy business of hers went down, because girls like her didn't deserve those opportunities, and more than that, girls like her didn't need to bring girls like Bridget, and even Miss Sunshine and the garden party, or Miss Ditz and the dummy brigade, down with her.

She smiled at Ella, a graceful look blanketing her features. "Oh, I'll do that, Mitchell, don't you worry, but in the meantime, just remember what . . . type of girl you are before you, well, completely ruin yourself and your reputation." There was a cool threat lurking beneath the surface, and Vickie had intended for Ella to pick up on it; she wanted Evelyn to know what was going on, wanted her to get riled up and worried. This was just the beginning. "See you around, Mitchell."

Mitchell? Ella shook her head. "Ella, if you please."

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away. As she continued to walk, though, she mulled over Vickie's words, wondering what the upper-class girl had meant when she told her remember what type of girl she was. It made a sickening sensation wrap around her gut as she thought about herself, and Evie, and Cathy, and Bridget.

Were any of them really so different?

XXXXX

Ponyboy had been acting weird, well, weirder than usual, but it was enough that Dallas Winston had picked up on it, and with this entire school drama, otherwise known as the homecoming dance, right around the corner, the hood had a sneaking suspicion who had been giving his buddy a hard time. But he wasn't sure at the same time, and with that fucking jail sentence looming over his head, he was quite wary about causing any kind of trouble.

Two-Bit had mentioned that this George clown had been buddies with Bob Sheldon, the dead kid, and he and Vickie Harper—the school's most notorious bitch—were running their campaign together. Dally was no fan of school spirit, or dances, or any of that shit, including any school functions, but he was always up for a good payback, or a good fight, and with George as one of the next head Socs, he had absolutely no problem in making sure that the little shit and his blond-headed girlfriend lost.

Steve had come babbling to him and Two-Bit the other day about Evie making the nominee list, and really, Dallas could care less, but he and Two-Bit had a plan, one to make sure that Vickie Harper and George Clayton didn't do something to embarrass Evie Martin. Vickie might have been undermining, but Dallas was cunning, very cunning and dangerous, and with Two-Bit's sly antics, they made one hell of a dangerous pairing.

Vickie and George would be dealt with, albeit very subtly and very carefully.

In the meantime, Dallas had other fish to fry, so he waited for George Clayton and his cronies in the locker room, aimlessly biding his time. The blond could be quite sneaky when he wanted to be, and right then, he wanted to be. However, hiding out in the "Out of Order" stall wasn't his idea of fun, but Dallas had backed himself into it when George Clayton and his buddy, Kevin Rogers, waltzed into the back to head toward the showers.

Unfortunately, he was only able to make out half of their conversation.

". . . but Vickie is going to make sure that—"

". . . going to win."

"What about that greaser whore?"

"Who? Randle's girl?"

". . . and they'll be taken care of."

". . . Vickie said . . ."

"And we'll win."

Their voices drifted away, and Dallas scowled, eyes hard as a sudden realization crossed his mind. This wasn't just some fucking set-up for Evie or whatever—it was something else entirely. And there was only one person that he could speak to, one person he wasn't at all looking forward to seeing. Oh, glory, but what in the fuck had he gotten himself into?

XXXXX

"I told you to quit worrying about it," Evie said, shaking her head.

Steve glared, crushing his cigarette beneath his heel. "Jesus Christ, Evie, I'm just trying to look out for you, you know that?"

The girl sighed. "I know that, Steve, I do, but you're gonna drive yourself crazy with this." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Look, I'm only gonna be spending two nights at Stevens's house, and I won't be that long, well, maybe a few hours tops, but I got Ella Mitchell and Cathy Carlson helping me out with everything, so it won't be too bad."

"That ain't that point, baby, and you know it," he replied, resting his hands on her shoulders. Steve was never one to get emotional, but when it came to Evie, he was protective to a fault. He just cared so much about her—he loved her. "I just don't wanna see somethin' happen to ya. I don't like this, and I don't like what I'm hearin', either."

"About Vickie and Bridget settin' me up?"

"Yeah, that."

She had been dreading this conversation with her boyfriend, absolutely dreading it. She needed Steve to trust her, to understand that she was going to be fine, and even if Vickie—she didn't think it was Bridget so much—decided to start something with her, well . . . she would take care of that uptight bimbo. Evie wasn't afraid of anything, and who cared that she was on the nominee list? See, knowing that Dallas Winston and Two-Bit Mathews were handling the ballot box actually made her feel a little better, and Steve was going to be right there with her at the dance, so what could go wrong?

Vickie Harper and her Grade A asshole crowed didn't scare her, and she would be damned if she was going to step down and cower away from the likes of them.

Still, it just made her sick that she was now involved with everything. Ugh.

Evie looked up to meet her boyfriend's stare. "Trust me, Steve. I need you to just trust me, alright? Ain't nothin' gonna happen, savvy?"

The dark-haired boy ran a hand through his hair. "I trust you, Evie. I don't trust them."

"Well, if it's any consolation to you, Steve, I ain't gonna be the only greaser girl on the West side of town those nights," came the stormy response, and Steve's eyes went wide.

"I didn't mean it like that."

Evie scowled. "Right."

Steve rolled his eyes, wondering when in the hell Evie had blown a fuse. He hadn't meant to upset her, but she was getting snippy with him, and really, he was just trying to look out for her. Then again, his girlfriend was a tough chick, could handle herself, and while he loved that about her, he thought it was his duty to protect her from this shit. But, damn, where the hell did the mention of her reputation come into play?

"Evie—"

"Save it," she bit out before he could finish. "I don't wanna hear anymore about it." Her arms were still crossed, her cheeks tightened from the enormous sneer on her face. "Did you get the tickets yet?"

A sigh. "I'm getting them this week."

Her only response was a quick nod of approval, and even though she had told herself that she would be fine, Steve's words plagued her mind for the rest of the evening.

XXXXX

Ella was bored out of her mind, really bored.

Standing at the register with M&M Carlson as her bagger was her only company, but the younger teen wasn't really too talkative that particular evening. Usually, he was always paired up with Rita Marsh, but that night, since only Jan and Ella were on, M&M had been placed with her. Ella studied M&M, taking in his features which were similar to Cathy's. They both shared the same gray eyes, she noticed, and then thought about her painting. Both her art project with Cathy and her English project with Evie were due next Monday, and a feeling of relief passed through her as she swiftly thought that her self-portrait of Cathy was nearly completed.

"Ella, right?"

The brown-haired girl glanced to her side, and smiled. "Yup."

"You hang around with my sister sometimes."

Ella nodded. "Yeah, we're doing an art project together."

"And a business, right?"

M&M had always been a curious child, as far as Ella knew, and she had always liked him real well. He was sweet and honest, and whenever he spoke, he was always coming out with knew topics and stuff that most people wouldn't think of. Ella found him to be an impressive kid—real smart, too. Cathy must have been proud of him, she reckoned.

"Did Cathy tell you that?"

M&M tilted his head a little. "Kinda, but she said it was more of a salon service for some girls going to the homecoming dance."

"She's right," Ella replied, and grinned. Unfortunately, before she could finish her conversation with the younger teen, the bell above the door chimed, capturing both of their attention. Ella's face dropped a bit as she saw Dallas Winston making his way toward her, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a hard look plastering his face.

"We need to talk," he said once he was close enough to her.

Ella looked taken aback. "I'm at work."

The hood scowled. "Yeah, and I've got places to be, and we need to talk about somethin', savvy?" He glanced around the store. "There's barely anyone in this joint, man."

Ella rolled her eyes, wondering what could possibly be so urgent to Dallas Winston that he was nearly demanding to talk to her right then and there. She tossed an apologetic look at M&M as she followed Dallas outside where he lit up his cigarette, inhaling deeply. She swatted the smoke away from her face as she glared at him.

"Two minutes," she stated, crossing her arms.

The side of his lips quirked. "You've been hanging around with a chick named Bridget Stevens?"

The girl looked confused, but she nodded anyway. "Yeah, why?"

She studied the blond-headed delinquent in front of her, wondering why the thought of kissing him had ever crossed her mind when Evie suggested concentrating on somebody she didn't like to avoid acting like a ditz in front of Craig. Dallas wasn't good-looking, not in the least, and Ella found herself wanting to gag for ever thinking about him in that way. Gross.

"And your friends with Evie Martin now, too?" He was straightforward, and his expression was firm but blank, giving nothing away.

Ella was staring at him in bewilderment. "I don't understand what you're getting at, Winston."

"Yeah?" he said, narrowing his eyes at her. "Well, know this, sweets . . . Vickie Harper is setting Evie up with this whole fucking dance shit on Saturday night, and I don't trust this Bridget chick, either, so if you know somethin', you'd better tell me."

She only blinked in shock at his words. "Bridget wouldn't hurt Evie," she said sternly. "What makes you think Vickie Harper is setting Evie up?"

"I got my reasons, girl," Dallas replied, sounding irked. He didn't have time for this bullshit. He had already heard enough from Clayton and Rogers in the bathroom that afternoon. Judging from Ella's look of bafflement, he assumed that she didn't know anymore than he did. Two-Bit, though, was quite certain that Vickie Harper had done something to make sure that Evie made the final list, and they were going to get to the bottom of it one way or the other. "Just keep an eye out."

Ella watched him walk away, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was going to have to talk to the girls, and soon . . . before it was too late.

"It is remarkable that persons who speculate the most boldly often conform with the most perfect quietude to the external regulations of society." —Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. We're just having fun playing with the puppet strings. ;)

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