Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Friend & Lover own "Reach Out of the Darkness."

I knew a man that I did not care for

And then one day, this man gave me a call

We sat and talked about things on our mind

And now this man, he is a friend of mine

For some weird reason that I couldn't understand, Mom looked amused—and enthusiastic—over the fact that I was going to the Randle household to work on the book project with Marvin. Since I had to work that afternoon, it was decided that I would meet him around seven. Unfortunately, but not so unpredictably, Ethan's behavior only seemed to sour the closer to Friday that we got, and by that afternoon, he was quieter than usual, even to me.

Strangely enough, while we were in school and Ethan and I were walking down the hall together between classes, we had passed Marvin, and I was unable to miss the glare that Ethan sent him. They hadn't exchanged words, but there was a tension there that was more than noticeable. I could only hope that none of this would come between Ethan and I.

It was only a stupid project . . . and we were nearly done with it.

Good riddance.

"I'm happy to hear that you and Marvin are getting along," Mom stated, plopping down on the couch with a glass of iced tea in hand. She smirked at me. "Even if it's due to school work."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, don't get used to it, Mom. As soon as we're through with it, I'm sure things will revert right back to the way they were."

"Don't be so sure about that," she mused, and shrugged. "You could end up being friends."

"I didn't even know that you knew that Marvin and I disliked each other," came my blunt response, and even though those words were harsh, I hadn't said them with malice. "We just never see eye to eye, so I don't think a lousy school assignment is going to change that. It's not like we're even trying to be friends with each other; we're just trying to pass English class."

Again, Mom grinned. "Funny enough, that's how it started with your father and I."

I instantly perked up at the newfound information. "You and Dad didn't like each other?"

"Nope," she answered, shaking her head with a light laugh. "Not one bit." There was a certain look that appeared in her eyes, as though she were beginning to reminisce about days gone by. "It seems so long ago now, Harley." Her voice was almost distant. "But no, we most definitely didn't like each other when we first met." A chuckle. "But of course I knew that you and Marvin didn't always get along. Did you think that Evie and I didn't pay attention?"

My lips pursed as I considered her words. "I guess I didn't think about it." I attempted to get her to talk more about her and Dad with the few minutes that I had left before Ethan picked me up. He had been good enough to offer to drop me off at the Randle's during his break, which I certainly had no qualms with. "But tell me more about how you and Dad met each other. I know you tutored him in school or whatever, but what else?"

There was a brief second where Mom paused, and I honestly thought that she was going to either clam up and not tell me, or go on another emotional talk about her past that didn't exactly answer my question at all. I knew that there were things that Mom struggled to talk about, even with Dad, and one of those topics was my grandmother—her mother. Apparently, she had gotten very sick with cancer and passed away before Mom went to college, and to this day, the memory haunted her. Dad had advised me to never bring it up, unless I eased my way into a discussion, but to save Mom the torment of recalling that part of her life, I never bothered to bring it up.

Anyway, Mom breathed in slowly, took a sip of her drink, and glanced at me. "Well, it wasn't exactly something that I was aware of . . . how I became his tutor, so it came as a real shock when the principal sporadically assigned me the job." The side of her lips twitched. "Your father was something else," she continued. "I didn't want one part of helping him, and he sure as hell didn't want me to."

"So what happened?" I pressed, eager to hear more.

There was so much I was willing to learn, so much that I wanted to hear. I already knew most of Dad's past, though that was because I—along with many others—had read Mr. Curtis's debut novel, which recalled the events of his life in 1965 . . . a whole story which included Dad having a major role in, one that I still had a hard time grasping. Either way, it was the events after that story which intrigued me, because it revolved around my parents—and there was still so much I didn't know.

"Well," Mom replied, slow-like, "I ended up tutoring him . . . after a lot of chasing around. He wasn't nice to me or anything, and I really didn't like him, so it's not a fairy-tale like story, Harley." Her lips pressed together as she looked down at her lap for a moment. "We didn't fall in love or anything like that, if you want the truth . . . at least, not until later on . . . when we were both mature enough to even comprehend the idea of it."

"But y'all loved each other, right?" It was a silly question, I was well aware, but still one that I wanted answered. "I mean, you've been together all these years."

Now she made a face, one that I hadn't missed. I'm not sure what the expression was that she made, but it was a cross between confusion and ruefulness.

"We do love each other, Harley," she responded, voice quiet but firm.

Before I could respond, however, the sound of a honk came from outside as Ethan's truck rolled to a stop in front of the house, cutting my conversation with Mom short. Damn. Well, I supposed that I had learned a thing or two, not that it was much or anything . . . but it was something. I figured that if Mom was opening up to me a little about her past with Dad, there was more of a chance that she would continue to do so in the future.

I'm not sure why I had such this fascination with my parents' past lives, but for whatever reason, I was curious . . . and more than that, I was interested. Though Dad didn't like to dwell into what he referred to as "mushy shit", I wondered if there might be a way I could get some information out of him.

Tough luck, but it was worth a shot.

I told Mom that I would see her later, and bolted out the door. Ethan didn't appear one bit calm as I climbed up into his truck, his eyes set with a determination that didn't look promising. I could tell that he was still upset with my choice to go to Marvin's house that evening, and his emotion toward that wasn't just bordering mild, either. Throughout the week, I had attempted to reassure him that I wouldn't be any longer than a few hours—if that—and then it would be done and over with . . . for good. Lordy, I was just about done with eleventh grade English class altogether at that point.

Who would have imagined that one lame book project could cause such an upheaval?

"Hey," I greeted, and leaned over to peck Ethan's cheek. He hardly smiled, and I knew he was on edge, which upset me. "You okay?"

He made a sound like a low hum. "I'm okay, Harley, but I'm—"

"Not okay with my decision," I finished, nodding. "You know, you could always skip out on work tonight and hangout with us." A smirk. "I'm sure Marvin would enjoy your company better than mine, ya know . . ."

At that, Ethan did crack a grin. "If I didn't need the money, I definitely would consider that." He took my hand in his, resting them together on the console between our seats, before he glanced in my direction. "I'm sorry I've been a jerk this week, Harley. You know I care about you . . ."

I watched the streetlights illuminate the road in front of us as we drove on. "I know that."

"You're my girlfriend," he continued on leisurely. "I just don't want to see you end up in some situation that you can't get out of, and worse, with Marvin Randle."

A grim expression ghosted my face, and I internally shuddered. "Nothing is going to happen, Ethan. I don't think he'd be stupid enough to try anything with his parents home anyway."

He nodded, though he still didn't look reassured—not by a long shot. "That's the only thing that I'm happy about." At my confused look, he added, "His parents being home."

"Ah," I replied with, and suddenly felt my stomach sink a little as the Randle's house came into view. I had a feeling it was going to be a long two hours. Now I wished Ethan could stay. "Joy," I mumbled as the truck came to a stop in front of the house. I could see Ethan in my peripheral scoping the place out with a critical look. "I hope this won't take long."

Ethan made a face. "Well, if y'all finish early, see if your mom can pick you up."

"Yeah," I responded, feeling lousy. The sight of Marvin walking outside didn't exactly help jump-start my mood in the opposite direction, either. Great. "I'll see you later . . ."

Ethan eyed Marvin suspiciously—something I hadn't missed—before pulling me in for a passionate kiss. I was very well aware that Marvin could easily see us through the windshield from where he stood on his porch, and the idea of him watching me kiss my boyfriend didn't make me feel so hot. I mean, I knew that Ethan was (kind of) putting on a show . . . a silent message which was telling Marvin that I was spoken for. I mean, I still couldn't see Marvin making any sort of pass at me, but for whatever unfathomable reason, Ethan had it in his head that Marvin inviting me to his house to finish a book project automatically made him interested in me romantically.

I guess, in some way, I thought it was hot that he was jealous, not that he had any reason to be. It's not like I had eyes for anyone else but him anyway.

(Damn. Nine o'clock couldn't come soon enough.)

When Ethan and I pulled away from one another, I automatically felt my cheeks get hot, as that was the first time he and I had kissed like that. I mean, we had kissed before, made-out, but . . . that had been something different entirely—and I wanted more of it. Unfortunately, reality was calling, and I was beginning to feel sick as I hopped out of the truck and made my way over to where Marvin stood, turning awkwardly to wave at my boyfriend, whose expression was nothing short of annoyance at the sight of my (our?) enemy.

"So," Marvin started in a casual voice. "Should we get started? I'm practically finished with my book, so I can do the essay or whatever."

I nodded, glad that he was just as eager to get me out of there as I was to leave. "Yeah, that would be great."

And then he smirked. "Yeah, thanks for the show, by the way. Was that rehearsed or just an in-the-moment type of thing?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, telling myself just to keep cool; it was easier that way. "Well, Ethan is my boyfriend, so . . ."

"Right," he said, but something about the way it had come out made me feel weird.

I shot him a dark look, as if daring him. "He is."

But Marvin merely held his hands up. "I know."

"Good."

Mr. and Mrs. Randle were both home, as I figured they would be, and they were quick to greet me as I walked inside, Marvin hot on my heels. It almost felt funny to be there without Mom, as I was usually always accompanying her. This was different, though, and something about her absence that night was beginning to make me feel weird. I blamed it solely on the fact that I didn't trust Marvin whatsoever, and I was starting to feel anxious as I hoped the two hours of my visitation would go by quickly.

Evie grinned at me from her place on the love-seat. "It's nice to see you, Harley," she said, and I had to admit that for being a woman in her mid forties, she looked incredible. "So, you and Marv are working on an English project together?"

I nodded. "That's the plan, yeah." I felt awkward, and shifted on my feet. "Hopefully, with any amount of luck, we'll be able to finish it tonight." I forced a light chuckle. "There's not much left to do."

But Evie was all smiles and cheerfulness. "Well, there's cookies and pie in the kitchen if you get hungry or anything. Help yourself."

I followed Marvin to his room, and I wondered if I should suggest that we work out in the kitchen, so it wouldn't feel too weird. I also thought that I was being a little dramatic and stupid, so I concentrated on the fact that after all of this was over with, I would never have to worry about it again. Boy oh boy, but if I knew then how wrong I was . . .

"Just sit wherever," Marvin directed, and grabbed his binder off his desk, before flopping onto his bed. I was surprised that his room was clean and didn't smell like a gym, or the boys' locker room. "You can sit in the desk chair, or"—He motioned to the bean chair in front of the small box TV—"that one, if you think you'll be more comfortable."

Now he was concerned about my comfort?

"Uh," I mumbled, and decided to take my chances with the apparent gaming chair. "Guess this will just have to do."

Marvin grinned at me . . . he actually fucking grinned, like it was somehow intriguing to see me sitting on his stupid beanbag chair in his room . . . across from him while he smiled at me from his place on his bed. Yeah, real cute.

I cleared my throat, pulling out our notes along with my finished essay. "I guess you can use my report to get yours started, so you have an idea of what to do, and I'll get to work on the comparative essay."

"Okay," he agreed, and I wished I was able to see his eyes, though they were hidden behind his dark shaggy bangs. He needed a haircut. "Sounds good to me."

A nod. "Cool."

For the next hour or so, Marvin and I worked on the project. I had to admit that it was all going quite smooth, and I was more than pleased with that. Perhaps I had gotten myself too worked up about this whole thing, like Dad had suggested a few days prior. I mean, I didn't think I was over-dramatic; I did have a right to feel worried about something I was unsure of, not to mention, be concerned about my boyfriend's feelings as well. However, I was feeling different about the entire thing as time moved on, and I was beginning to relax, finishing up with my essay, as well as my half of the final report, which I had given to Marvin to write the last few paragraphs.

(It was still a shock to me that Marvin was actually capable of reading an entire book on his own.)

The sound of a slap startled me out of placing my papers back in the folder, and I glanced up at Marvin, who had a large grin plastering his face.

"And finished," he declared, sitting up on the bed to toss the paper at me.

I grabbed it, my eyes raking over his words as I took in what he had written. I couldn't believe it, I just couldn't believe it. There were forty minutes to spare, and Marvin and I were officially done with our book project . . . after all these weeks. The annoyance of his presence in my life would finally cease to exist, and I was excited—more than excited. But to top it all off, neither of us had attempted to pick a fight with one another, neither of us had said anything to degrade the other . . . and it was . . . it was . . .

Nice?

It was something.

Either way, I allowed myself to smile, a genuine smile, my shoulders relaxing. "Great. We're done." I packed everything back up, relief filling me as I looked back at Marvin, who didn't appear to be as enthusiastic as I was. I'm not sure why, but before I could consider my words, I asked, "So why did it take you so long to read your book?"

Marvin made a face, but then I looked away to gaze around his room as he answered.

"I've had a lot going on, you know," he said, voice low. "I wasn't trying to make you do the whole thing by yourself or anything like that, Harley . . . if that's what you're thinking."

I shook my head. "I wasn't."

Oh, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I had assumed that he was just trying to get out of the whole thing, make me do it by myself . . . or at least include more effort than him . . . because he knew that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I scored a low grade. Also, he was well aware that I would get in trouble with my parents, particularly my mother. Don't get me wrong . . . My mother was a very easygoing woman, but she could get real angry if she wanted to, especially where it concerned me making decent grades and receiving a good education.

To be quite honest, I liked making good grades, too, and I would never let someone else ruin that for me, and Marvin was well aware of that fact.

He was eyeing me. "Sure."

"Okay, I might have thought that . . . at first," I admitted coolly. "I didn't know you were so busy that you couldn't put in any effort, let alone, read your book to help out." I continued before he could try to defend himself. "It's because we don't exactly get along, and I know you hate me, so I thought that you would find a perfect opportunity in this entire thing to take advantage of that."

Now Marvin was staring at me in astonishment. I mean, perhaps he was a good actor, trying to play the whole thing off, shocked that I had uncovered his ultimate mission or whatever. Or maybe he had been telling the truth and I was just being stupid.

"I don't hate you, Harley."

I looked at him. "Really?" My laugh was almost sarcastic sounding. "Because you definitely come off that way."

"Well," he began, and moved to sit upright, "I know we're not overly fond of each other, but hate is a strong word." His lips thinned. "I don't hate you."

I considered his words for a moment, then spoke. "Why don't you like me? I mean, I certainly don't need you to, nor do I need your approval worth shit, but I don't think I've ever done anything to you that was so awful to deserve the shitty ways you've treated me . . . and don't deny it, either."

Marvin looked thoughtful, but there was a strange look in his brown eyes. Something was there, but I wasn't sure what it was . . . some kind of emotion that was threatening to make itself known. There was a second where I could have sworn that he looked upset with me for saying what I had said, but I blew it off as him just trying to make an excuse for his negative behavior. Marvin had kind of always been like that, though. I mean, he was unapologetic about being himself on all counts, and he could also wiggle his way out of any situation that didn't match up with his expectations—a trait Mom relayed came from his father.

"I never said I didn't like you," he replied briskly. "Where is this coming from?"

A shrug. "It's just the way you've always acted toward me. Honestly, you always come off like you're too good for me."

"Now we both know that's a little—"

"No, it's not," I said, voice icy as I moved to my feet. "You've always treated me like shit."

Marvin stood up, too, and I was suddenly aware of how much bigger than myself he was, not that I was afraid of him or anything.

His eyes were nearly narrowed at me, as if my accusation had stirred him up. "And you don't treat me the same way?" He waved his hands in front of himself. "You're the one always making assumptions about me and then pointing fingers when half of the time you don't even have your facts straight." He gave me a pointed look. "I gotta say, you've always come off as stuck-up. I never treated you like that, but you sure made it a point to make all kinds of accusations about me."

"Stuck-up?" My voice must have went up several octaves as I repeated the word, anger beginning to boil in the pit of my stomach as I took a step forward. "You think I act stuck-up?" I snorted. "You're one to talk."

His nose wrinkled as he glared down at me. "Yeah, well I never made negative assumptions about you, and if anything, Harley, I've at least always been honest with you. Maybe you just can't take someone calling you out with facts."

I could feel my breathing getting heavier, but before I could lash out at him, I told myself that it wasn't worth it; I would just be adding more insult than necessary. Hadn't I just told him a few minutes ago that I didn't need his approval? Well, I certainly didn't need his validity, either. It's not like him and I were friends, it's not like we meant anything to each other, so why did I have to let him and his stupid (invalid) opinion of me get me down?

He wasn't anybody special.

I inhaled, then exhaled slowly, calming myself down. "I can take facts, Marvin," I said, and took a step backward to avoid retaliating. "I don't care for your opinion, though."

"I don't care for yours, either."

"Good."

"Cool."

There was an awkward beat of silence, and I considered on just calling my mom to come and pick me up. Marvin and I had finished the project, so there was no use for me to stay there until Ethan got off work to come and get me. I could have walked home, too, as our houses were only a mere few blocks from each other; it had been sad times when we had to ride the school-bus together back in our elementary school days. Golly. Still, it was late and dark out, and I didn't think Mr. or Mrs. Randle would deem it okay to let me leave alone like that—and I surely wasn't going to ask either one of them for a ride.

"Harley," Marvin called, and I turned back to face him, registering the agonized expression that was beginning to mask his countenance. "Look, I'm sorry," he continued, and I think I must have appeared as shocked as I felt at those words. I couldn't believe it; he was apologizing to me. Marvin Randle was apologizing . . . to me . . . of all people. Unbelievable. "I shouldn't have said that."

I breathed in slowly, counting to ten in my mind so that I was absolutely positive that none of this was a dream or something weird.

Finally, I responded. "You shouldn't have." Our eyes met, and I raised my chin, not once letting my gaze falter. I don't know why I followed suit, but I definitely didn't want him to feel like some type of martyr or something. Maybe it was a rare moment where I felt like a mature young adult, though I wasn't even seventeen yet. "I'm sorry, too."

Marvin, however, wasn't one for sappy moments apparently, because he quickly moved on. "I honestly never hated you, Harley." He ran a hand through his hair, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. "If you want the truth, I actually always enjoyed fighting with you." A laugh. "You get so riled up and put-off, and it makes it that much more amusing."

I sat down next to him, considering his words. "You treat me like shit because I get riled up?" My gaze shifted to my lap as I crossed my arms beneath my chest. "That's amusing to you?"

"It kind of is."

Was it wrong that I actually wanted to slap him right then and there? It still surprised me that he had outright apologized to me, as well as told me that he never hated me. I mean, he could have fooled me, but I supposed I had never truly hated him, either. I tolerated him and his antics because of our parents being good friends, but . . . I didn't hate Marvin.

I said the only thing that I could think of, even though it was dumb. "That's lame."

"Is it?" he challenged, and moved so that he could face me. "Picture how boring your life would be without me, Harley." He grinned. "Seriously. You would have no one to annoy you and get you all juiced up and pissy."

My brows raised. "That would be a joy, honestly."

"It would be a bore."

I don't know why, but I started laughing—actually laughing. This entire thing somehow became funny in just a few minutes after our bickering. I still wanted to punch his lights out, but his words had made me laugh . . . because the whole scenario was somewhat hilarious. I reckoned that he was right in some way, though . . . Marvin Randle did make my life amusing, too . . . because he annoyed me and gave me something to focus my anger on.

I offered him a smile of my own, feeling a little less irritated. "Well, I guess you have an important role in my life, then." At his bewildered expression, I continued. "You're the outlet to my frustration."

"Guess that's a two way street, huh?"

I nodded. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm going to piss you off when I tell you that I'm officially buying that beautiful truck at your Dad's shop tomorrow."

There was a beat of silence, and I watched Marvin's face to see if I had stirred any type of emotion in him. A fraction of confusion washed over him, but it was so brief that I could have almost missed it, but instead of being met with a negative comeback, or even something degrading, Marvin merely nodded, his lips pressing together as his brows knitted.

Then he stuck his hand out to me. "Congratulations, Harley," he said, and in his eyes there was a truly genuine look. "Guess you beat me after all."

I was dumbfounded, to say the least, but I shook his hand anyway. "Thanks," I replied, feeling both a mixture of perplexity and excitement. "Guess I did."

Marvin waved a hand, before standing up. "You want something to eat?"

I shrugged, remembering Mrs. Randle's offered assortment of goodies. "Sure."

Marvin and I ate in silence, and to be honest, it was nice. It was the first time that I could remember us actually getting along like civilized human beings. We did manage to make small-talk, though it was brief and not much was really mentioned. Mostly, we discussed our mutual interest in the truck, and then cars in general. Marvin was impressed with my automotive knowledge, and I was impressed with his ability to hold a decent conversation without tossing one insult or jab out at me.

Before long, though, it was time to leave, and I was alerted of Ethan's arrival by the sound of his truck horn outside. It felt funny to me, in some way, that I had arrived with a negative opinion of how this night would turn out, but upon leaving, I realized that I didn't hate Marvin Randle. In fact, if I removed all of his negative factors, he was an okay guy.

(I still can't believe I admitted that to myself.)

"You know," he said as I gathered up the folder containing our papers, "I don't mean this as an insult, but I never would have imagined you and Ethan as a couple."

"Why not?" I asked, voice laced with curiosity. "I like him, he likes me . . ."

Marvin half-smiled. "I don't know. It's just . . . Y'all are so different, I guess."

"Whatever happened with you and Brandi?" I inquired, though it hadn't been with indignance.

He was quick to respond. "She cheated on me, so . . ."

Before I could ask who—not that it was really any of my business—Ethan honked the horn again, so I told Marvin that I had to get going, thanked him for his contribution on our project, and made my way outside where Ethan was, looking as impatient and tense as ever.

I turned back to Marvin, though, offering him a smile. "By the way, I don't hate you, either."

And that was the truth.

Reach out in the darkness

And you may find a friend

Thank you for all of the continuous support and positive feedback on this story! :3