Chapter six.

Please R&R.

I do not own The Outsiders, only Lisa and Friday.

-

Steve worked overtime that evening at the DX. Although he wasn't actually paid extra for that time he put in, he didn't have anything better to do until six when he met up with Lisa. Besides, he had to work on that Friday girls' car.

Speaking of Friday, she showed up. Again. Just a short hour later she was back, leaning against the bumper of her car and grinning broadly. Steve didn't mind her presence, but he wasn't exactly pleased with it, either. She sort of distracted him. She was a real character—unlike anyone he'd ever met before.

"Hey, mechanic guy," Friday said, after several minutes or so of intently watching Steve work. "What's your name? You never told me." She paused. "Shouldn't you have a name tag on or something?"

"I work at a gas station, not a restaurant," Steve remarked, scratching his temple as he worked on the car. "And my name's Steve."

"People have two names," Friday reminded him, unsatisfied with his reply.

Steve let out a long sigh and stood up straight, leaning against the metal of the vehicle.

"Steve Randle."

"Randle? I know someone named Randle. I met him up North…. But, uhh, he spells his name R-A-N-D-A-L…. Wait, how d'you spell your last name?" Friday babbled.

Again, Steve sighed, although this time it was more of a groan.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, kid?"

"Don't you?"

"Me?" Steve's eyebrows extended anxiously to his forehead. "Well…yeah, I do. I'm meetin' my girlfriend tonight."

"Oh…" Friday recoiled slightly, her expression becoming noticeably eerie. She seemed to regret asking Steve any questions. "You've got a girlfriend?"

"Yeah. I've got a girlfriend," Steve answered robotically, setting his tools back on the counter in the garage. The clock read five-thirty, and he would need some time to freshen up.

Friday stalked beside the greaser as he made his way towards the exit. Her features were a mixture of dreaminess and resentment.

"I bet she's pretty," she sighed.

"She's real pretty," Steve agreed distractedly, rummaging through his pockets for a cigarette.

"Yeah…" Friday glared away, her brows hitched together, knitted to look disappointed. Steve considered commenting, but he decided against it. What was he supposed to say? So you've got a sort of crush on me, huh, kid? Well, sorry that I'm taken. Yeah, right. Besides, Friday was nearly three years younger than him. Not that he usually focused much on age, but….

"I'd better go," Friday interrupted quietly. The sky was darkened, the clouds seeping across the horizon in an inky black color, like pen on dark blue paper. "It's nearly six. Gotta get home—my brother's probably back from football practice."

Mostly to humor her, Steve formed a question to co-exist with her words.

"You've gotta brother? What's his name?"

Friday smiled widely and tucked some of that thick hair of hers behind her ears.

"His name's Randal. He was born up North."

-

Steve headed on home after several more eventless minutes of conversation with Friday. That broad was real interesting, despite being slightly annoying. Real interesting….

He arrived home, greased and combed back his hair, and he was ready to go. The plan was to meet up at Lisa's house for dinner—she was cooking, naturally. Steve wasn't a real good chef. Never had been, never would be.

Unfortunately, as Steve's foot exited the door—actually, that was the only part that had made it out—the phone was ringing loudly, making him flinch and turn back around. He picked it up uninterestedly, assuming it was Two-Bit or something. It might've been Soda, but that was unlikely in their current situation.

"Hello?"

"Steve? It's Lisa."

Steve hesitated, noticing the potent slur hitched on to Lisa's tone. It wasn't real dangerous-sounding, but questionable enough….

"Lisa?"

"Hey…" she said dreamily. Steve couldn't help but to wonder if she'd been drinking or something. But she was Lisa—pristine girl like her, drinking? Impossible. "I've got to cancel our date. I'm sorry. But…uh, I-I made other plans," she spluttered.

Stammering. Canceling plans. Steve couldn't smother his suspicion.

"Yeah?" he mumbled stubbornly. He hated it when plans were canceled, especially plans with chicks. And this last-minute thing only broadened his irritability. "What's goin' on?"

"Just some family stuff," Lisa answered. "Sorry, Steve. See you tomorrow?" she offered, leaving her words lingering questionably.

Steve heaved a sigh and nodded his head, but then remembered Lisa couldn't see him and gave a verbal response.

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

The phone clicked softly, and the conversation had ended. Steve hung up the phone rather violently and stalked over to the couch, planting himself against the cushions. The weekend and without a single plan…. Two-Bit was probably busy, hooking up with broads down at some dinky bar, or maybe in that souped-up car of his with a girl…. His only other options were Soda, Darry, and Ponyboy. Soda was pissed at him—Darry was too serious or caught-up most of the time for anything enjoyable—and he considered Pony a tagalong. He wasn't much interested in him—not Darry, either. Only Soda. But Soda wouldn't speak to him. Maybe if—

The phone was ringing again, and obnoxiously. Steve lugged himself off the couch and retrieved the call with a groan. He was partially wishing it was Lisa, calling back to reignite their plans. But it wasn't. Surprisingly, it was Sodapop….

"Steve, is that you?" Soda asked—no, whimpered. He whimpered it.

"Soda…" Steve had meant for his reply to sound sharp, but he couldn't manage the sternness with Soda's tone sounding so broken. "Yeah, Soda, it's me."

"Steve…I gotta tell you something. But I need you to come over to hear it."

Instinctively, Steve agreed, although he didn't really think it was that hot of an idea. Soda and him were fighting. What if Soda still wanted an apology? Steve didn't think he'd be able to give him one without snapping. But he had to go. What sort of best friend would he be if he didn't?

"Okay, Soda. I'll come over. See you soon."