I do not own The Outsiders.

Chapter seven.

Please, R&R. [:

AN: Soda's birthday is mentioned in this. I didn't know it so I just used Rob Lowe's.

-

Steve groaned internally as he stood outside the Curtis household. He could see Soda's outline through the window, sitting on the couch. What could be the problem? Girl troubles? No, it was hardly ever girl troubles….

Steve entered, though he stumbled backwards when he saw his friend. He was crying. Soda was crying. He hardly ever cried—Soda was tough, he could take most anything. Why was he crying…?

"Soda…" Steve sighed shakily and seated himself beside his friend. Soda didn't remark on his entrance. Instead, he handed over a piece of paper. It seemed to be a letter. Steve assessed it with little interest, then stared over at Soda.

"What's this?"

"Read it…."

January 18, 1968.

Dear Sodapop Patrick Curtis,

Due to lack of US troops, the American army has drafted you to serve in the Vietnam war.

Steve's eyes halted themselves right there, though they mostly lingered on two words: Vietnam war. This couldn't happen. This letter seemed too…surreal. Soda couldn't get drafted—he was Sodapop, for Christ's sake! Reckless Soda… Steve continued down the letter, realizing there was much, much more to come.

The words on the paper spoke of Soda's lack of education—how he dropped out and that he seemed to have little interest in further colleges or academies. Then it continued, droning on and on of what a great honor it was to serve your country. And then something about refusal and how it could result in jail time.

The very end of the letter gave the date Soda would be shipped away, taken to another country to serve…serve against his will….

You will be stationed in Vietnam, beginning March twentieth—three days after your eighteenth birthday. We look forward to your enrollment in the US military. More information will be given upon your arrival.

The final script on the paper was illegible signatures, signed by what Steve assumed were countless generals and government officials. So many people wanted Soda for theirs—to take him away from his home. His family. His friends. What the hell was Steve supposed to do without him? He couldn't just stay in Tulsa, sitting back and watching…and wondering, too…. What if Soda was sent back, but in a little black coffin? Or maybe…maybe he'd be sent back, but with half his limbs blown off. Steve couldn't just sit back and let that happen.

"This has gotta be a joke, right, S-Soda?" Steve stammered, handing the eerie letter back to the middle Curtis. "March twentieth…. That's in two months…."

"I-I know…" Soda whimpered. He was still bawling, so Steve glared away from him.

"What…what the hell are we supposed to do? You can't go, Soda…."

"I don't think I'm bein' given much of a choice, Steve…."

"Well—what am I supposed to do? Sign my ass up for Nam, too?"

To this, Soda slammed his fists on the coffee table and stood up.

"Are you crazy?! You ain't going, Steve. You've gotta stay here…"

Steve countered Soda's words with a furious, "And do what? Watch you get your pretty-boy ass killed?"

"I-I ain't gonna get myself killed! Dumb people like me probably do good in war…" Soda murmured sorrowfully, directing his eyes away from his hotheaded best friend.

"Soda, shut up! Just shut up!" Steve was surprised to realize his ears were getting hot, probably as a result of a whole bushel of emotions. His eyes were filling with blinding tears. His mouth was dry. His stomach ached, as though tightened into a knot. God, this wasn't happening….

"But—"

"I said shut up!" Steve exploded, clutching the doorknob as he readied himself to exit Soda's home. "I'll talk to you later, Soda…. I just…can't…." And he left, letting his sentence hang unfinished from his mouth.

The next several minutes consisted of Steve, pacing back and forth in front of the Curtis household with his fists jammed forcefully into his pockets.

Jesus Christ, Soda…. You should've finished school, buddy…. What am I gonna do? Dear God… He leaned his back against the withering tree beside Soda's home, wiping his palm continuously across his cheeks to rid them of any wetness. What was he supposed to do? Was he actually considering signing up for Vietnam, too? Maybe he would. Soda and him had always been a package deal…. One without the other just seemed…sickening…impossible….

Steve was walking now. He didn't know where, and he didn't know how far he'd end up—but he was walking. And violently, too. The soles of his feet hit the ground with rough, loud thuds that his ears could clearly register. By the time he quit his stalking because of a familiar voice, each foot was throbbing.

"Steve! Hey…that you!?"

Steve had learned to recognize that tone easily by now. Friday…. Where'd she come from, anyway? Perhaps he'd passed her home?

"Steve, hold on! Wait!" He was walking again. Slowly, tediously—but walking.

Friday reached him, although Steve refused to look at her. If she annoyed him in even the slightest way he knew he'd have to hit something, whether it be her or the cement. He was like a time bomb—set to blow at the first available instant.

"Hey, Steve…. What's…the matter?" Friday asked carefully, nearly frightened by his current expression. She ambled a step backwards, and Steve breathed out a hard sigh.

"Nothing. Get lost."

"You seem upset…."

"I ain't upset."

"But…I can help…."

"You really don't know when to shut your trap, do you, kid?" Steve snarled.

Friday arched an eyebrow, vaguely reminding Steve of Two-Bit once again, and just that simple gesture caused him to soften a little.

"I just wanna help…."

Steve assessed her offer. He'd decided only a few minutes ago that he was heading to the Dingo. He didn't see any use of her except maybe a free coke, but that was reason enough….

"Fine. I'm heading to the Dingo," Steve said darkly. "You wanna come along?"

"Me? Well I'd lo—l-like to, I mean," Friday replied, failing at an attempt to be subtle. "Yeah, sure. That'd be great. Which way's the Dingo?"

Steve smirked and gestured down the street, leading Friday to the restaurant. The infamous hangout wasn't too far—maybe only a block or two. They walked silently, Friday smiling the entire time while Steve mostly scowled.

They made it there without trouble—on the contrary, the real trouble began when Friday pointed out something that caused Steve's time bomb to become an atomic bomb in only an instant.

"Lord—see that couple over there? Talk about needing to get a room, huh?"

Steve's eyes wandered uninterestedly over to the pair. He expected it to be another greasy girl, maybe Sylvia—Evie, even. But it wasn't. The person Steve witnessed across the room was his "girlfriend", Lisa, sucking face with another handsome greaser guy.