Chapter eight; please R&R. [:

I do not own The Outsiders.

Sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter than usual.

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"LISA!" Steve's voice bounced across the length of the restaurant, causing Lisa's ears to perk and her to look up. At first, she was uninterested. Then she realized who had shrieked her name.

"Steve!" she cried, pushing the handsome greaser boy from her side. "What're you d-doing here?" she added shakily. Her voice was a slur, which made Steve realize there was a couple of beer bottles by her side.

"To hell with what I'm doing here—what are you doing with him?" Steve screamed. His voice had gained the attention of every eye in the Dingo, but he paid them no mind as he stalked closer to his girlfriend.

"I—" Lisa's eyes scuttled desperately around the room, looking for something to counter his demand with. Then she found Friday, who was following slowly beside Steve. "Never mind me. What about her? What are you doing with that—that bitch?"

Friday gasped aloud, her ears going red.

"I—I am not…what you said. You're—uhh…what you said," she exclaimed quietly, shielding her face ashamedly with one hand. Friday had never been one to toss insults around, and she didn't particularly want to begin in a diner full of dozens of people.

"Shut up, you little whore. I bet you and Steve—"

"LISA, SHUT UP!" Steve exploded. His fist collided furiously with the nearest booth, reddening his knuckles.

"Whatever, Steve. You're a bad kisser, anyway," Lisa snapped, then looked away, glaring into the face of her new beau. Steve sensed the conversation had ended by the way her expression seemed, so he chose not to remark and simply trudged out. Friday followed after him, embarrassed of the eyes that were focused on her back as she left.

Steve shouted out and leaned against the side of the building once he was outside. Friday assessed him uneasily, watching his eyes dart back and forth between the Dingo and a lamppost in the distance.

"So…" she said cockily, making a careful attempt to lighten the mood. "You're a bad kisser, huh?"

"I ain't a bad kisser…" Steve growled under his breath.

Friday giggled girlishly and nudged Steve in the shoulder.

"Hey, I was just joking. I'm sure you're a great kisser," she complimented sweetly.

Steve looked away from her, but only because he couldn't help but to grin a little.

"You're a real character, aren't you, kid?" Steve remarked, and Friday nodded automatically.

"Yeah, I've been told that before." She paused for an instant. "Anyway, why were you angry earlier?" she added gingerly.

Steve sighed and hugged his arms around himself, leaning his back harder into the cement of the building.

"My friend, Soda…" he admitted reluctantly.

"The good-lookin' one that works with you at the gas station?"

"Yeah, the good-looking one," Steve hissed, emphasizing his hatred that seemed to pop up whenever the words "good-looking" and "Soda" were involved in the same sentence.

Friday shrank away from the angry greaser slightly, her hands rested anxiously on her hips.

"Go on…" she urged.

Steve only spoke one word in response: "Vietnam." Friday examined his explanation, though she was clever enough to realize what it meant in only a few moments.

"He's going to Vietnam?"

"Yeah…" Steve answered bitterly.

"Did he sign up or…?"

"No, he was drafted," Steve sighed. "He didn't do real well in school. He's a dropout—perfect target for the Goddamn government," he continued viciously.

"I see…" Friday said understandingly. "Well…I know what you're going through… I mean, there was this one time—" and with that, the empathetic girl went on the explain her family escapades to Steve. Most of the stories weren't even skirting the tragedy of Steve's situation, but he still secretly appreciated her concern. When she was finished babbling, though, he'd barely heard a word she'd said due to lack of paying attention.

"That's real nice, kid…" Steve muttered, answering to Friday's silence as she finished her stories. The next few moments were quiet—uncomfortably so, which caused Friday to naturally entangle her words with the silence.

"By the way, I wasn't trying to…uh…offend you when I said Soda was good-looking," she said honestly. "Besides, I…"—she swallowed before continuing—"I think you're better looking than him…."

Steve surveyed the girl before him for about a minute, then smirked when he'd decided she wasn't fibbing.

"Thanks, Friday."

Maybe this chick wasn't so annoying after all.