Chapter nine.

Please R&R.

I do not own The Outsiders.

-

Hours passed after the unfortunate incident at the Dingo. Steve was as acidic as ever, which only made Friday try harder to cheer him up. She wasn't sure what to say, though. She didn't know what cheered him up, only what made him angry—which seemed to be a lot of things. Friday had realized quickly that Steve had quite a temper.

They walked around awkwardly for a short while, wordlessly staring down the street. They didn't know where they were going, and they didn't know when they would stop, but they knew it'd be sometime soon. Friday had begun yawning every few minutes, signaling how tired she was. And Steve mostly wanted to go home and sulk—and maybe call Soda.

"So…" Friday struggled to begin a somewhat intriguing conversation. She wasn't good at reviving awkward sort of silences—she was decent at causing them, but not digging them out of hushed ruts. "Um…what d'you like to do for a hobby?" she asked. She was marching in front of Steve, but backwards so that the frontal part of her body was facing him.

"I like to work on cars," Steve said shortly.

"Anything else…?"

"I like to…" Steve delayed his words to consider the question. He wasn't sure what to reply, so he stated the obvious. "Umm…drive…?" he continued. It sounded like a sentence to Friday, so she giggled.

"Drive," she breathed, fluttering her eyelashes. "Really. That sure isn't something I would've suspected…."

"Aw, shut up." Steve smirked briefly at her, but it quavered back into a scowl in an instant. "All right, what do you like to do?"

"I like to skateboard," Friday answered confidently.

"Skateboarding? Wasn't that a fad?"

"Not to me. I've got one of those old ones—from the nineteen-fifties, I think. My dad used to own one a couple years back…" Her sentence trailed off distantly, and she replaced her words with a grim little smile. "I'm not very good, though. I'm all right, I guess. Amateur-ish." Friday yawn deeply, and for about the billionth time that evening. They reached her house, although Steve didn't realize it until she pointed it out. "Hey, this is my stop." Friday's house was bulky, bigger than Steve would've suspected. It sort of reminded him of a soc house, but there were less shutters and it was lacking a garage.

"Nice place…" he mumbled, examining it almost enviously. Friday took notice of his expression and grinned proudly, reaching the entrance and opening it slightly. The door hinges creaked obnoxiously.

"You wanna come in?"

"I'm good," Steve declined. "I gotta get home and…call Soda…" He nibbled on his lower lip, and Friday bobbed her head understandingly.

"Okay. See you tomorrow…?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Work on my car, will you? I miss driving."

"Well, at least for a couple days you ain't driving under aged…."

Friday pursed her lips into a trivial pout. "I'm almost sixteen."

"Yeah. Almost."

"Shut up, car boy," Friday countered, stepping into her home. Her body was half-way through the doorframe, so she added to her comeback before diminishing entirely behind it. "And another thing—get a name tag."

Steve was no longer able to scowl. Friday had eliminated it.

"Don't hold your breath on that."

-

The alarm clock was whining in Steve's ears as it usually did each morning, so the exhausted greaser leaned over to shut it up. When his fingers refused to find the correct button, he propelled it off the bedside. Steve weakly registered the thud it made when it hit the floor. He attempted to assemble two more minutes' worth of sleep, but he was already up and couldn't drift back. So he clawed his way out of bed, pulling on a pair of stained jeans and rolling the cuffs down so that they shielded his ankles. This was the most tired Steve had felt in weeks, because he'd been consoling Soda for hours the night before. Hell, Soda wasn't even coming into work today. He was that depressed about the whole drafting situation. Steve wouldn't ever admit it, but his feelings were identical. And on top of that, he still wasn't sure what to do—sign up for Nam, or obey Soda and sit back and…and watch. He didn't know which would be more painful.

Steve readied himself to some extent in the bathroom then lugged himself to work in an attempt to wake up. The cold January air worked flawlessly, which left Steve rubbing the remaining sleep out of his eyes as he arrived at the DX. Just as he'd been informed, Soda hadn't come in. It was one of the only days of work his best friend had ever missed.

No cars had pulled up to the gas station yet. After all, it was seven o'clock in the morning, and on a Saturday. Who got up at that time? The only people Steve could imagine were workaholics and joggers, both of whom didn't need any gas. Well—maybe the workers would, but they probably all got their fuel the evening before.

Friday arrived quite punctually, only twenty minutes after Steve. This surprised him, because he never would've thought some unordinary broad like her would ever get up at seven AM just to hang around a gas station all day.

She greeted him with a light, "Hey, Steve." Her hair was pinned behind her head, hanging above her neck in a messy sort of ponytail. Oddly, though, it suited her.

Steve returned her hello and got to work on the car. The gears were a clutter of motor oil and dented parts. Maybe Friday had distracted him more than he'd realized last time she'd come around.

"Your car is a real mess," Steve said darkly, wiping the oil on his pants and sitting up, knees against his chest. "See? You talk to me and my work gets sloppy. That's why you gotta learn to keep your mouth shut sometimes."

"I make your work more interesting," Friday pointed out. "Really, how fun is it to just sit there all alone under the hood of a car?"

"I'm all right with it. Come here—I need your help. Hold this." Steve removed a lubricated piece of the insides of the car and handed it to Friday, who accepted it reluctantly. That made Steve chuckle. She obviously didn't want to grease up her hands or something. Such a girlish response.

"I thought I only hit a wall…" Friday mumbled, probing the metal of the part Steve had given her.

"Yeah. How did that happen? You said somethin' about a truck…."

Friday sighed and went on to explain the story, "Well, it wasn't actually the truck's fault. I sorta swerved…the car went a little nuts…."

"That's because your car is messed up, that's why," Steve clarified. "Ain't you ever got this thing serviced before?"

"I got it from my brother…" Friday muttered. "I dunno if he did…."

"Obviously not." Steve eased out from beneath the hood of the car and slanted his body against the side door. Friday was smiling at him as she handed the metal piece back, which naturally made Steve grin. She was kind of like Soda in that sense—at least, to him. She sure smiled a lot, which made Steve beam, too.

"Uh, Steve?" Friday said randomly, and he nodded.

"Yeah?"

"Um…" She rubbed the top of her hair nervously, but her expression was held steady and blank, giving away none of what she was thinking. "I—uh—was wonderin'—" She was looking away now, which gave Steve a vague idea of what she was about to ask…. "Er, can I work on the car?" she asked anxiously, which surprised Steve. He'd been nearly positive she'd been about to ask something else….

"Uh, yeah," he agreed, though he was shaking his head. "Sure you can. Just don't touch anything…important."