Dumped; Chapter twelve. Read and review. (:

Disclaimer: The usual. My ownership over The Outsiders is … zero. :/

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It was after work, and, just as Steve had planned, he headed directly to Soda's house. He didn't knock on the door, seeing as there was no need to. He found Soda in the living room, slumped up against the cushions of his couch and watching the television with a distant sort of glare. Steve plopped down beside him and stared ahead at the T.V.

"What're you watchin'?"

Soda grumbled a quiet "Nothin'", which made Steve grimace.

"So you weren't at work today. How come?"

"Figured I'd come back on Monday instead." Soda repositioned himself on the sofa so that he was no longer slouching down. "How was work?"

"Mmm…I met'a girl. Well, I've kinda known her for a little while. You met Friday?" Had Soda been personally introduced to Friday yet? It was unlikely. Hell, he hadn't even met Lisa during her and Steve's short-lived romantic encounter.

"I don't think so. What kinda name is Friday? And what happened to Lisa?"

"Her real name ain't Friday. It's Jean. But she wanted her initials to spell Fri or somethin' crazy like that. And Lisa was cheatin' on me, Soda." Steve gritted his teeth at the reminisce of the memory. "We were only dating for a few days and she was already cheatin' on me."

Soda laughed. It wasn't an amused laugh—more of a strained, humorless kind of chuckle. Sort of like the noise someone would make if a joke was made about a person who had passed away recently. Very much … bitter.

"Sorry 'bout that, buddy. Well, at least you got yourself a new girl." Soda was smiling now, and it was sincere. "Am I allowed to meet her? Or are we still … " Soda's voiced shadowed away, which caused Steve to chew uncertainly on his lower lip. He mulled over it for an instant, and recalled what Friday had said that night after he'd caught Lisa lip-locking with a greaser boy who wasn't him. She said had that he was better-looking than Soda, which had given him a twisted sense of pride. His and Soda's friendship wasn't supposed to be a constant battle over whose looks were the greatest, although Soda was the obvious victor, but it had still managed to make him feel pretty good.

"Uh, yeah, you can meet her. I've gotta date with her next Friday. Wanna double?"

Soda sighed disappointedly and shook his head. "Can't. I'm gonna work overtime all next week to make up for the two days I missed. Besides, Darry needs extra help with the bills. And especially since I'm goin' off to war soon…." Steve looked away from his friend. He didn't want to be reminded that Soda was going to be deported off to Vietnam in just two months' time, nor of the internal battle that he himself was having.

"Speakin' of Nam…" Steve was the one to disrupt the stillness of the room. He glanced to Soda with weak anticipation, but Soda only shied away from him.

"Don't say it, Steve."

Steve obeyed. Not because he felt obliged to, but because talking about his possible enlistment in Vietnam wasn't a subject he liked to venture towards. Besides, the topic could still be preserved until a later occasion.

"So, buddy," Steve stood up from the couch, "you wanna meet Friday now? I know where she lives, and it's not like we've got nothing better to do."

Soda seemed to mimic Steve's enthusiasm, despite the Vietnam predicament.

"Yeah." He also left the perimeter of the sofa, exiting his home as Steve did. If Steve's memory served him accurately, Friday's house was approximately fifteen minutes' worth of time from Soda's. Though she lived in a nicer neighborhood than the Curtis's, being a middle-classer and not what Steve would refer to as either a soc or a greaser, the walk was still scarcely a hike, meaning not at all too far from his best friend's.

Conversation was exchanged as Steve and Soda trekked their way towards Friday's home. Soda pursued sideways beside Steve, impersonating his movements and allowing him to lead the way ahead. Steve did so easily, bearing in mind some of the landmarks he'd passed last time he had unintentionally stumbled upon Friday's house, and was able to relocate the home.

When he reached Friday's residence, he halted at the steps of the porch and gestured towards the front door. Soda inspected it briefly before nodding and beaming that familiar "Soda" grin.

"So you got yourself a middle-classer this time, huh, Steve? Who knew a greasy guy like you could manage?"

"Aw, shut up." Steve answered Soda's grin with one of his own and elbowed him in the shoulder before jogging his way onto Friday's porch. Soda came after him, ceasing himself when they reached the entrance. Steve almost entered without being welcomed, just because he was naturally accustomed to doing that at Soda's house, but he realized at the last moment that he'd probably be assaulted by Friday's older brother if he did that, so he backed up and tapped impatiently on the wooden panel.

And he waited. For nearly a whole minute, absolutely nothing stirred within the house. Then Steve noticed the curtain in the window ripple slightly, and someone shouted from inside: "Friday, I think that's for you! Is that that guy you've been all worked up over?" The voice was guttural, as though the person speaking had had the life choked out of him one too many times.

"Steve's out there?" Friday's voice wasn't at its usual shrill state. It sounded … pained, and somewhat brooding. This made Steve curious as to why.

"Yeah. Steve, I think. And some other guy. You wanna talk to them?"

"N-no." Stuttering. Why on earth was Friday stuttering? "Tell him I'm sick."

"Didn't you just see him earlier?"

"I don't care! Just go ahead and tell him I'm sick!"

"All right, all right…" Steve's ears recognized the noise of softly squeaking floorboards. The front door swung open, revealing what had to be Friday's brother. His appearance matched hers exactly, just in masculine form. The mousy brown hair, the eyes, wide like a cow's and about as chocolaty as a candy bar. He was even kind of short for a guy, which related to how petite Friday was.

"Uh, you here for Friday?" her brother asked. Steve knew his name, Randal, being that it was identical to his own surname, though it was spelt differently.

"Yeah." Steve and Soda answered jointly.

"Well, she's … sick." Randal cast a glare behind his shoulder, which gave Steve a convinced feeling that Friday couldn't be standing all too far from the door.

"Well, what's wrong with her?" Steve demanded. His words were heated, but only because he was actually anxious for Soda to be introduced to the girl he had planned a date with.

Randal's eyes narrowed. He didn't seem to be favoring Steve's tone very much.

"She's got a fever. She'll talk to you later." Randal fastened the door shut without further explanation. Steve thought he even heard the hushed click of a lock as he left the front porch, Soda stalking beside him with a strictly catatonic look.

"What d'you think that was all about?" Soda questioned.

"I dunno." Steve was walking backwards, unable to keep his eyes from being glued to Friday's house. Why hadn't she allowed him to enter, and why had her voice been so … off-key?

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AN: Before anyone takes a guess, no, Friday was not jumped by the Socs and is afraid to come out of her house now. I figured people would assume that, just because it happens so often in stories that involve female OC's. But, in this particular scenario, that's not the case.

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