AN: Wow, it's been a LONG time since I updated. I apologize for that. I just kinda fell out of the fan fiction craze for a while, but now I'm back, and definitely continuing this story. (: Enjoy and review.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.
Steve was nervous to go to work. Never, not since his very first day a couple years ago, had he ever been nervous about showing up to work. But now Friday was there, always there, and since their kiss, he hadn't stopped thinking about her. He'd even begun thinking about her more than he did Vietnam nowadays, although that was a topic that still weighed heavily on his mind.
Steve's nervousness was so brutal, it even resulted in him being late to work. Once there, he noticed Friday in the convenience store, whispering to Soda. She looked disgruntled, and Steve realized why when he entered.
Also near the countertop stood Lisa and the DX's manager, Dave. His boss.
"Uh, hey," said Steve as he came in. Lisa smiled at him, flirty yet somehow also maniacal, and nodded at Dave. Steve noticed her nails had been freshly manicured and repainted; the blood red fitted the situation nicely.
"Steve," said Dave seriously. "Lisa here—I can call you Lisa, right?—says that you refused to fill her car the other day. Thursday, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," interrupted Lisa smugly. "I asked him to fill it an' he just said he wouldn't, then told me to leave."
Steve's gut ached. Thinking back, it had been pretty moronic to tell her to leave. He should've just filled her car, like his job intended him to do. But after all, he'd only been defending Friday….
Friday bit her lip. She was standing in the corner of the store now, her expression looking nervously apologetic.
"Steve, is this true?" demanded Dave. Steve met eyes with Friday, but she held their gaze for only a second before glaring at the floor.
"Yeah … it's true," admitted Steve. "But she was insultin' my gir—friend. My friend," he corrected, feeling embarrassed. Again, he looked at Friday, and although she could no longer stand to stare back, she was now smiling stupidly.
"Steve, this is your third strike, ya realize that?" said Dave seriously. Steve hands clenched, and he looked fiercely to his manager. Third? What did he mean, third?
"It's my second," he corrected boldly.
"No," said Dave angrily. "Third. You were caught drinkin' on the job a couple months back. You refused Lisa last Thursday. And now, today, you're late for work."
Oh yeah, Steve had forgotten about that. Truth be told, he had been drinking during work hours back sometime in November. He hadn't since then, though…
Well, he hadn't been caught since then, moreover.
"So, what're you gonna do?" challenged Steve. "Fire me?" He knew this situation didn't call for his remarks or temper, but sometimes he just couldn't help it.
"I think that'd be a good move, Steve," said Dave, with a fury-induced smirk. "Besides, you just don't attract customers like Soda does. He could run this place by his lonesome until we got another worker."
Soda's cheeks blazed fire-red, and he muttered from the back of the store, "Look, a customer…" and rushed outside, although it was clear to everyone that there were currently no cars at the DX.
"Fine," agreed Steve, although his mind was screaming, Steve, you stupid greaser, you've had this job for nearly three years now! Where are you gonna get another one? But instead of voicing his opinion, he instead left the convenience store, as well as promptly tossed his DX cap near the ground beside one of the gas pumps.
Friday waited inside, but after a moment's consideration, raced after Steve. Friday was lighter on her feet than Soda, so Steve knew instantly from the voice of her footsteps that it was her. He stopped abruptly, and her chase after him stopped due to her slamming into his back.
"Ouch…" she muttered, rubbing her nose. Steve faced her grimly, and Friday sputtered out jumbled apologies, "Steve—I'm sosoSO sorry—I'll do anything to—I mean, it was all my fault an—I'm just real, real sorry—"
"It ain't your fault," interrupted Steve coolly. On the inside, he secretly blamed her for part of it, but he wasn't angry enough to say that—and besides, a majority of it was his doing.
"Steve…" said Friday, ignoring his interruption, "now you're gonna have to get another job. Gosh, I'm SO sorry…" The sentence trailed, and Friday's expression morphed into something that reminded Steve of a child who had just had their most beloved toy taken from them.
"Didn't you hear me?" said Steve, with a slight trace of irritability. "It ain't your fault."
"Yes it—"
"But I mean," Steve continued slyly, "if ya really wanna make it up to me…"
Friday noticed the slyness, and her eyebrows rose out of instinct. "I'm not likin' your tone, Steve," she said. Steve couldn't tell whether she was serious or not, so he simply laughed.
"I was just gonna ask to go on another date."
"Oh, well, you could've ask me that anyway…" she said brightly. Her cheeks had flushed, just as expected. "When?"
Steve smiled. His temper had smoldered beneath Friday—like she was an anti-fury drug of some sort. Though somewhere, his anger toward Dave—and partially Soda, even—was encased, and he knew he'd unleash it sometime. Probably later on, while he was by himself. But at the current time, he was mainly interested in Friday.
"How 'bout now?" he suggested. Friday was quick to agree with vigorous nodding, so Steve continued, "Um, where d'you wanna go? We could go to my house… It's around the block." Friday seemed reluctant toward the idea, and Steve quickly understood why. Although, currently, he didn't have anything like that in mind. "Or…we could go to yours?" he said unsurely.
Friday's easiness returned, but only partly. "Um, well, my brother…"
"Don't he got a job?"
"He's off today," said Friday, fidgeting where she stood. "Um, I guess we could go, though."
Steve chuckled, a little uneasily. Not that he was exactly intimidated by Friday's brother, but…
"And he ain't gonna kill me if I show up?"
"Naw," Friday assured him. "Could mutilate you, though," she joked, grabbing his arm reluctantly. Steve let her take it, and she led him in the direction of her home, though he already knew its whereabouts.
"I guess I'll take my chances," he agreed. Friday made no remark until they arrived at her house, where Randal sat on the front porch, a newspaper in his hands. He looked up, however, when Friday's shrill voice called, "Hey, Randal!" and two sets of footsteps hurried onto the porch.
"Hey, Friday," said Randal easily—although his facial expression went from nonchalant to fierce the second he noticed Steve. "What's he doin' here?" Steve figured he was probably still upset that he'd kissed Friday, well … pretty much right in front of him. After all, he was definitely the overprotective-in-a-brotherly-way type.
"Um, he was gonna come inside. I was gonna show him my room…" said Friday. Randal's eyes were saucer-wide, and he remarked, "You think mom would like that?"
"Don't think mom would mind much," admitted Friday.
"But—"
"Randal," said Friday, and Steve observed a slight trace of annoyance in her voice, "remember, I'm growin' up." The way she'd spoken the words "growin' up" made Steve wonder if there had been a previous conversation about this kind of situation that he'd missed.
"All right…" agreed Randal apprehensively. "But I'm gonna check on you two sometime. So no— " he glared swiftly at Steve—"funny business."
"Thanks," muttered Friday, and she hurried to her room, still holding onto Steve's arm. Once there, she shut the door—being careful to stay quiet while doing so—and faced Steve, an anxious smile spread across her face. "Well … this is my room."
Steve gazed around. Pink. It was all pink. The walls were plastered with pinkpinkpink. As was the carpet, although it had dulled to a less prominent pink. Friday had a bed, too—but it resembled more of a couch than anything. And the cushions were … pink, of course.
"Pink," muttered Steve. It wasn't his favorite color, but he still nodded in approval. "I like it."
Friday giggled, her embarrassment apparent. "Umm…this used to be my sister's room. Older sister. She moved out, though." She hesitated. "She was real crazy about pink."
Steve snorted. "Obviously." He leaned against the wall. "What's 'er name?"
"My sister?"
"Yea."
"Rachel," Friday answered quickly. "Don't see her much now, though."
Steve wrinkled his eyebrows. "How come?"
"Got in some fight with my mom… I dunno."
There was a brief, awkward silence, which was distorted by Steve's exclaiming, "Hey, what's this?" and picking up a very small, very blue, not pink, notebook from the top of Friday's couch-bed.
Friday's eyes shot open, widening much further than they were meant to. "Gosh, Steve, give that back!" she shouted, bounding after him as he avoided her, attempting to read the entries.
"What's this, anyway? A diary?" he taunted, flipping open the first page. "January twentieth," he read aloud. "Hey, this is from jus' a couple days ago—on yer birthday—" He'd intended to read more, but something knocked the wind right out of him—which ended up being Friday, tackling him onto the couch-bed and stealing back the journal.
Steve rubbed his belly lightly as Friday rolled off him and shoved the blue book underneath her bed. She muttered something under her breath, which sounded familiar to, "Gosh, stupid diary…" and smiled at him, like nothing had just occurred.
"You're pretty damn violent for such a tiny broad," Steve commented amusedly, reaching to ring his arm around Friday's waist.
Friday giggled, a mixture of amusement and anxiety. "Ya can't read my journal," she said simply.
"Yea—I got that message loud an' clear," said Steve sarcastically, still rubbing his stomach. "So what's it say in that thing, anyway?"
"I am not telling you," Friday said seriously, then chuckled softly.
"C'mon," challenged Steve. He was coming closer and closer to her with every moment that passed, but Friday either hadn't noticed, or simply just didn't remark.
"Well..." Friday began. "There's … stuff in it. Stuff about … you," she admitted sheepishly.
"What kind of stuff?"
Their bodies were close together now. Friday had finally seemed to notice, which resulted in what seemed to be a sudden wave of edginess.
"Um…" She swallowed, roughly. Steve also saw that she was picking at her fingernails. She bit her lip hard, then finally met Steve's gaze, which was staring in the direction of her mouth. "Um…" she said again, then relented and leaned her face in close to his. Their lips connected, and Steve gave a slight squeeze to Friday's waist. Friday was stiff at first, hardly kissing back, but as seconds passed, she became more intimate—even trying to deepen it herself at one point. But before she was truly able to, her bedroom door swung open, and there stood Randal, his arms locked across his chest.
Friday and Steve disconnected instantly. Friday was panting a little—she'd kissed before, but never like that. Steve stood up from the couch-bed and suggested, "Um, I think I'd better get goin'. See ya soon, Friday." He hurried out of the room, his shoulders rigid as Randal's eyes followed him, but then loosened up once he'd exited the house.
Despite what had just occurred, Steve couldn't stop smiling the whole way home. But on the way there, he passed by the DX, where Soda stood filling car's tanks by his lonesome, which reminded Steve that he had been fired.
"Dammit," he muttered to himself, arriving home right on cue. On the way in, he snatched up the newspaper from the front lawn. He'd finally have some use for the dang thing: job ads.
Inside, Steve settled onto his bed and glared at the paper. He wasn't really reading it at all. Instead, he was fuming, mind and body. How could they just fire me like that? he thought furiously. He'd sacrificed three years of his life to the DX, and they'd just thrown him away, like he'd been a useless worker or something. He hadn't been a useless worker, not even slightly. He'd done his job damn well, if not perfectly. Fucking DX….
Steve dropped the paper suddenly, the corner of his eye catching a sheet peeking out from underneath his bed. He reached for it, gave a tug, and pulled it into his grasp. It was the Pros and Cons list he'd been working on some days ago. Steve read over it again, this time focusing specifically on two words, which were in caps:
NO FRIDAY.
On Steve's bedside table was a pencil, and he reached for it. Next to the words "NO FRIDAY", he drew a small star.