"Are you not coming to practice tonight, greaser?"

"Nope," Cherry hates how much she actually reconsiders it, looking at her reflection, pinching her cheeks. Being a cheerleader — the only greaser girl cheerleader in her grade — was a huge deal. Everyone knew that. Sandy used to be one, until she'd gotten knocked up and Cherry had lost a friend.

Barbara Edmonton sneers at her from behind. "We can replace you, if you don't want to do it."

"You're not gonna have tryouts now," Cherry straightens up as she checks her lipstick one more time, almost buzzing. Her jeans are gone, exchanged for a snappy short skirt she thinks will show off her legs best. The last bell will ring in a minute, and Barbara is just being a bitch. Most soc girls were bitches, really — and Barbara was a beta, always trying to prove herself among alphas.

Too bad she had the flattest chest Cherry had ever seen on someone who wasn't a ten year old who hadn't presented yet. "I'll do punishment laps when I get back."

Barbara looks like she's gonna block Cherry's exit, humiliate her in front of the other girls in the bathroom. Barbara was well liked, but no leader. Most of the girls here were middle class girls who rarely took a side.

The only reason Cherry hadn't used the greaser girl's bathrooms was because Sylvia was on the warpath, and the last thing Cherry needed was to get ratted out. So this had been her option.

The bell rings. Barbara glares at her, and lets Cherry leave. Cherry moves as quickly as she can without messing up her makeup, making her way to the very back of the school. She can hear Johnny Cade's horrible Lincoln rev up and then leave — it's kicking up gravel when she comes down the steps and sees the boy she's been thinking about all day now.

Even just leaning against someone else's car, Dallas Winston looks handsome. He's already joking with Marcia, and Cherry is so relieved that all Marcia wants is to date Two-Bit. Not that she was having luck, not with Molly Saylor.

Still, if Cherry could get Dallas? Marcia could get Two-Bit.

Carefully, she gets down the steps, careful with her hair as she goes. She smiles at Dallas, hoping he noticed that her shirt was just low enough to show a bit of her cleavage, enough to make him think what his medal would look like on her.

"Hey! You guys ready to go? Is Two-Bit coming?" Cherry tries to control her voice a bit better, too excited. Mentally, she pats her back for remembering to wear her flats this morning.

"He might catch up if he ain't too loaded," breaking eye contact from Marcia, Dallas jerks his head towards the mouth of the parking lot. "Couldn't get Buck's ride, so we gotta walk. You okay with that?"

"No heels today," helpfully, Marcia walks them out, through the gravel. "Just flats, and I had gym so I can change before we get there."

Desperately, Cherry wishes some other greaser boy would emerge to distract Dallas for a moment. As much as she'd gone over every agonizing detail in her head before all of this, she had to make sure Marcia remembered the plan. They'd spent weeks going over it: Dallas and Cherry happening first, then Marcia and Two-Bit. Getting two guys from two girlfriends who didn't deserve them.

Cherry shoulders her purse, wanting to steal a glance to Marcia and failing as they hit the main street.

Just keep the faith. She was going to have Dallas come hell or high water that night.

Dully, Ponyboy thinks that his reflection is probably the best it's looked in months.

That wasn't great.

Not that he had been able to do all that much with how long his hair had gotten, with the shirt that he'd gotten from Soda that was a little better looking than the one he'd gone through. It was a soft yellow, a few shades lighter than a daisy.

He'd done the best he could, and he still seemed pale, worn, to himself in need of a haircut and clothes that had been pressed.

Maybe he shouldn't go to the movies. Maybe he should go back inside...

No. The letters. Ponyboy remembers them, remembers how it felt to see Johnny's name there and — no. He was going to the movies. He was going to stay out for as long as he could and think of something, anything that wasn't his cotillion and his future.

He hadn't gone to the movies in a few weeks, and they were the only place he could go to in Tulsa that didn't feel suffocating, that didn't feel like eyes were always on him. They couldn't be; not in a dark room where Paul Newman could be on screen with those beautiful blue eyes of his or where you could see Elvis singing on screen or Sleeping Beauty singing for a prince or Maria singing in the hills. No one would be looking at him when there were beautiful things projected before them.

That feels like permission enough to look the way he does now, to look at the mirror one more time. The mirror shows no real difference before, only reflecting the person he's become ever since his parents died. Just a little older, presented as an omega, vulnerable in ways he didn't enjoy and couldn't change.

Ponyboy walks out of the bathroom, turning off the lights. In his room, he pockets some of the money he's had just for movies, and after looking around, finds his shoes. Once they're on, he's walking out of his door and into the hallway of the mansion they lived in.

The movies made places like this look interesting, layered. To him, as he takes it all in — the vases his mother had always put on the little tables, the portraits hanging, the rug that lie in the middle of the hardwood floors, the doors that all were dark — it doesn't feel like some fantastical adventure behind each door, a place of fun.

What he sees is the absence of things: the small changes to his mother's decor because of Paul, the warmth that hadn't been there since his parents had gone, the way that the house seemed to get smaller and smaller every day.

That remider is enough to keep him going. Ponyboy moves towards the steps, and is halfway down when his brother's voice calls out, "Pony? Where are you going?"

To his relief, it's Soda and not Darry. He turns to look at him, his handsome face and tousled hair and open need. A not insignificant part of Pony can tell that Soda is worried about him in that way most people have been worried about him lately, that kind of worry that made Ponyboy feel like if he really said how he felt, he'd wind up in a nut house. So he fixes his face into something warmer, his tone peppier than what he felt, "Just going to the movies is all."

"Oh," Soda pads out of his room, to the top of the steps. Out of all of them, he's the one who's seemingly adjusted better, with his eyes bright, curious. "Is Johnny taking you?" Soda looks handsome just in a pair of jeans and an old shirt that's tousled, expression kind, full of warmth that was so so like their father.

The thought of Johnny right now makes Ponyboy feel uncomfortable, exposed. Saying he wasn't coming, though, was an invitation for Soda to come. As much as he loves his brother, as much as he likes their relationship usually, Ponyboy opts to lie, "Yeah, I'm meeting him in a couple of minutes."

"Alright, alright," Soda gives that look of pity that Ponyboy isn't sure he likes. "Just get home before midnight, okay? Darry's worried after you."

Sure he is, Ponyboy thinks. He doesn't want to say he's actually thinking that Darry is too into his business dealings with Paul Holden, doesn't want a fight. "I'll be back, promise."

"Have fun, kiddo," Soda smiles and it's so much like their father that Ponyboy can feel his face flush with heat, his eyes prick with tears.

Quickly, he turns on his heel and descends the huge staircase, winding around until he reaches the foyer. Ponyboy doesn't want to look at the portraits, the changing decorations, the way that the house seemed to be in a state of flux, and how it could urge on his tears.

Darry's tired of him crying, being sad. Maybe he is too, as he rubs his face.

What he does need is the fresh air, to move past the well manicured lawn that Darry keeps now. It feels better to walk past it, to go to the gate and to go outside, walking along the path. He walks along the main road of the neighborhood and instead of turning left at the entrance, he turns right. Left is where Johnny's house is – right is going towards the main street of their neighborhood, which eventually turned into the main road towards the bus stop.

None of his brothers would think he'd know how to take the bus himself or that he'd been doing it for months now. Ponyboy likes it that way as he keeps walking, the air breezing by. It isn't perfect; ever since he's presented, he's been more than aware of what he looks like, of what people see, what they scent. More than once, he's been uncomfortable around other Socs who peer at him like he's a walking peep show, greasers with dark eyes and sneers who seem to salivate just at any catch of scent, and even some adults whose eyes linger on him too long in public.

It's still better than the idea of going to Johnny right now, of having to look him in the face as if Ponyboy hadn't seen the letter he'd written, the words echoing in his head:

I, Johnny Cade, write to you in great earnestness. I know that there are many suitors who have and will approach you for Ponyboy's future courtship. I know that there are many who think that they will make suitable husbands or wives for him. I submit that they are wrong; I have known Ponyboy since we were children, always keeping his interests at heart. I wish to court Ponyboy at your earliest convenience.

Every word of the letter is stuck in his head, playing on a loop. He's been picking at it for hours, and his walk speeds up, heading to the stop. He doesn't want to do it anymore; he doesn't want to think about Johnny, doesn't want to think about the future, about marriage.

All Ponyboy wants to be is a normal teenager as he picks up speed, seeing the bus coming down the street. He runs, makes it to the stop and once he pays, boards with ease. The bus is a mingling of scents, of people including some greasers in the back — he recognizes one of them, named Curly Shepard. He's heard from Sandy about him: he's stupid, mean.

He's seen him before, messing with other people, greaser and Soc alike. Ponyboy glances at him, and then away as the bus rockets forward. He can hear Curly laughing, messing with his friends. Ponyboy focuses his attention on the window opposite him. where the sun is sinking down the horizon faster than Ponyboy likes it.

It's too fast to really enjoy the colors, to enjoy the way they ripple and change across the sky. The urge to get lost in it, in the spectacle is there — except the bus is too loud, his head feels too buzzy, and Curly's laugh grates on his ears as they go further into Tulsa.

The sky is finally mostly dark by the time they get to the drive in, Ponyboy getting off before anyone else can in a night that feels surprisingly cold. Gooseflesh erupts on his skin, and Ponyboy regrets not bringing a jacket with him almost immediately.

Teeth chattering, he turns his eyes to the line in front of him, full of greasers and socs. The Nightly Double was a spot for everyone to hang out at and Ponyboy had forgotten that when he'd made his plans.

Going to The Way Out — the movie house for Soc's like him, wasn't an option. Not with how he felt, not with the sudden revelation that everyone there he knew might've been eyeing him for their futures. Equally, going to Jays or The Dingo wasn't on the menu either as they were total greaser hangouts.

He shivers in line, his breath before him in the night air in little wisps, hoping he wasn't gonna regret this choice – even though there weren't that many anyhow.

Behind him, he hears Curly Shepard laughing with his friends and Ponyboy hates that he's only a person behind him.

Great.

The line is long enough that there's a decent wait, Ponyboy continuing to shiver as he looks around. People watching is something he's gotten more and more attuned to in the months since his parents died. It was always easy to fade into the background — he was usually shy anyhow, happy to not be paid attention to.

With his parents passing, that only increased with the isolation, with the sadness. The drive in is interesting: with the different classes all mixed together, there were always little hotbeds of interaction from the front of the line where an older Soc seemed to be eyeing an equally older Greaser with daggers; a couple of farm kids were goofing off in a corner in a way that was clearly annoying a pair of elderly people; some kids drove in with their cars, only to open trunks and several other kids would climb out together, laughing that they'd tricked the ticket taker; along the fence, there was a few people exchanging money for something.

In fact, he watches with fascination further along the fence as a dark haired greaser, at the very back of the drive in looks around before he puts his hands together, drops to his knees in front of two girls. One has dark hair and she's the one who steps in his hand, swings her leg over the top of the fence and hops down in the drive-in, laughing. The second, there's a girl with red hair who hops up, over, and lands a little more gracefully, her skirt settling easily.

The sight of it all, the way they're clearly close feels romantic almost, fun to see the guy grin and hop over the fence to join them. On one hand, it doesn't make sense; if you didn't have a car, it was only a quarter to get in. On the other hand...

Something in him imagines himself doing it. Just because he could, not because he was mean. Just hopping over, having the thrill —

A hand shoves him forward. "C'mon, sweetheart, ain't you got ears?"

Ponyboy snaps out of it, stumbles forward. The line has moved and he tries to catch up. The voice who said it was unmistakably Curly's, and Ponyboy tries to ignore him. Instead, his scent worms it's way into Ponyboy's nostrils, unpleasantly strong, made worse with bad aftershave.

It means he's close. Ponyboy stiffens, inches forward. "You here alone, huh?" Curly is saying behind him, raising his voice. "Your friend ain't here tonight?"

"I'm," his voice falters. "I'm meeting somebody." Of all the things to say, it's not right. It's just gonna get eyes on him. Anything else, Ponyboy can't come up with, just wanting to get ahead already.

To his relief, another booth opens to accommodate the crowd. Before Curly can say more, Ponyboy is off like a shot to give them his quarter and get his ticket.

The last thing he wanted to do tonight was get bothered by Curly Shepard.

"Why'd you change into a skirt?" Dallas grouses as he walks besides Cherry, the wind making him look more handsome than ever. "Jesus, ain't you cold?"

Yeah, Cherry is. She can feel the gooseflesh on her legs ever since the sun had gone down. It was still worth it, and she brushes her hair behind her ear. "I thought it'd be a little warmer. I'll be okay. You sure Two-Bit ain't coming?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure," Dallas strides in step with her and Marcia as they go through the Friday crowds to the movie. There are lots of Socs here along with greasers – Ivy Ueda is already there with her girls, and Cherry still remembers how annoyed Ivy had been when she'd turned her down to join the Vipers. She catches the sight of Ivy's green ribbon, and keeps walking before one of them can accost her.

Some of the Socs who have shown up, she recognizes from either her own classes or around town. To her relief, Johnny Cade is nowhere in sight. Some of the other girls from the cheer squad are around in their uniforms, Cherry steering away from them, not wanting to put up with their looks or mean laughter. "They've got seats over there. Hey, Bear!" She waves to the burly greaser.

Dallas lifts his head up, Marcia calling out, "Bear! Where's the rest of the Brumlys? Playing on a jungle gym?"

"They ain't comin'!" Bear grins at them both, lopsided and goofy. "I didn't know you'd be here, Dallas!"

"Girls wanted to come and I ain't hanging around Sylvia," he cocks his head, walking towards Bear and the other greasers.

Shit, Cherry doesn't want that. If he goes there, he'll be distracted with them. Not the spot she'd scoped out, where you could see the screen from pretty far away, and be undisturbed. She thinks quickly, tugging at Dallas' jacket. "C'mon, we gotta get our seats before someone else take's em."

"That many people coming out?" Dallas questions it, turning the direction that Cherry needs him to.

"It's Sal Mineo," Marcia nudges him in the right direction and god, Cherry is so happy she's got a friend as good as Marcia. "Why wouldn't people wanna see him? Better than some dumb beach movie."

Cherry is so grateful for Marcia, and she nudges them towards the spot she picked out, right in the very back of the section. "C'mon, I know you aren't into movies but it'll be good." Confidently, she lets Marcia take the end seat, then follows behind her, Dallas taking the end of the aisle. It's very alpha behavior for him to do so, taking the entry point. It irritates Cherry — she and Marcia were alphas, could defend themselves fine — while it also made her grin too, knowing that Dallas cared enough.

The previews are still going on, Cherry settling in, shivering a little as the cold nips at her. She exaggerates a bit to test the waters, to see if Dallas might offer his jacket. Instead, he's busy striking a match, lighting his cigarette.

The plan in her head is simple, her leg bouncing as she watches him. Just get to the previews, the first few minutes. Then complain, go get a drink, wait, then spill it. She could do this. She could. Everything was right, everything was going to be good this time.

"When's the last time we even went out for a movie, anyway?" Marcia pipes up, leaning back. "Sound of Music?"

"I think so," Dallas frowns as the light finally flares up from the match, illuminating his face — the long eyelashes, his lips half curled into a sneer that Cherry finds so kissable, the way his hair falls into his face, too cool to style his hair like other greasers. "Couldn't get out of there quick enough — fuckin' Socs couldn't wait to chase us."

Cherry's teeth ache in annoyance, anger at the memory: of seeing that car turn the corner, those Soc boys leaning out the window, laughing and honking the horn. How she had picked up her pace, running as fast as she could away from them. The fear of what they'd do if they caught her. None of that is leaving her mouth though; Dallas would never forgive her for being weak. "But they still didn't catch us, huh?"

"Nah, they didn't," Dallas grins, leaning back in his seat. Over his shoulder, Cherry can see a Soc making his way to them. He sticks out — he's got on a yellow shirt that looks a bit big on him, but without the Beatles haircut that most Soc guys wore. Cherry thinks she recognizes him for a moment, then turns her attention back to Dallas. "They ain't gonna be here. Heard they've got a party near the river, all the hot shots."

"Thank god for that," Marcia sighs out, looking at Cherry — she was clearly remembering similarly.

Cherry looks at the screen, seeing one more preview playing. Her hand taps at her thigh, and the Soc comes closer, looking around before going to sit in front of them. He looks terribly familiar to her, but his name doesn't come to her.

That, however, is her cue. The previews are starting to wind down, and Cherry needs to act, and act fast. "Hey, we forgot snacks. Scoot over, Dallas."

"You got the money for that?" Dallas asks, moving back, eye critical.

"Stole some money from my mama's jar," he's going for the bait, to have sympathy already for when she spilled it.

"You want some popcorn too?" Marcia comes besides Cherry, and Dallas shrugs as a response. So, a yes.

Cherry's heart flutters in her chest as she turns away, walking to the stands. She passes by Curly Shepard and some of his friends, not even paying attention to him when he whistles at her. In two or so hours, he'd never dare do that to her.

The cigarette tastes better the longer he inhales, looking at the preview cartoons starting to wind down. They're pretty funny, just not enough to totally take Dallas' attention. Half because the cartoons this round look kinda cheap — bad, boring, and mostly annoying.

The other half of that is his mind is still on Sylvia, despite the day. There had been no sign of her after he'd gone looking — her scent was old in most places, the beta she'd been seen with, he still hadn't gotten a name.

Wasn't helped by the fact that Johnny Cade had pissed him off earlier that day. That Soc had a way of doing that constantly, finding ways to pick at greasers no matter what. The fact that Dallas had to leave had only made him more annoyed with the situation, only made Dallas' urge to get his anger out worse.

All that anger was sitting in his chest, unable to be acted on. It's been hard to keep control of it, to get Cherry and Marcia to the theaters, have a good time.

He blows smoke from his nose, watching as Curly Shepard strides up with his dumb buddies — the youngest was probably twelve years old, and all four of them were stupider than the last. How Tim Shepard has the dumbest brother on the block was beyond Dallas.

They don't take notice of him – they sit in the second row, right behind the Soc kid in the butter yellow shirt. As usual, Curly has the most offensive scent of them all, of someone who recently presented and hadn't sorted it out entirely at fifteen. What's more annoying is that the Soc kid is an omega — and Curly has never been an alpha who's been the least bit subtle about omegas.

Dallas takes another drag from his cigarette as Curly leans forward, his voice loud, "Hey Soc — where's your friend, huh? You sure you're in the right section?"

The Soc kid doesn't answer him, hunching up.

Curly snickers, leaning forward, "Just I mean – you look awful out of place here with all these greasers, don't he boys?"

"Yeah, never seen a shirt like that, all clean and pressed for the movies," one of them adds in and Dallas can see them starting to pick up on the same thought. "What, you think they serve champagne here or something?"

"I thought omegas this fancy got escorts, protect them clean clothes," another adds in and this one reaches out to touch the omega Soc's shoulder. Dallas can see him freeze up, can start to scent how he's uncomfortable. "Make sure some greaser doesn't get you all dirty."

"Maybe you wanna get dirty," Curly says, and Dallas knows that this is seconds from getting out of hand by the way Curly says it, by the way he sits up, hand touching his side. "Wanna get a knot up that virgin hole of yours, by some greaser who ain't gonna fuck you sweet."

The Soc jerks away, hissing out, "I just wanna see a movie! Can't you just leave me alone?"

"I think an omega like you's a lot more interesting than a movie," Curly grasps the kid's collar, tries to jerk him towards him for a kiss and that's when Dallas stamps his boot on the concrete loud enough to catch Curly's attention.

All of them turn to look at him at once — the greaser kids who are being assholes, and the Soc who's got big eyes in his face, who looks flushed and embarrassed and almost doe-like in comparison. Good looking, if Dallas were being honest. Cute, if he were being real honest.

His attention however, is focused on the way Curly clearly thinks Dallas is on his side, face lighting up cruelly. "Oh, hey Dal! You wanna come and dirty up this broad, too? I heard omegas are your favorite."

"What's a little runt like you know about that?" He sneers, standing up, happy to have a use for his anger right now, happy that Curly has stepped in it. "Hitting above your weight class, Curly. That Soc ain't up for nothing."

"I got a right to claim him, it's our territory!" Curly snaps and the Soc shoves him off, only for Curly to lunge out, to try and grab him back. "Come back here, you little —"

The best thing about Curly is he's got no sense of space or danger sometimes. It makes it all the more easy for Dallas as he climbs over the seats and grasps Curly by the neck before he can really get his fingers around that Soc omega. It's a full on scruffing as Dallas lifts him up by his neck, snarling as he does it. Curly kicks and yells, "Hey! Let me go, let me go – !"

Dallas snarls in his face, flashing his fangs, tightening his grip on his neck. "I don't wanna see you trying to claim anyone in my sight again. You ain't got the power or the ability to claim nobody, you knotless runt." Dallas shakes him, loving the way Curly cowers.

There are some people annoyed with it – "Fucking greasers, can you quit it!" – and someone throws popcorn at one of Curly's friends as Dallas continues, "I ain't your fucking brother, looking to fuck any broad in his sight, and I ain't trying to sniff around some Soc, neither. Don't fucking think I don't know you've been trying it with the girls!"

He doesn't. It just makes it better to make Curly terrified of him, Dallas letting go so that Curly lands in a heap among his friends. More people are getting annoyed now, yelling for them to sit down, behave. Dallas ignores them. "I better not see you for the rest of the night!" He gives a kick towards the frightened alpha, who thinks of himself as more. They scramble away, tripping over themselves and the seats. "I hear a fucking thing and I'm knockin' heads!"

"Do that shit elsewhere!"

"Sit down!"

Dallas doesn't respond to anyone else, looking at the Soc kid. He would've thought he'd run off by no, terrified by the greasers fighting, or cowering just like Curly and his friends had.

He's not – his eyes are wide in his face, fixed on Dallas, his shirt half off his shoulder, still in his seat. His brown hair is curling around his ears, his face is flushed — his scent, however, isn't that terrified one that Dallas expects, and instead of telling him to leave or sit down, the kid says, "Thanks for that."

Most Socs wouldn't acknowledge him or would ignore what happened or be too embarrassed over having a Greaser defend them. Not this one — and as Dallas looks closer, he realizes just who he is. "Ain't you got two brothers? They should've been the ones here with you."

"They uhm. They don't like movies. I've been around without an escort before," the kid says, voice quiet, soft. "Unless you're offering." He gives a half grin, something said out of nervousness, not a real pass.

Dallas, though, he's not nervous and not afraid to stick his neck out on the possibility he could do something more.

Just because he wasn't trying to claim him like Curly didn't mean he couldn't see — the kid with big eyes was cute, was pretty and there'd be bragging rights if he could have something more.

Even if he couldn't, Dallas couldn't ever recall seeing him anywhere near a fight before or participating in chasing anyone or acting nasty. He's not pushing him away, and if anyone could come and approach a Soc out of amusement, out of curiosity or out of a maybe unsatisfied need, it's Dallas. He climbs over the last row, making sure to flash the meanest grin he can muster. "Sure, kid. You're a Curtis, ain't you? Rich enough to pay me."

The kid's ears go red. "Yeah. I'm — I'm Ponyboy. You're Dallas, right?"

"Sure is. I've seen your brother, Soda," Dallas sits down in the seat beside Ponyboy, his scent cloying, nice. Ponyboy's young, and if Dallas remembers correctly, he can't be more than fourteen. Everything about him except his attitude seems to be Soc like: the expensive shirt, the jeans that have to have been off the rack, the shoes that hardly have a single scuff on them. It screams money to him, only everything is slightly off from how pale Ponyboy is to the fact that his shirt isn't buttoned the right way to the fact that his clothes, despite Curly's words, wasn't ironed. For a Soc he was pretty damn shabby.

Dallas doesn't comment on it though as he leans back. "You always go to movies crawling with greasers who wanna cut your throat as much as they'd try and claim you or is it just tonight? Curly's a piece of shit but he wasn't wrong about you being here. Your friends are over there." He points toward the cars, all tell tale Soc models.

"They aren't my friends," Ponyboy shakes his head. "Even if they were, I wouldn't wanna sit next to them. They wouldn't actually care about the movie." He glances at the screen – it's showing a standby signal on it. "It's not the first time I've been around greasers though. I know you all aren't like Curly Shepard."

"Just enough to be scared though, huh?"

He expects Pony to shrink or deny it. Not for him to say, "I've never been scared with you there. Seen you and your girlfriend plenty at the theater and been fine. Same for that girl... Ivy I think her name is?"

"I ain't got a girlfriend anymore," he grouses, scowling. "When? I would know an omega scent easy and I ain't scent you til tonight."

Pony goes pinker. "I probably hadn't presented then is all." He shrugs. "I... it's hard. Since we ain't supposed to talk to each other and all that."

"It ain't all personal," the movie plays up finally and Dallas flicks some of the ash from his cigarette. "You'd be pissed too if some asshole went around chasing your friends with cars too and all their friends looked, acted the same. But I'm sure you're all innocent of that, huh? Never looked down on us?"

It's clear in the way the kid's face turns unhappy that it stings. Dallas feels no regret for that, lifting his eyebrows imploringly.

Ponyboy glances towards the Socs who are laughing with each other. "Greasers aren't innocent either. But you aren't like Curly Shepard. And I'm not like my brothers or even my best friend."

"That so?" He leans back in his chair, propping his legs up on the bar in front of them, trying to wrack his brain for things he knows about the Curtises, about Ponyboy Curtis in particular. Not much surfaces up for him: the Curtises dying in a car crash in January of that year, a fancy cotillion he'd joked about crashing, the fact that he went to school with Cherry and Marcia. "And who's that – Johnny Cade?"

Ponyboy looks like he's going to answer when Cherry calls out, "Dallas?"

It's a tone that Dallas recognizes; he glances over at her, at her worried face. She's got popcorn, drinks, and Marcia looks curiously at them both. He wasn't known for being friendly to Socs, and to have one beside them was curious.

Instead of shooing Ponyboy away, he decides to beckon the girls to them.

Maybe he'd get to play with this little Soc who didn't seem to know where he belonged a little longer.

And maybe that playing wouldn't just be verbally, either. Maybe he'd do a lot more with him that night.

this will probably update once a week or every few days depending on how quickly i write, edit, and then work on the next chapter. there is a possibility this will go will either go up to them running away or their days in jay mountain — or their time on jay mountain is a separate fic. we'll see!

thanks so much for reading! 💖 i love comments + kudos.

also as my bestie monstrology says dallas is NOT afraid to shoot his shot lmao.