Don't Think Twice, It's Alright

Chapter 6

Bad Moon Rising

It was a quiet night, and the dusk air was still except for the occasional almost-autumn breeze. It was unfortunately fitting that the commotion of the block was at the Curtis house.

Ponyboy scuffed his feet on the porch steps.

He wasn't sure what the yelling was about.

As far as he knew, Darry was at work and Steve hadn't been in jail for a good couple of weeks, but he never really knew what was going on. He weighed the merits of going into the house and risking being dragged into whatever it was versus taking a couple of laps around the block. The former was clearly the worse option, and he'd have chosen the latter for sure if he hadn't been absolutely starving for the past hour and a half.

So Ponyboy braced himself, resolutely swung open the door, dropped his backpack, and balked at the scene in front of him.

"-ain't your job to tell me what I should've done," Sodapop was sighing, to which Steve shook his head incredulously.

"I ain't telling you what you shoulda done, I'm sayin' you had a million options and you did the one thing you shouldn't've," he snapped.

The door banged shut behind Ponyboy, and both Steve and Sodapop whirled around.

"... Hey, Pony." Sodapop waved warily.

Ponyboy grimaced in acknowledgement and pointed toward the kitchen. "I just want food," he assured the two as he crossed the room. "Carry on."

"Wait, Pony-" Sodapop beat him to the kitchen door and pinned Ponyboy with a tiredly amiable gaze. "How was practice?"

Ponyboy suspected he was about to be used as either a human shield or a distraction. "I ain't gettin' in the middle of this," he decided, shouldering past.

"Nothin' to get in the middle of," Sodapop sighed as he followed Ponyboy into the kitchen.

Steve was right behind him, eyes dark and arms crossed. "So you ain't told the kid, either." He leaned back against the icebox. Ponyboy watched his hopes of grabbing an apple and fleeing vanish.

Sodapop was shaking his head. "Only because it ain't either of your business."

Steve scoffed. "It's been our business since we spent a year cleanin' up the mess she made." He met Sodapop's gaze with stubborn concern.

Sodapop's eyes flickered to the floor. "I never asked you to do that," he said quietly.

Ponyboy took mental inventory of the places that weren't the fridge or lower cabinets, which were besieged by the argument, and concluded that prospects were not great. He realized he could probably chime in, be more supportive of his brother, but the thing was, he'd tried. He really had. He'd wasted hours and dignity trying to get Sodapop to tell him anything other than an obligatory "I'm fine," so he wasn't going to get involved again.

Ponyboy sighed deeply and began rummaging through the cabinets that weren't besieged by the conflict. "Spaghetti, anyone?" He didn't wait for a response.

Steve was shaking his head, somewhere between concerned and exasperated. "That ain't what I-"

"What was I supposed to do?" Sodapop cut him off, and where he should have sounded forceful he mostly sounded lost. "Leave her stranded?"

"Yeah!" Steve gestured broadly. "Leave her stranded!"

"Soup, then?" Ponyboy had taken advantage of the opening to survey the contents of the icebox.

"She had her kid with her, Steve." Sodapop sounded tired. "He ain't done nothing."

Steve laughed humorlessly. "The kid she had after cheating on you?"

Ponyboy saw hurt flash across Sodapop's face, but it was a blink-and-you-miss-it type, and after a beat he was shaking his head determinedly. "That ain't his fault," he said.

Steve pinned Sodapop with a long stare and crossed his arms. "It's sure as hell hers."

Sodapop, at a loss on that front, appealed to the more generally empathetic person in the room: "Ponyboy."

Ponyboy glanced up from his rummaging through the bread box. "What?"

"Would you tell Steve-"

"No," Ponyboy said dully.

"Stay out of this," Steve snarled before he could finish not getting involved.

Ponyboy brandished a slice of stale bread between the two. "I just want food!"

"Yeah, clearly nobody here's gettin' what they want," Steve sighed. Ponyboy took a cautious step back towards the icebox before Steve crossed his arms. "Sandy, on the other hand-"

Ponyboy flung his slice of bread across the kitchen. "This is ridiculous," he snapped. The bread hit the doorway and fell dully onto the tile, and he whirled on the two. "And I'm hungry." He looked between them and couldn't tell if they looked bemused or angry and decided he didn't have the energy to puzzle it out. "So if y'all are gonna keep fighting, take it outside, and I'll have some ice ready for whoever loses, and if not," he trudged to the icebox and threw it open one more time, "I'm making dinner."

The kitchen fell into a quiet that was probably just as bad as the incessant arguing, except this one was Ponyboy's fault. He fought the urge to go collect the bread off the floor and flee the room.

Another agonizing half a second passed before Steve shook his head and started toward the door. He had his hands in the air in a gesture of defeat, but Ponyboy saw him scowl back at Sodapop as he flung open the door. For a wild second Ponyboy was worried he was actually going to have to clean up after a brawl but to his relief, Sodapop didn't follow him out.

He waited until he couldn't hear the engine of Steve's battered gas guzzler of a car before turning to face Sodapop.

"Sorry," he muttered, feeling disproportionately worn out but also undeservedly proud.

Sodapop leaned back against the counter and laughed softly. "I'm impressed," he mused and looked down. "And sorry."

Ponyboy nodded, and he figured they both got it.

Sodapop didn't say anything else, and after a few seconds Ponyboy remembered that he was still starving and decided that he was in the clear to resume his rummaging in the icebox. He decided on some sort of pasta dish, because it was quick and easy and hard to mess up, and he spent the next few minutes clanging around the kitchen trying not to notice how quiet it had gotten.

"You need help with dinner?" Sodapop asked just as the lull in conversation began toeing the line between burnt-out and awkward.

Ponyboy glanced at the pot that he'd been trying to get to a boil for too long. "Nah." He dried his hands on his jeans and turned to scrutinize his brother. "You need to talk about whatever the hell's going on?"

"Nah." Sodapop tapped his fingers on the countertop. Ponyboy tracked the motion with narrowed eyes.

He turned away to reach for a top that on reflection didn't actually fit the pot. "Well, you're gonna," he decided and placed the lid unceremoniously on the pot. He turned back. "What happened?"

Sodapop's gaze flitted around the room. "Sandy's car broke down, 'bout ten miles out of town," he shrugged and scuffed his foot on the tile before settling his gaze on the ground. "I fixed it."

Ponyboy waited. "And?" He grabbed the nearest dish towel just for something to do with his hands as Sodapop dutifully avoided his gaze.

"Her kid likes cars," he mused quietly.

Ponyboy scrutinized his brother. He'd sounded quiet, and maybe a little broken, but that was to be expected; mostly, he just seemed tired, and Ponyboy didn't know what to make of that. He swallowed. "You okay?"

Sodapop huffed a laugh. "I'm-"

"Fine?" Ponyboy raised his eyebrows, and Sodapop shrugged. "I'll smack you."

Sodapop sighed softly and considered for a moment. "I'm getting there," he decided, which would have been effective if he didn't immediately avert his eyes and follow up with, "I invited her to the DX."

Ponyboy coughed. "Why?"

"I dunno." Soda ran a hand down his jaw. "I guess it seemed like the right thing to do."

Ponyboy watched Sodapop, noting the fingers tapping against his thigh and the eyes flickering around the room and deciding that Sodapop was going to talk whether he wanted to or not. He raised his eyebrows. "Think you'll regret it?"

Sodapop shrugged and huffed a laugh. "I think I'll find out."
Ponyboy sighed and realized that the background noise he'd been ignoring for the past three minutes was the water boiling. He watched Sodapop for a long beat before leaning back on the counter.

He crossed his arms. "You didn't owe her anything," he said.

Sodapop swallowed. "I know that." He looked down at his hands. "I know. I just…It don't make any sense to want to see her hurt."

Ponyboy exercised valiant willpower to hold back an eye roll. "If not hurting her was the goal, you definitely surpassed it," he said.

Sodapop huffed a small laugh but kept his gaze on something on the floor that must have been absolutely fascinating because he'd been looking at it for the past minute. Ponyboy was starting to wonder if Soda had decided to give him the silent treatment when he met his gaze suddenly, and Ponyboy almost jumped.

"Your water's boiling," Sodapop said.

Ponyboy was trying hard not to strangle him. "Water saves," he retorted.

"So do conversations," Sodapop shrugged.

"Not this one." Ponyboy settled back against the counter. His stomach growled, and Sodapop's eyebrows furrowed instantly.

"Have you eaten since lunch?" he asked, head tilted and tone aggravatingly concerned.

"I can feed myself," Ponyboy grouched, feeling like pouting would be detrimental to his point but crossing his arms nonetheless. "Better yet- I'll eat once you talk."

"Yeah?" Sodapop looked amused. "Maybe I'll talk once you've eaten."

Ponyboy felt like they needed Darry there to yell some sense into both of them before this turned into a catch-22.

"Y'know what?" He narrowed his eyes. There was a box of stale spaghetti in the cabinet. He muttered some obscenities before lifting the lid and haphazardly emptying the box into the pot and turning back to watch Sodapop with raised eyebrows. "Got a couple minutes to talk now."

Sodapop shook his head. "You've got an awful stubborn streak, y'know that?" He laughed to himself but shifted his gaze back to the floor. "I don't know what you want me to say, Pony."

"Anything other than 'I'm fine'," Ponyboy told him exasperatedly.

Sodapop sighed. "It's not… I mean, it's not that I'm fine with everything." He scrubbed a hand down over his face. "I mean, it's been awful at times, to be honest, and I… I can't forget what happened." He swallowed. "But I… it's been five years." He glanced back up at Ponyboy, and he still looked tired but seemed surprisingly sure of what he was saying as he shrugged lightly. "If she was a stranger, I wouldn't have hesitated to help."

Ponyboy furrowed his brow. "Five years don't make someone a stranger," he protested, and Sodapop shrugged again.

"Makes things easier, though."

Ponyboy shook his head. "That doesn't fix anything she did."

"It doesn't have to." Sodapop glanced back at Ponyboy and after a beat seemed to decide that that begged an explanation, and he sighed. "I hate the— the unfinished business, a whole lot more than I hate her," he said, and he looked like he wanted a cigarette. He shook his head and laughed softly. "And, God, before anything else, she was my friend."

Ponyboy watched him for a long, quiet moment. He seemed to have said his piece and now looked anxious to be released from this conversation more than anything, so at length, Ponyboy nodded.

"So this is about closure," he ventured.

Sodapop didn't look at him. "I… yeah," he sighed. "I guess so."

Ponyboy followed his gaze and noticed a chip in the tile floor.

He was pretty sure that a) neither of them was entirely sold on the whole closure thing, and b) the pasta was ready, but he sure as hell wasn't going to divert his attention long enough for Sodapop to escape, so he pinned him with another discerning glance. "You sure?"

"Yeah, and if you don't eat something I'm gonna smack you," Sodapop retorted. He grabbed a packet of food dye from the cabinet, and Ponyboy had to commend himself for trying.

. . .

It was late October, and Sandy was a little surprised she hadn't left yet.

She'd closed her eyes and the sweltering heat of Oklahoma summer had leached into autumn, she'd started greeting Rosie's regulars by name, and the streets of Tulsa had started to feel less like something out of a fever dream by the time she opened them. Evie had started calling her once in a while, too, which had been poignantly nostalgic for a while but now sat somewhere in the territory of tentatively normal.

She still didn't know what she was doing there, but she'd been back long enough that people had stopped asking.

It was a quiet, late-October Saturday when things started to fall apart. Evie was with her, which was fitting.

At James' behest, Sandy had spent half an hour talking mindlessly with Evie and trying not to look too out of place among the other friendly but notably older mothers at the park while James collected new bruises jumping from the jungle gym.

Evie looked so out of place that Sandy felt like it had to be purposeful as she leaned back against a frail oak tree and crossed her arms. "You hear that Kathy got a job at the Dingo?" She asked.

Sandy winced and tried not to dwell on her recent memories of the place. "They still open?"

Evie shrugged. "Far as I know." She raised an eyebrow. "You hoping they ain't?"

"Hoping she doesn't expect me to go back," Sandy admitted. Evie huffed a laugh, and they lapsed into silence.

Sandy's gaze drifted to the playground to watch a kid with a skinned knee scream for his mother from the playground, and she furrowed her brow. She waited to see the mother gather up the wailing child and looked up to see Evie's gaze on her. Evie looked contemplative but mostly just like she wanted a cigarette, which in Sandy's experience meant the conversation was about to hit a little close to home.

"Did you ever think you'd raise a kid in Tulsa?" Evie asked distantly. She said 'Tulsa' the same way people used to say 'greaser.'

Sandy furrowed her brow and squinted against the sun. "I think I used to hope I'd get out of here before then."

"Well, yeah." Evie laughed dryly. "We all wanted to get outta here."

"Yeah." Sandy shrugged before sending Evie an inquisitive glance.

Evie met her gaze for half a beat. "Things are… better," she murmured and picked at the chipped red paint on her thumbnail. "Better than they were when you left. You don't see as much of the brawling or mugging. Or if you do, it usually ain't about which side of town you're from."

Sandy considered. A month wasn't long to be back, but from what she'd seen, things were still rough, but now other people had it rougher than Greasers. In the time she'd been back there had been regular vandalism of Vietnam veterans' homes and two rallies that ended in violence against black protestors. And Sandy knew that these things took time, she did, but she wished they came easier than this.

"I dunno if 'better' should be the goal," she said.

"Yeah." Evie flicked a chipped piece of nail polish at the ground and shrugged. "It's a start."

Sandy glanced back at the playground, where James was frantically dusting himself off to brave the monkey bars one more time and laughed to herself. "Yeah, it is."

They lapsed into a comfortable but jarringly introspective quiet, and Sandy decided to damn the grass-stained consequences and lower herself to sit beside Evie. They sat cross-legged on the grass and watched the sun sink lower into the horizon, exchanging inanities until the sky was streaked in orange and pink and the park was nearly empty.

Sandy was hauling herself to her feet to go pry James from the equipment when Evie motioned across the park and asked wickedly, "Is that Ponyboy Curtis?"

Sandy followed her gaze. She could see two figures silhouetted in the fading light, and she sighed heavily. "Course it is."

Evie quirked an eyebrow. "So you're in a rush to get outta here now?"

Sandy pursed her lips. "A little."

"Right." Evie stood and dusted herself off. "Let's go, then."

They started toward the playground, and Sandy furrowed her brow. James had spotted the two of them and was trying desperately to pretend he hadn't as he clung to the monkey bars.

Sandy eyed James for a beat before stepping forward to gather him into her arms before he could let go of the bar. He squirmed in her arms for a few seconds before deciding it was a futile struggle and settling in. Sandy ruffled his hair. "You've got some woodchips in your hair, J."

James grumbled something unintelligible and buried his face in her shoulder. She shifted his weight to hold him on her hip as she and Evie started for the sidewalk. The air was cooler than it had been when they arrived, and the smell of burning leaves hung in the air.

"So how hard are we trying to avoid him right now?" Evie asked as they walked. "On a scale from 'act natural' to 'run like the pigs are here'?"

Sandy glanced sideways at Evie. "Neither," she protested. "It ain't like that."

"Alright," Evie said skeptically, which. Fair.

James was doing his best to wriggle out of her arms, and Sandy set him down with raised eyebrows.

"Wanna walk," James shrugged quietly and took her hand as the group ambled forward, and Sandy watched the darkening horizon. There were a few people left in the parking lot, talking around cars or trying to convince kids to leave. A few high schoolers were clustered on the far side of the lot, and the night reeked of cigarette smoke.

Sandy tore her gaze away. "Hey, J?" James met her gaze with wide eyes, and she surveyed him for a second. "Feelin' alright?"

James hesitated a beat too long before nodding, and Sandy swallowed.

"Everything okay?" Evie asked quietly, and Sandy wasn't quite sure how to explain.

"'S'alright, just… uh, I'm gonna get James into the car," she said as she picked him up again and listened as he exhaled. She glanced at Evie. "He has asthma, and I think the smoke…"

Evie's brow furrowed. "What can I do?"

More smoke drifted over, coming vaguely from the direction of the group of high schoolers, and Sandy swallowed.

"Honestly?" They were a few paces from the car. "Not much, except try to get him away from the smoke."

Evie nodded. "Hand me the keys."

Sandy could hear whistling when James exhaled as she set him in the backseat and kneeled on the ground in front of the door. His eyes were wide, but his breathing was at least steady, if labored, and Sandy knew she was speaking softly but she honestly couldn't for the life of her make out what she was saying.

"Those damn kids are gonna make getting out of here real harder than it has to be," Evie muttered, gaze over the car to watch the far end of the lot.

Sandy glanced up and bit her lip. "We can wait, then," she said. "Just…"

"The smoke," Evie finished, and Sandy nodded again.

The thud of rushed footsteps sounded behind them, and Sandy looked up to see Ponyboy and the girl from the diner standing on the other side of the car.

She heard them exchange some quick words with Evie but didn't process much that was said other than Ponyboy asking, "Is it the smoke?" before taking off in the other direction.

Sandy got the vague feeling that Ponyboy's immediate recognition of an asthma attack wasn't going to bode well in the long run, but that was decidedly a problem for another day.

James was clinging to her hand. She heard some sort of commotion from the cluster of kids, and she realized belatedly that Ponyboy had gone over there and was saying something about them putting out their cigarettes or squaring up, and she didn't have a clue how to accept kindness she didn't deserve so she redoubled her effort to calm James down.

She'd tuned out most of the ensuing clamor, so she was caught a little off guard when Evie's boots scuffed against the ground beside her.

"Smoke should be thinning out," Evie announced as she approached.

Sandy ruffled James' hair and hoped she looked less terrified than she felt. "What happened?"

"Looks like the kid throws a decent punch." Evie craned her neck to watch blithely. "The group's on their way out. Apparently they didn't wanna put the cigarettes out, but a good punch was enough to settle it."

Sandy laughed softly. "That's a hell of a way to help an asthma attack."

Evie shrugged. "Still helped, didn't it?"

"Yeah." Sandy shook her head, but her mouth twitched. "It did."

Evie hesitated a second before lowering herself to sit cross-legged on the ground beside Sandy. James beamed as Evie tilted her chin up at him and settled in. "You're real brave, kid," Evie said and jerked her chin up in greeting.

James' smile was suddenly shy, and Sandy ruffled his hair with a laugh. "We're gonna get ya home to bed, alright?"

He hesitated half a beat before nodding resignedly. "'Kay."

Sandy stood and dusted herself off. Evie watched her with raised eyebrows before making a move to get up. "Am I drivin'?" she asked a little impishly, and Sandy realized she'd never let Evie drive her car before.

Evie was actually surprisingly safe (if not entirely law-abiding) behind the wheel, but years ago, it'd been a sort of inside joke, and now Sandy wasn't sure she even remembered where it started. (She had the vague feeling it had something to do with Evie failing her driver's test more than once, but it was history now.)

Sandy shrugged as she climbed into the back seat beside James. "You got the key," she laughed.

Evie cracked her knuckles as she climbed into the driver's seat. "I want it on record that this was your idea," she said, and Sandy rolled her eyes.

Evie glanced back to flash a wicked smile before starting the car. James was watching, enthralled, and Sandy laughed to herself and tried not to consider what kind of influence Evie was becoming.

Evie waved broadly at Ponyboy as they drove past, and Sandy nodded and tried to figure out how to look as grateful as she felt without looking weepy. They made it just out of the parking lot before Evie caught her gaze in the rearview mirror.

"Curtis brothers've been awful chivalrous the past month," she said pointedly, and Sandy sank down into her seat and pulled James closer.

"Do we have to do this right here?"

"Gotta do it somewhere," Evie shrugged as she turned out of the lot. "And anyway-" she patted the dashboard, and Sandy felt a distant sense of dread take hold- "still gotta get your car fixed."

Sandy had the lingering suspicion that a trip to the DX probably wasn't going to be the biggest travesty of the month, but she figured she'd burn that bridge when she got to it.

. . .

There was a cigarette in Ponyboy's pocket.

He didn't really know how it'd happened; he'd put on a seemingly innocuous pair of jeans that on reflection was probably Sodapop's, and he'd shoved his hands in the pockets on the way home from school and found a cigarette that, full disclosure, had probably been in the pocket for an unreasonably long time, and no one had been in the house to confiscate it when he got home.

So he was left alone on a Friday night with nowhere to be and a stale cigarette in his pocket.

He wanted a smoke.

Ponyboy tapped his fingers on the porch railing for lack of anything better to do with his hands. Darry would kill him, if he knew. Ponyboy's eyes flitted aimlessly around the porch. He couldn't actually feel the cigarette in his pocket, but God, he felt it there. But Darry would kill him. His gaze caught on a lighter just inside. He decided some things were worth being killed for.

He held the cigarette between his teeth and flicked the lighter on. The door swung open.

Ponyboy froze with the lighter midway to his mouth. Darry surveyed him disapprovingly.

"Hey, Darry," Ponyboy ventured as he flicked the lighter off and flung it onto the nearest table alongside the cigarette.

Darry leaned back against the doorway. "Hey, Pony." He raised his eyebrows. "Got a smoke?"

Ponyboy winced. "No."

Darry sighed in a long-suffering way that Ponyboy had only ever heard from people decades older than him and pushed off the wall. "Ponyboy," he said flatly, and Ponyboy looked at the ground.

"Sorry."

Darry crossed the room to the table where Ponyboy had flung the cigarette and lighter. "Apologize to your lungs," he muttered as he pocketed both items.

"Right." Ponyboy nodded at the ground, sufficiently admonished, and avoided Darry's gaze for a solid three seconds before looking up. "Actually, I sorta had a question for you that… could pertain to cigarettes."

Darry's expression was somewhere between amused and wary. "This should be good."

Ponyboy swallowed. "This is, uh, kinda random but I was just... wondering." He tried to figure out how to phrase what could possibly be the most unexplainable question he'd ever asked Darry. "Didn't, uh…" He scratched the back of his head. "Didn't Sodapop have asthma when he was younger?"

Darry blinked. "He did- why?"

"No reason." Ponyboy forced a laugh and waved his hand. "Just-" he tilted his head and leaned foward- "was it- did cigarette smoke make it worse?"

Darry furrowed his brow. "What's this about?"

"Did it?" Ponyboy prodded, and Darry frowned.

"I- yeah, but-"

"Okay, thanks!" Ponyboy shot Darry a frantic smile and fled for the door. "I'm going out."

He let the door bang shut behind him and reached for a cigarette out of habit before he remembered the travesty of the last five minutes and trudged to the truck.

He didn't know where he was going, to be honest. Somewhere without probing questions and growing suspicious, although he guessed he had a few of those himself. Somewhere quieter, at the very least. Somewhere that wasn't home, where he had no choice but to wait for Sodapop to come back from work and desperately put off having a conversation, or the library, which had books with facts on weird things like heredity and asthma that just made that conversation harder to avoid.

Somewhere like Florida, which was apparently convenient for avoiding problems even if it only had a five-year success guarantee.

Ponyboy settled into the truck and sighed.

. . .

The DX was smaller than Sandy remembered.

It was busier, too, but it had always attracted more of a crowd on weekends when Sodapop and Steve were working. It used to make her laugh. Now it made her hesitate outside her car and wonder what else hadn't changed.

"Place ain't haunted," Annie chided as she emerged from a borrowed truck of dubious origin. "Quit the angst."

Sandy raised an eyebrow and hoisted James onto her hip. "This ain't what I thought you meant by 'moral support'," she said dryly, and Annie tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"Just movin' things along," she shrugged and ambled forward, and Sandy hated that she followed automatically. "Anyway, I'm here as a neutral party, not moral support. Or a witness, if things get real hairy."

Sandy shook her head as Annie pulled the door open. "You're here because I need a ride," she corrected.

Annie had a point, though: Sandy probably would have asked Evie, because this was familiar territory for her, except that this was too familiar, and at the moment Evie and Steve couldn't get within ten feet of each other without throwing things. So when she'd mentioned it in passing at work and Annie had offered "moral support" along with a ride back, she'd been grateful.

She filed in after Annie with James on her hip. The door squeaked shut behind them.

Annie smiled brightly as she ambled toward the register. She nodded pleasantly at Steve, who was behind the counter, and he smiled back politely enough until he noticed Sandy behind her.

His face crumpled into a scowl. "Here to steal something?"

"Here to get my car fixed," Sandy said, wary but not ready to flee just yet.

Steve had crossed his arms, and he watched her coolly as she approached. "Soda ain't here."

"Looks like your manager is, though." Annie jerked her chin toward the open door to the back room, and Steve glowered as he turned back.
"Thanks for choosing the DX," he said loudly through gritted teeth. "It'll be my pleasure to fix your car."

Sandy wasn't in the mood for this.

"You know what, key my car if you've got to," she sighed, hoping desperately that James had tuned them out. "We've both got better things to do than argue."

Steve glanced over his shoulder at the man who was apparently his manager before leaning in across the counter. "Cute that you think keying your car is the worst I could do."

Sandy glanced down at James, who had thankfully filed the conversation away as "grown-up talk" and zoned out. She bounced on her heels. "You gonna fix my car or not, Randall?"

Steve glanced from Sandy to the log book on the counter and grabbed a pen. "Last name?" He asked without looking up.

Sandy raised an eyebrow. "Owens."

Steve nodded. "Now do you spell that like 'cheater' or-"

"I spell it like 'Owens'."

"My mistake." Steve flashed a wolfish smile as he closed the book. "All set, then."

"Well-" Sandy smiled roughly as she turned to go- "always a pleasure."

"Come again," Steve called at her retreating back. Annie bid Steve an overzealous goodbye and followed her out.

Sandy breathed a sigh of relief when the door swung shut behind them. James, who seemed more present in the moment now that adults weren't speaking, lifted his head from her shoulder to look around. They made it a few paces from the door before Sandy noticed Annie's giggling.

She raised an eyebrow, and Annie bit her lip. "That was fun," she said.

Sandy laughed dully. "Not as fun being part of it."

They were approaching the truck, and Sandy stilled as James waved enthusiastically at something over her shoulder. Annie ran into her back with a soft curse, but Sandy didn't have the mental capacity to factor that into everything else happening at once.

"Sandy." Sodapop's voice was mild, but she couldn't read it enough to gauge whether she'd made a mistake. (Five years ago she could've, but that was something to scream about another day.) She turned to face him, and he tilted his head. "I didn't know if you'd come."

Sandy scuffed her foot in the dirt and laughed to herself. "Neither did I."

James squirmed valiantly to escape her arms, and she set him down with a weak grimace. Sodapop rubbed at the grease on his hands with a tattered rag and an abashed smile, and Sandy bit back a traiterous pang of… something that was also a problem for another day.

"Hi," James said plainly, settled on the ground but hovering beside Sandy's legs and waving tentatively.

Sodapop's eyes crinkled in a smile. "Howdy," he greeted, and James watched with apt, wide-eyed interest. "You still like cars?"

Sandy would say James was like a kid in a candy store for the next ten minutes, except, well, he was a kid at a seedy gas station. She lingered at the near end of the lot as Sodapop guided James through some of the more notable cars left for either maintenance or storage, and Annie took great care to link her arm through Sandy's as she surveyed the lot with a distantly approving nod.

"You know much about cars?" She asked, and Sandy laughed.

"I barely know the model of my car on a good day."

Annie gave her the benefit of a shrug. "Gets the job done," she offered, and Sandy snorted.

They lapsed into companionable quiet, and Sandy's gaze drifted back to the scene in front of them, where James seemed to be having a field day looking under the hood of a rusted convertible. He was listening to Sodapop with such apt attention that Sandy would have thought there was some sort of witchcraft involved if she didn't know the effect Sodapop had on, well, everyone.

Beside her, Annie looked on with a quiet scrutiny that frankly Sandy didn't think she liked before crossing her arms and pinning Sandy with an inscrutable gaze. "Am I ever gonna get to hear this story?" She asked. "I mean, the full one?"

Sandy swallowed. "Honestly?" She watched Sodapop turn back their way, realized he was headed back toward them, and wondered what she'd done to deserve this timing as she plastered on a smile and waved. "Probably not."

Beside her, Annie nodded amicably and smiled at Sodapop and James. "Well," she declared loudly as they approached, "I'd better start getting James buckled into the truck." She flashed Sandy a pointed grin. "Damn thing takes forever to figure out."

Sandy raised an eyebrow. "The seatbelt takes forever to figure out," she repeated flatly.

Annie shrugged. "Can't all be good with cars—C'mere, J." She held out her arms, which James threw himself into with enthusiasm which implied awareness that Annie not only gave the best hugs but also kept candy in her purse.

"We'll… meet you over there," Sandy called lamely as Annie flitted to the car with James in tow.

She glanced at Sodapop and realized that she didn't have a clue what to say and that looking at him in the flesh felt a little like staring into the sun. He was covered in oil or grease or whatever the hell people who worked with cars got all over themselves, which should have made it easier to meet his gaze except it was incredibly endearing and Sandy absolutely hated herself for thinking so, and his hair was ungreased and falling into his eyes and as he met her gaze Sandy inhaled a little too sharply.

They watched each other without saying anything for a beat.

Fortunately, she was spared the embarrassment of remembering how to formulate words, because Sodapop spoke first.

"I'm glad you made it out here," he said with a tentative smile.

Sandy swallowed hard. "Me, too," she said, and she meant it, but she couldn't meet his gaze. She glanced back at the truck and tilted her head. "Thank you. I- it meant a lot to James."

"Of course." Sodapop's expression was soft, and she fidgeted under the weight of his gaze. "You don't have to thank me."

Sandy looked at the ground and breathed a laugh. "I definitely do," she said and glanced up, "but anyway, I'm… glad you're doing well."

"You, too," Sodapop said with a soft smile, and Sandy looked back down before she could do something dumb like smile back at him. He glanced over her shoulder at the truck. "Two-Bit said Annie's real glad to have you at the diner."

"Yeah?" Sandy laughed. "We have fun." She shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, it ain't glamorous, but I… I'm happy." She wondered whether it made him feel better or worse to know she wasn't as miserable as she'd expected. She glanced back over her shoulder. "Anyway, um, I should…"

Sodapop nodded quickly. "Sure. Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It was real good to see you."

Sandy smiled. "You, too." She bounced on her heels and hesitated a beat too long before turning toward the truck. She strode toward it with a cascade of ruinously fond inanities on the tip of her tongue.

"-Sandy."

She whirled to face Sodapop. He met her gaze and swallowed, and she tilted her head in a question that she wasn't entirely sure she was prepared to hear the answer to. Sodapop scrutinized her for a beat. Sandy's teeth played at her bottom lip.

Sodapop's expression softened, and he regarded her with a tattered half-smile. "I still want you to be happy," he said.

His sincerity made her chest ache.

She watched him for a beat, and if there was something dangerously tender in her voice when she responded, well, that was her own prerogative. "I've always wanted the same for you," she said softly.

Sodapop smiled at that, and as Sandy turned away she wondered how the hell she'd convinced herself she'd come looking for closure.

She was pretty sure that people looking for closure didn't feel their stomach twist when they thought about leaving things well enough alone.

When she thought about it too hard, she felt even more tangled up inside than she had when the wounds were still fresh, but trying to unravel it all would be effectively equivalent to throwing stones after specializing in glass houses for five years. So no matter how sincerely Sodapop smiled at her or how stubbornly her heart stuttered on what-if's, she had to be done pulling at that gnarled mess of unfinished business.

She could never be certain how close it was to unraveling.

. . .

The first weeks of November passed in a blur of rushed assignments, late nights, and bad weather.

It had been surprisingly easy to ignore the problem, at first; between schoolwork and track and Nixon's election, Ponyboy had plenty of additional problems to keep him occupied, so it hadn't really been a conscious decision. It was easy to put a looming conversation on the back burner when there was a chem test the next morning or a track meet that weekend or a new special at the drive-in.

It was not as easy when Sodapop traipsed into the living room, yanked the European history textbook out of his hands, and demanded to know what was going on.

Ponyboy's head jerked up to meet Sodapop's gaze. "Nothing's goin' on," he insisted and scoffed weakly in protest. "Except for studying, before you came in."

"Pony." Sodapop closed the textbook with a dull snap and tossed it onto the couch. Ponyboy winced at the lost page, and Sodapop sighed. "Don't do that," he said.

Ponyboy slouched back on the couch and mirrored Sodapop's sigh. "Fine." He glanced back at Sodapop before looking down and biting his thumbnail. "How'd things, uh, go with Sandy, at the DX?"

Sodapop furrowed his brow. "Fine. You ain't answering my question." He shook his head and lowered himself to sit on the coffee table across from where Ponyboy sat on the couch. "You've been acting off for weeks, and I've been waiting for you to bring it up, except you haven't, so." He pinned Ponyboy with a discerning gaze. "What's up?"

Ponyboy swallowed. He couldn't argue with that, because a) Sodapop was absolutely right and b) he knew Ponyboy too well to let him get away with lying. (Ponyboy hadn't actually tried to lie to Sodapop very many times in his life, but all of them had left him with the knowledge that he had neither the ability or the desire to do it again.)

A breeze filtered in through the window, and Ponyboy thought it smelled like rain.

He sighed. "I ran into Sandy at the park a few weeks back."

Sodapop's brow furrowed. "And?"

Ponyboy took a deep breath, unsure of how to begin to explain the catastrophe of coincidences that had been occupying 70% of his brain for most of the month. He exhaled slowly. "It… uh, she had her son- James, I think- with her, and long story short, he… uh, there were these kids smoking, and he had an asthma attack." He glanced at Sodapop and bit his thumbnail.

Sodapop's head was tilted to one side, and when Ponboy looked at him he swallowed. "Is the kid alright?"

"Yeah, he's fine, just…" Ponyboy looked determinedly at the floor. "I, uh, I read somewhere that the tendency to develop asthma can be genetic."

The house was too still. The smell of rain drifted in through the open windows, and Ponyboy realized it had gotten dark as night outside in the past couple minutes. Sodapop didn't look at him.

"Pony," he started quietly and shook his head, "Whatever you've got in mind, it ain't… it don't mean anything."

Ponyboy sighed. "Okay, have you seen the kid or looked in a mirror lately?"

Sodapop shook his head more vehemently. "You don't think all this crossed my mind? You think I went five years without considering that maybe-" He cut off and scrubbed a hand down his face. "I ain't gonna rewrite history, as much as I want to." He glanced back at Ponyboy. "He's a great kid. That don't mean he's mine."

Ponyboy sighed. He knew a losing battle when he saw one, and anyway, he didn't think that this was the way he wanted to have this conversation, so he nodded and reached for his textbook. "Alright."

Sodapop tracked the motion and shook his head. "Pony, it ain't that I don't believe you it's just… I've done all this before. It don't lead anywhere good."

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance, and Ponyboy started flipping through pages at random.

"I know," he said and nodded again. "'S'alright."

Sodapop watched him for another moment before sighing. "I'm gonna close the windows," he said as he stood. "Looks like there's a storm on the way."

The first few drops of rain pattered against the ground outside, and Ponyboy huffed a laugh. "Sure does."

I see a bad moon a-rising

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightning

I see bad times today

- Creedence Clearwater Revival, Bad Moon Rising

A/N: Firstly, I'm so sorry it's been so long. Things have been crazy (on a worldwide scale) and it was hard to find time for this story but I stand by my promise that it absolutely won't be abandoned, if it's any condolence. :)

Second, as a sign of the times, the story references and probably will continue to reference some movements and politics from the era that are especially relevant right now, so as a disclaimer please know that this is a fictionalized version of the era and not meant to ignore or detract from the nuanced realities of the time.

And third, I owe you all a huge thank-you for supporting this story in spite of literally everything about its update schedule, so thank you so much if you've made it here! I hope y'all are staying safe and love to hear from you. :)

Thanks so much, and until next time! :)