S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders, and The White Stripes own "Apple Blossom".

Come and tell me what you're thinking,
Cause just when the boat is sinking,
A little light is blinking,
And I will come and rescue you.

You don't see the appeal. It seems every other girl in school - and the whole of Tulsa, for that matter - gets it, but you just can't figure it out. Sure, they're tuff, but cocky smiles, greasy hands, a constant hint of oil making your nose crinkle every time you get near either of them … it's not your thing. You like your guys clean, nice smelling, not necessarily modest but definitely not arrogant.

David French fits that bill perfectly, and you've been dating him for two months now.

But even Sandy gets the appeal, and she's the one person you thought would always agree with you on this. Not likely; she's been drooling over Sodapop ever since the beginning of high school. A year and a half has changed nothing - she still drools, he still treats her like every other girl who flirts with him at that filthy gas station. Although, she seems to get extra smiles now that she's finally grown into her boobs.

You get it, he's good looking. But he knows it, and you can't stand that.

Sandy drags you there every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. According to her, those are the least busy days, and by that she means there are less girls there to compete with. You go, you let her lead you into that awful smelling place, you pick at your fingernails as she flirts with Sodapop … it's all very fascinating.

Usually Steve's there, too. You get that he's just as handsome as Soda - in a rugged, I'm-moody-and-girls-think-that's-sexy kind of way - but hell, that smirk brings out nothing but a glare from you. Every time you go there, every time Steve's there, every time Soda looks at Sandy with a little more longing, you think maybe he's not so bad.

But Steve Randle is still a dick, and everything about his mouth - the smirk, the scowl, the sly grin - is too smug and stupid for your liking. You just don't see the appeal.

He's even cocky at school. You only notice because he's flirting with Hillary Jones, and she's falling for every word, every touch, every smouldering look. It makes you sick. You've heard about him, about how great he is with cars, and you thought that explained his cocky attitude. But apparently it's more than just that with him.

Cars, fights, girls, school, life - the guy's got a big head for every occasion. Apparently he thinks he's good at everything he does. A small part of you - so tiny it barely exists - wonders if it's true … You hide a snort behind your text book as Hillary gives him her number; you really doubt it. One number from a pretty girl doesn't mean shit. Okay, you can admit it means he's good at flirting, but that doesn't mean shit.

He walks away with a lazy swag to his step, tucking the piece of paper into his back pocket, and you scowl. He's such a dick.

xxx

You can't believe you're doing this. You're not a pushover - if anything, Sandy's the one who gives in every time you want something; you just agree to things because there's nothing better to do on a Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. But this is different. This is something you refused to agree to until she set those big blue eyes on you, promising two weeks without going to the DX if, please, Evie, please, you just did this one little thing for her.

This is wrong and sick and you don't know how you're supposed to help her when you can't keep the scowl from your face. Whatever. You'll play nice, you'll be polite, you'll even try to stop scowling, maybe going for a sweet smile now and then. Maybe.

You follow Sandy into the Dingo, silently adjusting the deal you made with her. Three weeks and no DX station. She owes you big time for this.

The two of you order a Coke and stand by the counter, waiting. You know where Soda is sitting with his buddies because Sandy knows where Soda is sitting with his buddies. She looks at you, and you know what she's going to say even before she opens her mouth.

"Has he noticed me?"

You turn to lean against the counter, and nod. Soda and Steve are sitting with their friends, heads bent close, talking quietly. You can only guess what - or who - they're talking about, but with the few fleeting glances they both send in your direction, you can honestly tell Sandy that, yes, Sodapop has seen her

"If the way he keeps lookin' over here is anything to go by, yeah, he's noticed you."

Sandy flushes. "Maybe we should leave."

"You're kidding me, right? You cannot be serious!"

"It's just … what if he doesn't want to see me? What if he noticed me because he thinks I'm following him. Just because he flirts doesn't mean anything. He flirts with everyone. Including you."

"Please. I don't pay him enough attention for him to bother flirting with me."

"Yeah." Sandy gives you a dreamy smile. "I think he's just super nice in general, ya know? To everyone."

Oh dear Lord. "C'mon," you mutter. You grab the Cokes, shove Sandy's at her, and drag her toward the nearest booth with a decent view of Sodapop. You might not want to be here, doing this, but if you have to be then you're going to do it right.

Sandy sits opposite you, gnawing on her bottom lip. She's a nervous wreck without any reason to be. Not a minute later Soda and Steve get out of the booth and head in your direction. You're surprised they're making their move so quickly, but you suppose it's just that cocky attitude of theirs. Unlike yourself and Sandy and most other girls you know, they don't see the need to bide their time and play hard to get.

You spare them half a glance when they arrive at your booth, unlike Sandy who beams at Soda.

"Ladies," he says, giving out that smile you don't hate as much as you used to. "Mind if we join you?"

Sandy gushes about how she would love the extra company, and moves over a few inches for Sodapop. She makes plenty of room for him in the booth, all the while leaving very little room between them. You smirk, impressed at how bold she's being. When Steve sits in the booth next to you, however, you move yourself as close to the window as you can without making it obvious. No need to piss him off and ruin this for Sandy just because you can't stand the smell of oil.

But as he slides in next to you, it's not oil that you can smell. A trace of something distinctly not oil lingers between you, and surely it's not coming from Steve.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, trying to determine exactly what it is you're smelling, but you don't need to look at him to know. Soap, leather, and the nicest aftershave you've ever had the chance to smell. You breathe deeply, being about as subtle as Sandy on a Tuesday or Thursday afternoon, wondering how a guy who got off work only an hour ago - just one of the many bits of information Sandy babbled on the way over - could smell so damn good.

The waitress comes over to take orders, and it gives you the perfect opportunity to check things out. There's no grease on any of the skin you can see, and with his jacket stuffed into the booth between the two of you, there's plenty of skin to see.

You look away when the waitress leaves, silently scolding yourself for giving a guy like Steve Randle even the smallest break. Just because his hands are clean and he smells nice doesn't mean he's not the same arrogant guy you've always known he would be. And when you glance at him again a few minutes later, you see that same smirk you hate so very much and know you were right all along.

But that doesn't stop you from making yourself more comfortable, tearing yourself away from the window you're pressed up against, and sitting yourself a little bit closer to Steve. The guy is still a dick, but shit, he sure smells nice.

Conversation flows freely enough, and you even find yourself joining in after a while of realising that, though they're both cocky as hell, Steve and Soda are … tolerable. Yes, tolerable. It's the kindest word you can offer at this stage.

Although, when Steve drapes his arm along the back of the booth a little while later, you pretend not to notice. Admittedly you're too busy leaning forward and defending your boyfriend's driving abilities to Soda to bother, but you do suddenly realise that this is the most thought you've given David all night. And, even while realising that and talking about him, your mind is still fixed more on Steve's arm than anything else.

"Whatever," you say, and stiffly lean back against the booth. "He's a real good driver."

"He drives like my grandma," Steve says.

"He does not."

"Have you met my grandma?"

"I have," Soda, pipes up. "And I've seen her drive. It's an awful lot like your boy French - slow and painful."

You can't think of a decent comeback because, as much as you hate to admit it, they're right; David drives like a little old lady on her way home from her knitting circle. Hell, you don't have your licence yet and you're less cautious a driver than he is. And - what you're sure Steve and Soda both love even more - you can't even blame his watchful driving on being protective over his car - it's a piece of shit.

"Shoot, it ain't as if either of you two have real tuff cars."

"Not yet." Soda grins and winks at Sandy.

Steve says nothing, but his usual smirk is place and you glare at him. Sandy and Soda go back to talking, and it's all you can do to not scowl at Steve. Instead you reach for you Coke, fiddle with the straw, do anything but pay attention to the greaser sitting next to. He still says nothing, but when you lean back against the seat you feel his fingers brush your shoulder in such an obvious way that you're shocked.

You swallow, fight the unexpected blush, and don't say a damn word.

xxx

David's hardly spoken to you all week. He's still pissed off about you being out with two other guys on a Friday night and not telling him. Pointing out that he wouldn't have been anymore impressed had you told him didn't do much to fix things, but you still think you had a good point. It's not like it was a date, or anything. You and Sandy had just happened to end up in the same place, at the same time, as Soda and Steve.

Okay, so it was a little planned, but it still wasn't a date. It had ended with Soda asking for Sandy's number, and you know for a fact he's already called her and asked to take her out this weekend, but last Friday night wasn't a date.

As if you'd go on a date with Steve. And David should no better than to accuse you of doing anything or the sort.

You march up to him, books held to your chest. "You speakin' to me yet?"

"I don't recall not speakin' to you, Evie."

"I've hardly seen you all week."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is. You've been avoiding me."

He finally looks at you, softly closing his locker. "Just because I don't like you goin' out with some other guy doesn't mean I'm avoiding you."

You frown, trying to keep your temper in check. Everything about David is always so calm - the way he talks, the way he drives, even the way he fights. You hate it. You've obviously pissed him off, and you just wish he'd admit it so you can sort it out, move on from it, and forget about it. That would be so much easier to do if he would just get angry.

"Look, I didn't go out with him, okay? I swear. He just happened to be there."

"You knew it though, didn't ya?"

"Well … yeah, but -"

David sighs. "Forget about it, okay? You didn't go out with him, I get it. It still ain't cool to find out from my buddies that you'd been out flirting with him, though."

"I didn't flirt with him."

"Says you."

"God, ask him if you don't believe me! I went there for Sandy because she wanted to see Sodapop. It ain't my damn fault Steve happened to be there, too." You turn on your heel and walk away because, even if David isn't going to get angry, you sure as hell are.

You don't know if you have much right to be annoyed with him, but you know for sure he shouldn't be so damn pissed off with you; you didn't do a damn thing wrong except try to tell him about your night a few days too late. Pure accident; you hadn't realised he'd be so interested in knowing about Sandy and Soda spending the whole night flirting. Of course you know Sandy and Soda aren't the two people he's interested in, but you're too frustrated with him for not believing you to try and understand.

You turn the corner in a rush, hoping to find Sandy and vent a little, when something solid knocks into you and your books fall from your hands. You watch helplessly as pieces of paper flutter to the ground, grit your teeth to keep from yelling at someone, before dropping to your knees. You expect whoever bumped into you to ignore you and continue on their way, but …

A familiar hint of aftershave fill your nostrils, and you swing your gaze up. Steve Randle is in front of you, crouched down and helping you. You stare at him for a moment, and when he meets your gaze, you're startled by how blue his eyes are.

You quickly look away, snatch up the last few pieces of paper, and stand. He follows suit, handing you your copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

"Sorry 'bout that," he says. "Didn't even see ya comin'."

"Forget it."

"How's it goin'?"

"Fine." You try to step around him and leave, but he starts talking again.

"You all right?"

"Of course I am."

"Oh yeah? You don't seem it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs. "Just that you seems a little pissed off, is all. Is someone hasslin' ya?"

Currently, the only person hassling you is him. But, as angry as you are with David, you're not generally outright rude. Silent treatments, rolled eyes, and snide comments muttered under your breath are more your style.

He continues when you say nothing. "I didn't mean nothin' by it, Evie. Just makin' sure you're okay."

All your anger vanishes when he says your name. Your birthday's this weekend, and maybe you're not just angry at David, but a little upset, too. You don't want to be fighting with him so close to your birthday.

You look at Steve, figuring he thinks the two of you are friends now that you've spent a night hanging out, now that your respective best friends are getting closer by the day. After staring into those blue eyes for a few moments, you decide that, yes, he is just trying to be friendly. Apparently attempts at being friendly are possible even with a huge ego.

"I'm fine," you tell him. "I just - David has the wrong idea about Friday night, and I guess we kinda got into a bit of a fight about it."

You're not sure you could be more vague in explaining what had just happened with David, but guessing you kinda got into a bit of a fight with him is probably the best you can do. Hell, it's about the only definition your mind can come up with.

"Oh yeah? What idea does he have?"

"Something about you." You avoid Steve's gaze. "Um, and me - uh, having arranged to meet previously for reasons that had nothing to do with Sandy and Soda." Oh how you wish that explanation could have been the horribly vague one.

"Huh."

You look at him, not sure if you're imagining the hint of amusement on his face. There's a slight upward tilt on one side of his mouth that you know you're definitely not imagining. "It's a damn stupid conclusion for him to have come to."

He nods, but says nothing. You stand there for a moment, waiting and giving him more time than he deserves. When he cocks an eyebrow at you, you roll your eyes and walk away, muttering to yourself.

"What a dick."

xxx

You're a little drunk. David is ever drunker. It's expected, though - Buck is having a party, it's your birthday, there's every reason to have a few too many drinks.

There isn't any reason for David to be acting like a complete jerk, though. You might have been craving a good, solid argument with him the other day, but this is different. This is your birthday, and your boyfriend is supposed to fuss over you and make you feel good. Not ignore you and make you feel like shit.

He's still angry about the thing with Steve that never even happened, and he's been making his point all night long. You thought he would pick you up, take you out for dinner and maybe a movie. Instead, he bought you a burger from Jay's and took you to Buck's. Some way to celebrate your sixteenth birthday. You don't even have Sandy to keep you company, and while David pays more attention to his friends than you, you're bored out of your mind.

And really pissed off. You really would have preferred to have spent yesterday yelling and screaming with him than having him treat you like crap on your birthday.

Tearing your glare away from him, you stare at the floor and take a sip of your beer. Truth be told, you're far too near tears for your liking. David's jealousy or whatever over you spending last Friday night with two other guys is obviously more of a problem than you had realised, and you hate that it's causing such a problem between the two of you. So much of a problem that he's treating you the way he is.

You look at him, not gaining a second of his attention, then look around the roadhouse. Steve is there, and maybe that's part of the problem. You look at him, catching his gaze for a split second, then look away. It's all his goddamn fault. You're not sure why, but it's easier to blame him than to think there's something seriously wrong between you and David.

Knowing you're not going to get anything out of David anytime soon, you head to the bathroom, wishing Sandy was with you. At least then you'd have someone to talk to, someone to keep you company, someone to complain to. At least then your birthday wouldn't be so awful.

After waiting in line, you use the bathroom to touch up your make-up, force back any tears that still want to make themselves known, then head back out. There's not going to be any way to fix this shitty night, you know that, but maybe you can call someone for a ride home. Your don't want your dad to know where you are, but Uncle Jed might come …

You stop in the middle of the roadhouse, taking in the empty table where your boyfriend and his friends had sat only minutes ago. The only thing taking up room at the table now are the empty bottles they had all consumed during the night. You frown and make your way to the window, not seeing David or his car outside.

Tears burn your eyes, and you clench your teeth, blinking them back. Goddamn him!

"Hey."

You turn to see Steve standing behind you and scowl. What the hell happened to only seeing him Tuesday and Thursday afternoons? "What do you want?"

"Your boy just left you, huh?"

"What do you care?"

"Don't seem like a nice thing to do, is all. Rumour has it it's your birthday."

You meet his blue eyes. "How'd you know that?"

"Our best friends are datin' now, remember?"

"Right."

Silence follows for a moment, and then, "You need a ride home?"

"Yeah, I guess so," you say, before realising that might have been his way of offering. "I can call my uncle, though. He'll come get me."

"He won't be pissed off to find you in a place like this?"

Well, he probably will be, but he's easier to deal with than your dad. Jed's young and cool and parties as much as the guys you go to school with. At that, you realise he might not even be home; it's Saturday night, after all.

"How 'bout I buy ya a drink?" Steve says. "Then you can decide how you wanna get home."

You look at him, wary. "Why would you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Buy me a drink."

He gives you that same amused look you got the other day at school. "It's your birthday, ain't it?"

You can't fault that logic. Plus, as close to tears as you were minutes before, you're just annoyed now. David ruined your birthday and there's nothing fair about that. You deserve one more free drink before going home, even if it is with Steve. Hoping you won't regret this, you nod and let him lead you to the bar.

He orders two beers and makes himself comfortable on a stool. You sit next to him, not so comfortable, but not as disgusted as you were when he first sat next to you last weekend. When he hands you a beer, you take it with a small thanks.

"Gotta admit," he says after a few minutes of silence between the two of you, "it's pretty shitty of your boy to just leave ya like that."

"Can't disagree with ya there."

"Especially on your birthday."

"Yeah."

"I know that if you were my girl I'd spend as much time as I could with ya. Birthday or not."

You stare at him, unsure what kind of point he's trying to make. You can't decide if he just enjoys bad-mouthing David, or if it's something more.

"Why're you doin' this?"

"Doin' what?"

"Bein' so nice."

"I am nice."

You laugh, loud and genuinely amused, and he actually looks a little offended.

"I am," he insists, and you think he really and truly wants you to believe it.

"If you say so."

"You don't think I'm nice?"

"I think you're being nice, but I don't think you are nice."

He smirks. "Then what exactly do you think I am?"

You grin. "Cocky, arrogant, self-satisfied."

"You know those are just three different adjectives that mean the same thing, right?"

"Exactly."

He's silent for a moment, and you can almost see the wheels turning. "I'll make ya a deal," he finally says. "If I can give you five unique adjectives that paint me as a good guy, you let me buy you another drink."

"And if you can't?"

"I'll buy ya another drink anyway, and I'll never bother you again."

You nod slowly, wondering how exactly he plans on bothering you if he does manage this. "Okay, deal."

He holds his hand out for you to shake, and you slip your smaller one inside, ignoring the warmth of his skin. As soon as you let go of his hand, he begins.

"First, I'm nice. Now, you can laugh all you want, but I'm here, very happily keeping you company, and your boyfriend ain't."

You ignore the bit of hurt at the mention of David. "Okay, so you're nice. Next?"

"Generous." He taps the neck of his beer bottle against your own, and you smile.

"Not too bad. What's third on the list?"

"Good lookin'."

You laugh again. "I think that comes under cocky, arrogant, and self-satisfied."

He pouts slightly. "It's still true, but fine, I'll come up with another." He pauses a second. "I'm funny, obviously. I've made you laugh twice already … and at my own expense, which rules out your cocky, arrogant, self-satisfied idea, and makes me modest."

"That's your number four? Modest?"

"Uh-huh. I'll admit, it doesn't happen often, but …"

"But nothin'. You're far from modest." You stare at him, enjoying this more than you should. "But you didn't mind me laughing at your expense, so I'll give ya that as number four."

"Self-deprecating humour is a good thing?"

"In someone as cocky as you, it ain't a bad thing."

He nods and takes a drink. "I'll take what I can get."

"And your final adjective?"

He leans close and you kind of wish he didn't smell so good. He looks at you, blue eyes deep and dark and dead serious. "I'm a great kisser."

You let out a small giggle. "I'm afraid I'm gonna need proof on that one."

"That can be arranged."

"Oh yeah? How exactly can you prove somethin' like that?" He raises an eyebrow at you and you blush. "Oh."

"Uh-huh."

"That's not gonna happen."

He leans back, one side of his mouth tilted up. "Hey, can't blame a guy for tryin'."

You wonder if that's all it is - just some guy taking the opportunity he has. You stare at Steve for a long moment, and he stares right back, still looking far too amused. It's all you can do to force the blush from your face and tear your gaze away.

"I'm afraid that's only four out of five," you tell him. "Four out of five unless you can bring me physical proof in the form of girls you've kissed who'll vouch for you?"

He grins and looks around, picking out girls. "Susan, Betsy, and Lizzie."

"Lizzie Roland?"

"Yeah."

There's a slight burning in the pit of your stomach, and you scowl. Lizzie Roland is the prettiest girl in school … far prettier than you. Hell, even Socs have been known to stare at her.

"Jealous?"

You roll your eyes. "Keep dreamin'."

"How about that drink?"

Four out of five is pretty good going, but it wasn't the deal. Shit, you don't even care. You don't want to go home yet, and despite the unexplainable anger you feel at Lizzie, Susan, and Betsy, you want to stay and have another drink. With Steve.

You frown, but nod anyway. "Sure, one more can't hurt."

xxx

Steve keeps to his word and takes you home after one more drink. The whole ride to your house all you can think is that he's a much better driver than David. David's slow and steady and safe, while Steve somehow manages to be fast and careless, but still somehow safe - even with the two drinks you saw him put away and however many he had before that.

"Thanks," you say quietly before pushing the door open.

"No problem. Happy Birthday, Evie."

You smile at him and climb out of the car. You don't hear his car take off down the street until you've closed the front door behind you. It's only then you realise the happy birthday Steve Randle wished you seems a lot warmer and more genuine than the one your own boyfriend gave you.

xxx

It's not Tuesday or Thursday. Shit, it's not even Wednesday or Friday, both of which would be better. At least then it wouldn't seem like you couldn't wait two days to go to the DX and see Steve. Not that he's the reason you're there, obviously; you just weren't thinking when you turned left instead of right, and now that you see it up ahead, you could go a Coke.

You feel stupid as you cross the road and make your way toward the gas station. Sandy's not with you; she stuck to her part of the deal and didn't make you go with her once last week, and, by rights, you shouldn't be there again for another two weeks. Although, with the way Sandy and Soda are getting along lately, you figure she won't even need you to go with her anymore, and maybe that was part of her plan in making that deal all along.

She's a smart one, your best friend.

Unlike David who's obviously an idiot. His apology did nothing to fix your mood yesterday, nor did the bunch of flowers he presented you the moment he realised you weren't feeling very forgiving. They were nice flowers, sure, but a caring happy birthday along with some attention and he could have avoided the whole mess.

You didn't forgive him, but you did accepted the flowers and his promise to make this up to you. You told yourself you took the flowers because they were pretty and you didn't want to fight - if David wants to spend the next week or two making this up to you then you'll let him - but the truth is that your mind was too stuck on the time you had spent with Steve to really think things with David through.

In fact, your mind is still too stuck on the time you spent with Steve to really think anything through.

You reach the gas station and feel even stupider when the only customer in the place drives off and your left standing in front of Soda. He looks at you a moment, looks past you as if expecting Sandy to be there, before looking back at you with a knowing grin.

"Hey, Evie."

"How's it goin', Soda?"

"Everything's goin' pretty good. Wasn't expectin' to see you here today."

You shrug. "Guess I felt like a Coke."

"Sure."

"Yeah, so … you gonna come in and serve me, or what?" You're getting awful sick of that grin of his.

"Uh-uh. Gotta clean up out here. Steve's in the garage, though." He jerks a thumb behind him, and you can see Steve leaning into the hood of a car. You suck in a breath at the way his jeans fit him so well. "He'll come right out when he hears ya in there."

Feeling somewhat set up, despite being there your own doing, you head inside. Soda was right; only a few seconds after the bell above the door jingles, Steve comes through a door by the counter, a slight scowl on his face. It disappears the moment he lays eyes on you.

"Evie."

"Hey."

"It's Monday."

You glare at him. "So?"

"So I'm used to you only coming on Tuesdays and Thursdays." He looks around the small shop, grin forming. "And usually with Sandy."

"I wanted a Coke."

"Uh-huh."

Ignoring the look on his face, you grab a Coke out of the icebox and pay for it. He watches you the whole time, saying nothing and handing you your change with a sly smile on his face.

"Thank you," you say stiffly.

"I guess four outta five really ain't so bad, huh?"

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not here to see you, ya know?"

"I never said you were."

"You implied it."

He cocks an eyebrow, and you find it infuriating. "Did I?"

"You - I … well -" You stop, flustered. "I have to go."

You walk away without saying goodbye, hating the chuckle that comes from him.

xxx

David's been doing his best to make things up to you, and even now, two weeks after your birthday, he's paying extra special attention to you. You lean against the living room wall as he nibbles his way down your neck, and close your eyes. You're not into this. There's nothing wrong with David's kissing, but you're just not feeling it the way you used to.

Part of the reason for that is because every time you crack your eyes open you're gaze lands on Steve. He's sitting on the other side of the room with Soda, their heads bent close together, talking in obviously hushed voices. Even with David doing his best to keep your attention, you don't miss their flickering gazes in your direction.

You're just not sure you can figure out why they're looking at you. Sandy's with them this time, sitting with Two-Bit's date and being highly entertained by Two-Bit himself, so they're obviously not talking about her. You don't get it, and as David's hand slips beneath your blouse and his teeth nip at your throat, you begin to get a little frustrated.

You pull away. David already knows you're not going to sleep with him, but you wouldn't put it past him to suggest going for a drive so he can try to get a little action. It's not going to happen. Despite his best efforts, he's not getting any further beneath your blouse tonight, let along under your bra or skirt.

"I have to go to the bathroom," you mutter. You take another look at Steve, finding him scowling in your direction.

You take your time in the bathroom, not wanting to be back too soon. You're not having fun, you're not enjoying the attention from your boyfriend you had so wanted two weeks ago, you're not even in the partying mood.

It doesn't escape you that you had more fun after David ditched you on your birthday than you're having now. Despite the company. Or, maybe, due to the company. You roll your eyes as you head back to the living room, not sure what it is that's got you thinking about Steve so damn much.

When you reach the living room again, you're shocked to find David sporting a bleeding nose and Steve clenching and unclenching his hand as they stand opposite each other. The music's stopped, a small circle has gathered around them, and you seem to be the only one who doesn't know what the hell is going on.

You step forward. "What is this?"

David doesn't meet your gaze so you look at Steve. He glares at you, looking more frustrated than you feel, before turning his glare to David.

"You gonna tell her or should I?"

"Ain't nothin' to tell," David says, wiping blood away with the back of his hand.

"Bullshit."

You look at Sandy, who's watching the scene with wide eyes. She meets your gaze, and you raise your eyebrows. "Will you please tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Well, the thing is -"

"I'm gettin' outta here," David interrupts her, and pushes past you without another word.

"But -" You try to stop him, but he heads straight for the front door. You turn back to Steve.

"Fuck this," he says, and with a final glare in your direction he makes his way toward the back door.

Oh, Lordy, you're so damn confused. You look toward Sandy, Soda, and Two-Bit, hoping for an explanation. Soda's staring after Steve, and follows him a few seconds later, but Sandy and Two-Bit step closer to you.

"David was talkin' about you," Sandy says. "Tellin' his friends … well, things he shouldn't be tellin' them."

"What kinda things?"

"Things that ain't true."

You're blood runs cold. "Sandy -"

"He told his buddies you ain't put out yet, but that it was only a matter of time," Two-Bit tells you. "A matter of days, he seems to think."

"We all heard it," Sandy continued. "I could see Steve getting madder by the second, and when David started exaggerating about the things you had done, well, Steve just kinda snapped."

Of course Sandy knew when David began exaggerating; she knows everything you've done with him which is pretty much nothing. You've let him cop a feel over your sweater once or twice, but that's it. She knew David was lying. Steve didn't. Steve didn't, but he stood up for you anyway.

Sandy leans close. "He was pretty much defending you against your own boyfriend." She says it with more meaning than she needs to - you already get it.

xxx

It's raining and he's kissing you and it shouldn't be as romantic as it is.

But it is romantic. You've seen Breakfast at Tiffany's, you know there's nothing more romantic than a kiss that takes place in the middle of a downpour. Emotions running high, meaningful words going unsaid, wet bodies pressed against each other …

Okay, so you don't know about the emotions running high, but words have definitely been left unsaid, and you're not sure your body has ever been this close to someone else's. Especially a tall, muscled, dead sexy someone else. That's right, you said it: Steve Randle is sexy.

You were walking home from school when the sudden downpour hit. Still two blocks away from home, you figure it's just the shitty end to a shitty day. David tried to apologise and you quite happily gave him the cold shoulder, and, as for Steve, you didn't seen him once. You don't share any classes with him, but you usually see him in the halls once or twice.

And you like seeing him, you want to see him, you owe him … something. A thank you ought to do it. When you finally reach your street and he pulls up next to you, you figure this is it. You don't know what he's there for, or what he has to say, but he stood up for you and you appreciate it.

You pause, standing in the rain and watching him climb out of his car. He doesn't look thrilled to see you, but he's not scowling, either. So you wait. And accept what you've known all along: He was right - he is good looking. Sexy, even.

He's sexy when he climbs out of his car, he's sexy when he walks around the car to reach you, and he's sexy when he's soaking wet and staring at you. He looks perfect, and you know you must look a mess - smudged make-up, limp curls, sopping wet cloths.

But then he grabs your face in his hands, leans down, and kisses you. And, God help you, you don't care how you look, you don't care about David, you don't care that the only things between you are your thin blouse and his T-shirt. You only care that it's raining and he's kissing you and it's the most romantic moment of your life.

His hands make their way to your hips, yours clutch at the front of his tee, and you want him to touch you more, hold you closer, kiss you harder. But he pulls back. You try to follow, and he doesn't even smirk at your eagerness.

He takes a step back, letting go of you, breathing hard. "I, uh - I'd offer you a ride home, but …"

You slowly nod. But, your house is in sight and there's no point in a ride home. He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking nervous, and gives you a quick smile. Then he leaves before you can say a word. Not that you could say anything even if he stuck around - your mind is a whirl of nothing but him and the feel of his lips. You stand there, staring dazedly ahead, the whole world becoming a blur, until you hear his car start up and take off down the street.

You smile, a crazy, foolish smile, and press your fingers to you lips. Wow.

xxx

You break up with David the next day. When you tell Steve he gives you that damn smirk you're still not too fond of, before leaning down and giving you another bone-melting kiss.

Five out of five indeed.

Come and sit with me and talk a while,
Let me see your pretty little smile,
Put your troubles in a little pile,
And I will sort em' out for you.

All feedback is welcome.