Miss Marley |The Outsiders|

11. Dine & Dash

"Would you stop looking at me like that?"

"What, with my fucking eyes?"

He was leaning back in his seat, the black leather of his jacket sticking out boldly against the red upholstery. Marley scoffed and turned her eyes back to the plate of fries between her and her date. "You know what I mean," she said, sarcasm coated her words as heavily as the inky black sky outside the greasy window.

The Dingo was a popular hangout for kids on the east side. Known most commonly for the skimpy uniforms, questionable regulations, and even more suspicious activity during all operational hours, it was named a greaser hangout before the boss could even lay the foundation. That being said, Socs found their way over here more often than not. It seemed like the quiet Friday evening was no exception. As people sat in their booths, too distracted with their own world, one Soc couldn't seem to tear his eyes from the booth in the corner.

"Well excuse me," Tim said while rolling his eyes back at her. "The last time I saw you, we were at Buck's and you damn close to cryin'. When your buddies saw me walkin' out with you, they drug me outta that bar by my fucking hair."

"Now I see where Curly gets the theatrics," she teased. As much as the girl tried to keep the humour in her voice, she couldn't ignore the way his words pierced her heart. Tim was relaxed as he leaned back in his seat. Marley had seen him get riled up before, the burning hatred in his eyes rivalled only by Dallas. Surely he didn't think before he spoke. If Tim wanted to hurt her, he would've done it by now, right?

Just when Marley was beginning to break down the wall between them, Tim built it back up again, three stories higher than before. He cleared his throat and moved around in his seat, but Marley couldn't raise her eyes to his. instead, she wrapped her fingers around the glass bottle of coke in front of her and let the melting ice run over her fingers. "I said I was sorry, didn't I? Besides...they were never my buddies."

She spat the last part savagely as if it would permanently erase all the damage it had caused. Tim scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed her up and down. "Keep tellin' yourself that, sweetheart. As if you didn't like riding shotgun with all those Socs."

Tim Shepard had been a part of Marley Curtis' life since the first grade. If he wasn't teaching his classmates to curse, shooting spitballs at the teacher, or stealing money from the younger kids, it seemed to be his life goal to make the girl in front of him miserable. It wasn't until the third grade she finally punched him, hard enough to leave him stumbling into her brother. That was the day Tim finally realized how much effect he had on her, it was the day he could recognize the temper her mother tried to bury.

Years later, he could still feel Darry's hands on his shoulders, pushing him to the ground and letting his bleeding nose smack the frozen grass. "Momma said girls don't start fights." He could still see the girl in front of him. Well, more the toe of her shoe, followed by ripped tights and the frayed hem of a jean skirt. "I didn't start it. I finished it."

"Your hands still get red when you're pissy?"

She raised an eyebrow and wrapped one hand over the other. Her tongue darted out for a moment, running over her scarred lips as she considered her options. "You still start fights instead of using your words? Seems kinda childish...Now I know where Curls gets that, too."

For most people, mentioning his siblings would have sent them to the intensive care unit, or straight to a casket. But for Marley Curtis, it was more like stoking the dying ashes of a fire. She didn't ignore the way he clenched his fist before reaching for his drink, or how his lips twitched in an almost visible smirk. Feeling a beam of pride, or hope, she couldn't tell, Marley knocked her shoe against his. "If I knew I could still rile you up like this, I woulda come home sooner."