Teasing Fate |The Outsiders|

14. Finding The Balance

"YOU AND ME, WE BALANCE EACH OTHER OUT."

***

The ice swirled around in my glass, clinking together before pushing each other under out of view until my straw could push them to the surface once more. The Dingo was loud for a Sunday, even if it was already the afternoon. The boys had decided they wanted the house today and now that Momma's mood had seemed to wear off some, I was more than happy to get away. Now, I was tucked in the corner booth across from Sylvia, occasionally picking away at the french fries we'd agreed to split.

"-Honestly, the things I woulda done to him if we were alone. Jesus, I hate him so much, but he is so fucking hot- are you even listening to me?"

If I'm being honest, I didn't realize we were still talking about Dally and how he beat up a kid from Brumley after he stuck his hand up Syl's skirt, but we were. "Sorry," I say quickly, "I was just thinkin' about something else." Her smile is sharp and her eyebrows are raised, the kind of reminder to say she doesn't believe me for a second. I'm the first to drop my gaze to the table and my fingernails. Sylvia managed to file them nice and round, she even painted them a nice pale yellow. I didn't know how long they'd stay like this -- clean and pretty -- but I'd savour them until then. Underneath the table, Sylvia's toe nudges my shin as she lowers the thin red stars from between her lips. "Angela Shepard's really grown up," she mentions casually. "She's only a year younger than us," I remind her. "We started lookin' grown-up at fourteen, too."

Because at fourteen, Sylvia learned how to stuff her bra and line her lips. At fourteen, Sylvia learned about all the seedy places in town that won't check for ID if you show enough skin. At fourteen, I learned to take full advantage of being the middle kid and was able to slip away unnoticed whenever she needed to forget the world for a little while. Not that I minded though, sneaking into Charlie's bar on the south side under thick clouds of dope, smoke, and cheap cologne was much better than finding her unconscious on the side of the road. At fourteen, Angela Shepard was hell on three-inch heels, and she knows it.

"Whatever," Sylvia sighs as she drops a fry into her mouth. Suddenly, something catches her eye. I can see the glimmer, this time it's not just because of the sunlight bleeding in through the window. I can practically hear the gears turning in her mind as she prepares to strike. "All the Shepards are pretty wild, aren't they?"

To think that the only Friday Sylvia Jones decides to attend school would have to be last Friday. Just my luck. But I grin and bear it, tapping my nails against the side of my glass and looking around the diner cooly. "I guess you could say that. I don't see 'em much except for when Curly comes 'round lookin' for Pony."

Sylvia loves to play, but she can't stand being pulled into her own game. She and Dally are the same like that -- they love to lead you on, but God forbid you flip the script. She'd claw your eyes out with a smile on her painted lips. But playing the fool has never been that hard for me. All I've gotta do is bat my eyelashes and cross my arms under my chest, and most of the boys I know would talk to me like a little kid. They'd end up telling me too much, too.

Sylvia wants an answer to a question she hasn't even asked yet. I know that the second I open my mouth, she'll twist my words in a way only she can and try to figure out the whole story. I can see it swimming in her eyes, the desire. This is just a game to her -- to us -- that she wants to win, no matter the prize.

"God, do I have to spell it out for you?" Sylvia hisses venomously. Just like that, she's admitted to her own defeat. With a smile on my face, I kick my feet up onto her legs from under the table and lean back in my seat. "Why Sylvia, whatever do you mean?"