Teasing Fate |The Outsiders|

20. The Unexpected

"HE AIN'T A MAN, AND SURE AS HELL AIN'T HONEST." -- Billie Eilish (My Boy)

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My schoolbag bounced around on my lap with every minuscule bump in the road as we drove, an almost comforting silence heavy in the air, Ray Charles singing out from the radio. Even if you asked me how I ended up seated next to Donna Micheals, I wouldn't be able to tell you. One minute I was wrestling my books into my locker and the next, she was standing beside me in the hall, asking ing I wanted to head to the drug store with her. Every bump and curve jostled her gold hair, each strand expertly curled to fall into place with even the tiniest of movements. Her smile was nothing short of radiant, the kind that could put some Hollywood stars to shame without even trying. It matched her sweater, her lipstick, and only managed to make her eyes shine even brighter. "Seen any good movies lately?" She asks cheerfully.

Not really. Rebel Without A Cause was good, but a girl can only watch that so many times without all the guys thinking you had the hots for Hollywood wanna-be gangster. West Side Story was another popular one -- and I didn't mind it at all -- but it plays down at the Drive-In every other week, and is on channel four every Saturday at ten o'clock. Syl and I spent too many hours curled together on her couch with a cheap bottle of wine between us, laughing ourselves into hysteria at the idea of any greaser breaking to song before a Rumble. It was a good movie, but definitely a Hollywood perspective on what a turf war really looks like. And don't even get me started on the whole forbidden-love thing. Dally talks about New York from time to time, always telling us the trouble he got into up there and how much tuffer it was than Tulsa. So, it just comes as a shock to me that nobody killed Tony -- or at least tried to -- before the big Rumble.

"West Side Story ain't bad," I mumble quietly, my nails drumming against the upholstery as we take another turn. "They play it on the television so much I can pretty much say it word for word."

Her lips curl upwards in a gentle smile as the car lurches to a stop just outside The Dingo. For the middle of the week, the diner seems to be pretty empty. Kids and teenagers are running back and forth, the occasional fight already bubbling beneath the surface of angry glances and sinister glares. "I feel the same way with Bye-Bye Birdie," Donna adds, "I'd watch that movie every day if I could."

Maybe it's the way her eyes dart around the parking lot, like she was looking for something -- someone-- but I can't help but feel the anxiety settle in the pit of my stomach when they find me again. Her eyes, bright, electric blue, study every inch of my face almost clinically before her lips part in another soft smile. "We're kinda like friends," she begins hesitantly, "don't you think?"

I don't even have to think before I respond. "I mean, sure. You're my brother's girlfriend an' all, so I don't really see why you'd wanna be friends-"

"Friends tell each other things, right, Marley?"

Donna looks too kind to be cruel. Too sweet and gentle, too delicate to twist together some evil scheme. But the apple that banished Adam and Eve looked pretty appealing, too. Doubt and anxiety whisper back and forth in my ear, begging me to run while I still have the chance and to worry about the dozens of eyes glued to the car later.

"Darry told me about what happened at the dance. You bein' behind the gym with that guy, said he had a knife-" That's when her hands wrap around mine. Her pristine nails shone in the sunlight, perfectly shaped, manicured, and painted the same pink as her sweater. Her thumb rubs across my knuckles so tenderly, it's all I can do to keep my tears at bay. Her voice is tight when she speaks again as if her own worst fears are choking her. "H-he didn't hurt you, right? Didn't make you do anything for him?"