𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 , 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬

twenty four.

MADELINE WINSTON

fists bang on the other side of my bedroom door, causing sleep to dissipate faster from my body than i'd like it to. a headache looms behind my eyes from the moment i open them. i lift my head off the warm chest i slept on and pull away from the body i curled my own into.

soda groans, awake as well, and he runs a hand down his face, "it's steve."

"how do you know?" i ask, pushing the soft sheets off my legs and getting out of bed.

"i know my brother's footsteps, i know his too. and that," he points at the closed door steve, apparently, continues to pound on. "is how steve knocks on doors."

i take one glance down at myself, making sure i'm decent and my clothes aren't too askew before i open the door a crack.

it is in fact steve standing in the hallway outside of my room. he looks down at me with a smile even though i'm looking at him blankly.

"hi, mad. is soda in there?"

"why would soda be in here?" i hear the tiredness in my voice, but i'm sure it can be mistaken as boredom.

steve looks at me as if he's still comprehending my question, and then he laughs. just laughs.

the door is yanked back from behind me, pulled wider by soda who i didn't even hear get out of bed or stumble his way over, "get in." he demands of his friend. steve obliges and enters my bedroom—still laughing to himself.

soda closes the door behind us as we turn to look at steve, who turns to look back at us.

"dally's gonna kick your ass," he pauses his laughter momentarily, somehow knowing exactly what happened between soda and i last night.

"dally isn't even here." soda fires back, grabbing his shirt off my bed and pulling it over his head in a rough, quick manner.

"yeah, and when he gets back, he's gonna kick your ass."

i watch as steve and soda glare at each other, some guy-to-guy telepathy if you ask me.

steve finally breaks his stare and puts it on me instead, his eyes raking up my body and then back down again. it's not a flirtatious look, but a predatory one. "how you doin', madeline?"

"shut up, man." soda shoves him in the arm, sensing the same energy i picked up on. "how'd you know i was here?"

steve shrugs, "i saw you two walk off together last night and you never came back."

"liar."

"fine, i didn't, but curly did."

"curly was here?" soda asks. i try to remember who curly is. i've heard the name come up in conversation before, but i've never seen or met the guy.

"yeah, tim, too."

"my brothers up?" soda asks.

"downstairs, i think."

•

a quick refresh in the bathroom, and the three of us head down the stairs to find the oldest curtis brother wiping down the table and counters in the kitchen. two garbage bags sit full on the floor, almost spilling over with trash from the party last night.

"hey," darry barely glances up as he sees us walking through the living room. "i'm sorry we didn't eat the cake last night or even ..." he sighs. "light the candles." he stands with a rag in hand, i can smell the lemon scented cleaner from here.

all of our eyes land on the birthday cake made for me and soda. it's unwrapped, out of the fridge, and waiting for us on the table.

"cake for breakfast?" he offers, a tight smile on his lips with a drowsy, most likely hungover, glaze to his eyes.