TULSA IN THE '60s WAS MORE THAN
just vibrant colors and "free love." It was divided smack down the middle: the East and West. Socs vs. Greasers. One side arguably ruled by the pariah Tim Shepard and the other controlled by the name Sinclair.
Only th...
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•✧────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────✧• THE LINES WE CROSS; CHAPTER FIVE 【 july 4,7 1967 】
It's a Friday when the dinner rush picks up again and I'm slammed with orders from all sides. Behind me, Melania runs around like a chicken with its head cut off, practically tripping and face-planting when three new tables enter the restaurant. Despite the hustle, however, this somehow still doesn't keep her from smacking my ass with a menu when she rolls passed on her skates.
"It's your favorite table again." She remarks, smiling cheekily.
My head whips to the side. Immediately a frown staggers through. "Har, har. Real funny, Mel."
She sends a wink flying my way, skating off to tell a customer off for snapping his fingers and whistling to get her attention as if she's some sort of dog. His actions, however, reward him nothing but a ten-minute earful on how to treat a waitress right and a cold burger with a soggy side of fries.
I sigh. That's the third time since Tuesday night's events that she made my head swivel in the specific direction of Tim's corner booth. It's currently empty of him, instead getting seated by a family of five who must have no other place to get dinner tonight. I'll make Melaina serve them...
I allow my brain to process instead, reviewing the Fourth's events like a slide show in my brain for the hundredth time.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Tim and Brian stared each other down, both refusing to back up as they nudged each other to see who'd swing first. The reality was, they were both too stubborn to back down or cross the line first. It would be anticipation that killed the boys behind them.
I held my breath, waiting for the punches to start being thrown like they always were in situations like these. The crowd watched us, focused in on the thunderous storm brewing between Tim and Brian. My eyes stayed on it too. Fixated, entranced.
On either side of me, John and Rusty-James closed in, one of them gripping onto my arm so tight that the bruises would remain for the next four days. Behind us, Vivian pressed a hand over her mouth while the other Tigers around me held their steady ground on the earth.
Meanwhile, Jasper and Tim's fists shook, and their gazes narrowed. Behind Tim, the sight of his gang was especially mean. They all looked cold. Criminal in a way as smirks curved and twisted onto the jagged edges of their faces in the moonlight and highlighted their closed fists and flexing muscles.
