𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏'//𝑫𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏×𝑶𝑪

💥|TWENTY-SEVEN|💥

THUNDER CRACKLED AND boomed in the dark sky as Ponyboy and I made our way into the group of greasers. Dally had run off, claiming he had to change for the rumble. I swear he reminded me of a girl with the way he was with his clothing. He had to have the perfect outfit for every occasion. I loved teasing him about it.

I push my way to the front, dragging Ponyboy with me, keeping my face emotionless as I stare back at all the Socs that stand a few feet away.

They all were laughing, antagonizing us from afar, most of them held flasks and bottles in their hands. Some of them were drunk. That could be a major advantage or disadvantage depending on how much they consumed.

There were as many of them as there were us, maybe more. We might be outnumbered. I stuff my anxiety down, there may be more of them, but the greasers had the upper hand. For one, we were on our turf, and we knew the layout better than they did. I could run through this junkyard with my eyes closed and not hit anything and I assumed the majority of others felt the same.

Plus, the Greasers were cheaters in some ways. Fighting was one. Anything on the ground was a free game.

"You stay close, you hear?" I mutter to Ponyboy. I was hoping we would be able to slip out of the fight once it started to die down and run home so Darry never knew we left in the first place. But we would only be able to pull that off if we didn't get hit. In a fight, no matter who was winning, most of the time both parties were gonna come out with a few bruises and scrapes.

Ponyboy nods in response, his face void of emotion as he glares at all the socs. I could see the uncertainty in his eyes. "You think we'll win?" He questions. I think back to Johnny's words just barely hours ago.

There's no point in fighting, Angela. They will always win in the end.

I couldn't lie and say he was wrong. I wasn't stupid. But I couldn't just let Ponyboy's anxiety eat him up before he even gets a hit in. "Time will tell, brother," I reply with a reassuring nudge of my shoulder.

I watch Ponyboy Adam's apple bob in his throat as he gulps, my gaze turns ahead as I watch Darry step up to the group of rowdy Socs. They quiet down as the one on the front steps up to meet Darry in the middle. I recognized him instantly as Paul Holden. Hom and Darry were friends back when he was in high school. He even came to our house a few times to play football in the yard with Darry. Sometimes, he would've stayed over for dinner and r and then gone home.

He was always kind to me and funny at times. "How are you doing little lady?" He would ask me. To which eleven-year-old I would reply, "I doing mighty fine, Mr. Paul."

He always found it funny that I called him Mr. Paul. He said it made him feel like he was in a business meeting.

It's crazy to think that I used to sit across from him at my family's dining table. He would compliment my mother and have hearty laughs with my father and Darry. Now I would be fighting him.

"Hello Darrel, long time no see," Paul speaks first, his voice is sharp and professional. So different from the way I remember him talking.

"Hello, Paul," Darry replies in a tone just as sharp as Paul's.

"I can take you." Paul shrugs carelessly. I feel my hands ball into fists at his careless threat. Paul and Darry were both big in size. But Darry had more bulk from working on roofs all day. He had more than Paul, and I'd put ten dollars on him if they were to fight alone.

Darry is about to reply and is cut off by a new, familiar voice. "No way you're startin' a rumble without me!" I watch with my jaw dropped as Dally runs towards the two groups. He wore a leather jacket with nothing beneath with a pair of blue jeans that clung to his muscular legs. This was his rumble outfit?