𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 , 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬

twenty.

SODAPOP CURTIS

"does pony like jam or butter?"

"uh—jam, but he probably won't be up for breakfast." i tell madeline as i continue to poke the eggs around in the pan.

"but he loves breakfast."

i look over my shoulder at her to where she's standing in front of the open fridge, one hand on the door and the other holding the cold jar of raspberry jam.

"he slept all day after our mom and dad died." i say quietly.

her head turns and i'm met with her sad, brown eyes. i look away, refocusing on my portion of the breakfast i'm cooking or else i'm afraid my concentration will drown in her eyes and i'll have to toss the eggs.

the toast pops from the toaster and madeline runs to grab it.

"i knew someone must've been helpin' you since usually, when you cook breakfast, you manage to burn it." darry's voice comes from behind us. he's grinning as he enters the kitchen with long strides.

i roll my eyes with a smile, catching madeline's questionable look she's giving me.

"what do you burn?" she asks, popping open the jar of jam.

"the toast." darry speaks for me.

"yeah, all right. that's enough darry." i mutter, scooping servings of eggs onto plates.

"thanks for cooking." darry's tone changes into a sincere one.

"no problem." i say.

"you two all right?" he asks, helping us set the table.

silverware clangs together, filling the silence as madeline and i shoot each other a similar look—no, we aren't all right.

"fine." she looks away from my eyes and to darry's.

"how 'bout you, little brother?"

i swallow quickly, nodding my head, "fine."

•

MADELINE WINSTON

"who's party is this?" i ask, managing to keep up with steve and soda as they lead me down the sidewalk toward the house with all the lights on.

"cindy cloaks'." steve says. "she's a real rich girl, but her crush on soda always gets us invited to her parties. her parents are never home on the weekends."

"steve takes my invite as his own." soda whispers so only i can hear. "i only go because of him."

"you don't go because of cindy?" i tease, stopping at the base of her parent's driveway as steve heads up without us.

"no." soda almost laughs. he shoves his hands into his coat pockets, walking backwards up the driveway while keeping his eyes on me—his bottom lip caught in between his teeth. "come on."

we head inside the white ranch. the floors are a cherry red wood and the hallways are lined with teenagers—cups in hands and staring eyes.

"hi, soda!" girls call out with flirtatious smiles as he walks past them. their eyes land on me as an afterthought—their smiles turning into something else.

i'd say soda is the most popular guy in school, but he doesn't even go to school. he's just the guy everybody wants, the one they dream of because he's so good-looking and soft spoken.