medicine. dallas winston - the outsiders

12

THE TWELFTH CHAPTER ;
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Dallas reached over and took the cherry off the top of my float and, before I could protest, popped it into his mouth. He began to smile at me, making that odd feeling in my stomach rise.

"I don't like cherries, anyways." I say, crossing my arms over my chest and glancing out the window. By then, evenings were getting colder and colder, and even inside the building I had goosebumps upon my skin. I rubbed my arms, nonchalantly staring outside.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Dallas whispers, and I could see in my peripheral vision that he was now, too, looking in the direction as I. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked back at me.

I smiled slightly and shrugged, looking at him. "Nothin'."

"Oh," He nodded, then rose a brow at me. "You cold?" He slowly took a sip of his beverage, staring right at me. He didn't look away for one second, either. He seemed like his mind was moving a mile a minute, too. He always seemed that way, though.

"Kinda." I stated, biting my bottom lip harshly. I wasn't one to complain, normally. I hated to do it. Complaining got me nowhere.

He smirked a little. "If you wore a jacket then you wouldn't be cold, doll." He leaned back in the booth making the seat squeak.

My eyes widened. I don't know why I was surprised. Even if he was going to offer me his jacket; Dallas of course had to get in his little jokes and be a jerk. He wouldn't just be nice and polite. I was beginning to really believe Dallas wouldn't ever be able to just be nice and polite.

In my train of thought, I felt him snap his fingers in my face. "You lose focus too easy." He mumbled, sitting up more again. Before I could say anything I was watching him as he pulled off his jacket, then he carefully placed it onto the table. I watched him carefully but then found myself looking back at him. He was wearing a plain white tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up barely, revealing many scars on his arms. Battle scars. I couldn't even imagine what kind of things this boy has really gotten into. I think if I did, at the time, I'd probably cry.

"You can take the jacket now, an' quit staring man." His voice was low. He knew that I was looking at all of his scars. I wondered if I made him feel insecure, but, I was probably just getting on his nerves. Or, possibly, both.

I picked up the heavy leather jacket carefully. My cheeks began to burn and feel hot. I just had to start blushing.

"Thank you.." I finally mutter, as I place it over my shoulders carefully. Then, I slip my arms into the sleeves. A chill is sent up my spine, but I'm soon relaxed. The jacket smelled like him.

"You look cute in my jacket, babe." Dallas smirked again, staring at me. "Maybe you can wear it more often."

"I may just have to keep it.." I say quietly, looking down at myself. I forced a small smile upon my face. The ends of my mouth curled up slightly. The jacket was big on me but it was real comfortable. It was worn out but that just added onto the charm that he was a Greaser.

"You'd have to go out with me more." His smirk was beginning to turn more into a smile, and he shook his head a little at me. I wondered why.

Suddenly, he changed the subject.
"What's this about?"

He had pulled out a book from my bag once again, but this time it was one of my personal reads. Lord of the Flies, by William Golding.

"What in the world is a..." He squinted his eyes and bit his lip, almost struggling to read the title of the book at first. "Lord of the Flies?"

I leaned forward a bit and forced another smile. I reached and grabbed the book gently. "It's some little boys' imaginations."

"Huh?" He furrowed his eyebrows.

"This book is about a bunch of English boys getting stuck on an island." I say quietly, and he nods for me to go on. "They all want order at first but one boy is different. A few of them become savages, and at the end of the book are hunting down one of the boys.."

Dallas rose his eyebrows in shock, and amusement. It was actually a very adorable sight. "How old are these kids, huh? Where's the adults, man?"

"The adults all died, and I think the boys were no older than twelve."

"Twelve!" Dallas said in astonishment. Then, he suddenly stopped. "Hell, I was in jail at ten.." That chill went up my spine again. I tried imagining a cold, hard, little ten year old boy named Dallas Winston. It was real hard to imagine a ten year old like that. Like him.

I didn't want the mood to be ruined, so I halfway ignored his comment. "Well...would you like to read it? I've done read it a bunch of times before and—"

"I don't read." He said, biting on the corner of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes at the book, his eyebrows still furrowed. "I mean..I'm not too good at it, man."

I frowned. "We can read it together." I didn't realize I was saying it until I did. I was blushing, and I swear, for a moment I thought he was, too.