Dallas "Dally" Winston The Outsiders Warning: None
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"Speed up, Dal."
He did so, and I smiled, sitting next to him comfortably. We recently managed to get our hands on a '56 Chevy, and we were taking it out for a test ride.
It made me realize that things were good.
Dallas was driving, the top was folded back, and he rested one arm where the window would be. His other hand was on the steering wheel lazily, and his gaze was calm, maybe even a little happy. Billy Idol was on the radio singing, and I felt the warm summer wind on my face. I rested an arm on the back of the cars bench leather seats, and twirled strands of Dally's hair around my fingers tiredly. He re-adjusted his foot on the gas, making the engine silence itself before rumbling to life again.
I looked to him, admiring his features and tangling my fingers in his hair over and over again. He never usually let me play with his hair; not that he ever fixed it up anyways. It was always messy so I never saw why he wouldn't let me mess it up more.
I sighed happily, and he looked to me, his voice raised so I could hear him over the radio, "You okay, doll?"
"Yeah, why?"
He turned the music down some, and decreased his speed by 20 miles per hour. He looked to me as he turned into a Dairy Queen, "I dunno. Somethin' seems off. You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. I'm just really happy, is all."
He smiled a little, "Well that's good." He pulled up to a parking spot, and we ordered milkshakes before setting out again on an endless journey to nowhere.
