Susan Hinton: The Outsiders

She gave him an incredulous look; and then she threw her Coke in his face. “That might cool you off, greaser. After you wash your mouth and learn to talk and act decent, I might cool off, too.”

Dally wiped the Coke off his face with his sleeve and smiled dangerously. If I had been Cherry I would have beat it out of there. I knew that smile.

“Fiery, huh? Well, that’s the way I like ’em.” He started to put his arm around her, but Johnny reached over and stopped him.

“Leave her alone, Dally.”

“Huh?” Dally was taken off guard. He stared at Johnny in disbelief. Johnny couldn’t say “Boo” to a goose. Johnny gulped and got a little pale, but he said, “You heard me. Leave her alone.”

Dallas scowled for a second. If it had been me, or Two-Bit, or Soda or Steve, or anyone but Johnny, Dally would have flattened him without a moment’s hesitation. You just didn’t tell Dally Winston what to do. One time, in a dime store, a guy told him to move over at the candy counter. Dally had turned around and belted him so hard it knocked a tooth loose. A complete stranger, too. But Johnny was the gang’s pet, and Dally just couldn’t hit him. He was Dally’s pet, too. Dally got up and stalked off, his fists jammed in his pockets and a frown on his face. He didn’t come back.

Cherry sighed in relief. “Thanks. He had me scared to death.”

Johnny managed an admiring grin. “You sure didn’t show it. Nobody talks to Dally like that.”

She smiled. “From what I saw, you do.”

Johnny’s ears got red. I was still staring at him. It had taken more than nerve for him to say what he’d said to Dally — Johnny worshiped the ground Dallas walked on, and I had never heard Johnny talk back to anyone, much less his hero.

Marcia grinned at us. She was a little smaller than Cherry. She was cute, but that Cherry Valance was a real looker. “Y’all sit up here with us. You can protect us.”

Johnny and I looked at each other. He grinned suddenly, raising his eyebrows so that they disappeared under his bangs. Would we ever have something to tell the boys! his eyes said plainly. We had picked up two girls, and classy ones at that. Not any greasy broads for us, but real Socs. Soda would flip when I told him.

“Okay,” I said nonchalantly, “might as well.”

I sat between them, and Johnny sat next to Cherry.

“How old are y’all?” Marcia asked.

“Fourteen,” I said.

“Sixteen,” said Johnny.

“That’s funny,” Marcia said, “I thought you were both…”

“Sixteen,” Cherry finished for her.

I was grateful. Johnny looked fourteen and he knew it and it bugged him something awful.

Johnny grinned. “How come y’all ain’t scared of us like you were Dally?”

Cherry sighed. “You two are too sweet to scare anyone. First of all, you didn’t join in Dallas’s dirty talk, and you made him leave us alone. And when we asked you to sit up here with us, you didn’t act like it was an invitation to make out for the night. Besides that, I’ve heard about Dallas Winston, and he looked as hard as nails and twice as tough. And you two don’t look mean.”

“Sure,” I said tiredly, “we’re young and innocent.”

“No,” Cherry said slowly, looking at me carefully, “not innocent. You’ve seen too much to be innocent. Just not… dirty.”

“Dally’s okay,” Johnny said defensively, and I nodded. You take up for your buddies, no matter what they do. When you’re a gang, you stick up for the members. If you don’t stick up for them, stick together, make like brothers, it isn’t a gang any more. It’s a pack. A snarling, distrustful, bickering pack like the Socs in their social clubs or the street gangs in New York or the wolves in the timber. “He’s tough, but he’s a cool old guy.”

“He’d leave you alone if he knew you,” I said, and that was true. When Steve’s cousin from Kansas came down, Dally was decent to her and watched his swearing. We all did around nice girls who were the cousinly type. I don’t know how to explain it — we try to be nice to the girls we see once in a while, like cousins or the girls in class; but we still watch a nice girl go by on a street corner and say all kinds of lousy stuff about her. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know why.

“Well,” Marcia said with finality, “I’m glad he doesn’t know us.”

“I kind of admire him,” Cherry said softly, so only I heard, and then we settled down to watch the movie.

Oh, yeah, we found out why they were without a car. They’d come with their boyfriends, but walked out on them when they found out the boys had brought some booze along. The boys had gotten angry and left.

“I don’t care if they did.” Cherry sounded annoyed. “It’s not my idea of a good time to sit in a drive-in and watch people get drunk.”

You could tell by the way she said it that her idea of a good time was probably high-class, and probably expensive. They’d decided to stay and see the movie anyway. It was one of those beach-party movies with no plot and no acting but a lot of girls in bikinis and some swinging songs, so it was all right. We were all four sitting there in silence when suddenly a strong hand came down on Johnny’s shoulder and another on mine and a deep voice said, “Okay, greasers, you’ve had it.”

I almost jumped out of my skin. It was like having someone leap out from behind a door and yell “Boo!” at you.

I looked fearfully over my shoulder and there was Two-Bit, grinning like a Chessy cat. “Glory, Two-Bit, scare us to death!” He was good at voice imitations and had sounded for all the world like a snarling Soc. Then I looked at Johnny. His eyes were shut and he was as white as a ghost. His breath was coming in smothered gasps. Two-Bit knew better than to scare Johnny like that. I guess he’d forgotten. He’s kind of scatterbrained. Johnny opened his eyes and said weakly, “Hey, Two-Bit.”

Two-Bit messed up his hair, “Sorry, kid,” he said, “I forgot.”

He climbed over the chair and plopped down beside Marcia. “Who’s this, your great-aunts?”

“Great-grandmothers, twice removed,” Cherry said smoothly.

I couldn’t tell if Two-Bit was drunk or not. It’s kind of hard to tell with him — he acts boozed up sometimes even when he’s sober. He cocked one eyebrow up and the other down, which he always does when something puzzles him, or bothers him, or when he feels like saying something smart. “Shoot, you’re ninety-six if you’re a day.”

“I’m a night,” Marcia said brightly.

Two-Bit stared at her admiringly. “Brother, you’re a sharp one. Where’d you two ever get to be picked up by a couple of greasy hoods like Pony and Johnny?”

“We really picked them up,” Marcia said. “We’re really Arabian slave traders and we’re thinking about shanghaiing them. They’re worth ten camels apiece at least.”

“Five,” Two-Bit disagreed. “They don’t talk Arabian, I don’t think. Say somethin’ in Arabian, Johnnycake.”

“Aw, cut it out!” Johnny broke in. “Dally was bothering them and when he left they wanted us to sit with them to protect them. Against wisecracking greasers like you, probably.”

Two-Bit grinned, because Johnny didn’t usually get sassy like that. We thought we were doing good if we could get him to talk at all. Incidentally, we don’t mind being called greaser by another greaser. It’s kind of playful then.

“Hey, where is ol’ Dally, anyways?”

“He went hunting some action — booze or dames or a fight. I hope he don’t get jailed again. He just got out.”

“He’ll probably find the fight,” Two-Bit stated cheerfully. “That’s why I came over. Mr. Timothy Shepard and Co. are looking for whoever so kindly slashed their car’s tires, and since Mr. Curly Shepard spotted Dallas doing it… well… Does Dally have a blade?”