Soda's Only

Chapter Six

When morning came, Darry's deep voice was calling me and Soda. I opened my eyes to find myself far away from him. I sighed in relief that I hadn't rolled any closer to him. It's bad enough that he kissed me the other day. I then remember our conversation last night and instantly feel bad. He kissed me to save my life. How could I be so heartless?

I rise and head into the kitchen. Darry had made plates of eggs and bacon. It smelled so good my mouth began to water. I felt hands grab my waist and hoist me in the air and I squeal in alarm. I looked over my shoulder to glimpse Sodapop. Of course it was him.

Ponyboy was already on the couch eating his plate. I whacked Soda hard across the face before joining his brother. Darry whacks Soda too and gets ready for work. When he leaves, he says goodbye and reminds Soda of his task to watch over me. It annoys me; the fact that I need to be watched over. But me and Soda are alright, and I really don't mind. Besides, he doesn't act like it's a chore.

Ponyboy begs to finish the daily episode of Mickey Mouse before leaving for school. I laugh when Soda refuses.

"Aw, let him, Seven-up," I nudge him, not taking my eyes off of the TV screen.

"Fine," Soda sighs, giving me a look.

"I like her," Ponyboy puts in. I'm touched that he means me. I ruffle his hair and lean back on the couch. He nudges me hard, sending me into Soda.

"Aw, you're gonna pay for that!" I yell at the escaping boy. Man, he sure can bolt.

Soda laughs and raises to his feet, turning off the TV. I glare at him.

"We need to go to work now," he returned my glare playfully.

I am instantly reminded of my truck and practically leap off the couch and out the door. I don't care that I'm dressed like Soda. I like his style. It's practical. It's me.

When we reach the DX without any trouble from the socs, I'm relieved. But a part of me wished they had come. I don't know why, because the feeling is deep down inside me. I dismiss the thought and say good morning to Steve, who is just arriving with us.

"Any trouble?" He asks us, glancing at me with concern.

"Nope." I say, pushing past him and into the DX.

Me and Soda get right to work. We laugh occasionally. He teaches me things about cars other times. Mostly we work together. I don't like calling it friendship. I just call it working. But when I look at Soda a smile spreads across my face. Could that be friendship? I shake the thought away. No.

Sometimes, rarely, Soda will mention his brothers. And his gang. He's telling me of past friends he's had that died recently. I feel bad because usually Soda is happy. But his eyes are glistening and he's stopped working. He works when he's happy.

"Their names were Dallas and Johnny," Soda continued. "I don't know about Dally, but you'd have liked little Johnny. He was Pony's best friend."

I wipe oil from my arms then sling the rag over my shoulder, staining Soda's white shirt. The flannel is wrapped around my waist. "What were they like?" I ask, genuinely interested. But also because I think it'll help Soda if he talks about it. It worked with me.

He smiles at me and grabs my rag, wiping his hands on it. "Dallas was tough. He's have probably killed one of the socs that jumped you. He's real protective. Johnny, though...he was soft. A good soft, though. He was so different from the rest of us it's hard to think he's a greaser. Or, was one. Dally loved him like a brother. So did Pony."

I can tell Soda likes talking about his gang. It makes me feel good to see the familiar twinkle in his blue soft eyes. I smile when he asks me about my friends. It's funny. Like I would have any friends. But the question makes me think.