The Outsiders: Book Two

The Garage Door is Open

I gathered all the stuff we needed, which was a lot. I was just going to play it safe and ride under the assumption that the entire gang would be eating the biggest meal of the year with us, and even with me pocketing some things instead of buying them, I lost about half of the money that I'd accumulated over the past few weeks—which I'll tell you, was a very sizable amount. The clerk seemed pretty suspicious to see a grease girl with a large wad of cash, but said nothing when I flashed him an innocent smile.

When I got out, I realized that I had not thought this out very well. I had about five very heavy paper bags to carry, and only two arms. Oops. After a while, I had designed a very precarious way of carrying all of them without killing myself, but I still weaved down the sidewalk like a drunk. And home was about half and hour away on foot. About five hundred feet from the store, I felt ready to give up and just ditch the foodstuffs somewhere, but then all five of the bags suddenly vanished from my arms.

Surprised and without the counterweight I had a second ago, I dropped forward, but a leg thrust out and caught me. Looking up, my eyes were greeted with a grinning Sodapop, who had to lean around all the bags to see me. “Hey, pretty lady.”

“I don't need help,” I said shortly, straightening and snatching the heavy bags back from him.

Soda just tutted and eased them right back into his arms. “Sure you do, Little Red.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Little...Red?”

“Yup!” he grinned happily, and I took the opportunity to swipe three of the bags from him. “Like Little Red Riding Hood.”

I couldn't help but laugh at that. “Wow, that sure makes me feel swell. Now I'm a trippy toddler who talks to wolves that like to eat old women, and can't tell the difference between the two. Thanks.”

Soda rolled his eyes playfully. “Wrong side of the spectrum, m'dear. More like...the brave, independent toddler who tactically saves the old woman and cuts up the wolf with an ax.”

“A lumberjack cut up the wolf, after the trippy toddler got eaten,” I countered.

“There are different versions,” he shot back, snatching a bag from me, so he had three and I had two. I decided to just give in—there was no swaying him. He seemed to notice my resolve and grinned triumphantly, his dark hazel eyes twinkling.

Walking for a long while, Soda began to spout jokes and point out things he found interesting. It was like he saw the beauty in everything, and for a moment—I envied him. I was too hateful to see the world like he did. I wondered about it, guilt coursing through me like cold water. I was too hateful. Does hating make you a bad person? Because if it does, I'm headed straight for the bottomless pit when it's time to meet my maker.

“Red? Do I need to shoot a pistol here? Hullo?” I was brought back to real life, seeing Sodapop's head was cocked to the side, and his eyes regarding me curiously. He reminded me of a puppy, sort of.

“What?” I asked stupidly.

“I said, I have a better idea. We could just take this stuff to the DX, it's much closer and I work there, and I can just bring this home in the truck. You dig?”

I considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Better than luggin' this stuff home like this.”

Soda smiled. “Well, milady, right this way!” and he pivoted to an immediate left, and I almost tripped over him.

“I wish you wouldn't call me that,” I grumbled, hugging the paper sacks closer.

“What? Milady?” he asked, turning to me and grinning. “You're right, I shouldn't call you that. You're not my lady yet!”