Chapter Text
The school hall was loud in the way all school halls got during passing period; alive with laughing voices, slamming lockers, and the squeak of shoes against tile. It was warm inside with all the bodies pushing around, but November cold clung to the windows and rushed through doorways like it couldn’t wait for the final bell to get at them. Several someones had trailed dead leaves in from the courtyard and they skittered across the floor until they were trampled to gold and brown and red mush.
In the middle of all the hustle and bustle, Sherri Valance kept her head low at her locker pretending to dig for a pencil she didn’t need and blinking fast. Her eyes stung and she knew they were probably still pink and she didn’t want anyone to see. Didn’t want anyone to know. The talk she'd had with Bob in the parking lot before homeroom still echoed in her head and made it feel like an elephant was stepping on her sinuses as she sniffed and huffed and tried not to cry.
Her throat felt thick like there was a stone lodged somewhere between her chest and her jaw and the noise around her had dulled to a wet roar. Like she was underwater, watching the school day unfold from the bottom of a pool. She sniffed again and dabbed under her eyes, careful not to smudge the liner she’d reapplied during second period. Cherry looked perfect, Cherry always looked perfect, and if she kept her eyes down and her back straight no one would see how close she was to letting that all fall apart.
It wasn’t like Sherri was heartbroken because she wasn’t. She was sixteen and too smart to think she’d been sincerely in love with Bob Sheldon of all people. In his worst moments Bob was crass and rude and turning out to be an awful drunk. He’d cut up that poor greaser boy’s face and been ready to start a brawl over almost nothing that night after the drive-in. But those had been his worst moments. In his best moments Bob had been funny and charming and familiar. The weight of his arm around her shoulders like a claim, the parties, the rides, the way people looked at them and thought of course.
Cherry wouldn’t miss him so much as the version of herself she’d been when they were good. Back then she’d felt untouchable. Bob would pull up in his car and all the girls would stare and she’d toss her hair like she didn’t see it even though she always did. That version of her had been easier, shiny, clever, and a little bit cold. Cold enough to not cry in the middle of a school hallway at least.
“Pull it together, Valance,” she murmured wetly, something she heard her father grumbling to himself often. Her lashes fluttered. “Chin up.”
“Heya, Cherry.” When she turned, Ponyboy Curtis was standing a few feet down the row, hovering like he’d been debating whether or not to say something. He had that same too-thoughtful look he always wore. “You okay?”
She blinked at him, casting a quick glance up and down the hallway the way she always did when one of the greasers spoke to her. Just like usual though, the world kept spinning. No gasps, no stares, no one whispering behind their locker doors. When Cherry turned back Ponyboy’s mouth was carved into a sharp frown, his brow pinched in poorly concealed contempt. She grimaced, quietly ashamed that she still cared so much about what other people might think when the fourteen year old was brave enough to act like it didn’t matter.
It had been embarrassing how little anyone cared once Marcia had started going out with Keith Matthews. The other members of his gang, ones who used to sneer at Soc girls like they were contagious, had started chatting up Marcia and Cherry in the hallway like it was nothing. Like lines weren’t real unless you wanted them to be.
Maybe they never had been.
“Do I look not okay?” the cheerleader prompted, shutting her locker so she could lean against the cool metal, head canting to the side.
Grey-green eyes widened at her and the young boy shifted his weight awkwardly. Too quick, too sincere he said, “No, I mean, kinda? Not in a bad way, just— you seem…”
“Upset?”
He hesitated and the handsome features of Sodapop Curtis’ face were there along his brow and sharpening jawline. Darry Curtis was a bit harder to spot, but Cherry was sure she could find the young man’s likeness in his baby brother if she really looked. “Yeah.”
The redhead stared at him, exasperated and sad as she huffed, “Well, don’t say it like that. Makes me sound pathetic.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Pony said quickly, stumbling over himself. He was a good kid. “I’m just…sorry if something happened.”
The sixteen year old girl didn’t say anything for a moment, contemplating how much she should tell him. If she should confide how, after the Nightly Double months back, the drinking had gotten worse, the mood swings sharper. She thought about confessing that after she’d realized her boyfriend was the one who had scarred Johnny Cade’s face, the way he talked about other people had started to make her stomach turn. She wondered if Ponyboy would care that the night before Bob had grabbed her wrist just a little too tight in front of the others and she’d cried the whole way home. He probably would.
Instead of bringing any of that up though she just sighed and said, “I broke up with Bob.”
She figured the rumors were already halfway around the school by now: Bob Sheldon and Cherry Valance, split. The hallway had a way of carrying that kind of news faster than any note ever passed in class, but only if you ran in the right circles. Someone had probably already added a few dramatic flourishes; maybe Bob had punched a wall, maybe she’d cried harder than she had. By lunch everyone would know, even Pony’s gang.
The baby greaser didn’t apologize or question her or even look especially surprised and there was Darrel Curtis Junior, right there. In his brother’s quiet, calm, and contemplative silence as he simply nodded and leaned against the locker next to her. He let his gaze wander up the hall and from the angle Cherry was looking at him the fluorescents from the ceiling revealed flecks of gold in his eyes. She’d never noticed them before.
“You’ll be alright,” he announced after a beat, shrugging his narrow shoulders and studying his shoes. “Sun’ll still rise tomorrow.”
A surprised chuckle left Sherri’s glossed lips and she agreed, “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“And you’ll watch it.”
“That’s true too.”
The bell hadn’t rung yet, but the hallway was starting to empty out. Locker doors slammed with that unmistakable metal clatter, some fast and impatient, others slow and deliberate like the kids behind them were trying to buy time. A pair of freshman boys jogged past laughing too loud about something that wouldn’t matter by lunch. One of the teachers, Coach Sanders probably, called out a warning about tardy slips from down the hall, half-serious, half-bored. Somewhere nearby someone’s perfume lingered too heavy in the air, sweet and artificial, something Cherry used to like when she was fourteen.
Instead of rushing off like everyone else or like she would have done only a few weeks ago, Sherri lingered back with Ponyboy, noting the way the grease in his auburn hair turned it to burnished copper and how his freckles were fewer and lighter in the cold weather. He looked a bit older all the time, but he was still just a kid to her and she found herself nudging his shoulder playfully, smiling when he jumped.
“You always look like you’re thinking about something deep,” she observed, lacing her fingers together in front of her while Pony crossed his arms.
The younger teen shrugged, chin tipped up in a way Cherry knew was meant to look tough…or tuff…or whatever. He said, “Most of the time I am.”
“What is it today?”
“Whether or not I shoulda said anything to you just now.”
The blunt, honest answer pulled her up short, and the cheerleader blinked the last traces of tears away in surprise. For a second she thought of saying something biting, brushing him off, but she didn’t. Instead she tested, “You’re regretting being nice?”
The fourteen year old shook his head earnestly, face wrinkled a bit like he was resisting calling her something mean and childish. Stupid maybe. “No,” he assured, “Just not sure if it helped.”
She nodded her understanding, chewing lightly on her lip. She wasn’t sure yet if talking with him had helped either, but she didn’t feel like she was going to choke on her own humiliation anymore and that was something. She pursed her lips and popped her brows up, exaggerating a thoughtful look as she tilted her head back and forth. Pony watched her with unhidden interest and the attention did a bit for her but nothing like Bob’s had.
“I know you don’t like Bob much,” she goaded, throwing on an easy smile. “You’re sweet to comfort me.”
The boy looked vaguely horrified. “I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.”
The greaser ducked his head like he wanted to disappear, face already pinking beneath his scattered freckles, and that’s when Sherri noticed it; a quick gleam of silver beneath the open collar of his shirt. The chain shifted when he moved, catching the light for just a second, and Cherry’s breath stilled. Her eyes tracked the curve of it down to the small, worn medallion resting flat against Pony’s chest. A familiar St. Christopher, tarnished with time and smoothed from handling.
It was the kind of detail you remembered by accident; Dallas Winston had worn one just like that.
It had been weeks since Sherri had seen Dallas up close, longer still since they’d spoken, but the thought of him, sharp-eyed and restless with his boots kicked up on the seat in front of him and a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, still sent a warm little jolt down her spine. Dallas had never looked at her the way Bob did, never tried to stake a claim, but he’d noticed her. That night at the drive-in, before she’d thrown her Coke in his face, he’d grinned like he already knew how the scene would play out. His wicked smirk and his filthy mouth had pissed her off and thrilled her all at once. She’d been furious, he’d been amused and for a moment it had felt more real than anything she'd ever had with Bob.
Dallas Winston was no good; all sharp edges and short fuses no matter what kids like Ponyboy or Johnny tried to see in him, but at least he came by it honest. Sherri could still remember the first time he showed up around town almost eight years ago. Ten years old with a face like cut glass and eyes that didn’t miss a thing. Overnight the neighborhood had changed, little kids stopped walking to school alone and old folks double-checked their locks. Adults wondered where his parents were while kids wondered how many fights he had won.
Sherri had wondered if he liked the color red.
“Say, that’s a neat necklace,” Cherry said lightly, tipping her chin toward the glint of silver at the boy’s throat. The bell had already rung and they both should’ve been moving, but she wasn’t about to walk away before cracking the door open just a little. “Looks like the one Dallas Winston wears.”
For whatever reason the fourteen year old appeared to almost close off at that. Cherry watched in interest as his shoulders rose and his chin tucked back towards his chest. His eyes flit up and over her head and then around her shoulder but didn’t meet her gaze as he cleared his throat.
Quiet as anything, he muttered, “Uh… it is.”
“He gave it to you?” the cheerleader tested, already half-convinced she’d misunderstood. Dallas Winston didn’t give people anything unless you counted bruises and broken noses. “Why would he do that?”
The baby greaser shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. Over his shoulder Sherri spotted Coach Sanders lumbering down the hallway at last, shooing kids toward their classrooms and halfheartedly separating a pair of juniors glued together at the lips near the stairwell. The current of the hallway was changing, pulling everyone along, but Cherry stayed rooted in place. She shifted her weight subtly, leaning forward so her body half-blocked Pony’s path, her hair falling like a curtain between them and the rest of the world. His startled, grey-green eyes flicked to hers and she gave him her sweetest smile.
“That was nice of him,” she said lightly, letting her voice drop into something warm and velvety. She remembered the way Ponyboy had looked at her that night at the movies too, all wide eyes and reverence. She hadn’t seen that look in a while, but she was pretty confident she could draw it out again if she really wanted to. Younger boys were always soft around the edges.
“Sure.”
“How’s Dally doing these days?”
“Um… good?” His voice lifted uncertainly at the end and Cherry kept her gaze on him, unblinking, pleasant, waiting. Finally, he added, “It’s actually his birthday today.”
“Oh, how fun!” she enthused, dialing her smile up to full wattage as she tossed her hair over one shoulder. “Does he have anything special planned?”
“Yeah,” the kid noted distractedly, glancing back toward Sanders who was fast approaching with his usual scowl and a hall pass clipboard. “We’re all hittin’ the diner after school and then Buck’s lettin’ us have a party at his place.”
“I could fall in love with Dallas Winston," she’d said that night. "I hope I never see him again, or I will."
Cherry didn’t really believe that, she wasn’t stupid. Even if she could fall for someone like Dallas there was no chance he’d ever feel the same. He wasn’t the type and love wasn’t what she was after anyway. What she wanted now was a distraction. Something wild. Something sharp-edged and fast-moving to pull her out of the numb routine she’d been stuck in for longer than she could even pinpoint. After over a year of being Bob’s girl Cherry was finally free and the silence that followed had been louder than she expected. Dallas couldn’t offer her forever, but maybe he could offer her a thrill.
If nothing else chasing him would be more fun than mourning someone she was already starting to hate.
“Well, that sounds like a good time,” the cheerleader mused, turning slightly as she saw Pony’s track coach spot them. She shifted direction with a slow, casual grace, her steps meandering just enough to invite him to follow and true to form he did. Soft. “I think I’d like to drop in on that.”
“Oh…” She could see the wheels turning in the boy’s head, trying to figure out a way to politely turn her down and she hurried to make her claim before he could.
“I’ll just ride with Marcia,” she noted breezily, giving a bouncy little shrug like it was already settled. “I’m guessing she’ll be there with Two-Bit?”
“Yeah…right,” Pony said, brow furrowing as he processed, “Marcia usually comes round now.”
“It’ll be perfect then!” The redhead made sure to infuse her words with bubbly excitement, even going so far as to reach out and lightly touch the boy’s shoulder before quickly drawing back as if shy.
She shot him a smile from beneath her lashes and expected the usual reaction, a flush, a stammer, maybe a shy grin, but Ponyboy Curtis didn’t give her any of that. His gaze had dropped to the spot where she’d touched him, but not with the awestruck wonder she was used to coaxing out of boys with a little attention. His eyes had darkened, going sharp and icy like a certain hood she was hoping to see later. For a moment he looked almost angry but then his expression smoothed over, cooled like a pie left out on a windowsill. He glanced up at her and nodded with a smile. It was tight and put upon and not at all flattered and Cherry realized he was trying to be polite.
When had a boy ever needed to try to be polite to her?
“Sounds good,” Ponyboy assured, already lengthening his stride, eager maybe, to escape the weight of her attention. He spoke back over his shoulder, voice light, the glint off his chain hidden beneath his hair. “I’ll see ya there.”
Cherry watched him go, trailing her gaze down the hallway as he weaved through the last of the stragglers. His footsteps were unhurried, but his body language screamed retreat. She stood there a moment longer blinking against the low afternoon light filtering in through the high windows. She eventually drifted into her fifth period in a daze, not fully aware of her surroundings. People were probably whispering about her behind their hands, scribbling her name on ripped bits of paper.
Her mind stayed stuck on the greaser’s tight smile, that cold flicker in his eyes. Had she crossed a line? Had he sensed what she was doing—what she was trying to do? A flash of guilty doubt bloomed in her chest, brittle and unfamiliar. She hadn’t meant anything by it. Ponyboy was sweet, harmless, and a means to an end. He liked attention, didn’t he?
But that look he’d given her…
She exhaled sharply, pushing the thought aside, the kid was probably just awkward. Dallas would’ve laughed it off. Dallas would’ve pinned her with those pale, razor-edged eyes and smirked like he knew exactly what she was doing and dared her to keep going. That’s where she focused her mental energy for the rest of class. Not on Pony, not on Bob, but on the tall New Yorker who was turning eighteen that same day. A man now. It had to be some sort of sign.
The cheerleader twirled one strand of fire red hair around her finger as she imagined seeing Dallas later that day. If she played it right this could be her moment, not just to get his attention, but to matter . People would talk, of course they would, but maybe it was finally time she let them. No one had batted an eye when Marcia and Keith got together, but Dallas was different. Cherry was different. If anything it would raise eyebrows in the right way, let Tulsa and Bob and all his friends know she could make her own choices and turn heads no matter what side of town she was on.
She smiled faintly down at her desk. Tonight she’d wear something red.