Chapter Text
Cherry was fifteen when Bob Sheldon asked her out. He appeared at her locker one day, leaning around the open door to peer at her as she pulled out her things for cheer practice. She was just a sophomore, but she was the youngest on the varsity squad, and proud of it.
"You're Cherry Valance," he said, just like that. Cocky. Sure of himself.
"That's me," she replied. "And you are?" She knew who he was. Everyone knew Bob Sheldon—smart, handsome, wild Bob Sheldon, whose father owned half the real estate in town—but she didn't mind knocking him down a peg or two.
"Asking you on a date." His grin was sharp and brazen, a little too practiced to be real.
"Just like that?" Cherry asked, taken aback. "We barely know each other." She and Bob ran in the same moneyed circles, attended the same flashy house parties, but she didn't think they'd ever had a real conversation. He was usually off making a lot of racket with his buddies, or she'd spot him in someone's parents' kitchen with a girl—usually a junior or senior—pressed up against the counter, speaking so intimately she felt like she was intruding, even if she was just passing through to grab a Coke.
"That's what dates are for," Bob said. "I buy you a milkshake. You tell me all your secrets. And I discover why I was right to ask you out in the first place. What do you say?" He phrased it like a question, but neither his tone nor the look on his face suggested he'd ever been turned down in his life. And God help her, but Cherry's knees were turning to jelly, and the "yes" escaped her mouth before she even realized it was queued up.
"Good," Bob said. "Friday night, I'll pick you up around eight?"
"Seven," Cherry said. "I have a curfew. My dad gets upset if I'm out too late."
"Seven," Bob agreed. He pointed a thumb at his chest. "Bob Sheldon. Nice to meet you." And then he was gone again, as quickly as he'd appeared, leaving Cherry to wonder exactly how she was supposed to go to cheer practice with knees that could barely hold her up in the school hallway, let alone handle a front handspring.
Bob picked her up a few days later in a slick blue Mustang at seven o'clock on the dot. She’d called Marcia in a panic once and changed her outfit three times, finally settling on her favorite cream colored sweater tucked into a yellow pleated skirt. Cherry didn't ask where they were going—she didn't say much of anything on the drive, just glanced over every now and then as Bob navigated the quiet, pristine streets with ease—but she wasn't surprised when they pulled into The Way Out. It was a traditional first date spot. She was a little surprised when he hopped out of the car and circled it to pull open her door before she could do it herself. Bob Sheldon seemed like a nice enough boy—handsome, outgoing, confident—but chivalrous? She wondered what other tricks he had up his sleeve.
By the time they were settled in a booth, milkshakes in front of each of them—strawberry for her, vanilla for him—and a shared basket of fries in the center of the table, Cherry decided she was done being bashful. She'd never been on a date with a boy like this before, a boy that got her stomach fluttering at just the thought of him, but she had been on dates before. She knew the steps of the dance just fine.
"So," Cherry began. "Bob Sheldon. Football player. Mischief maker. The only person to successfully talk their way out of expulsion in the history of Will Rogers High. Feel free to stop me if I've gotten something wrong." Bob quirked one eyebrow. If he was surprised she'd commandeered the conversation, he didn't show it.
"By all means, keep going," he said.
Cherry laughed. "That's about all I've got," she admitted. "So tell me something else. Something I couldn't learn from the yearbook."
"Well, that's pretty much it. You've met most of my buddies, at least in passing. There's not much to do in this town, so we make our own fun. As for the almost expulsion—" He smirked. "I’m sworn to secrecy on that."
"So tell me something else," Cherry pressed. "What's your family like?"
Something flickered in Bob's face, appearing and disappearing so quickly Cherry barely caught it. "It's just me and my parents," he said. "My dad works a lot, and my mom stays at home, sort of. She doesn't have a job, but she's always off somewhere. She’s not exactly a PTA mom."
"You're an only child?" Cherry asked.
"Yup."
"Me too." She felt a slowly blossoming sense of kinship. "Do you ever get lonely, sometimes?"
Bob cocked his head at her, and took a long drink of his shake before answering. "Not really," he said. "Like I said, you've met my buddies. Who could be lonely, palling around with them?"
Cherry hoped her disappointment didn't show. "Oh."
"My turn," Bob said. He pushed the basket of fries a little closer to her, and she took a couple. "What do you like to do with your friends?"
"All sorts of things," Cherry said. "We go to the rodeo sometimes. The drive-in, too. My best friend, Marcia, she's funnier than any comedy movie I've seen. I always say having her around at the drive-in is like having your own personal film commentary."
"So you like comedy movies best?"
"I like them," Cherry hedged. "But…"
"What?"
"The romance films are my favorite."
"I see." Bob met her eyes, briefly, and she felt like they were piercing right through her. She felt a little embarrassed, suddenly. Why had she said that? It was one thing to discuss this with her girlfriends, most of whom were more boy-crazy than she was. But with Bob Sheldon, of all people? They barely knew each other. She told herself she could handle the steps of the first date dance, but already she'd stumbled.
Bob nudged her ankle under the table, just a little, with his foot, and she looked up again. "I don't think I've ever gone to the drive-in to see a romance movie," he said. "Next time there's one playing, you'll have to show me what they're all about."
Next time. Cherry wished the flush in her cheeks wasn't so obvious. "It's a date."
He smiled then, really smiled for the first time since she'd met him, and Cherry knew in that instant she would do anything to make him smile like that again.
Bob changed the subject, full of bravado once more as he launched into a story from a couple weekends back that involved a stolen golf cart, a fifth of whiskey, and the hot tub at Randy's parents' summer house.
"But weren't you worried you'd get caught?" she marveled.
"No," Bob replied, unconcerned. "Worst that would happen is my dad giving me the same lecture he's given me a hundred times before." He grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "He doesn't care, though. Not enough to actually stop me."
As they continued talking, Cherry realized she had her work cut out for her. Bob didn't give up his personal life easily. She felt like she was peeling him back bit by bit, layer by layer. But she'd been gifted with that smile, and it had lit a fire in her—she was determined to find the real person beneath the proud outer skin, no matter how long it took.
By the time they'd finished their milkshakes—and a second order of fries—nearly two hours later, Cherry was glowing. They'd talked nearly the entire time, other than when a couple of Bob's buddies and their girls spotted them and stopped by to chat. Some of the girls threw her looks that were equal parts admiration and jealousy, and Cherry thought maybe she should be upset by that, but she wasn't. Why should she be? She was Cherry Valance. She could have any boy she wanted, and she wanted this one. More importantly, he wanted her, too.
When the check had been paid (by Bob, of course; Cherry hadn't even brought her pocketbook, at her mother's insistence), Bob offered her his arm and led her outside, where night had fallen. And maybe it was because she'd just been on the best date of her life, but she didn't think she'd ever seen the stars look so beautiful, winking down at her like they knew her secret. I think I could love this boy. She was about to draw Bob's attention to them when he stopped dead in his tracks. Cherry stopped too.
Leaning up against the wall of the diner and carrying on about something or other was a small crowd of greaser boys. Greasers didn't normally hang out around The Way Out, but other than being rowdy, they weren't bothering anyone. Or so Cherry thought.
She had barely registered what was happening when Bob slipped his arm out from Cherry's and lunged toward the closest guy, pinning him up against the wall and leaning in to get right in his face.
"What do you think you're doing, looking at my girl like that?" he hissed, and sour fear curdled in Cherry's stomach.
"I didn't—" the guy started, and Bob pushed the guy's shoulders into the bricks again, harder this time.
"I know what I saw."
"I didn't do nothin'," the greaser snarled back, and Cherry was a little impressed, despite herself. Bob was almost a head taller than the guy, and had the clear upper hand, but the guy didn't seem the slightest bit worried, just mad.
The sound of three switchblades releasing at once—courtesy of the other three greasers hanging around—snapped Cherry into action, and she threw herself forward.
"Bob, stop it!" She stood on tiptoe to grab his shoulder, trying to pull him away from the greaser, her little white purse swinging wildly from her elbow.
The minute she touched him, it was like a switch had been flipped. He glanced toward her, seemed to remember she was there, and backed off the greaser guy at once.
"Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was low, rumbling with anger.
"I'm fine," she said, working hard to keep her own voice steady. She knew what happened between the Soc guys she rubbed shoulders with and the greasers and hoods on the other side of town—in Tulsa, you'd have to be blind not to—but she didn't like watching it go down right in front of her. "He didn't—nothing happened. I'm fine."
The greaser guy was glaring at her now in addition to Bob, as if any of this was her fault, and she felt less charitable toward him than she had just a minute ago. You're welcome, she thought bitterly. She glanced sideways. None of the other greasers had put their switchblades away yet. She had a feeling they wouldn't until Bob was out of sight.
"Let's just go," she urged, tugging on his hand.
Bob shot the greaser guys one last look of pure contempt before allowing her to pull him away, back toward his car. Neither spoke until they were settled inside the Mustang again, he behind the wheel of the car and she in the passenger seat.
"You didn't see it," Bob said, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the motor turning over, "but he was making eyes at you." He laughed a little, short and humorless. "As if a greasy hood like that would ever have a chance with you."
Cherry didn't quite know what to say to that. She hadn't noticed anything unusual about the interaction before Bob had stepped in—she'd barely even noticed their presence. She doubted that greaser guy had looked at her any different than plenty of other guys had, Socs included.
Still, she reminded herself, Bob wouldn't have gone after that guy over nothing. He must have noticed something she hadn't. Maybe she should have worn a different lipstick tonight. Her mom was always getting on her about the bright pinks and reds she favored. Said they gave boys 'the wrong idea.'
"Well, I didn't notice," Cherry said finally. "But thank you."
"That's a man's job, isn't it?" Bob said, and he took his eyes off the road long enough to give her a reassuring smile. He looked almost back to his normal self. "To protect his girl."
Cherry just nodded. She kept the conversation easy and lighthearted the rest of the drive to her house, avoiding the incident completely. By the time Bob walked her to her front door, she'd convinced herself she was overreacting about the whole thing. Why should she believe some lowlife greaser over Bob Sheldon, who'd been nothing but a gentleman to her all evening?
Bob didn't try to kiss her before he left (she wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved), but he cupped both her hands in his own and gave them a long, slow squeeze. He wasn't smiling, but his eyes were locked on hers, and he was as solemn as she'd ever seen him. "You might be the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he said, and Cherry went nearly dizzy with euphoria. "I'll come find you at school on Monday."
"I'd like that."
Bob made good on his promise. By the end of the week, they were officially an item, and the rest of the school was buzzing. Several months later, Marcia started dating Randy, one of Bob's best friends, and Cherry could see the next two and a half years of high school with perfect clarity—the four of them going on double dates, inseparable; parties surrounded by friends and admirers alike, never at a loss for people to hang out with; maybe even prom king and queen if they played their cards right. It was what every girl her age wanted, and it was hers for the taking.
And the illusion was so pure, so complete, that when it finally came crashing down, it was all Cherry could do not to fall down with it.
…
The empty lot was not, in fact, empty when Cherry pulled up in her Sting Ray. Ponyboy had said he and his friends often hung around there, so Cherry had been expecting three, maybe four people. Instead, Dallas Winston and what appeared to be the rest of his gang were talking to another group. These guys looked even more like hoods—they had the lean, scrappy look of street dogs, just trying to survive. But she'd come this far. She couldn't back down now.
Cherry could feel everyone's eyes on her as she parked and got out of the car. One of the guys—she didn't think she'd met him yet; his eyes were pinched with suspicion and his dark hair greased back in an elaborate style—leaned over to mutter something to Ponyboy's brother as she headed for them. Not the oldest one, who was tracking her arrival with crossed arms and a grim expression on his face, but the golden one who worked at the filling station. Sodapop, she remembered. Ponyboy had told her how vibrant he was, how sunny and full of life, but he sure didn't look it now. He looked rumpled and wrung out, his mouth creased with worry. She recognized Two-Bit too, standing on Soda’s other side. He had a few new bruises splashed across his face, and a little round cigarette burn on his arm that looked painful, but other than that, he seemed okay. She'd have to remember to tell Marcia.
"What the hell is this?" It was one of the rougher-looking guys. He seemed like the leader of their group; he looked older, and she'd interrupted a conversation between him and Dallas.
"I'm Cherry," she said. She felt flimsy and exposed out here on the East side, a paper doll of a girl in her matching shoes and headband. She hid her shaking hands in her cardigan pockets. "Cherry Valance. I’m here because I want to help."
"The fuck is a Soc gonna do to help us?" the one who'd been talking to Dallas said.
"I can—"
"She ain't just a Soc!" someone yelled. Cherry couldn't tell who it was. "That's the dead kid's girl. I say we jump her now, send 'em a message that we mean business."
Cherry's heart leapt into her throat, but she forced herself to meet Dallas' narrowed eyes. None of his gang had spoken against her yet. That had to mean something. Two-Bit stepped forward and she gulped, fighting the urge to back away. The bruises that marred his cheek looked worse up close, and between those and the switchblade he cradled lovingly in one palm, there was no trace of the goofy boy who'd sat next to Marcia and kept pace with her, joke for joke, all night at the drive-in.
Then he turned suddenly and glared toward the rougher group of guys. "I dunno what you get up to on your turf, but around here we sure don't go around jumpin' girls without giving 'em a fair shake down first. Especially the ones that say they can help us."
"It's her fault we're in this mess," the same voice insisted. Cherry finally found him in the crowd, a guy a little older than Dallas in a leather jacket so faded it was nearly gray and an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. "She's the reason those kids of yours ran off with their tails between their legs, ain't it? They were dumb enough to pick up the wrong girl and now the Socs are out for all our blood."
Ponyboy's oldest brother—Darry, that was his name—started forward, eyes blazing, and Soda put out a hand to stop him. "Easy," he said. "We ain't starting anything else right now. Punch him on your own time." He waited for Darry to stand down before continuing. "Two's right. We oughta hear her out."
Dallas swung his head back and forth between Two-Bit and the other group, considering, and while Cherry didn't fully understand the politics involved, it was clear the decision would come down to him. He was the only one with enough pull in both gangs. "Tim, take your guys and get outta here, give us some space," he said finally. "If she's got anything useful to say, we'll send someone to relay the message." He waited until Tim and the rest of the guys had retreated, slinking off into the deepening twilight, before turning to Cherry. "Well?" he asked.
"I—" she faltered. She'd thought it would be easier to speak once the scarier hoods were gone, but now that they'd left, all she could feel was the remaining gang's desperation, their worry. Ponyboy and Johnny's absence was a tangible thing, as thick and inescapable as the fog that settled over Tulsa some fall mornings. "I guess I should start by saying I'm sorry. You're right, this whole thing is my fault. I never thought it would go this far, but—I want to make it up to you. And Ponyboy," she added, a little softer. "Please. I can help you. And you do need my help."
"Says who?" asked the one standing next to Soda.
"Says the fact that you can't get anywhere close to our side of town without getting jumped."
She made pointed eye contact with Two-Bit, who looked away. He still held that switchblade as if he expected something to happen, despite being the one to stick up for her in the first place. "I know the guys you're going to rumble with, they're my fr—" The word caught in her throat. It probably wasn't smart to draw attention to the fact that, until a few days ago, she'd played for the other side. "I mean, I can talk to the other Socs. Find out what they're planning. And…" She took a breath. "If there's a trial, I'll testify that Bob and Randy were drunk and looking for a fight. I'll tell them that Johnny acted in self-defense, that it wasn't his or Ponyboy's fault."
For a moment they all stared at her, apparently too stunned to speak. Then Darry spoke up for the first time. "Why?" he asked. "Why would you do that?"
Several different answers rushed up at once: Because she'd seen the way Johnny's hands shook at the drive-in, yet he'd still managed to hold a switchblade steady enough to find its target that night; because Ponyboy spoke about the things he loved with an earnestness that should have been crushed out of him long ago but still managed to thrive; because she knew what Bob was like when he'd been drinking, and she couldn't do anything about the dozens of warning signs she'd glossed over in the past, but she could do something now.
Because the sunset I see on the West side is the same one you see here.
"Because it's the truth."
It took several more minutes of convincing before they came around to her, but eventually, they set up another meeting time for a couple days from now, after Cherry had spoken with the Soc boys. Once that was done there was no reason for her to stay, so as the greaser gang scattered, she started to head back to her car.
"Cherry?" She turned and locked eyes with Darry, who inclined his head to the side, indicating that she should follow him. He led her to the edge of the lot, a little ways away from the others. Once there, he glanced over his shoulder toward Soda, but he was talking to Two-Bit, not paying any attention to them.
"We haven't officially met yet," he said, extending a hand toward her. "Darrel Curtis—Darry."
"Cherry Valance. Nice to meet you." His handshake was firm and callused.
Darry was pretty intimidating up close, taller and broader than the others, his expression stormy. He chewed his lip for a minute, and when he spoke, the words were soft and ragged. "I know this is a long shot," he began. "But if you know anything about where Ponyboy and Johnny might have gone…if he—if Pony said something to you at the drive-in, or…?" She could hardly bear the hopeful look on his face when he said it, the evidence of multiple sleepless nights in the shadows beneath his eyes. She recalled what Ponyboy had said about Darry on their way to Two-Bit's house after the movie—hard as a rock and about as human—and couldn't quite reconcile it with the person standing in front of her.
"I have no idea where he could be," Cherry said honestly, wishing she could give him any other answer as that fleeting spark of hope flickered out again. "I—I'm so sorry."
It wasn't nearly good enough, considering the role she'd played in all this, but Darry just nodded, his face shuttering closed again. "Thanks, anyway. It was good to meet you, Cherry." He started toward the rest of the gang.
"Wait!" Cherry said, and it was his turn to stop and face her. "When you…when you next see Ponyboy, can you just tell him how sorry I am for all this?"
Darry's expression was unreadable. "You can tell him yourself. Once we get him back." He began trudging across the lot again. This time she let him go, and he didn't look back.
Cherry had just started back to her car when she was waylaid by another member of the gang, this one much less welcome.
"You're sure not what I expected," Dallas Winston said, stepping right in her path. He had an admiring sort of look on his face, and despite everything—honestly, had she learned nothing?—she felt a traitorous little flutter in her stomach. "You wanna head over to The Dingo for a Coke? I'm buyin'. Almost like a date, as it were."
Bob's face rose, unbidden, in her mind. I'm asking you on a date.
"No thank you, Dallas," Cherry said evenly. "You go on by yourself. And you know what, you can go straight to hell while you're at it." With that, she stalked past him, got into her Sting Ray with her head held high, and sped off.
She would never speak to him again.
Later—after funerals had been attended and headlines written, after rumbles fought and trials held, after Bob Sheldon and Dallas Winston were both lying cold in the ground, the violence and desperation that dogged their steps having caught up at last, Cherry would lie awake at night, head spinning with the first time Bob had smiled at her, and the last time Dallas had, and a hundred moments in between. She had told Ponyboy, once, that the difference between greasers and Socs wasn't money, but feeling, and she stood by it. It would take another several months, though, for Cherry to realize the true distinction between the boy she'd loved, and the one she might have: when Bob grinned at her, it was like he didn't have a care in the world. When Dallas did, it was like he had all of them.