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When she walked through the doors of the shop with fifteen minutes left until it closed, she was expecting to be alone. When she saw him, blankly staring at magazine covers and blindly grabbing at the snacks, she cursed under her breath.
They hadn't seen each other since she picked him up from the jail a week and a half ago. Of course, she'd heard about what he'd gotten up to since then. What all of those boys had gotten up to.
Bob Sheldon's death was no secret—neither was the fact that Johnny Cade killed him. Everyone knew that it was self-defense, too, at least on this side of the tracks. Any greaser would tell you that Johnny was a good kid that got handed a bad deal.
Sylvia remembered the late night talks she'd have with Dallas, how he'd worry himself almost to death about the kid. Maybe he wasn't entirely wrong, seeing as now Johnny was laying in a hospital bed in intensive care.
"Hey, Dally," Sylvia said softly, trying not to startle him. He looked lost in his own world, though, and any noise was bound to make him snap.
He tensed up and turned slowly to look at her. He pursed his lips in the same way he always did when he was in one of his moods—it was so very obvious that he was in one currently. It took him a full minute to respond. "Hm."
A grunted-out acknowledgment was all she received. She couldn't say she didn't deserve it. She watched as his eyes drifted down to her hand, where a silver ring resided on her pinkie finger. She quickly shoved her hand into her denim jacket, which he scoffed at.
Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with him. Well, more wrong than considered normal for Dallas Winston.
She had no right to ask, to pry, to know anything about him anymore. But she'd known this boy for years, and she had a better heart than to say 'fuck it' and go on her way.
"I heard about Johnny," Sylvia started. She watched his brows screw together like he was close to tears. "I hope he ends up okay."
He laughed, but not in a good way. He shook his head and said, "No, Sylvia. He's not okay." He threw a magazine down and looked over at her. "I just watched him die twenty minutes ago."
Her heart sank down into her stomach. Her lips parted as she looked at him, and she realized that this might be the most vulnerable she'd ever seen him in all the years they've been together—off and on, of course, but even when they were off they would talk.
"I'm... so sorry, Dallas."
Her words were genuine, even if he'd never believe them. She didn't need Dallas to trust her. She just needed him to think that there was someone in his corner.
He had five other people in his corner. He knew how tight his gang was, they all did. There wasn't another group of greaser boys that didn't fight with each other, that stayed together through thick and thin like his gang did.
"Don't bullshit me, Sylvia," He grumbled, softly punching at the shelf. She noticed the blood dripping down his face, the cuts and bruises that were already starting to form. She'd heard about the rumble, but she also knew that Dallas was in the hospital.
She should've known better than to think he'd miss that fight.
"I'm not bullshitting you, Dally. Look, I know we've had our fights, but I have a heart."
Dallas opened his mouth as if preparing a rebuttal, but he quickly snapped his lips shut again. He knew he had no right to make some smartass comment, not when his soul was just as cracked and broken as her own. Maybe that's what made them so imperfectly perfect together.
"Sylvia, I can't deal with you tonight, okay? So just... just let me go, yeah?"
His voice was rough, strained in a way that could have been mistaken as a boy wanting to cry.
"Let me drop you off at Sodapop's, okay? I don't want you gettin' yourself in trouble." She tugged at the sleeve of his jacket, trying not to raise an eyebrow at the way he was walking around without an undershirt on.
The corner of his mouth quirked up a little, the same as it always did with her. "Like you give a fuck what happens to me tonight." But still, he sized her up, and slowly, she slid the ring off her finger. "You are the trickiest girl I have ever met."
Sylvia smiled innocently up at him. "And you're the most dangerous boy I've ever met."
"A good match then, eh?"
"The best."
Dallas looked at the slightly crumpled magazine in his hands and placed it back on the shelf. "You need smokes?"
Sylvia didn't smoke Kools, but it was the only brand that Dally deemed acceptable. As she drove, she dealt with the taste of his cigarettes and the smell of victory beside her.
Dallas had his window down and was drumming his fingers against the roof of the car. It's only then that Sylvia thought to look down, and the sight made her scoff.
"Do ya got somethin' in your pants? Or are you just happy to be in a car with me?"
Dallas groaned. "Don't be getting cocky on me now, doll." He reached into his waistband and a gun came out. "Started carryin' it around last week, when all those soc kids were on our turf, y'know? It ain't loaded, I never had to use it."
Sylvia huffed out a laugh, focusing back on the road. "That is... so typical for you, Dallas Winston."
He looked out his open window as he nodded. "Yeah, Sylvia. I guess it is."
He pointed to the street heading to Buck's house soon after, even though he originally requested to go back to Sodapop's.
"Why do you always call it Pony's house?" Sylvia questioned. She was making small talk, trying to keep the conversation away from Johnny.
"Well, I guess I see Pony the most anymore. Darry and Soda're always workin', so that leaves the kid." Dallas put his arm back in the car and cranked the window up. "I sleep over there a lot now—I really only ever head over to Buck's when I wanna get buzzed."
Sylvia pursed her lips. "Just buy some beer. Better to drink alone than drink while listening to that music."
Dallas shrugged at that. "The music ain't unbearable when you lose your head."
She couldn’t argue, so she just pulled the car into Buck’s driveway and put the car in park. “You planning on getting drunk tonight?”
He shook his head. “Nah, but Darry’s got a lot on his hands tonight. I’ll probably still call him when I get in there.”
“Call me if you need anything, okay? I mean it.”
She’d go in with him, but Buck’s house was quiet tonight, which wasn’t common for a Saturday night. Her guess was that it became a refuge for the lone greasers that got busted up in that rumble, and Sylvia could practically hear the curses that’ll tumble from Dally’s mouth when he finds Tim Shepard curled up in his bed again.
Dallas looked over at her as he opened the car door. “Don’t you have someone waiting for you now?”
Sylvia picked at her nail. “I might have someone waiting on me, Dallas, but I’ll always be waiting on you.”
Once Dallas was inside, she sat and watched the house for thirty minutes. She was terrified to let him go. Once she was satisfied that he wouldn’t run off and get himself hurt, she drove off toward her house.
For the first time in a while, she felt the butterflies. She felt the same way she’d initially felt about Dallas Winston—enthralled by the danger, desperate all the same to save him.
She only hoped that he’d let her this time.