So, I recently met up with a childhood friend, and as we reminisced about the good 'ole days, I remembered my old Fanfic. Although this story is akin to a modern, cheesy Disney sitcom, it holds a special place in my heart. And without further ado, after years and years, a random update!

Disclaimer: As always stated, I do not own the Outsiders.

Chapter 22

Our lips parted and I looked up at him. He was truly perfect. His sandy blonde hair, neatly greased—his delicious red lips, joyful eyes. Why was I not weak kneed? Looking for an answer, I looked to Johnny. There he stood—shoulders hunched forward, avoiding any eye contact. He always maintained the aura of a scared puppy just waiting for a hit with a rolled newspaper. His face was unwashed—dirt forming darker around his scar. I hated to admit this to myself, because only an awful person would think this about Johnny, but he was nowhere near Sodapop in regards to appearance.. And yet, his coyness, his shyness, and his mystic intrigued me. I looked back at Soda. He smiled at me and my heart revived and skipped a beat. With this entanglement of feelings, I knew I was in for one hell of an emotional conundrum.

"Hey Linds?" I inquired, gazing up at the cracking ceiling.

"Huh?" she said between a chomp of gum, completely enmeshed in the appearance of her nail beds.

"Do you ever—I mean—have you ever…"I sighed, sitting up and cracking my fingers out of nervous habit.

"Ew. That is such a repulsive habit." Lindsay commented, but tore her eyes away from her chipping nail. She knew those cracks meant something. "Have I ever, what?"

"When you're with Dally, have you ever—looked at someone else—and felt something."

"What do you mean?"

"You honestly need me to put it simpler than I just did? Has being here lessened your intelligence?" I chuckled.

"Hey now, for all we know, we could still be back in our own year, in a loony house taking meds. This could be all imagined."

"Dear God. Please don't give me a panic attack." I put my hand on my chest, alarmed. She knew I was easily panicked, so she lifted herself off the floor, walked over, and pinched me so hard I yelped.

"Who-ore! The hell?" I shrieked, caressing the reddening patch of skin on my left arm.

"See? Pain. You're fine. So now tell me again what you meant."

"Do you ever get—I don't know—butterflies for another guy?"

"Are you on your period?"

I shifted my eyes towards her, brows furrow. "What does that matter?"

"I don't know, I just remember reading something somewhere that your time of the month can do such things. I didn't read it in detail."

"Well no, of course not. Because then, you wouldn't be you."

"You are snarky today. Are you sure you're not?" She teased. I let out a laugh.

"Positive. But really, what do you think it means?"

"Well…what do you think it means?"

"Are you kidding?" I looked at her. Obviously I hadn't a clue what my emotional glitch meant.

"Who gave you butterflies?"

I traced a circular pattern on the comforter and muttered a barely intelligible, "Johnny."

"What? Are you kidding? Johnny? Little Johnny?"

"Yeah I know. It happened after he promised he would keep our secret. I mean, then I kissed Soda and I didn't feel anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything. But then it all returned." I explained. Then Lindsay smiled at me. "What?" I snapped.

"I know you, Hilary. Sometimes, better than you know yourself. You always do this. You over think everything to the point of changing certain elements. "

"What do you mean?"

"Remember when you liked that guy a few years ago? The one with the wavy brown hair and blue eyes? The band geek you were insistent about liking despite my objection?" I thought for a moment.

"Ew, yes I do. But in his defense, he was quite unique."

"Remember when he kept signaling to you he liked you? We were both sure he did. But then, one night, we were talking about it and you started to pick apart everything down to the last blink of his eye contact."

"Yeah. So?"

"So? Hilary you eventually convinced yourself he didn't like you. So, naturally, you moved on, despite what I told you. Then, weeks later, when he asked you out, you were surprised he liked you. You overthought and overanalyzed until something negative happened." I looked at her, impressed. She kept continued, "With Johnny, you were probably grateful, like I was. We all have a little secret now. You and Johnny are sharing a secret. It's—and I say this loosely—a matter of intimacy. And when we hugged him, it was awkward. I felt that too. You, being you, probably interpreted that as feelings. So when you thought that, you began to panic about Sodapop and you wondered if you didn't feel anything. Then that happened and all because you freaked out." The corners of my mouth dropped into an impressed frown and I raised my eyebrows at her.

"Well. Who died and made you Freud?" We both laughed. She was absolutely right and I let out a sigh of relief. "I suppose I created an emotional dilemma out of nothing."

"If you didn't, then you wouldn't be you." She teased.

"Touché, touché." She smiled and went back to inspecting her nails and chomping her gum.

With my feelings deciphered, I walked into the living room, where I instantly saw Johnny and Ponyboy on the couch. I smiled at Johnny and my eyes flickered to Soda, who was in the kitchen scouring the fridge.

"Hey, you." I greeted. He turned and smiled.

"Hello. What have you been up to?" He inquired.

"Oh, just having girl talk with Lindsay. How the food scavenging going?" I asked and nodded my head towards the fridge. He let out a nervous laugh.

"Well I was actually seeing if there was anything in here I could cook up—for just the two of us." I raised my eyebrows in interest, signaling for him to continue. He put a hand on the back of his neck—a typical nervous habit I had observed among men. "I mean I wanted to—well—try to cook for you. I have some stuff I need to talk to you about." He had me curious.

"What kind of stuff?" I inquired.

"Just…important stuff"

"Like?" I pressed. He smiled.

"You'll just have to be patient." I snorted at his statement.

"No."

"Yes."

"Look, how about you talk to me now, then after—depending on what it is—we cook together or go out. Sound good?" I offered.

"I…can't talk to you about this in front of everyone."

"We'll go for a walk."

"Golly, Hilary. I need to muster up some courage. That's what the time between I cooked for you and talked to you was for."

"Ok-kay." I said slowly, suspiciously. I smiled, hoping it was what I was hoping his talk consisted of. I gave him a quick peck and told him to rummage on. We smiled at each other and I walked off. The smile on my face disappeared midway through the walk between the kitchen and my room. What if Soda did want to ask me to marry him? I felt a twinge in my conscience. I was living a lie—I felt as if I knew him like a book. He probably felt the same about me, but here I was, some freak from the future living in a fictional world. Do I tell him everything? Johnny seemed to take it well; although, even if he did find it odd, he would not mention anything. What if he thought I was crazy? Hell, what if I was crazy. And just like that, another panic attack was in the works.