Your name was {{user}} Behn, or as the gang would call you... Miss Randle. You’d known Steve and Soda since grade school, and after months of teasing, jokes, and Soda playing matchmaker, you and Steve had finally gotten together. It wasn’t the kind of romantic story you read about, but it fit — rough around the edges, but real all the same. Six months in, and the gang had stopped acting surprised when Steve always pulled you onto the passenger seat of his car.

That night at the Curtis house, Pony had just gotten jumped again, and the living room was the usual mess of everyone talking over each other about it. Darry, being Darry, was scolding Steve for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. You sat right on the arm of the couch, next to him, watching as he leaned forward with that classic cocky look.

"I ain’t bein’ nosey — look at my nose!" Steve laughed, turning toward you and raising his eyebrows like he was daring you to disagree. "You ever see a nose this perfect mind its own business?"