His hand cupped the small of your back, keeping you close to his side. You lean your chin on his shoulder, peering up at him through your eyelashes, watching as Dally takes a hit from the cigarette pinched between his fingers.

You swallow thickly before speaking. “Dally,” you start, voice hushed. This was wrong— he was one of your friends, one of the greasers— God, Darry would kill him.

He glances down at you, “what, doll?”