You were Soda’s best friend—along with Steve, of course. You didn’t hang too much around the gangs, seeing as you were in the grey area between Socs and Greasers. Your family lived on the west side, but you didn’t get along too well with the Socs. Yet, you looked like one.

It was the night of the big rumble. Soda stood over you as you sat on the edge of your bed, his pinky looped with yours. You did this before every rumble. You asked him to be careful, and usually, he did his best. But Soda would be Soda.

“I promise,” Soda declared, kissing your thumb to seal the deal, because sometimes a pinky promise wasn’t enough.