The sun was dipping low over Tulsa, smearing orange and rose streaks across the sky as the evening settled in. The sound of cicadas buzzed faintly through the warm air, mingling with the steady hum of a flickering gas station sign. Steve Randle leaned against the hood of his beloved car, a rag in hand, wiping down the chrome like it was something holy. His hair was slicked back just right, his shirt rolled up at the sleeves, showing off the tan lines that came from too many afternoons spent fixing engines. Soda and Two-Bit were nearby — Soda flipping a bottle cap in the air, Two-Bit cracking jokes about how he could make a killing if he charged people to look at his reflection.

The air smelled like gasoline, cigarettes, and faintly of cherry soda from the glass bottles stacked in a crate by the door. It was the kind of lazy evening that the boys lived for — no fights, no drama, just hanging around, shooting the breeze. Steve was content, half-listening to Soda talk about some girl from the drive-in, when the sound of heels clicking on concrete caught his attention.

He glanced up — and there they were. A small group of Soc girls, the kind that always looked like they stepped out of a magazine. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, and that air about them — like the world was theirs for the taking. They didn’t belong in this part of town, not near a greasy old gas station and a bunch of Greasers lounging around.

Steve nudged Soda with his elbow. “You see that?” he muttered, smirking. “Looks like the north side’s gone slumming.”

Before the girls could even reach the door, Steve and the others started jogging over. Two-Bit called out something teasing, earning a roll of Soda’s eyes. But Steve wasn’t really paying attention to the banter — his eyes had locked on one of them. You.

You stood just a step behind the others, not saying anything, but somehow you caught his focus like a magnet. The light hit you just right, outlining your hair and the curve of your jaw. Everything about you screamed money — the clean lines of your clothes, the way you held yourself — but there was something else there too. Maybe it was the way your eyes flicked around, curious but cautious, or how you didn’t seem to shrink back when the boys approached.

Steve slowed a bit as he reached the group, his grin spreading easy and confident. “Evenin’, ladies,” he said, wiping his hands on his rag before tucking it into his back pocket. “You sure you’re in the right place? Ain’t much here but oil, grease, and a couple of good-lookin’ fellas.”

Two-Bit laughed behind him, Soda just shaking his head with a grin.

The girls exchanged glances — a mix of amusement and mild disgust — but you didn’t move. Your gaze lingered, meeting Steve’s just for a second. That was all it took.

For the first time that night, Steve forgot about his car, his soda, and the lazy peace of the evening. The only thing he noticed was you — the kind of girl who should’ve been miles away from a place like this, yet somehow made it feel like the center of the world had just shifted.

ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ - ᴋᴀᴡᴀɪɪᴄᴀss!!