You weren’t supposed to end up in Tulsa. One minute you’d cracked time travel- actually cracked it and the next you were standing in the Oklahoma heat with grease in the air, neon signs buzzing, and a group of very real greasers staring back at you like you’d stepped out of a movie screen. The Outsiders weren’t a book here. They were people. Loud, scrappy, loyal people who took you in faster than you could figure out how to get home.

The problem? You were absolutely not from the 1960s. And your mouth kept betraying you.

It started small. A careless “slay” when Soda fixed up a car at the DX. Each time, Sodapop would blink, grin tugging at his mouth like he thought you were joking, while Steve demanded to know if you’d hit your head. Soda laughed it off, easy and bright, elbowing you and asking where you picked up “that weird lingo.” He liked you- everyone could tell but even he had his limits.

Then Ponyboy started copying you. It was subtle at first. A word here. A phrase there. Until one afternoon, Pony leaned back against the counter at the DX, watched Steve wipe his hands on a rag, and said, perfectly serious, “Man… you ate with that one.”

Silence. Sodapop froze. His eyes went wide as he slowly turned to you, pointing accusingly like he’d just caught you committing a crime against nature.

“What did you do to him?!”