Categories > Books > Outsiders1 Reviews
After offering to spy for the greasers, Cherry Valance thinks about Dallas Winston. Oneshot.
Insufferable: Not to be endured; intolerable; unbearable
Who did he think he was?!
Insufferable greaser making a scene in front of his friends like that—and only days after some of them had killed her boyfriend! Couldn’t he just act like a decent human being, and not some wild animal, for a single moment? Of course not. That just wasn’t in his nature.
And, to think, she had shown up because she actually felt sorry for him—for all of them. She knew, deep down, that if she hadn’t been caught leaving the Drive-in with a bunch of greasers, Bob wouldn’t have been out for revenge that night. She knew that, if she had done something—anything—differently, the terrible events would not have transpired. She felt vaguely responsible and it only seemed fair to accept her blame in the whole thing and somehow make it right.
But, there he was, strutting over to her from across the vacant lot, his jeans and T-shirt too tight and too dirty, inspecting her and her Sting Ray with eyes so hungry she thought they’d jump out and bite her.
“Can I offer you another Coke?” he had drawled, his voice rougher than it had been at the movies, a smirk playing on his lips.
Had he even listened to her proposition or considered what she would be doing for him and his friends? Did he realize just how much she had agonized over going down there to even make a deal with them in the first place? How her parents would kill her if they knew she wasn’t out shopping with Marcia, but rather hanging around with the lowlifes of Tulsa?
He probably didn’t care. Why would he?
Despite her annoyance over his lack of appreciation (and gratitude for that matter), it had taken all of her better judgment and will power to blatantly reject his invitation … To look him in the eye and tell him to go to hell and to stay there and to leave her alone.
She didn’t know what it was about him. He certainly wasn’t handsome, at least, not in a conventional way. His eyes were piercing and cold—not the kind of eyes that danced and smiled, letting you know how special you were or that your company was enjoyed. His face was thin and his skin and hair were so pale that they were almost translucent. He looked like he needed to spend more time outdoors—even though that’s where he probably resided most of the time. She never saw him in school and she figured that, if he had parents, they had probably thrown him out of the house years ago. No, he wasn’t a handsome boy, and he certainly wasn’t nice or respectable either. He was destined to live his filthy life and would probably die in the streets before he reached twenty. He definitely wasn’t marrying material, the type to settle down and raise a family …
Not like Bob anyway.
But yet there was something that made him more attractive than Bob—Bob with the gorgeous, dark hair, the wry smile, the confident walk, and the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Bob with the letterman’s jacket and all the friends a boy could want. She had felt so lucky, so privileged, to be seen on his arm—to just float around next to him—and yet something was missing. Something had always been missing.
At the Drive-in those few nights ago, when she had found herself in close proximity to Dallas Winston for the first time, her body tingled in a way it never had before. When his arm had draped around her shoulder, the scent and moisture of Coca-Cola dripping from his leather jacket, she felt like she was going to explode—or implode. She couldn’t tell which it was. Her red face, interpreted by the other boys as fear or embarrassment, was actually something else entirely. She had felt free for that brief moment—alive—like she had been woken up from a long and dreary sleep. Just that little touch to the shoulders, though somewhat innocent (at least for a greaser), had stirred something up inside of her.
Other Soc girls occasionally talked about drunken nights with greasers and she had laughed at the thought. How could such normally smart girls be so stupid and not recognize that they were the ones being used, and not the other way around? What would an influential girl, like herself, ever want with a dirty greaser anyway? And yet she had entertained the thought of being in his bed, or probably more realistically, the backseat of a car somewhere. And for what? A moment of awkward intimacy followed by something far more awkward and unbearable—the thought of knowing what, or rather, who, she had done? It just didn’t make any sense, and yet something inside of her was crying out for it.
Yes, Dallas Winston was insufferable—a kind of disease that the east side carried and the west side caught every once in a while. He was the type of person that no one really liked, and yet everyone respected for some godforsaken reason. He was completely wrong for her in every way, but she couldn’t shake the thoughts of him from her mind.
She thought back to how she had told Ponyboy that if she ever saw Dallas Winston again, she’d fall in love with him …
Well, had she? Is that what was going on here?
Stupid greaser, making her all fluttery inside.
Who did he think he was?!