Chapter Text
Summer 1956
“What do you think you’re doin’?”
The voice didn’t sound like Old Man Jenkins, but Sodapop jumped anyway, immediately retracting his hand. The horse tried to follow him, searching for another sugar cube, but Soda held it out of reach on the other side of the fence.
“Nothin’,” he lied, scuffing his toe into the ground.
A boy around Soda’s age came striding around the barn, a real mean-looking scowl on his face. In a low voice, he said, “Sure don’t look like nothin’.”
“I was just givin’ him a little treat! See?” Relieved he wasn’t in any real trouble, Soda extended his hand through the fence and fed him another one, then petted his snout. “He likes it.”
“Don’t touch my horse,” the boy snapped, but Soda wasn’t afraid of him. There was something… interesting about this kid. Something that made him want to get to know him better.
“He’s my horse,” Soda argued, even though he really wasn't. He just liked to come visit him, that's all.
“Really?” The boy smirked, pushing his scraggly blonde hair out of his face. “Well, what’s his name, then?”
Soda didn’t have an answer for that. He’d just been calling him Horsey. “Who even are you?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Nobody." He made a halfhearted shooing motion with his hand. "Scram, kid.”
“Uh-uh. Not ‘til you tell me who you are.” Soda wasn’t gonna leave until he befriended this strange boy.
“What’s it matter to you?”
“‘Cause I’m here all the time and I ain’t never seen you before.”
“Maybe you should get your eyes checked.”
“Well, maybe you should get your — your face checked, ‘cause you’re — you’re, uh —” He groaned in frustration, wishing Steve were here. He’d have the perfect comeback.
The boy smiled a little at that, finally. He seemed to relax, just a bit. “He don’t really belong to me. The old man just pays me to muck out the stalls.”
“Ain’t you too young to have a job?” Soda asked, curious.
“Prob’ly.” The boy shrugged, but didn’t elaborate.
Soda barreled on. “I got a horseshoe at my house that belonged to Burgoo King.”
“Who’s that?”
“He won the Kentucky Derby a million years ago before I was born. My daddy — my dad got it for me at a garage sale for only a nickel.”
To Soda’s delight, the boy actually looked impressed at that. “That’s tuff enough.”
“Do you wanna come to my house and see it? I’ll even let you hold it.” He flashed one of those winning smiles, the kind that could convince his mama to let him get away with just about anything
The boy looked around suspiciously, like he was waiting for someone to pop out from behind a bush and jump him. But a few seconds later, he nodded. After giving Horsey’s head a little pat in farewell, he scaled the fence and hopped down, kicking up a small cloud of dust under his feet.
“You’re good at that!”
The boy shrugged. “I’ve had lots of practice.”
As they started walking down the sidewalk, Soda asked, “You ain’t gonna tell my mama I stole her sugar cubes, are ya?”
“Nah. I steal stuff all the time. Like these.” He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. Soda had never seen someone so tuff.
“What’s your name, by the way?”
“Dallas.”
“Dallas!” He repeated. “That’s a real cowboy name, you know. Not like Sodapop.”
“Sodapop — is that another horse?”
“What? No, that’s me. I’m Sodapop.”
Dallas looked him over, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Sounds about right.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
With a sharp laugh, Dallas said, “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Y’know, Sodapop, I think me and you are gonna be friends.”