New Story! Whooohooo! Okay!

Disclaimer: S.E Hinton owns. NOT ME!

Now that THAT horrid thing is over it's time for me to beg.

PLEASE. IF YOU SAID, "AW!" AT LEAST ONCE WHILE READING THIS... REVIEW.

And if you didn't... still review! ;)

-Jasmine

Dallas Winston tried his best to make his drunken hand slide the key into the lock. He quickly looked around him to check and make sure no one had seen him come all the way over to the middle-class side of town. He would never live it down if any of his buddies knew.

Maybe that was why he was so good at hiding it.

Dallas got into his apartment and almost tripped. His drunken eyes failed to notice the letter that had been slipped into the room. The hood rolled his eyes. He could always count on them to ruin his 17th birthday. Dallas looked around again, though he knew there as no point in; no on would be able to see him pick up the small pink envelope.

Dallas bent down cautiously. Only two people knew he lived in this apartment. Even then, he only came there as last resort. Knowing that it was being payed for by them... Well, it was a large turn off. Though, it was better than sleeping in the streets. And still, he only heard from them once a year and that was on this fine November night. Yes, November 9th. How odd was it that they still insisted on sending him birthday cards...

The elegant writing on the cover made him want to just... leave. It might be easier to just sleep on the street that night. He could fight off any wanna-be hood, and it wasn't as if the police scared him... So why was he leaving a perfectly good house? Somewhere deep, deep, inside him he heard the answer.

The letter scared him.

Dallas shook his head, trying to clear his mind. (Though with his drunkenness, it only made it worse.) He was Dallas Winston! Nobody and no thing ever scared him. With a spurt of energy caused by fury backing him, Dallas ripped open the envelope. He watched with narrowed eyes as the thick pink paper floated to the ground. The smell hit him first. Oh, yes, he remembered her perfume. To think... it used to be a comforting scent.

Dallas looked at the address and rubbed his temple.

Robert Dallas Winston Jr.

4G 131 Willow Street

Tulsa, Oklahoma 74101

She was always the only to write everything. Sure, he always managed to sign his name at the bottom of the letter, but he was probably forced. He was ashamed of Dallas. When he was leaving New York... all those tears... It was all just a show. But for who? Who had come to show him off? No one. No one knew he was leaving.

No one cared.

Dallas turned over the pale pink letter in his hands. It was dotted with small pink flowers. On the cover it read:

From the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Dallas Winston Sr.

Once again the perfume overpowered all other senses.

"What did she do?" Dallas mumbled, "Pour the whole fucking bottle in here?" He rolled his eyes and opened the letter. How bad could it truly be?

Pretty bad.

Maybe it was the beer, but the moment he read the first line he was ready to vomit.

Our beloved son,

Happy 17th birthday, son. We miss you. I hope you are doing well. We haven't heard anything from you. I do hope you are still living here. We went through all the trouble of buying you this place to stay for a reason. We want you to be safe, Robert.

Hone, we miss you so much. We love you, we really do. Please come home, Robert. I miss you. Your father misses you.

Do you remember the day you told me you were going to be, "Just like Daddy"? I do. You got dressed up in his shirt and tie and wandered around the house. I still have a picture of you like that. I treasure it. It still hangs on our refrigerator.

You don't have to stay here, Honey. Maybe just a weekend. Come up this weekend, please. While you turn 17 your father turns 53. His heart still isn't doing too well. The doctors aren't sure if he'll make it another year. Wouldn't you like to see your father again? It might be the last time. It would make him so happy. Every year he wishes for you to come home.

We all do.

Come home, Robert, please. For your father.

One last birthday present?

-Your loving parents.

Dorinee Marie Winston

and

Robert Dallas Winston Sr.

Dallas threw the letter down on the counter with unnecessary force.

"What a load of shit." The blonde hood complained. To him, the letter was nothing but a lie. They didn't want him. They had pushed him away enough to make that clear. Well... the letter was pointless. All of the letters have been. Never before had he come or written back to any of them. No matter how much she "begged" him to. His father is dying? Good for him.

This doesn't change anything.

He wasn't going.

As always.

Dallas opened a cabinet; it was full of glass and fine china that had never been used. He picked up a glass and filled it with water. He was having a little trouble turning the sink off, though. He fumbled with the dial but that seemed to only be making the water spew from the stainless steel spout faster. He watched in confusion as the water bubbled over the top of the cup. Now, because Dallas was so much smarter than the average drunk, he knew just what to do.

Dallas pulled out his switch-blade and slurred swears at the sink.

Poor sink.

The after a stressful half hour that was full of 200 f-words, 4 thrown knives, and an innocent refrigerator being punched; the sink was off and Dallas was holding his glass of water.

Dallas looked at the clean glass. This bothered him, it was too clean. He slammed the glass down on the counter and watched the water slosh over and splash onto the granite. Dallas gave another big sigh and ran yet another hand threw his messy, blonde, hair. He felt his bangs stick straight up when he pulled his hand out. Now, that didn't make any sense. Maybe it would if he greased his hair like Ponyboy or Steve but... Dallas didn't grease his hair. He thought that hair oil was disgusting! (And if you smelt it, you would too.) So why was his hair sticking up..? He looked down at his wet hand and saw a strand of his own white blonde hair stuck to it.

Dallas groaned and went to go find a mirror to fix his hair. He looked at his messed up bangs and tried his best to smooth it down. As he watched his hand with careful eyes...
It was shaking.

Dallas swore under his breath. So that was it? Dallas Winston, a JD and hood with a record a mile long and growing, was going to turn soft and scared because of a letter? From his parents?

Dallas locked eyes with his reflection in the mirror. He studies himself. He was a tough, scary hoodlum that had been on his own for about six years now.

He got drunk.

He stole.

He lied.

He cheated.

He even jumped little kids.

He was a child that no parent would ever want. So... who where his trying to fool? He looked into the mirror and cursed his looks. Why wouldn't he have had brown hair, like the Curtis family. Neither of his parents had brown hair.

He studied his eyes. Why couldn't he have been born with boring brown eyes, like Steve? Absolutely no one in his family had brown eyes. Dallas watched in horror as his reflection... was no longer him.

In began to age but other than that, it was the same. Though Dallas knew that he wasn't looking at himself. HE was looking at...

His father.

From a young age the resemblance between him and his fathered had been uncanny. Dallas looked at his happy eyes and almost vomited again. His quickly narrowed his eyes in attempt to make them his own but he could still see the monster. In a fit of pure rage, Dallas brought his fist up and smashes the mirror apart.

Dallas looked down at his hand in wonder as the blood spewed from the cut, slowly tickling down his arm. Dallas walked over to the sink and watched the water turn red.

What was he doing? His old life was a thing from the past. He was a fool then. He was only their puppet. Dallas looked over to the crystal glass of water and realized the horrible truth.

He used to be exactly what he hates now.

He used to be...

A Soc.