Author's Note: Ah! Director99 here... But I can't go by that anymore. Call me AndThatWasEnough.

It's been so long since I published here- four months! Eek! Well, after a lot of school and extracurriculars and etc., I have something to show you for all the time I was gone: A rewrite of my first story. If you're wondering why I'm rewriting it, I have a simple answer for you. It needed to be done. So much didn't get into the first version, and I was rushing myself. But now, I have a clear view of what needs to be done, and I'm going to show you what I've managed to do with it. It's like I've had an epiphany.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, S.E. Hinton does. The title comes from Bob Dylan's "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right."

So enjoy, and as always, happy reading. :)

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"I'm a-thinking and a-wonderin' walking down the road

I once loved a woman, a child I am told

I gave her my heart but she wanted my soul

But don't think twice, it's all right."

-Bob Dylan; Don't Think Twice, It's All Right

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I think a good place to start our story would be at the beginning. Not the very, very beginning. I consider that to possibly be at about the time of my conception, and that's not something I want to get too detailed about. No, our story starts when I'm sixteen years old, about to be a junior in high school. I don't think that's a bad place to start. See, that's when the most important things that ever happened in the history of my entire short life took place. Jesus, was it a busy year. The event that got the ball rolling on all the rest of the events that year happened in mid-August. My father and I moved from New York City to Tulsa, Oklahoma. Seems like a bit of a downgrade, yes? Well, lets put it like this: my father wanted tenure, and he simply couldn't get it where he taught in New York, so Oklahoma State was the next best option. Period.

Like I said, it was mid-August. The two of us drove all the way down there, belongings in tow. It was a long drive, I remember that, and I remember that my father insisted on talking at least two-thirds of the way there. My father is a talkative man, naturally. He lectures for a living- to his students and to me. It's commendable. He has a lot to say about history to his students and colleagues, and a lot to say about discipline to me. But, my dad is a good guy. My mom left not long after I was born, so it was left to my dad to raise me. You'd think I might feel bad about my mother being gone, but I don't even remember her. The fact that she's gone is just a part of my history, and that's fine by me. Sure, not having her was awkward at times, like when I, uh, "became a woman" or however adults say it. That was a long day. But more often than not, I like it just being the two of us. It is what it is.

Anyway. We get to our new neighborhood, and I can't help but be impressed. I'd lived in an apartment my entire life, but now we had a big old house. Really big. Terribly big. It was painted white and had blue shutters and a big wraparound porch downstairs, and a porch on the back and one side of the upstairs. I didn't quite know what we do with all that space, but my dad has since found ways to fill it.

So I have a big house, my dad has a nice new job, and I made the journey to Tulsa in one piece. We should be good, right? No. Until the school year started that year, I sat in my room and felt sorry for myself. Very, very sorry. It was pathetic. I sat in my big room, unpacking and thinking and sulking.

I didn't go out.

I didn't make friends. I didn't even make an attempt to.

I sulked.

And felt sorry for myself.

Because that was the thing to do.

About two weeks into living in Tulsa, my father decided he should talk to me.

"Bridget," he said.

"Mmhmm," I hummed, flipping through the pages of Vogue magazine.

"You've hardly left this room," he said. I nodded. I didn't look up from my article.

"I know I haven't."

"Why is that?"

"I don't want to, that's why."

An answer worthy of an A+ if you ask me. But my dad didn't seem to think so.

"Bridget. I'm serious. You start school in two weeks, and you won't know anyone. Does that bother you at all? Don't you think you'd be more comfortable knowing someone on your first day instead of having to figure everything out for yourself?"

I put down my magazine. He had a fair point. I'd gone through ten years, eleven if you count kindergarten, of public school without ever having to make any major adjustments. But this, this whole moving thing, was my major adjustment. And he was right, I wouldn't know anybody. And I'm not always so good at making friends. So I smiled at him and held out my hand.

"Could I borrow your car?" I asked. My dad rolled his eyes.

"There are plenty of young girls your age in this neighborhood, Bridget. Why don't you go out and visit with one of them instead of driving out to east Jesus nowhere to find someone to talk to?" He sighed.

"Because that's too easy," I answered, standing up and smoothing my skirt. "Besides, maybe I'll pass them as I drive. Please, dad? Please?"

He gave me one of those looks, but in short, that's how I ended up with my dad's keys, taking a drive around my new town. It was very different from what I was used to, and I'm not a fan of what I don't know. Not usually, that is. That kinda changed over the course of that year. Anyway, I'm driving and driving and driving, looking around and soaking everything in. There were plenty of places to see. There were bars and dance halls and somewhat tall buildings, and a few schools. Plenty of houses. A police station. Etc., etc., etc. The people were what was interesting. They were well-dressed and looked well-to-do. Not a hair out of place. Not too much variety. I wasn't used to that either. I saw all sorts of people in New York. It was a diverse place. Very diverse. Here... Not so much. It was about a half an hour later that the needle started to hover around 'E', and I pulled into a gas station. I hadn't spoken to anyone yet.

But I was about to.

See dad? I can socialize wherever I want.

It was a little place called the DX. I pulled next to one of the pumps, and within a few seconds a guy about my age came out to one of the pumps and started to fill the car. He gave me a friendly 'hello', but then went back to focusing on what he was doing. I watched him closely. He was handsome, that much was for sure. Nice brown eyes, blond hair that was kinda long. He seemed nice enough, so I decided it'd be okay to ask him a few questions.

"Hey, uh..." I trailed off. I didn't know his name. His head snapped up and he smiled.

"Sodapop, miss," he grinned.

Sodapop, huh? What a name. Jesus Christ. Don't here that one everyday.

"Alright Sodapop. Would you mind telling me what exactly there is to do around here?" I asked.

"You ain't from around here or somethin'? The going-ons of this town are pretty common knowledge. Unless, of course, you ain't from around here."

He raised an eyebrow, but he kept smiling, still handsome. I smirked.

"No, I'm not from around here," I answered. "Still, anything interesting to do?"

He gave me an amused look, like he wanted to laugh at me, and he pulled the nozzle out of my car. Then he held his hand out. I put four dollars in his hand.

"Ya know," he started, "I really don't think I'm the guy you should be asking. I don't really think we have the same interests." He slammed the top of the car twice. I started up the engine, ready to pull out.

"But, maybe I'll see you around," he shrugged. He flipped me a wave and I drove off, completely miffed.

What did he mean we didn't have the same interests? He probably didn't have time to elaborate, but a bit of an explanation would've been appreciated. What a weird town. People name their kids Sodapop and give vague responses. Fantastic.

I was probably being bitter. Actually, of course I was being bitter. I didn't want to be in Tulsa, I wanted to be in New York. But, I guess it just wasn't meant to be. Not for now, at least.

I drove home after that, too confused to go on. I pulled the car into the driveway and headed back inside where my father was sitting in his new study, which at the time was still mostly boxes and built-in shelves. But he had his desk and chair set up, and he was sitting there reading the paper. He looked up at me when I entered.

"Hey, dad," I greeted.

"Hey, honey. How was the drive?"

"Fine. I filled up the car on my way home."

My dad nodded slowly, turning the page of his paper. He took another glance at me.

"You're back sooner than I expected," he said. "Not much to see?"

I shrugged, sitting down next to his desk.

"Oh, there's plenty to see. Just not a lot of people out," I sighed, resting my head on my knees. "I met someone though."

"Oh? Who?"

"His name is Sodapop. He works at the gas station I went to. He wouldn't tell me what there was to do around here, but he was nice about it. I guess."

My dad set his paper down, and his eyes looked amused.

"Sodapop, huh?" He asked, smiling. I smiled back, laughing a bit.

"Yeah, that was his name. Could be a nickname though. I may never see him again, so who's to tell?"

"True. But you never know."

That's true. You never really know. So this is where I really think the story starts. The rest of this is all set-up, boring background stuff. There's a lot to tell, and a lot has happened since I met Sodapop Curtis. I mean, it wasn't much of a meeting. Just a few words and a suggested possibility of seeing him again sometime. And I did see him again, plenty of times. Actually, he's one of the main reasons that I was confident enough to do everything I did that following spring. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. A lot happened between my first day of school at Will Rogers' High School and that spring, and it's gonna take me awhile to tell it all. I feel obligated to. It's a story about art classes and world history classes and mixed messages and a lot of conversations between me and a guy named Two-Bit Mathews.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

How can I talk about Two-Bit Mathews without talking first about how I met him? That's a good story, and if he had never decided to open his big mouth that morning, I wouldn't be where I am right now.

And where am I?

Well, I'm kinda in between a rock and a hard place at the moment.

And it's all Two-Bit Mathews' fault.

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A/N: Whew! The rewritten chapter one! Hope you enjoyed it. I would seriously love some reviews: suggestions, encouragement, anything, as long as you're polite and and mean well. Because that would really make my day! I have this pretty well planned out, but encouragement would just be great.