A/N: I do not own any of the characters from The Outsiders. I claim no such brilliance. I own Maggie, her parents, Carla, and Billie.
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I had lived in the same house in the same neighborhood my entire life. It wasn't a nice house and it wasn't a nice neighborhood. Most of the houses in the area were small and old. Some of them, like the Cade's house next door, were falling into disrepair. Others were just old and we kept them as clean and nice as we could.
We weren't treated very well by people who didn't live on the east side of town. The upper class on the west side would barely look at us unless they wanted to insult us, or worse, and the middle classes just stood by the wayside and watched it all happen like their own private movie or something.
In school, I hadn't fit in anywhere. I never tried out for sports or cheerleading because I knew I wasn't popular enough to get in no matter how good I was, and I kept my skirts a decent enough length and my makeup toned down enough that the girls in my own neighborhood accused me of trying to be better than I was. I wasn't, honestly. I was just trying not to be trashy.
I had a few friends. Carla and her little sister, Evie, hung out with me, and some of the boys from the neighborhood were down-right decent to me, but other than that, I had no one. My father hated me and my mother was too terrified of him and too medicated to do anything about it. So I tried to stay out of the way and keep off of everyone's radar. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.
You see, I'm not a looker. I wouldn't be even if I used more makeup. I don't think I'm ugly, or anything, I'm just not remarkable. My hair is a mousy brown and somewhere between straight and curly. It's pretty thick and I'd say I can make it look the way I want it to about one day out of ten. I'm short and curvy. I'm not fat, but I'm short enough that two or three extra pounds has no where to hide either. The only thing I have going for me is my hourglass figure.
My face isn't memorable either, really. My teeth are decent and my lips aren't super thin or super thick, but I couldn't help but wish I had big doe eyes, a defined cheekbone, and a delicate chin. I was just sturdy. I don't really remember a time that someone looked twice at me.
When I was a little girl, I used to imagine being swept away from all of this by a prince or a movie star. When I got a little older, I dreamed that someone else would rescue me. The boy down the street.
He's a year older than me, good looking, and solid. I don't just mean physically, although he was built like a rock by the time he was fifteen. He has a good, sensible head on his shoulders and he sizes up a situation in a heartbeat and makes decisions just as quickly. I never remember him second-guessing himself. Not once. He was the only person I knew who could cross the line between the classes, laughing and joking with his fellow football players one minute, then offering me and Two-bit a ride home the next. That's just who Darry Curtis was.
He was such a good football player and so down to earth, that the entire school accepted him. He was the only one I knew in twelve years of school that had managed to do so. It hadn't mattered where he lived or who his hard-working parents were. All that had mattered to anyone was that he was talented, smart, and likable.
But by the time I was fourteen and he was fifteen, I had realized that the idea of him rescuing me was as laughable as any other boy in school deciding to waste their time with me. He was better than me, even if he did just live around the corner, and he would never see me as anything but the neighbor girl he grew up with. So I resigned myself to the lot my life held.
Which was why, at nineteen, I was walking home from working a double at the diner with a sweater wrapped tightly around me and my head ducked against the wind. I was exhausted and I knew I'd have to fix dinner and clean up after it before I'd be able to go to bed, get up, and do it all over again. When the weather was really bad, I usually took the bus, but a nickel one way added up and we needed the money more than I needed a ride.
The old, green truck puttered past me, and I wasn't surprised when it slowed to a stop and Darry stuck his head out the window. "Hey, Mags," he said in a voice that made my stomach flutter. "Want a lift?"
"Sure," I accepted gratefully and hopped into the truck. Its smell was familiar, sweat and cigarettes. "Thank you."
"No problem," Darry said as he pulled away from the curb. He looked as tired as I felt. "Good day?"
I shrugged. "Decent tips," I told him as I pulled a dollar from my apron, folded it, and tucked it into my shoe. Darry didn't ask what I was doing, he already knew.
My dad took every penny I made and drank or gambled most of it away. I hid barely enough to keep the lights on, the water running, and to occasionally pick up a dress that didn't have holes in it at the thrift store. That was my life at nineteen and it would probably be my life at twenty-nine. I withheld a sigh.
"How was your day?" I managed to ask.
"Better now that it's not quite so hot," Darry admitted. He roofed houses for at least as many hours as I waited tables each day, but neither of us could seem to get ahead much.
"You guys need anything?" I asked. When their parents had passed away just over two years ago, right before my senior year, I'd done what I could for them, but for three boys, they were surprisingly self-sufficient. They could do their own laundry and even put together a decent meal, but I knew Darry had been overwhelmed with everything so I had walked a fine line between being helpful and being in the way. As time went on, I'd slowly backed off, but I always made sure they knew that if they needed anything, all any of them had to do was call. And I still dropped off cookies or a loaf of fresh bread every once in a while.
"Nah," Darry shook his head. "You?"
"Nope," I lied. I needed out, but I'd never ask anyone for that kind of help. Not ever. Because I'd never be able to repay it and around here, people were too proud to take charity unless they were down-right starving.
Darry opened his mouth to say something else as he pulled in front of his house, but even over the rumble of the truck, we both heard a muffled cry.
"Darry! Soda!"
Darry leapt out of the truck so fast, he blurred in front of me. "Stay in the truck!" he hollered at me before he took off running.
Soda was already out of the house, his open DX shirt flapping behind him as he ran toward the open lot, Steve right behind him. Two-Bit appeared from behind Mr. Cooper's house, Dally on his heels. Even Johnny was running toward them from the other direction, his hand already on his back pocket.
I got out of the truck. A mustang was parked near the lot, out of place in this neighborhood, and I looked over to see five nice looking, well dressed boys huddled on the ground. That was what was so messed up about the whole situation between the classes. The upper class kids looked decent, like they'd never cause any trouble, and the kids on the east side look like we cause more trouble than we're worth. So they get away with a lot and we get away with nothing. Plain and simple.
It wasn't until Steve and Soda almost reached them that I realized they had someone pinned to the ground. They hurried back to the car when they realized six guys were headed for them, and even though they all made it safely inside, I watched as Dally heaved a few rocks at the trunk. When the car was safely on down the road, the boys turned and headed back toward Darry who was kneeling on the ground next to something, or someone actually. That person sat up and what I already knew was confirmed. Those boys had jumped Ponyboy.
I couldn't hear them, but I could tell that Ponyboy was shaken up. Soda plopped next to him and talked to him for a minute while everyone else stood around and watched. I didn't want to eaves drop, but I also needed to get home.
It hadn't been easy for me to convince Darry to stop at his house when he gave me a ride. I could walk from there and my dad would never know that a guy had offered me a ride. Like I said, I try to keep my head down, and if that means walking half a block from Darry's house to mine, then that's what I did.
So I started toward them since I'd pass the lot on my way home. Ponyboy was on his feet and all seven of them were walking toward me on the opposite side of the street.
"Hi, Maggie," Two-Bit called out sweetly, as though they were all out for a stroll instead of fighting a bunch of boys two seconds ago. Two-Bit was less than a year younger than me, but he was still a junior in high school, not because he couldn't pass, but because he didn't want to.
"Hey, ya'll," I included everyone in my greeting. "Ya'll okay?" I asked. If I included everyone, than hopefully the baby of the group wouldn't feel like I was singling him out.
"Yeah," Steve nodded. "We're all fine."
I nodded and kept walking. "Have a good evening, Maggie," Darry called after me.
"You too," I said, feeling light-hearted and down-trodden at the same time. I'd learned long ago not to read too much into anyone's pleasantries. Nope, the only one who would really look out for me was me.