Chapter 1

"Hurry up, Michael!" I shouted up the stairs. "We're going to be late!" My younger brother tramped down the stairs slowly, pale as a ghost and looking terribly uncomfortable in slacks and a button down flannel shirt. "Mom's idea," he mumbled miserably as he noticed my confused glance at his choice of attire.

"I can't have you looking like that on your first day, you'll embarrass me!" I said jokingly. Michael was not amused. "I'm only kidding. Honestly, you'd sweat to death in that thing. It's supposed to be 95 degrees today. Let's hurry on upstairs and find you something else."

After settling on a short-sleeved shirt that both Michael and I approved of, we headed out the door. "Nervous?" I asked him. I realized what a stupid question this was as soon as the words left my mouth. "High school really isn't all that bad," I said, but Michael just looked at me blankly. "Really! All it takes is a couple of days to get used to it. You'll be fine." I punched him playfully on the arm, but I wondered who I was really trying to convince—Michael or myself.

"Stacy!" Michael rubbed his arm. I guess I hit him harder than I thought. "Please, not today." He took a few heavy, nervous breaths before asking, "Can you go through everything you told me last night, just one more time? Please?"

"Okay. To open your locker, it's once to the right, then left, but all the way around, and keep going left until you end up on the second number. And then right again. It's easy, really. Get to Mr. Peterson's class extra early, or he'll hit you with a detention faster than you can say 'tardy.' Your homeroom is upstairs, the first room on the right Make friends with your guidance counselor—it's probably Mr. Kennedy, that's who I have. If you can't find anyone to sit with at lunch I'll save you a seat. And whatever you do, avoid the Greasers. They're bad news. But I don't think you'll have to worry too much about them, they're hardly ever in the advanced classes that you're in. If you see them in the halls or anything, though—stay away."

Michael's eyes were real wide. I was unsure if this outpouring of information made him feel more comfortable, or just more nervous. At this time we crossed the last street before arriving at the front of the school building. From about fifty feet away, a few of my friends spotted me and broke away from the group of Socs they had been chattering away with.

"Stacy! Hi!" Julie shouted as she ran toward me. She nearly tackled me to the ground as she hugged me, as if we hadn't just seen each other three days earlier. Linda and Christine followed close behind her. For a few minutes we made ridiculous small talk—so-and-so did this or that, that boy got so much cuter, that kind of thing—before Julie seemed to suddenly notice my brother's presence. "Oh, Michael!" she exclaimed. "I'd forgotten you start high school this year! The little baby's growing up!" She pretended to pinch his cheek. This was very stupid, seeing as Michael was only a grade behind us. "Sorry," I mouthed to him as he looked at me with an expression somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed.

"Oh my gosh, Bob Sheldon was just telling us the funniest story about his uncle's boat! You've got to hear it, Stacy!" Next thing I knew, Linda had a firm grip on my arm and was pulling me in the direction of Bob and his gang. As I was forced to follow, I turned and looked back apologetically at my brother, who stood and shook his head before heading into the school building.

I listened to the second half of Bob's painfully unfunny boat story until the warning bell finally rang. "I'll see you guys at lunch," I said to my friends as I headed into homeroom. Mrs. Gibson gave the same boring spiel that all teachers are required to give on the first day—tasteful dress only, no gum chewing in class, respectful behavior expected in the classroom, the halls, and the cafeteria…

I snapped back to attention at the sound of the bell signaling the start of our first class—for me, English. Mr. Syme smiled and greeted each of us as we entered the room. "I'd like to seat you alphabetically for now, it'll help me learn your names faster. I apologize for any mispronunciations. He held a copy of the class roster in one hand and used the other to direct Kenny Alexander to the first seat of the first row. "Susan Becker," Mr. Syme then called out, and she took her place behind Kenny. Our teacher paused for a second, and I swore I saw a fleeting smirk before he said the third name.

"Ponyboy Curtis?" It definitely sounded like a question. It was quiet in the split second before the boy stepped forward, but the moment he did, no one seemed to have any qualms about laughing out loud right at him. They might have held back if the boy wasn't a Greaser, but his very slick hair and old plain clothes told the other kids everything they needed to know. Mr. Syme immediately silenced the class, but even I found myself holding back a smirk, even though I had no right to laugh at someone else's name. But really—Ponyboy?

The boy showed no signs of embarrassment as he took his assigned seat. As Mr. Syme continued to direct the class to their seats, I wondered if maybe everyone was so quick to laugh out of nervousness. None of us had ever had a Greaser in our class before—as I told Michael, none of them had ever been at the same advanced level. I tried to reassure myself—he couldn't cause any trouble during class, right? He'd never dare try anything while a teacher was in the room, would he?

As I realized my name was coming up soon on the class roster, I braced myself for the usual giggles that accompanied the use of my full name. "Eustacia McGowan?" As expected, several people snickered, and I couldn't help but feel my cheeks reddening as I sat down. I didn't look up until the attention had been drawn away from me as the next name was called. When I finally did, I noticed Ponyboy Curtis was still looking right at me. We made eye contact for a moment before we both looked away.

The rest of my classes were much of the same—introduction of the teacher, distribution of the syllabus, and assigning of seats. Ponyboy Curtis was in almost all of my classes. Many of the same people had the same schedule as both of us, but even as the day went on the snide remarks and laughter directed at Ponyboy didn't stop. "Damn Greaser's got no right to be here," I heard one boy whisper. "Look at that oily hair… he likes it that way?" a girl muttered in disgust. It didn't seem to bother Ponyboy, though. It was as if he didn't even hear.

In the cafeteria, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Michael sitting with a group of boys he had played soccer with over the summer. I soon noticed Julie, Christine and Linda waving frantically at me, and I joined them at their table.

"Scott Thompson's parents are going out of town next weekend—you know what that means," Christine said with a mischievous grin. Linda nudged my shoulder. "What?" I asked, even though I knew I was starting to blush.

"Stacy, we know you've liked Scott since, like, last school year. Plus he's cute, you should go!"

"I don't know, guys, I think I might be busy," I said. I'd been to a couple of parties thrown by my classmates before, and I hadn't had any fun. Not that the parties were necessarily lame or that I was antisocial or anything, that type of thing really just didn't interest me. Julie groaned. "You are such a killjoy." She rolled her eyes. The remainder of lunch discussion consisted of mindless gossip concerning who would and wouldn't be invited to Scott's party and why. For the first time I could remember, I was actually grateful for lunch period to be over.

After school, I met up with Michael outside. "How'd it go?" I asked.

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," he said with a sheepish smile.

"See? I told you. I told Julie I'd wait for her here, and then we're gonna walk to the ice cream shop. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah!" He replied enthusiastically. It was a silly question to ask, really.

We met up with Julie and headed in the direction of the ice cream shop. It wasn't long before I noticed Ponyboy and two of his friends farther back, taking the same route we were. Julie saw me turn around, and she did the same. "Ugh, they're probably following us," she said as she started to walk faster. "Those pervs."

Ten minutes later, the three of us were seated at an outdoor table enjoying chocolate ice cream cones when I heard a soft, rather shy voice behind me. "Hey, Stacy." I turned to see that the voice belonged to Ponyboy Curtis. I wasn't sure how to react, but he continued, "I think I—"

But Julie cut him off. "What are you doing, Greaser?" she shrieked. "Get out of here, hood!" He stood in shock and embarrassment as Julie grabbed my arm and pulled me along beside her as she hurried away. For a brief second I looked back.

I don't think I'd ever seen anything quite as sad as the look in Ponyboy Curtis's eyes that day.