A/N: Hey guys. I know I should be updating More than friends, Darling, but I really dislike that story. For those of you who read it, I'm not giving up on it, and I just need a break from it because i personally think I could've done much better with it. This story is What it the Color of Love! I'm very proud of this chapter, I feel like it's pretty good. It is in first person, and the main character is Dahlia Collins. I am doing a song for every chapter. Why? Because I just sort of felt like it. My chapters for this story are pretty long so far, just a warning.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, they rightfully belong to Miss Hinton. I do not own the song Real Wild Child by Iggy Pop either. (yes, that is the song from the movie, only this is a cover by Iggy Pop that I feel captures this chapter better)

Gonna meet all my friends
Gonna have ourselves a ball
Gonna tell all my friends
Gonna tell them all
That I'm a wild one
Ooh yeah I'm a wild one

Chapter One: Dahlia Collins

I entered the DX station slowly, fighting past the swarms of girls smothering the boy at the counter. I never made trips in here often, mainly because of all these girls. I ain't like all them other girls. I knew this boy was cute, but hell, not that cute. Maybe if I could see colors, he'd be cuter.

I grabbed a Coke and a bag of chips off the shelves and made my way to the counter. I had to nearly fight my way through the crowd. I put my things on the counter and the boy rang me up. Yeah, he was cute, he'd probably be even cuter if I knew what color his eyes were, or what color his hair was.

"Is this it?" he asked with a smile.

I pointed to a package of Kools cigarettes. He nodded and grabbed a carton. I was glad this station didn't check ID's or anything. He put the cigarettes on the total.

"That'll be $3.1o" he said. Damn, cigarettes were awfully expensive, but they were good. They were calming, and good for when you need to look tough. Before I could fish out all my money a boy walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey buddy, you seen Seth?" this boy asked. He glanced at me, but quickly turned back to the cashier. I noticed her had dark hair, I couldn't tell the color, but it was dark. Probably black, if not a very dark brown. He wore a blue DX shirt unbuttoned; at least I thought it was blue, that's what I remember it being. He had a nice build to him, that's for sure. He had dark stains all over his hands, arms, torso, and even some on his face; oil I was assuming.

"No, not all, why?" the cashier asked.

"His car ain't going to be done for a while an' I told 'em it'd be done soon," he said.

"Oh alright, well if I see him, I'll tell 'em to wait a little bit," the cashier said.

"Do you want help?" I blurted. I immediately clamped my mouth tightly shut. The two boys stared at me.

"I don't need no help," car boy spat at me.

"My apologies," I said and threw my money on the counter. I fought through the crowd of girls again, trying to escape the gas station.

I started walking down the street slowly. Guys don't think girls can work on cars. I guess most ain't got the slightest clue where the mufflers and carburetors are on a car let alone change their oil or even change a tire. I used to look at cars when I was little. One day I opened up the hood and I was amazed. I asked my dad if he'd teach me. He agreed completely. My dad had a thing for cars when he was younger. He seemed very pleased when I asked him, come to think of it.

Mama said it was un-lady-like to work on cars. Dad and I still did it though. When Mama ran off, Dad stopped working on cars with me. But I didn't give up just because she ran off; I had learned a few things off the streets about cars. I was so young when she ran away, though, so Dad didn't teach me all he knew. I think part of me only works on cars in spite of Mama. I wasn't exactly a car whiz, but I knew plenty, especially though for a girl.

I pulled my carton of cigarettes out of my jacket pocket. I stared at it terribly hard. I was hoping that if I stared hard enough at things, colors would reappear. They never did though. I wished I could go back to when I could see colors. But I couldn't; that's all part of 'life isn't fair' I guess.

I gave up and just lit one. I took a long sloe drag on it. I looked around wondering where I should go the day before school starts. I thought about catching a movie, but quickly thought against it. I go to the movies a lot, but I hardly can sit through the whole thing. I usually get antsy and need to talk or move. That's why when I go to see a movie, I go to a drive in so I can talk to people and walk around.

It seemed like everything to do had been done. I thought about hanging out with Amy. Amy was good buddy of mine. She was a middle class girl and always played it safe. Never smoked, never drank. I didn't know how or why we were friends, but we were.

I thought maybe it was because she didn't judge people. If someone smoked, she didn't think anything different about them. If someone drank, she didn't care. If something bad happened in town, she didn't immediately assume it was greasers.

I decided that I'd walk to her house and hang out for a little bit. Her mom didn't like me all too well. She preferred Amy to hang out with socs over greasers. I didn't always consider myself I greaser, though; I was just a poor girl. I didn't even really have a gang.

On the other hand, I dressed like a greaser. Tight jeans, leather or jean jacket, old shoes, poofy hair. I smoked and drank too. But unlike other greasers, I didn't get in fights all the time, and I don't throw myself on all kinds of guys.

I reached Amy's house and knocked on the door as politely as I could. I didn't know why I bothered; her mom would prefer a classy rich soc over a greaser as Amy's friend any day. What adult wouldn't?

I was relieved when Amy answered the door and not her mom. "Hi, Dahlia," she said with a smile.

"Hi, Amy," I replied with a small smile.

She walked out of her house and shut the door behind her. I took the time to light another cigarette. Amy looked at it emotionlessly. "Dahlia, you better put that out before my Mama sees," she said bluntly.

"Let's go somewhere else then," I said with a shrug. I didn't see any reason to waste a perfectly good catch stick.

Amy Shrugged back and we both started walking. We were just walking through the neighborhood, nowhere in particular. We were silent the whole time too. I wasn't the kind who seeks company to talk. I sought out company simply for the company. But eventually I asked her the questions I always did when I was with Amy. "Amy, what color is my hair?" I asked.

She looked at me for a second. "Same color it was last time, brown," she said. She was the only one I told about my color blindness.

"What color are my eyes?" I asked.

"Same they were last time," she said.

"Chocolate colored?" I asked.

"Yeah. Dahlia, are you ever afraid of forgetting what colors look like?" she asked.

It always surprised me how Amy knew my fears. Well, maybe not know them, but she asked right questions. "Yeah, yeah I am," I admitted. Amy was the only person who knew things like that.

After living like I do, I learned to be tough. After Mama left and Dad became distant to life, I was on my own. I was only eight then.

"Have you forgotten any yet?" Amy asked through squinted eyes. The sun was blinding.

"Probably," I said with a shrug.

"What do you mean 'probably'?" Amy asked quizzically.

"Well, I mean, I probably don't remember the exact shade of red of a stop sign, or if you told me that car is a reddish-orange, who knows if I'm imagining the right color?" I said. It was the truth. Maybe when someone said green, I wasn't even imagining green.

"Boy that sucks. You wanna go to Mac's Diner for a bite?" Amy asked, gesturing to the restaurant.

"Sure," I obliged. We turned onto the main road towards the diner.

"Did you get your schedule for school yet?" Amy asked, looking on either side of the road.

"Yeah," I said just walking across.

"Who do you have?" she inquired, catching up to me.

"Oh, I don't know. I have break after 3rd hour though. I have theatre 5th hour, but I'm probably going to skip that class most of the time. I don't know why I even signed up for it," I said with a sigh.

"That's a drag. I have break after 4th hour and I didn't take theatre," Amy said.

"Well, what did you take?" I asked her.

"Art," she said plainly.

I nodded. I would never be able to take art. I'd never get the colors right. Hell, if I took art, everyone would know I was color blind and I don't need that.

"You could've taken band or something," Amy said.

"I ain't for band geeks," I mumbled.

"But you can play guitar," Amy protested. She had a point. I had an old beat up six-string. My dad had bought it for me when I was seven. It was too big for me then. He had told me, "Honey, I want you to learn how to play this. For some people, it's the only thing that keeps people sane."

Now, I see people living on the streets and a lot of them have harmonicas or guitars. I figure knowing how to play kept them sane. By ten I had known enough chords to have fun with it, which I did.

"Yeah but that's the thing, I already know how. Besides, band music sucks, I like real songs that are fun to play," I said, opening the door to the diner.

"Yeah, I guess," Amy said walking in behind me. Some guy took us to our table and gave us menus. We were quiet for a while; I was okay with it though. Amy and I didn't really need to talk; we enjoy each other's company. I noticed the diner was full of mostly teenagers. They were all probably relishing the last day of summer as Amy and I were. The same boy took our order and claimed it'd be out soon.

"What would you do if you ever came into a bunch of money?" Amy asked curiously.

What would I do? I thought for a long while about it, long enough that Amy thought I wasn't going to answer her. I sometimes didn't, I didn't do it on purpose, I just sometimes didn't hear her, or acknowledge the question. "I don't really know. What would you do?" I asked.

"Oh I'd buy all I could. Nice clothes, nice car, nice house, nice everything," Amy said, surprised that I didn't say that.

"I guess if I came into money like that I wouldn't know what to do with it," I said with a shrug. As I said this our food came out and Amy immediately started to eat her fries.

"Well wouldn't you buy new things? Wouldn't you buy nice clothes?" Amy asked between bites.

"I kinda like this fashion. Why buy expensive clothes that aren't even nice looking when a t-shirt and leather jacket work out just fine? Or, why go out and buy name brand things when the cheaper stuff works out just fine? I admit I would like a nice and new car, but other than that…." I said, not bothering to finish off the sentence.

"I guess you're right, huh?" Amy said staring down at her cheeseburger. "You like being a greaser don't you?" she asked suddenly.

"Well, now, I ain't really a greaser am i?" I asked in a almost rhetorical voice.

"Are you a soc?"

"Nope," I said leaning my chair back on two legs.

"Are you middle class?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Nope, nope," I said dropping my chair suddenly back on two legs.

"So what's left?" she asked.

"Not necessarily a greaser. Just because you're poor doesn't make you a greaser," I said.

"Oh really?" Amy asked cocking up one eyebrow. "'Round here it does. Besides, you have other friends who proudly consider themselves greasers," she said.

"Well it ain't like I got a gang or nothing," I said a little too sharply.

"Whatever," she said.

XxX

I went home a little after Amy's older brother swung by saying her mom was looking for her. When I cam ein the door I saw my dad mulling over some papers, beer bottles scattering his desk. I silently hoped they all weren't from today.

"Hey, kid," he said gruffly.

"Hey, Dad," I said quietly, trying to adjust to the dim light. Dad liked to work in really low light, I never understood why.

"You're home early he remarked, not looking up from his papers. He was a lawyer. He went to a little law school but didn't follow through. He's stuck with what he calls a "street lawyer". People hire him off the streets if they can't get a real lawyer. But that way he hardly gets paid at all. I didn't know why he didn't go out and look for a real job.

"Yeah I didn't feel like hangin' around town," I said with a shrug heading towards my bedroom.

"Well that's good; you got school tomorrow," I heard him say as I slid into my room.

I looked at my backpack leaning against my door frame. Boy, I didn't want to go to school. Hell, I was thinking of dropping out. Dad wouldn't let me though. He has hopes of me going to college and what not. Do better than him kind of thing.

I didn't make good grades or anything. College on a scholarship was out of the question, and I wasn't good at sports either. I think dad knew that he couldn't put me through college, but he held onto some hope. Little hope.

I shook my head to clear it and mellow out. I picked up my acoustic guitar out of the corner of the room and sat back down on my bed. I strummed a few chords, no song in mind.

Sometimes I played songs, I knew a lot, even some Beatles. I couldn't sing all too great though, so I never played songs all the way through.

While I was playing I thought about how school was going to play out for me this year. I thought I should try and not be such a smart ass. I was going to be a junior after all. Part of me said I should take school more seriously. The other part of me said I had time to shape up for life.

Gotta break it loose
Gonna keep 'em movin' wild
Gonna keep 'em swingin' baby
I'm a real wild child

A/N: Well I would love to hear what you all think! I know that the grammar isn't perfect in the dialogue, but that is only to further capture the way I imagined them talking with the accents and what not. Read and Review! I'll take any questions you have (like if you are confused about something).
Until next time! (: