Hey! This is my new story, in place of "Love Ain't So Easy" because that story was crappy. My OC is Leslie and whether you remember her or not, she's new and improved. I'm so excited for this, so please give me some constructive criticism. Happy reading! :D

Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders, but I do own Leslie.

Many the Miles

Hail struck down on the still home as thunder caused the bedroom windows to violently vibrate. Elvis's voice effortlessly streamed out of the radio, but not too loudly, for fear that the rest of the household might hear. A couple of skirts were scattered around on the floor, while the rest of the room was tidy and smelled faintly of vanilla.

She gently placed her hand on the windowpane, feeling the uneven vibrations beneath her palm. She carefully searched for any handprints, for her mother would have a fit because she just cleaned. It was best to put away the skirts too, in case her mother would just barge in.

Leslie sighed at the capacious, gray cloud that oversaw Tulsa. If it had been sunny, maybe, just maybe she could have gone outside. It was a shame to waste a beloved Saturday, but it was at least better than being stuck inside school.

She pushed the curtain aside again and stared down at the neighborhood. If only she had a skyline view of the city, than she could possibly get in on the action. Maybe there would be somebody to help, if only she could get out of this pitiful house. Or maybe something extraordinary would happen. If only.

She was grateful to not live in a country of arranged marriages or royal families or pushy suitors. But maybe it would be easier that way, to be forced into something, rather than hope for that incredible moment that wasn't going to happen. But she didn't even know the first thing about romance because she'd never experienced it.

It was getting exceptionally difficult to even look at girls she knew. They stared off dreamily in the hallways, telling her of how their boyfriends bought them roses, or how sweet they acted on their last date. Leslie was always suspicious of this; she'd heard of some of these "sweet" boys jumping greasers for kicks. Everyone was hypocritical.

Yesterday at school had been unusually challenging. A girl Leslie knew had been telling her about one of her latest excursions with her boy when something clicked.

"When are we gonna get you a man, Leslie? How great would that be?" the girl's eyes radiated excitement.

"Oh, I dunno, Lisa. When the time's right, I guess…" she responded nervously. Her stress came from the stupidest sources.

But the truth was, she hadn't taken interest in anybody at school, for some reason. Nobody appeared to stick out of the crowd to her. But everything happened for a reason, and someday she would get her chance.

Boys were rarely after her anyways, and it was better that way. Maybe some did like her, but she never knew. And it didn't matter at all because a relationship had to be a mutual thing.

Deep down in that hopeful, little heart of hers, she just wanted to change everything up. Give all her money to those East Side boys, because they deserved it more than she did. They worked hard and long for their cash, where she'd just be handed some for that pathetic list of chores she was given. What use was money if one day it'd be all gone? She, like other girls, could frivolously spend it on make-up or that sweater that was in style, while many used theirs to keep their family together. And of course there were those that stole and robbed, confined in jail, when possibly they were just desperate for that money. Possibly a good reason too.

If she could, she'd hand all those bills and change to the next greaser boy she would see. Not as charity, really. More like doing what's right. But she knew this wasn't going to happen. Just those stupid hopes of a better life that wasn't real.

But whatever it was she felt tugging at her heart, it gave her a sense of ecstasy. It was a feeling that she was being prepared for something greater than she could imagine, but the unknown was making her impatient. Hopefully, if this time came, she wouldn't screw it up by being too shy.

It wasn't as if anybody would really understand if she told them. So the best thing was to put on that front and keep on living.

Monday

Between classes, Leslie hustled along, trying to avoid any more shallow conversations girls may want to start up with her. Although, the discussion some particular girls were having stopped her in her dash to class. She honestly wasn't sure why she had involuntarily halted, but she couldn't move.

"Yeah, he said it was probably Dallas Winston."

Leslie blended in with the group that was gossiping. "What happened, Lisa?"

Lisa immediately made eye contact with Leslie. "Oh, hi! Well, my boyfriend-"

Here we go again, Leslie thought, agitated.

"-said that Mr. Parker went to stock the shelves in his store, when he noticed a lot of the stuff was gone!"

"Hm, who did it?"

"Well, he told me it was probably Dallas Winston. You know, the greaser?" Lisa scoffed in disgust.

"Was it him for sure?" Leslie asked. She was on to something.

"Well, nobody knows for sure, but chances are, it's him."

Leslie swallowed the anger, letting it burn her throat. She nodded apathetically and made her way to her classroom. As she sat down, she dropped her book on the desk, causing a loud thump to echo throughout the room. The few people in their seats turned to look at her. Her face got warm and she cursed in her head for being so clumsy.

Leslie couldn't concentrate throughout the entire math lesson, which was disadvantageous because she wasn't very good at math. But she couldn't get the tone of Lisa's voice out of her mind. That scoff, as if those greasers weren't worth more than trash. As if they weren't people, too.

She was also curious about that Dallas Winston. She'd recognized the name, but never had a face to match it up with. They made him out to be a real piece of work, a scandalous rebel with no cause. Did they really know? It was easy for her to be apprehensive; she was a prime example of someone who was stereotyped. The greasers must've thought she had it all and would spit on them if given the chance because they didn't see that shy, awkward girl inside who was just looking for something real. And the Socs knew that quiet girl, but they couldn't see that defiant, adventurous heart that was hidden beneath all the plastic.

Beneath the "yes, ma'ams," the good grades, and pretty clothes was a bleeding heart that was screaming for something new. It was possible to have too much of a good thing; she knew firsthand. She was tired of rehearsing for life; it was time for some improvising. And to begin, she was determined to find out what this Dallas looked like. Even if they never shared a word, at least she could picture him in her mind.

But to look for a particular person, one has to know something about them to pick them out from the crowd. After class, Leslie ran up to Lisa, who was a couple feet ahead of her.

"Lisa, what does Dallas look like?" she said, a little out of breath.

"Well, I've never seen him, but I bet I know what he looks like," she sounded obnoxiously confident, "I think dark brown hair and eyes, and pretty tall. I'm gonna go with that. Why?"

"Oh, just curious, is all," Leslie responded nervously. Hopefully she could still take a guess at who he was based on that useless information.

She exited the front door of the school, along with the rest of the mob, and stepped out into the golden sunlight. The warm breeze blew through her hair and she clung to her books. She saw a Soc shove into a greaser a little younger than her as his buddies laughed. The kid regained his composure and continued down the sidewalk.

Leslie, going in the opposite direction, briskly passed him. As she did, she diffidently smiled.