A/N:

This was originally written a long time ago for my other fic, Tell No One, but was taken out because it pulled away from the main plot. I decided to put it up here for you to read as I suffer through the incapability of writing another chapter of Tell No One.

Rating due to one swear word.

The first thing that would happen the moment Paul Holden stepped off the train was that a swarm of rich happy teenagers would circle him, congratulating the boy on his amazing achievements at college.

Paul would then have to pretend he was happy to embrace his adoring fans with a bright smile on his face that was anything but real. He would have to hug his stiff parents who would tell him how proud they were, even though all three of them knew it was a lie.

He would go home to his large mansion that everyone envied and have a big dinner with people he barely knew, only to brag about his so-called wonderful life at college. He would paste a grin on his face and laugh along with the jokes he couldn't even understand, trying as hard as he could to act like he was the most fantastic person in the world.

Paul closed his eyes as the train zoomed through the dense snowfall. His large train compartment he had paid for only to prove that he could suddenly felt too hollow and too lonely. Empty, except for a bed, a couch, a small door leading to a man hired to tend to his every need, and a young man who sat quietly, wishing silently he would never reach his destination.

College had been horrid for Paul. Getting into a great college like the one he went to lead to nothing more than struggling to study ten times as hard to become an even bigger achiever and attending as many parties as he could to build his social status all at once. He would get four hours of sleep every night if he was lucky. His dorm was cluttered with his dirty clothes and the remains of this morning's coffee and he thanked his lucky stars that his old roommate had to get a transfer.

What would be even harder than his experience was to pretend like it was something to be enviable of.

He pursed his lips, gazing out the window and into the falling snow, swirling around his windowpane so much it made him dizzy. He thought that coming home for winter break would be like a big refreshing drink of water, but now he wasn't sure what was worse. Enduring weeks and weeks or stress or coming home to weeks and weeks of butt-kissing.

Paul was pulled away from his thoughts as a sharp knock at his compartment door pounded against his ear drums.

He groaned. "Come in," he said, not trying the least bit to hide his annoyance.

A stuffy old man in an uncomfortable looking suit pushed a small metal cart into his room. "Would you like something to eat?" he asked, sounding freakishly like a robot.

He glanced at the cart pilled high with foods that would do nothing but eat away at his muscles and replace them with fat. "May I have a Coke?"

"I'm sorry," the old man said. "We just ran out of Coke a few minutes ago. We do have a huge selection-"

"I want a Coke," Paul said, not in the mood to put up with this.

"I'm sorry sir, but we've just ran out of Coke," the old man said, sounding a little steamed. "But, as I said before, we do-"

"Well do something about it," Paul snapped, mentally praying for the man to leave.

"Sir-"

"Just get me a damned Coke," he said, burying his face in his palm and pointing towards the door.

Paul waited until he heard the clang of the cart wheeling out of the room followed by the small click of the door closing and the man muttering what he suspected to be "spoiled rich kid," before he raised his head up.

He didn't understand what those greasers thought was so hard about their lives. They didn't have to pretend about everything, or did they have to smile through their hardest days. At least they could call a person family or friend and really mean that.

Paul's mother had hired a maid for Paul of whom felt more like a mother to him that his own mom and his father had drifted so far into the hole of his work that he had completely pulled away from his family. Both of which who were extremely hard to please.

Darry, he thought bitterly about his old high school friend who he had hid his jealously from for so many years. Darry who's parent's must have been angels sent down from heaven, who congratulated their son at every little accomplishment and who probably were actually there as their son grew up. Darry who had little brothers to trust with his secrets while Paul's own brother who was too caught up in his own life to care about Paul. Darry who got all the girls while Paul woke up hours before school started, doing his very best to look good only to fail miserably. Darry, the boy with the poor background and who still managed to surpass Paul despite everything.

The door open again along with a younger man in a matching suit. The annoyed expression on his face was hid behind what he probably thought was a pleasant smile as he held out his arm which was carrying a fancy glass filled with dark liquid.

"It that my Coke?" Paul asked pointedly.

"Yes sir," the man said. "It's your Coke." he said, sounding slightly like he was imitating the boy.

"Well bring it here," Paul said, staring at the murky liquid, wondering if anyone had spat in it.

The man grimaced, but stepped towards Paul's seat, the drink in hand.

Paul sighed as the man left, taking tiny sips of his Coke. Somewhere back at home was Cynthia, a girl who he hardly knew, even though they had been dating for countless years. A girl with a pretty face a lots of money who the whole neighborhood gushed about her and Paul getting married. A girl who Paul had no feelings for.

Paul was someone anyone could easily hate. Someone who had been born into the life of a socialite and who carried more pocket money than some could make in a month. He had been someone who had gotten carried by the lucky stork and someone who wasn't afraid to brag about it.

On the outside, Paul was a snobby self-centered Soc who would put himself first before even bothering to think about someone else. It wasn't his fault. He had grown up with people who had done the exact same things and who had told him it was the only way to get through life. And as horrible as it sounded, Paul agreed.

Having more just meant you had more to lose, and having more to lose just meant having more fear to lose it. Them greasers, they had close to nothing. The could take all the chances they wanted in a blink of an eye and not ever fear about gravity pulling them back down.

Being at the top of the world and still being clutched tightly in the fists of society was something Paul found hard to believe.

As the train skidded to a stop at the train station of Tulsa, Paul snitched a quick glance as the millions of smiles scattered around the small space, eager to see Tulsa's brilliant offspring. Paul put on a bitter smile and gave himself a quick glance in the mirror to ensure he looked as gorgeous as ever before flinging open the door the embrace the crowd.

Paul life was nothing but a life of pretending. A life where nothing was or ever could be real. Something Paul had known since he was a little child. Something Paul had learned to accept. And even though it was anything but easy, and even though it caused so much stress, is was still his life. A life with good parts and bad parts, just like the middle-class and even just like the greasers. And that was how it always would be.

A/N: It's been four hours and my writer's block has not been shaken, so I might add another chapter about how Darry sees the whole thing or something like that. But probably not, as I've already proven I don't make very good choices.