I do not own The Outsiders. All rights go to S.E. Hinton.
I strutted down the hall, letting my leather jacket swing back and forth, hitting my twin sister's chiffon rose dress. My heel of my boots clicked against the floor as my sister's flats made a soft pad sound, almost silent. My head was straight high in the air, while my sister's red lips following the stream of air. I glanced at my bitten-down and ripped fingernails and then took a look at my twin's; red and long. We were so different; yet so alike.
Everybody surrounding us, a sea of students and adolescents, stared at us, some tapping others on their shoulders, some laughing, some not even noticing. But we had our heads high and proud, swaggering down the halls like we owned the place.
I looked down at the strip of paper the lady at the front handed me. Locker 2012; combination; 17-05-24. I spotted locker 2012 from a distance and made a path out of the teenagers to my locker.
"Seventeen…" I mumbled to myself, turning the black dial slowly and with caution. "Five…" I switched gears and turned the dial counterclockwise.
"If you're learning your combination, you don't need to. I got all you need," A low northern accent sneered. I guess he was speaking to me.
"Uh, actually, I'm almost done," I raised my head, letting my brown wavy hair spill onto the sides of my face to see a tall guy in the same leather attire I was acquiring and thick bushy eyebrows and dark brown hair. He had a couple rings stuck onto is fingers, his hands were huge, and he had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
"Well, baby, I'll be done. Step aside," He pushed me out of his way and pressed his ear against the locker. He nodded and bit the inside of his lip and smiled. He straightened up and jabbed his elbow into the middle of it and slapped the top of it. The door swung open, revealing a dark dusty vacant space with a gray metal strip for a shelf.
"There you go, babe," He winked, taking the cigarette from in between his teeth.
"I got a name, you know," I informed him, shoving him aside to slam my duffle bag onto the bottom of the empty closet.
"Oh, well, sweets, you wanna tell me it?" He questioned. I looked up from the floor. I realized he had deep brown warming eyes that compelled to tell him my name, maybe even my story.
"I'm Dottie Williams."
"Ah, Williams. Name's Dallas. Winston comma Dallas," He said, holding out her palm. I slapped it and smiled. He snickered and stuck the cigarette back onto his tongue.
"Dallas? You were named after a city in Texas?"
"No, ma'am. Dallas was named after me," He chuckled and leaned against the locker next to mine, blowing a perfect smoke ring out into the air.
"Now, tell me, Dottie, why a pretty tough girl like you is doin' here in ole Tulsa, Oklahoma?" Dallas said.
"Well, Dallas-"
"Oh, please, doll, call me Dally."
"And please call me Dottie, not doll." He raised his eyebrows.
"And to answer your question, Dally, my mother transferred here from Argentina."
'Argentina? Don't they speak Portuguese there or somethin'?"
"Shut up! No!"
"Sorry, Dot, didn't know you'd get so offended by that."
"It's a long story."
"Well, I don't got no time right now to hear it, but I'd like to hear about it another time. Who's your homeroom?"
"Galleria."
"Oh, my little Johnny's in there. Just ask for a Johnny Cade and you'll be under control. What about second period?"
"Burtough."
"I got him. Third?"
"Just take my schedule," I handed him the slip of paper. He nodded while thoroughly gnawing on the inside of his cigarette.
"I got you in my second, third, fifth, and seventh hour. I'll see you in second period. Oh, Fourth hour you got my friend Steve Randle. Sixth you got Two- bit Mathews. And second, third, and fifth you got me, Ponyboy Curtis, and Sodapop Curtis." Three rings of the shrill bell ricocheted throughout the school hallways.
"I'll see you in second hour, sweets."
"It's Dottie," He handed me my schedule.
"Oh, yeah. I'll see you in second hour, Dottie Francis," He winked and ran away, laughing.
XXXXXXXX
"So, Marilyn, how was your homeroom?" I asked my twin when I spotted her fro outside the door.
"Oh, great. I met this really great, funny guy," She winked and laughed, hugging her books to her chest.
"Me, too. He's gonna be in my second hour," I said as she ooed and poked my arm.
"Whoa, Mary Jane, no touchin' the jacket. You know how I feel about it," I said. She backed off and walked silently.
"Who do you have second period?" She continued to make conversation, striving for a topic.
"Burtough."
"Heard he's boring."
"Probably is."
"Yup…" We had nothing to talk about. I'm a hardcore tomboy with a motorcycle and my sister was a complete and total clone of Marilyn Monroe, including the name. My mom said I could change my name to Audrey and dress up like Aubrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Anyway, I smoke cigs anyway. Why not smoke a three feet long cigar? Oh wait, because I'm not Audrey Hepburn.
"So what was this guy's name?" Marilyn asked, her flats making that flat noise again.
"Uh, Dally."
"Funny. My guy's name is Dallas." I stopped in my tracks.
"Funny? What's this Dallas's last name?"
"Uh… I don't know. He sits next to me in Homeroom."
"Oh my Gosh, Marilyn, do you sit in alphabetical order?"
"Yeah."
"His last name is Winston."
"Oh…"
"I cannot believe this. The only time I meet a guy I like and you take him less then two minutes later. Go on, Ms. Monroe, take every guy in sight!" I hollered and stomped off.