Prolouge

"Denny! Wake up!" I yawned and rubbed my eyes. I looked up to see my father, with light graying hair, and more wrinkles then a pug dog. He's not old, he's exhausted. He's been through a lot.

"What Daddy?"

"School," he grunted.

"Great, my first day at Hick High," I mumbled, aggravated. He ignored me. He's been doing that a lot lately.

"Be ready to leave at 8." He said, before walking off. I sighed and forced myself out of bed.

I took a shower, and brushed my teeth. I looked in the mirror on the bathroom wall at my elbow length light blonde hair, and bright blue eyes.

"I'm really pale," I muttered. I bit my lip and but on my jet black eyeliner. It's the only makeup I wear, ever. Mom always said I was naturally pretty. I never quite believed her, but makeup is such a hassle anyways. I quickly brushed my hair, and then walked back through the hallway to my bedroom with my thick fluffy towel wrapped around me. I don't like this house, it's too small. I miss having my own bathroom connected to my bedroom. Of course I expected it, less income, smaller house. I never complained. Dad has enough on his mind. I sighed.

My room is too plain. White walls and a hardwood floor. Mattress on the side, with no bed frame because dad couldn't afford the next size up U-Haul. Even the bed was plain, with nothing on it, and the floor was covered with unopened boxes and suitcases. I planned on leaving the unpacking until last minute.

I opened the one suitcase that wasn't sealed tight, and dumped it out on the floor. I'm not exactly the cleanest of the bunch. I looked through the pile of clothes, and threw on a pair of blue skinny jeans and my Chuck Taylor's. Only men wear them, but I'd never really cared what they think. I'm the girl who refuses to wear a dress and heels to school. I threw on a white wife beater – also not exactly proper, and headed to the kitchen. The kitchen also looked extremely empty, like it wasn't even our new home. Dad was sitting at the round oak table, reading the newspaper at the newspaper. He looked up at my entrance.

"Ready?" he asked, and I bit my lip.

"I haven't eaten." Usually my dad makes pancakes. Blueberry, banana, or chocolate chip. Mom and I both always loved pancakes. He made them for us. But now she's gone.

"You can eat at school," he replied, and you could tell how hard he was trying to keep all of the emotion out of his voice. I sighed, and grabbed my red leather jacket as we headed out to his car.

I wasn't really paying much attention to the old lady blabbering on about the importance of the civil war. The kids next to me were more interesting. One who's hair was somewhere between red and brown, who definitely looked to old to be in a freshman history class, and the other whose hair was ridiculously blonde and greasy. They were talking about me, with no idea I was listening.

"So, Pony, do you think she's a greaser or a soc?"

"I don't know, but the fights have stopped anyways," replied the blonde, who was for some reason, called Pony.

"She sure looks like a greasy girl, but she came here in a Mustang," added the ginger.

"I don't know, Two-Bit," said the Pony, before turning back to the teacher.

I laughed and rolled my eyes before turning to the one called Two-Bit, people sure do have odd nicknames around here.

"I'm neither," I informed him, "I'm an original." Back in California most were beach bums, but we still knew what the greasers and the socs were.

He nodded with a crooked smile. "I dig. You wanna be my partner for the project?"

"Sure," I said, "Why not?" He nodded.

"Find me after school. You can meet they rest of the gang, they'll like a pretty little broad like you."

"I'm not little," I replied simply. He laughed.

"Of course not, doll face."

"I sure hope the rest of your gang isn't as annoying as you," I smirked. He wasn't really all that annoying.

"You'll like Sodapop," he told me.

"You country boys sure got some weird nicknames." I said with a smile.

"That's his real name."

"Right," I said, unconvinced.

"What's yours?"

"Denise."

"I dig." I nodded. I hoped that I really do like this Sodapop. Moving to Oklahoma wouldn't be a complete waste.