Prompt from Emolicich1. Read and Review!

Warnings: slight hints of verbal abuse

Greasers. Hoods. Scumbags. That's what we ALL call them. They do nothing but tear up this town and scare off good classy citizens and by 'citizens', I mean the Westside Soc.

I'm driving this shiny Blue Mustang. It's darker in paint than most Mustangs are, more like a sapphire than a sky blue. I was told to buy some things from- what is it called- the DX?

I am shocked as I pull up to see these Hoods in their leather jackets.

They were all tough looking boys with these cold smoldering eyes. I am definitely not wanted.

One guy walked up like he owned the place. "Lost doll," he smiled wickedly. He was wasted. I recognized him as Tim Shepard, one of the toughest hoods alive. "We hate Socs..." He took a drag of his cigarette. It was a Cool. Only Greasers smoked Cools. "Want one?" he asked, not so nicely.

"I know people like you, Tim Shepard," I shouted. This guy was always in trouble with the law. He had a criminal record. Rumor was that he slashed someone's throat and got away with it.

"How would you like it if I got us a room...?"

By 'room,' I knew what he was hinting at.

I slapped him and his head spun around, leaving my mouth open at what I had done.

His little brother whistled behind us. I glared at the cat calling teenager and the offender that I had slapped before storming off. Stomping into the gasoline station, I began to gather the things I needed as quickly as I could. I heard that this gasoline station is full of Greasers. I slammed the objects on the counter, watching out the windows for any sign of the Shepard gang, prepared to slap one of them again if they came near me.

"Sorry 'bout them," the guy behind the counter said. I looked up and blushed. The clerk had pale skin and wheat gold hair, heavily greased, that was almost to his shoulders it was so long. His brown eyes were lively and dancing, twinkling in the sunlight with amusement. "Not all Greasers are like that."

"Doubt that," I said, trying not to feel attracted to someone that had more grease in his hair than necessary. "Just ring me up."

"What's your name?" He questioned with a charming smile.

"Tiffany, Tiffany Quinn Adderson."

"Well, I am Sodapop, Sodapop Patrick Curtis. Most people call me Soda though."

I looked at him like he was stupid. "You gotta be joking."

"If I had a dime for every time someone doubted that Soda was my real name, I'd live in a manor," he chuckled. "Hey, are you related to Randy Adderson?" he asked as he rung up some air fresheners for my car.

"He's my older brother, why?" I snapped, defensively, trying not to get lost in the liquid pools that he called eyes.

"I think he's friends with my kid brother. I'm not sure though. I think it's more of an alliance or something. It's all very confusing."

"What's his name?"

"Ponyboy. He's a few years below Randy," Soda smiled and I could tell he was proud of his little brother.

"Is he fourteen?"

"Almost fifteen, why?"

"He's in a few of my classes."

"Oh, so you're fourteen, too?"

"Turned fifteen last month. You?" I raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Seventeen."

He bagged the items and placed it in my hand. "There you go, Tiffany. Hope to see you again."

"Don't count on it, Greaser." Yet, deep down, I knew I'd be returning soon. That Sodapop Curtis was something.

Sure enough, I was back the next week and in a bad mood. All I wanted was a coke and a bag of chips. You see, I'm a stress eater and the boat load of tests right around the corner and my cracking friendship with Cherry were not helping me at all.

What? She had a crush on Steve Randall, the Greaser! I was sure that he was a jerk, but she thought he had a soft side. Yeah right!

I waltzed in and grabbed my desired items before placing them on the counter.

"Bad day?" Soda asked.

"You wouldn't believe."

"Come on."

"Fine, I need to vent anyway. My school is piling up our work. On top of studying for finals, they expect us to do all these study guides and packets and worksheets. The fact that one of my best friends won't talk to me isn't helping either. "

"Why won't she talk to you? If you don't mind me asking," Soda rushed to tell me.

"I don't mind. Her name's Sherri, but we call her Cherry because she has red hair."

"I know her. Last time I saw her though, we were in court after the incident."

I nodded. Everyone knew about what had happened with Bob and the JDs/heroes.

"Well, anyway, she has a crush on this greaser- no offense- and I'm not a fan of him. I hear from people that he's a jerk and I don't want her to get hurt."

"What's his name?"

"Steve Randall."

Soda stopped ringing the items up. "He's a good guy, you know," he said carefully. "My best friend since kindergarden."

I straightened. I'm not a fan of greasers, but Soda seemed like a good guy. "Oh, I didn't mean-"

He smiled. "It's fine. Steve acts like a jerk, but only because he's afraid. "

"Of what?" I questioned, curiously.

"I've asked him that so many times that I've lost track. Maybe he's afraid of getting hurt. His dad's hurt him enough times for a life time."

"I can relate." He looked at me in disbelief. "My mom is always pressuring me to be perfect, get perfect grades, lose ten pounds or no guys'll like you, stuff like that. She'd kill me if she knew I was eating chips right now. What about your parents?"

Soda stiffened. "My mom and dad are dead."

"Oh, um, I'm so sorry."

"Relax, you didn't know."

"Sooo... who takes care of you?"

He grinned. "My older brother, Darry. He's twenty."

"Wow. You know, sometimes, I wonder if Randy would do that for me," I blurted.

He looked up in shock. "Of course he would."

"I don't think so. He's kind of lost touch with the family. I bet when he graduates, he'll be out the door like a shot. Maybe he won't even come home on graduation day. He might just leave." Damn it, me and my stupid mouth. I'd just told a guy I barely knew one of my deepest secrets! Why did I do stuff like that?

He leaned against the counter as if debating whether or not to tell me a something. "I wondered the same thing about Darry and look where we are now. We're happy and doing okay. I'm sure that if the situation required it, Randy would take you in like Darry did for me and Pony."

Although I wasn't totally convinced, I smiled. "Thanks, Soda."

"Anytime. Stop by whenever you need to vent, 'kay? Pony showed me that holding in your feelings isn't healthy."

"You too, Soda, you too." I walked out, grinning slightly at the confused look on Soda's face. He'd understand someday and I, Tiffany Quinn Adderson, would make sure of that.