Authors Note: Okay, I don't know how well this will go over, but this idea came to me the other day out of the clear blue sky (and yes it was clear and blue that day.). So, I finally decided to write it, and upon letting choice persons, who know who they be, read it, I was pushed to put it up and make it into a story. So I hope you all like it. This first part is an extended metaphor, not too painful if I say so myself. Its something you should keep an eye for in the rest of the story though. I will incorporate it. Have fun!

B DISCLAIMER: I do not own any characters that you see in I The Outsiders /I . My appreciation to SE Hinton who was genius enough to come up with the book and the characters we all know. All things referring to the book and characters are courtesy of SE Hintona and I will never claim to be genius enough to come up with that. Good enough? I own nothing be the metaphor idea and anything else that is mine... /B

A deck of cards, rightfully played out on a table, your table, your life. Chips set out, and players ready. It begins at birth, the start of a long game of which you will never leave. The primary players filter in and out of the game; your parents, friends, family, enemies, and every other obscure person that will affect your pathetic life. They all get a hand, and play it. Sometimes it ends good, sometimes it doesn't. Life is a game of poker.

This was something I thought about a lot now; the game of life. A struggle any way you look at it, and one everyone plays. Most people I knew had been dealt a nice set of cards in the beginning, and steadily made it up the chain. They were those I referred to as socs. Always having money and all. Then there were us greasers, having a slightly worse hand in the beginning. Most of us only went down at the wrath of the socs, losing our chips in desperation. Every once in a while we would catch a break and get a fairly good hand, making the best of it. But the next one always left us in the dumps again. It was a rollercoaster, one we hated, and over the last year I had learned to hate it even more than I knew was possible.

Now I made it through the game with a poker face, a bluff. That's the only way to win, ya know? I had been dealt one too many bad hands, and now I knew how to bluff too well. First bad hand was the end of my parents sitting at the table with me. They had to get up and leave, the security escorting them away for a reason no one, not even they, knew. Then a few friends left, out of money and will, just stood up and walked away. It was like they didn't have a choice in the matter. Well, not only did they get bad hands, I did too. The only ones winning were the socs, my enemies.

I even used my bluff on my brothers. They had no idea how it was I was getting A's and even excelling in track through all this shit happening. But what they didn't know was that it was all an integral part in the façade I liked to refer to as my poker face. See, if I acted normal, there was no reason to worry, I could win the hand if I bluffed long enough. If I acted as if everything was great and I had a good hand, maybe I could win, maybe I could even talk myself into it. That was the theory at least.