Gang Violence

Chapter One

Disclaimer- I do not own the Outsiders.

I guess you could say I had an average life. I mean, as average as it gets around here.

I live with my three brothers. Darrel, or Darry as we call him, is the oldest at twenty. He's our legal guardian after our parents died a few months back. I don't really want to get into it. Darry looks a lot like our father, he's tall and muscular with dark hair and blue-green eyes. He can be hard on us sometimes but I know it's just because he cares.

Then there's my twin brother, Sodapop. He's sixteen. Soda is a good guy, the best, in fact. No matter how you're feeling, Soda can make you smile in spite of yourself, believe me, he does it to me all the time. He's a smart guy, not really book smart, but people smart and street smart. He knows how to handle a person with just one glance and he knows how to stay out of trouble and not get caught, that's useful around here. Soda's got blonde hair with brown eyes and he always seems to be smiling.

Last is my younger brother, Ponyboy, who's fourteen. Pony's a dreamer and usually that's not a bad thing, but in our neighbourhood it's just better to want something plausible. He wants to get out of here one day, we all do. I think Pony's got the best chance of doing it, though. Unlike Soda, Pony's got book smarts. He makes good grades and is in a lot of A classes. He got pushed up a year in grade school, too. We've all got high hopes for him and sometimes I think it stresses him out. He's a good kid, though, with auburn coloured hair and greeny-gray eyes.

And, of course, me. My name's Cotton Candy Curtis, but everyone calls me Candy. A lot of people laugh when they hear my name and it's not just because it's so weird. I have strawberry-blonde hair that's more strawberry than blonde and a lot of people say my name's appropriate because I look like cotton candy. I've got really bright green eyes, too; my mom used to call them 'vibrant'.

Like I said before, we don't live in a very good neighbourhood and gangs are common around here. So, of course, we've got one. There's eight in all, including me and my brothers. There's also four other boys, they're all tough as nails but half-decent at the same time.

The oldest is a boy named Keith Matthews who's eighteen. Don't call him Keith, though. Nobody ever calls him that. His nickname is Two-bit and that's what everyone calls him. I mean everyone, I'm talking his friends, his enemies (if he has any, he's a pretty likeable guy), teachers, police, even his own mother. We call him Two-bit because he's always got to get his two-bits worth in. I swear, the guy can't stop telling jokes for anything. He's got long reddish-coloured hair that he keeps greased back like Soda and Pony do, and he's got dancing grey eyes.

Next is Dallas Winston. Dally, at seventeen, is the walking definition of a hoodlum. He gets in fights all the time and is constantly in and out of prison for one thing or another. He's tough and mean and cold and everyone knows it. You do not want to get on Dally's bad side, you may not live long enough to tell the tale. He can be an alright guy, though, if you know how to handle him. Luckily, in the years that I've known him, I've learned how to do that. Dallas's got really blonde hair, it's almost white, and he's got cold blue eyes. You can see hate in his eyes and most people thinks he hates everyone and everything but I know better. He may not show it, but he cares about his friends and you can tell by how loyal he is. He'd stick up for any one of us in an instant and we'd do the same for him.

Then there's seventeen-year-old Steve Randle. You've never met anybody so cocky in all your life. I'm telling you, that guy's got an ego the size of Texas. But, like the rest, he's an alright guy. He's been best friends with Soda since before I can remember so I've known him all my life. He's like an extra brother most of the time. When it comes to cars, Steve is a wiz, no jokes. If its got four wheels, you better believe he can drive it, soupe it up, or steel it's hubcaps. All of which he can do faster than anyone else around. He's got dark greasy hair that he keeps in these really complicated looking swirls and brown eyes.

Finally, there's Johnny Cade. The poor kid, I really feel for him. He's sixteen but he doesn't look it at all, he's too short, a lot of people think he's fourteen, partly because of his height and partly because he's Pony's best buddy and the two of them are always together. Johnny's got it rough, to say the least. His dad likes to smack him around and the only time his mom realizes he's there, she's screaming at him. Not only that, but a couple months ago he was jumped pretty bad by Socs, a kind of rival gang. Poor guy was terrified of his own shadow after that. He's got dark skin and long, greasy, jet black hair. He's got black eyes, too, and they always look scared.

If you're wondering why all the guys have greasy hair (save Dallas and Darry), it's because we're greasers. I mentioned the Socs already, they're the rich kids from the west side. We're the greasers, poor kids from the east side. As you can imagine there is a huge social class rivalry around here. It's so bad that it's not even safe to walk alone on the east side.

Which was just what I was doing. It wasn't my fault, though. It had been the last day of school and Two-bit and Johnny had skipped, Pony had some end of the year party with the track team, and Steve goes straight to the DX after school everyday without waiting for anyone else. So I had no way to get home and no one to go with.

I was walking down the street, just a few blocks from my house when I heard it. The engine. I turned my head to the side just enough to see if it was coming from a car I knew. It wasn't and even worse it was coming from a green Corvair. A Soc car. Not good.

I quickened my pace, getting ready to make a run for it when the car sped up and stopped in front of me. Five boys wearing madras ski jackets and khaki pants that were about two inches too short stepped out. I cussed under my breath as they circled me, not giving me a chance to run.

"Well, well, well, look what we got here, boys," one, who I assumed to be the leader, smirked.

"You lost, honey?" another taunted, flipping a piece of my hair off my shoulder.

"Don't touch me," I growled, jerking away from his hand.

"No need to be rude, darling," the leader said. "We're only trying to help."

"I don't need your help," I shot back, trying to not let my fear show. I had never been jumped, but Johnny had once and it was not pretty.

"Now, now, don't get defensive," one of them said.

"I think we should teach her a lesson, boys," the leader sneered.

They advanced toward me and I tried to fight back but a five on one doesn't look good no matter how good of a fighter you are. They were hitting me and pushing me into each other like I was a pinball. Soon enough, I was on the ground. I curled up into a ball as best I could and covered my face with my arms. They were kicking me in the back and trying to get my face but kept kicking my arms. I was screaming for help by this point, but no help seemed to be coming.

Someone did come, though. I heard another car pull up and suddenly all the Socs were running back to their Corvair. One of them picked up a piece of wood as they ran and threw it at me, luckily, though, in his haste to get away from whoever it was that had save me, he missed.

Someone was standing over me and I hesitantly looked up. I relaxed when I saw who it was, but only a little bit. It was Tim Shepard. Leader of the Shepard gang. They were our allied gang, but I still don't think any of the guys would want me hanging around with him without someone else. He was like Dallas, a hoodlum. The only difference between him and Dally was that I didn't know how to handle Tim Shepard.

"You okay?" he asked me.

I slowly nodded my head, sitting up. "Yeah," I replied.

He reached his hand down and lifted me to my feet. "C'mon," he said. "I'll give you a ride."

I followed him to his car and climbed into the passenger seat. He drove me towards the downtown. "Ain't you takin' me to my place?" I questioned him, feeling nervous.

"You can get cleaned up at my house," he answered.

"Cleaned up?" I asked, confused.

"Yeah, you're bleedin' all over the place," he replied.

"I am?" I lifted my hand to my stinging lip and, sure enough, when I brought it back down it was covered in blood. Great. "Y'know, I can get cleaned up at my place," I told him.

"Your big brother would flip if he saw you like this," Tim chuckled. "I know I wouldn't want Angel comin' home lookin' like that."

We drove for a few more minutes before he pulled up in front of the building I knew was the Shepard house. We got out and I followed him up the front walk to the porch. He pushed the screen door open and looked around. There was no one else home which made me even more uneasy. I really didn't feel comfortable being alone with him. He lead me to the kitchen and told me to sit down in one of the chairs. I did so. Then he left the room.

He returned a moment later with a damp handkerchief. He handed it to me and I pressed it to my lips. I rested my head in my hand and closed my eyes. "You sure you're okay?" he asked again.

"Yeah," I answered. "Just got a splitting headache."

He turned and opened a cupboard. I could here him shuffling some stuff around but I didn't care enough to look at what it was. When he turned back around he set a bottle of aspirin on the table. Just as he did the front door burst open.

"Shepard? You home?" the voice of Dallas Winston called through the hosue.

"Yeah," Tim called back as he poured me a glass of water from the tap.

Dallas made his way into the kitchen. "Have you seen-," he started to ask and then his eyes landed on me. "You! Where the hell have you been?"

"Got jumped," I explained.

"Darry's buggin' out back at your place," he told me. "Thinks somethin' happened to ya."

"Something did happen to me, Dallas," I replied. "I got jumped."

I popped a couple of the aspirins into my mouth and swallowed them with a gulp of water. "Well, c'mon, I gotta get you home," Dally said. I nodded my head and followed him out into the living room.

"Thanks, Tim," I called over my shoulder as I stepped out the front door. He just nodded in response.

I climbed into the front seat of Buck Merrill's T-bird, Dally 'borrows' it all the time. "What the hell were you doin' at Shepard's?" Dallas questioned me, almost sounding angry.

"He found me when I got jumped," I told him. "Took me to his place so I could get cleaned up."

"You should know better than to hang around with the likes of him," Dallas scolded and I was surprised. Dally and Tim were buddies, but, like I said, the guys don't want me around him when I'm alone. He's just that kind of guy.

Soon we were back at my house. I went inside and Darry immediately freaked out. "Where the hell were you!?" he yelled. It was Soda that noticed my split lip.

"What happened?" my twin asked, concerned.

"She got jumped," Dally explained for me. "Shepard found her."

"How'd you get jumped?" Darry questioned.

"Walkin' home from school," I told him.

"Alone," I answered.

"You know better than to walk alone, Candy," Steve scolded from his place on the couch. I hate it when the guys get like this. Protective. I was used to it by now but I really was in no mood to get yelled at by Steve. I shot him a glare.

"Well, I wouldn't have had to, Steve, if someone had stuck around after school to give me a ride instead of tearing off to the DX," I shot back at him. That shut him up.

"Isn't there someone else you could've gone with?" Soda asked carefully, not wanting me to go off on him like I had on Steve.

"No, not today there wasn't," I answered hopelessly. "Steve took off, Pony had some track thing, and Two-bit and Johnny just didn't go today."

After everything had calmed down a little bit I decided to make dinner. Now, and this is one of my major flaws, I'm not a very good cook. Okay, to be honest, I suck at cooking. So, the boys were getting my delicacy - mac and cheese. By this time Pony had come home and Steve and Dallas had left so it was just me and my brothers.

"Y'know, you're lucky Tim showed up when he did," Darry still hadn't let go of the whole jumped thing. "They coulda killed you! As a matter of fact, you're lucky Tim didn't just pass you by. He's not the type to help someone."

"Okay, Darry, I get it," I said, frustrated. "Could you just drop it? Please?"

I got up and went into the kitchen, throwing my bowl into the sink, before making my way down the hall to my bedroom. I got into my pajamas and climbed into bed. It was still early but I didn't feel like dealing with my brother right now.

As I lay there I started to wonder about what Darry had said about Tim. I thought about it for a long time before I fell asleep, still trying to make sense of it all. Why had Tim helped me?

Omg that's was long! Seven pages! Definitely longer than I planned on it being!

Well, so much for that whole 'maybe I'll wait awhile before I write another story' thing. Damn muse! Anyways...I hoped you liked it! Review!!

Rachel