Author's Note: This is the beginning of something I've been working on for a very long time. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, I merely use its universe and characters to manipulate for my own enjoyment.

Making movies. All my life—even when I was a little kid—that was all I wanted to do. If I could guess why, I'd probably say that I always could see my memories very clearly—almost as if they were on film. It was very convenient during school, but other times, I violently detested the way I remembered things.

Imagine, lying awake at night and seeing your worst acts frame by frame. Those filmstrips were the cause of many sleepless nights.

I didn't plan on doing anything particularly senseless that day. All I was scheduled to do that was have lunch with Randy, his mother, and my mother. The lunch was horrible. Having lunch with our mothers wasn't normally quite as painfully uneventful, but when all they talked about was the same three pieces of gossip, we decided we needed to escape. If Randy heard that Alice Hopkinson was flirting with her new gardener one more time, I swore he'd explode.

Randy and his mother had a wall between them higher than the one in China. You could see it in the eyes they shared. In every word they spoke to each other, their eyes moved back and forth quickly like a bee buzzing around, just waiting to sting. The sting, though, was in the tone of voice they used. My mother, bless her heart, would always smile and turn the conversation around though.

It was almost impossible to get out of the lunch, no matter how many times we asked to be excused, our mothers would still say, "Oh, but boys, we're having such a lovely time having lunch together!" It wasn't until Randy insisted that we needed to meet up with Bob and Henry that we were able to escape.

We were only partially lying, we didn't need to meet up with them, but to get out of that lunch, we were willing to go out and find them.

Bob and Henry were easy to find because they were both at Henry's house examining the new painting hanging in Henry's stepfather's study. They were relieved to be saved, but Randy was annoyed when Bob insisted on driving.

The other member of Will Roger's top social group, Roger Sheffield, was unavailable. It slips my memory where he was. Probably off doing something for the greater good or something stupid like that.

XXX

We had been driving for a while and I didn't care where we were going. However, the car went quiet when we turned onto a bad street. I'd been onto bad streets before—how can you not in Tulsa?—but it was one of the first times I paid attention. I turned my head and panned my eyes all around. On our side of town, it always seemed to be bright out. There though, the grey-tinted clouds only let a few cracks of sunlight shine through. I focused in on the house and the paint and some windows were cracked just like the clouds. As the car slowed to stop for a stop sign, I focused in on a woman. Her lip was busted—cracked. I stared at her until she made eye contact back. To be honest, it was the first time in a while I've been out of my head with no outside help.

I only came out of it when Bob slammed on the gas and then the brakes. The wind was knocked out of me, which fueled laughter from Bob, Randy, and Henry. As I tried to find my breath, I scanned the car—nothing was broken at all.

"So, where are we going?" Henry asked in his normal sharp tone after we turned onto an even more unfamiliar street.

"Are you that dumb that you can't recognize street names? We're going to have some fun." Bob snapped in response. He was outfitted in his "rebellious fun" facial expression. The same expression that frightened many a greaser and many a lowerclassman before Bob kicked their ass.

"I know very well where we are," Henry fibbed. "But I was hoping for a more specific answer."

"We're here anyway." Bob was the first out of the car and he made sure to shut the door as quietly as possible.

Henry would have continued the bickering, but the second Bob left the car we all changed our stature. Whenever we were going to jump someone soberly, you could see a bit of fear in all of our eyes. Bob, of course, was an exception, but he always had a look on his face like he was thinking something entirely different than everyone else.

As always, the first thing I did was size up the person who, I'd assumed by that point, we were going to be jumping. The greaser, our assumed victim, was kicking around a football. He wasn't actually that bad. I would've known too as the first string varsity kicker at Will Rogers High School. The kid looked abnormally small, but there was something really strong and tough about him. His size was what concerned me—so small. Part of my mind was telling me that Bob was off his rocker and we should find someone else or go home, but the other was telling me to just have fun.

If you've never jumped someone you wouldn't know the intense thrill that comes with the approach. You never know how good of a fighter the person is and waiting to find out fills you with adrenaline.

Usually, Bob, our unofficial but clear leader, says something to start a verbal fight before we start packing punches, but this particular time he just nodded for Randy and me to get him. This added to my concern.

The kid ran, but we caught up with him easily. I pinned his left side and shoved a handkerchief in the boy's mouth while Randy pinned his right side. Henry stood watch, hoping that he would be asked to help.

Slow motion came into effect and I remember having fun outwardly, but that one part of my mind was really scared that Bob was going crazy or something. He just kept hitting this kid over and over. He hit him long after he lost consciousness and it wasn't until Randy stopped him that Bob backed off.

We stood up and studied the kid for about five minutes. His eyes were open—wide and rolled back— he wasn't breathing either. Randy turned us away, and we jogged back to the car.

I remember trying to convince myself that it wouldn't matter if he was dead. It wasn't like anyone was going to go looking for him. He was probably even a tramp or something. He also could have been one of those hoodlums who held up gas stations and things like that.

Even after coming up with every possible excuse why I shouldn't be upset, I couldn't stop playing the reel of the boy's face over and over.

"David, wake up! You're off in la-la land or something. Come on, we're going to go get the girls. You don't have any blood on you, right?" Henry gave me a playful shove. At the time, I laughed and pushed him back, but thinking about it now, it makes me sick.

I've jumped plenty of people—more than I'd like to admit. I don't remember all of their faces or even if I got hurt at all, but god, I'll never forget his face.

Author's Note 2: Meet David! The child of my imagination. I've been developing his character for very many years and I hope you like him. I'd like to dedicate this to Cassy who has been with me the whole time.