I definitely don't remember the day I met Dallas Winston. I'd known him all my life. Since practically birth. We'd been neighbors for our entire lives. My name is Alexis Leonard. Don't even try calling me Lexi or Ali or Alex, sooner or later everyone starts calling me Tex or Texas. It's a story that started at birth. My mother whispered my name to the nurse. She said Alexis, but the nurse heard Texas, so she put Texas on my birth certificate, and I don't know the whole story and even though my mom got my name fixed, everyone thought that I was named Texas before I even got home. Mom might as well not have even bothered to change it, because I haven't been called Alexis or any nick name of it for as long as I've lived.

I grew up in New York. Up until I was ten, I was part of the poor social group. We didn't have money. I was part of the group that wore t-shirts and leather jackets and ripped up jeans. I always wore some black leather boots, wherever I went. I grew up with Dallas. We always had a good laugh whenever we met anyone new. We'd introduce ourselves as Dallas and Texas. He was my best friend, still is. I always joked with him and said that he looked like a woodland fairy. Of course he'd smack me good after that, because there was nothing farther off. He did have mischievous almond-shaped eyes, a thin face, and light blonde hair. Fairy is not the impression that you get from Dallas. He is just about the toughest guy I ever knew. He could stare you to death with a glance. He didn't need to be famous for things like the rest of us. He had a reputation alone that made him famous. He was a fighter. He could beat someone down in nothing but fists. That was what you had to have to survive in where we were. The rich people were the Socs (Socials), and the poor guys like us were the Greasers. Everyone was in a different gang, and those were mostly split by the place you lived. I wasn't in the gangs. That just wasn't my style. And I almost never broke the law like the others. I was a good fighter though, just in case. Dally taught me after all.

When Dally and I were ten, my dad got his lucky break. We had to move to Philadelphia, and it really got to me, and Dally too, but he never showed it. That was how it started. There was this thing. Whenever Dally got real upset, and it started then. When I left, the second I got to Philadelphia I ran out looking for fight, and with my dumb luck, I found myself with a Soc group, who became great friends of mine, but none as good as Dally. The day I left, was the day that Dallas Winston robbed his first convenience store. And every time he was truly upset since then, I heard he was out robbing a station, but I was never there to stop him. I never watched him do it though, right up until the day I died. But his first one, that was the one that made him go cold. He was first shut in the slammer the day after I moved, and he was in there for a while. And once more after that, before I moved back. That was why I didn't see him until six months after I'd been living in New York again. I remember that day, because I was walking home and found myself in the middle of a rumble. Gang versus gang. They were all Greasers, and then there was me, who was now a Soc, living at the edge of Greaser territory, but no one knew that.

I was headed down my usual alley way, and when I turned the corner that leads to the steps of my family's apartment, I found 15 greasers mid rumble, rolling all over the ground. It was just fists, but everyone was all bloody, and covered in dirt. Everyone had this crazed look in their eye. And I've never felt more out of place. Me, with my silky chestnut hair pulled back into a high ponytail, and my short red skirt and blue sweater. My blue eyes were wide and bright, framed by makeup.

What was I supposed to do? Run. That's what. So I did. I would have made it nice and far away except some fight-crazed some Greaser guy turned around and aimed a good swing to my head, and it snapped forwards. I was now part of the fight, whether I liked it or not. I didn't.

I did what I had to do. I spun around and threw my whole body into punching him in the face, I aimed for the temple. He dropped like a stone, and started to shake himself off. The other guys were taking a notice now, and another guy, probably a buddy of the one I hit, pulled a blond guy in a t-shirt off of him and headed straight for me. I got ready to fight. Just before the guy punched me straight to hell, the blond guy slammed into him from behind and I jumped out of the way, as they came bowling towards me. The First guy started to get back up, but I slammed a kick to his face and he fell back. The next time he was up, he was running. I figured I might as well help the blondie who saved my life, so I curb-stomped the guy's face. It broke his nose.

Then that guy was running off. Shortly after that, ½ of the guys were off running, and the blondie's gang had won the fight.

I started to take off down the alley, towards my apartment, when the blond guy called out, "Hey! Soc girl! Get back here!"

I spun around, looking at him skeptically, and I flipped my hair out of my eyes.

"What's it to ya?" I yelled back, looking the blonde greaser in the eye.

"Who are you? You're a Soc, obviously, but you fight like a Greaser, and walk in our territory! Who are you?" He repeated.

I squinted my eyes, trying to figure out where I'd seen that guy before, because I recognized him from somewhere. He was a handsome boy, with a great smile. He was confident and insistent now, but I could tell from the light in his eyes that he caught a high when he fought and that he liked to ride it all the way up. I could tell that he didn't smile much, from the dimples on his face, but I knew he liked to smile. Don't ask me how I knew that, but I did. He was thin and almost wiry, but there was no denying the prominent muscles that he showed off. I was looking him over, and even as I did I could tell he was doing the same. Curiosity struck me, and I turned to face he and his gang. I wanted to know who this guy was.

"Who are you?" I called, then it hit me, even before he said his name and I yelled it. "DALLAS WINSTON!"

"Wait…" Dally's eyes popped open wide, the smile, that I'd known was in there started to curve up. "Texas? Texas Leonard?"

"Hell, yes!" I cheered, then the rest of the faces of the gang guys registered in my head.

There was Donald Duck, Freddy Fixer, Georgie, and Tom.

"Hey, hey!" Donald Duck called a smile spreading onto his face. "Tex!"

"Texas! Never thought I'd see you again!" Tom yelled.

The five guys that I knew out of the seven, took off running towards me. Freddy Fixer ruffled my hair, and Georgie gave me an affectionate punch to the shoulder

"I'm with Tom!" Dally agreed, smiling like a kid. "I never thought you were coming back!"

I gave Dally a quick hug, so happy to see him!

Freddy Fixer announced, "I didn't recognize you, Tex! Not in that Soc getup!"

"I know, Fixer," I nodded, rolling my eyes.

Dally stepped back, making a hole in the circle that was surrounding me.

He pointed to the first of the two guys that I didn't know. He was a red head with tiny black eyes and his arms crossed, muscles flexed. I smiled at him.

"This is One Gun. He's got a mean right cross," Dallas introduced, I nodded at him. Dallas turned to One Gun, "One Gun, this is Texas Leonard."

One Gun stayed stiff as a statue, with that squinty grimace on his face, then he looked away. Dallas turned and gestured over to the other guy, who was probably no more than 14, and had dark black hair like Freddy Fixer. He had his same crooked nose too, and big brown eyes.

"This is Fix-it Jr." Dally announced.

"Fixer's kid brother?" I asked.

"Yeah," Dally nodded.

Fix-it Jr. nodded to me. I smiled.

"How'd you know this Soc?" One Gun hissed, in a raspy voice.

"I used to be a Greaser, One Gun. Why'd you think I have a Greaser name? My name's not really Texas, well, kind of. I'm Alexis Leonard, and like you, I can drop someone if I try," I told him, gesturing with my hands and leaning back with my shoulders hunched.

I didn't do it on purpose, but talking like a Greaser got me to start standing like one.

"Okay, kid. How old are you?" One Gun demanded.

"Sixteen. Same as Dally," I responded, putting the edge to my eye.

One Gun nodded, "Alright."

I turned to Dally and demanded, "Dallas, where have you been? I kept a look out for all the other guys, and knew that they were here, but where were you for the past six months?"

"Cool it, Tex. I was-" Dally started.

We finished it together, "In the slammer."

I rolled my eyes, and he flashed me his crooked smile.

"Do I dare ask why?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

Tom, who was a lanky guy with sandy blonde hair and kind of looked like a cat (but wasn't named for that), started talking, "He punched a cop, after shoplifting a tech shop."

For some reason I burst out laughing. I couldn't help myself! There was something so crazy about it, but was just like something that Dally would do. I loved it.

"I missed you so much, Dally!" I chuckled.

"Hey!" Called Georgie, who was one of the many brunettes in our gang who had his nose broken more than three times. "What about us? Didn't you miss us, too?"

"Come on, kids!" I raised my eyebrows at them. "Of course, but I met you all when I was seven-ish. I've known Dally since before he could talk! I was the first person he ever punched. Then he became the first one I ever punched. He taught me how to fight, and as he so generously put it, I fight like a Greaser."

"Fine," Freddy Fixer snorted.

"Besides," I added, "I've seen you all before, you just haven't seen me."

"What happened to your tuff Greaser look?" Dally asked.

I stared deep into his sky blue eyes, "I went to Philly, and I was top class there. It was strange. I learned a lot, too, and I knew how to fight, which all the guys thought was tuff and tough, so I was in demand. I've never had more guys going crazy over me!"

Dallas started to look a little mad, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey, man, I hated it. But I had to do what I had to do! You heard me! I was looking for you all the second I got back!"

Dally shook his head at me.

"I better get going," I finished. "I've got stuff to do at home."

"Don't. Come on. Let's go somewhere."

"Alright…" I started to follow One Gun, who started walking, then I stopped, and demand. "Wait! I have to do something! You guys can come up if you want, but I'm going to go change. I still have some blue jeans, and my old boots, give me a minute."

"You guys go on. I'll go up with her," Dally announced. "You know where we're headed."