Hey guys. This is a story I'm writing about a girl named Maria that moves from New York to Tulsa. Hope you enjoy. All feedback is welcome, so don't hold back.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of The Outsiders characters.. though it would be nice )

Title: Working My Way Back

Before moving to Tulsa, Oklahoma, my dad gave me my 16th birthday present, even though my birthday was a few months away. And it just so happened to be a convertible Mustang. I was cruising around town, blasting the music in what was now officially my car. I saw an empty lot and drove over. The sun was beginning to set, so I took out a cancer stick and took a long, well needed drag, as I sat on the hood of my car and watched. I was getting lost in my thoughts, pondering the depths of reality. Was I really ready to leave everything and everyone I loved in New York? No matter how much I hung out with hoods, I still had a sheltered home life.

What snapped me out of thought was the sound of an engine. I looked up to see a Mustang approaching. My baby can put him to shame, I thought, as I studied the '65 model approaching. Starting a new chapter in my life, I decided to keep everything neutral. So from my appearance, I looked like a middle class, though I'm a grease at heart. I was thankful for my appearance when I saw the preppy, high society members in the car.

The driver pulled down his window. "Hey baby, you new in town?"

"Yea. What's it to you." I hated when people asked me questions. I always felt obligated to answer, even when I felt a question was out of line.

"Well, we've never seen you around here and we fancy getting to know you."

"I'll pass. I don't plan on staying here for more than a day." So I fibbed a little; Lying never hurt any one and in my case, it helped me. I took the opportunity to slip into my car and peel out of the lot. I couldn't help but notice a drunk, red headed greaser walking by. Lord, I hoped he didn't get jumped. One on four isn't a fair fight, regardless of size.

So this is what my new home was going to look like-- a small town divided by social classes, rich vs. poor. At least the town was lively. All I could think about is how different it would be from New York, coming from Brooklyn to somewhere 'in the middle of nowhere.' This was one of the few times I was being judgmental, but after checking out the town, it didn't seem too bad. There seemed to be some happening joints in Tulsa. Adjusting to this new life would be difficult, but not impossible. Just then it hit me. My accent is defiantly going to stand out in this place.

Despite my Mustang, I was going to be living on greaser territory. I had no idea where I was going and driving around exploring had wasted me a lot of gas. I stopped at a nearby DX station to fill up and asked the blonde that was helping me for directions to my new house. He was very friendly and outgoing, which reassured me that this move might not be so bad. He told me that my house was a block from his and that "Maybe I'll see you around some time." I thanked him and flashed an equally genuine smile at him before leaving.

I found the house easily, but lingered outside to soak everything in before I entered. From the outside, the house looked run down and I jumped to the conclusion that I'd have my work cut out for me, trying to make my house cozy and welcoming. I walked around the side of the house and found the key under the garbage pail like I was told I would. Breathing in deeply, I prepared myself to see the inside of my house as I turned the key. I opened the door and shut it as soon as I entered. I leaned my body against the back of the door and marveled at what I saw before me. The living room was lavishly furnished, on a gold and neutral color scheme. The dinning room was burgundy, red being my favorite color, and had a long table, exquisite pattern carved into wood. I was happy and sad at the same time, thinking how I'll never have my family here to sit at the table with and laugh together. The kitchen was furnished with all new appliances for cooking, a marble table, marble counter tops, and even an island. All I could think about was how I had the most amazing and thoughtful father in the world. I knew the house was his doing, because the styles reflected his. The bedrooms weren't painted, and I assumed my dad left this up to me. There were 3 rooms even though I was only one person. They were all furnished with beds, but the rest was left to me to do. With a sigh of relief realizing that my work on the house was cut into less than a quarter, I sat on the couch and divulged myself into an episode of I Dream of Jeannie.

After that was over, I decided to eat from the hunger pains my stomach endured. The pantry in the kitchen was fully stocked with any ingredient I needed to cook with, but I was lazy and didn't feel like cooking for myself. I grabbed my jacket, car keys, and house keys, headed out the door, and locked the house up. I got in my car and cursed myself for my horrible sense of direction. It would take me at least 10 minutes to find the diner I found today. I found the Dingo, parked my car, and got ready to stuff my face.

After grabbing a booth and placing my order, I was approached by a group of 5 girls. They wanted to make friends, but all I could think about was how funny they looked. Their make-up, though loaded on, did absolutely nothing for them and probably made them look worse than what they did without it.

"What's with the jeans and sweatshirt?" one asked.

"You could use some eye shadow."

'And look like a clown,' I thought to myself.

"And some mascara," hollered another.

"Thanks girls, but me and the tramp world don't mix well," Exhausted from my trip, I was not in the mood to deal with these girls.

"You'd be surprised."

"Come with us," one said pulling at my wrist. What pissed me off more than anything was her putting her hands on me.

"Get your hand off of me. I'm fine-- just leave." I told the girl trying to keep calm.

When she refused to let go, I grabbed my coke and spilt it over her head. It was just enough to ruin her hair and not put the waitress through too much trouble to clean up the mess.

I sat down and finished eating when I heard some one whisper "Hey, that's the girl from the DX today." I knew it had to be the blonde that helped me. Next thing I heard was "Watch this." I was on my way out of the Dingo, after paying the bill. As I was walking toward the door I heard a voice shout "Bella." I was startled because there was only one place that I went by that name. I reached for the switchblades in each of my back pockets and flicked them out. Slowly and cautiously, I turned around to find myself staring at the table the guy from the DX was sitting at. More specifically, I found myself staring into a familiar pair of blue eyes.