Summary: Lyn Richards was just your average 16 year old growing up in Tulsa. She was quiet, quick, and could hold her own in a battle of wits. This is her story. (Please Review…and enjoy!)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Outsiders. That would be S.E. Hinton's job. I have only created Marilyn Richards.

-Lyn's POV-

Crimson painted the sky in blood that twilight night I stepped into the movie house. Little did I know that blood would be spilt to match. As I left, the night slipped its cold fingers over my skin. It was well after midnight and I had just finished the last of the closing assignments and locked the doors. The small tarnished key slipped into my pocket and I started my journey home. The movie house was located on neutral grounds between the West Side – the rich folks – and the East Side with its hoods. Sighing, I anxiously pulled my thin, loose fitting jacket around my shoulders. The wind blew right through the material.

"Damn it, Richards! If you were going to be such a sissy, ya shoulda asked one of the guys to come walk ya home!" I muttered to myself.

The name is Marilyn Richards, but most people call me Lyn or Lynie. I'm 16 and live on the East Side of Tulsa. I'm just your average girl… I'm quiet enough, some would even call me shy if they didn't know me, but I can hold my own when provoked. I have a few scars of my own and have given others to prove it. I am not as hard as some of the others in my neighborhood, but it takes just as long for someone to win my trust. Some say I have grown up too quickly, what with having to take care of my drunken stepfather and put up with my hood-for-a-stepbrother, Trevor. My mother died in a fire two years ago and I have no where else to go. 'Sides, my stepfather needs me. He isn't the abusive kind, like my friend Steve's father. Instead, he just gets depressed and lonely. Mostly, I think he blames himself for my mother's death. It wasn't too bad at home most times, especially since I hardly found myself there. I liked to keep busy. Keeping busy helped me stay strong and keep any wild emotions tucked away. Now, don't go thinking that I'm a stiff lipped, no fun lovin' kinda gal, 'cause that is far from the truth! I could hold my own, partying with the rest of them. And as I found myself freezing in the chilly air, dressed in blue jeans and a black work shirt, jacket, and my hair pulled up under a cap, I thought about two things – finding a party, and making it there – or anywhere – safely and without being jumped.

I had just finished the closing shift at the movie house and was relatively tired. In a way, I hoped no one tried to attack me simply for their own safety. I was NOT in the mood to be reckoned with.

As I was nearing the park a few blocks away from my house, my blood froze at the sound of cold, harsh laughter from behind me. I slowly peeked over my shoulder and counted five very drunk Socs (the rich West Side kids who loved to throw beer blasts, jump the East Side greasers and harass any type of female) trailing behind me.

"Shit fucking fire!" raced through my mind as I quickened my pace, hoping to see the Curtis house come into view. The Socs shouted awful things at me, calling me a hood and a piece of trash.

"Just a little farther…"

-Narrator's POV-

"SODAPOP CURTIS, HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET FIVE ACES?" Seventeen year old Steve Randall's voice boomed from the Curtis household. The tall and lean, dark haired greaser pounced on his best friend and wrestled him to the ground. Sodapop Curtis, also seventeen, found himself turning a bright shade of red from being discovered and for laughing so hard.

"Aw would ya girls lay off each other just for a li'l bit?" Darrel Curtis yelled from the kitchen. The towering, broad shouldered man stepped into the room holding a glass of chocolate milk. His pale blue-green eyes sparkled as he poked fun at his kid brother and his kid brother's best friend. There was a loud sound of someone knocking something over (later investigation revealed it to be a kitchen chair) and Dallas Winston walked into the living room, taking a swig of his opened beer. Steve and Soda glanced up and saw the anger radiating from his hard expression. Instantly, silence slipped over the room, and everyone turned their attention to the tough hood.

Two-Bit Matthews, a stocky kid with long rusty colored sideburns, looked up from his seat on the floor. His wisecracking grin faltered for only an instant before flashing back into place. From the sofa, the two youngest members of the gang, Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade, turned to see what was troubling their hot tempered friend. Darry felt his eyebrows rising and straightened his already looming 6'2" frame.

"Somethin' wrong, Dal?" While Darry was larger and in charge of the household and seemingly the gang, he did not care to anger his friend.

"None of us went to get Richards." He growled, suddenly pissed beyond words. Marilyn Richards, often known as Lynie, was the eighth member of the gang and had not gotten back from her shift at the movie house yet. Along with Johnny, she was considered to be one of the gang's pets. Often thought to be as quiet as Johnny, the gang wanted to protect her, especially from her angered outbursts which meant she was either hurting or extremely stressed out.

Two-Bit raised his eyebrow before asking "Yeah, where is ole Lynie?" The group grew silent, as if trying to listen to the night that engulfed the house. The seconds ticked away before the sound that caused the boys to run out of the house could be heard.

"LEAVE ME ALONE, BASTARDS!"