HAI GUYZ! I'M BAAAACK! So this story is not by S, it is by my friend, E (not elaborating any more we don't need any unwanted stalkers.). We are both utterly and completely obsessed with The Outsiders, hence this wonderful piece of literature more commonly referred to as a FANFICTION! Enjoy dears, there'll be more next week!
Disclaimer: *falls to knees in defeat, clutching hair* WHYYYY?! WHY CAN I NOT OWN THE OUTSIDERS!? Yeah I don't, sadly. Otherwise, if I did, I would cry. So, yeah. That's basically it. And now a lovely note by the author of this story, E! *crowd screams and cheers*
Note: If you're reading this and have not read the Outsiders, shame on you. Shut your laptop or whatever and go read the dang book. If you have already read the book then I praise you. Keep reading, but just know that Dally and Johnny are back and that will all be explained later in the story. Also, this takes place a year after the book. Dally, at this time, is supposed to be seventeen but I am making him nineteen for reasons. Have Fun Reading.
AND NOW, WHAT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR... THE SURVIVORS!
The Survivors
By: E
Ch. 1
The Delinquent Social
Waking up in class to see the ugly teacher beside me with a ruler in hand is not the kind of thing I would want to happen. But, like all bad things in life, it has to happen. I realize that Chuck, the curly-haired kid next to me, had been shaking my shoulder long enough to make him mildly annoyed. I turn back my head to see the teacher – Ms. Frill – raising a pointy eyebrow. Obviously, she wants me to explain everything myself. I always say these dang teachers expect too much of us.
"Is there a problem, miss?" I ask, wiping the drool off my chin. I can see quite a few kids smiling like, Finally! Social Studies has gotten interesting. And I also see Valerie McCartney with her up-turned nose and blonde ponytail giggly and gossiping away about me. I grip the desk and, not without effort, manage to forget about that stick of makeup and hair.
"Yes, Ms. Banker that is the third time you've fallen asleep in class. You've earned yourself a week's worth of detention. Perhaps, you should catch up on your sleep," she says with acid in every word.
Unable to stop myself, I respond by saying, "Perhaps, you should make your lessons less boring…miss." The class burst out with laughs. Ms. Frill's face turned bright red with anger. She slams the ruler down on my desk and I jerk my hands back, glad she didn't hit them. The class falls silent.
"That's it, Banker. You've just got yourself a pass to the principal's office." She storms to the front of the room and starts writing with her little pink pen on some piece of paper. Having gone through this enough, I know I will be in the office for at least the rest of the period. I grab my bag and walk up with a nice smile to give to Ms. Frill in return for the slip. She absolutely hates the fact that I can make her go crazy but she can't make me mad for even a second. I don't care enough to get angry. I walk down the halls of Will Rogers High school. The path that I have most memorized of the school is the one I am currently on. The teachers send me to the office a lot cuz they think I got a smart mouth, which I couldn't agree with more.
When I reach the office, Principal Statham is already standing in the entryway. "She called, did she?" I ask. He says nothing. He just holds the door open for me and walks to his chair behind his desk. I sit in the chair on the other side of the desk and wait for The Speech.
But Principal Statham just sighs heavily, clasps his hands together, lies them on the desk and says, "I am giving you suspension." I feel my jaw drop and my eyes widen. It is never this serious of a punishment. A couple months of detention, extra assignments. Nothing this drastic. All I can think of is how mad my adoptive parents are gonna be. Suddenly, I realize I am laughing. It's more of a hysterical laugh than a sane one.
"That's a good one, Mr. Statham. Nice joke."
"Does it look like I am joking, Rhianna Banker." His face is very serious and very stern. I swallow hard.
"Awh, c'mon Mr. S. You can't mean that." But I know very well that he means it.
"I'm sorry, but it's my only option. You skip classes. You get in fights – not only with other kids but with teachers as well. You have even vandalized school property. And how many times have you been in here? Far too many for you or I to count. Other schools think I should have sent you away a long time ago, and I would have if it weren't for your grades. Straight A's. Every class you are exceeding. Even social studies. And I get a call about you from Ms. Frill every other day."
It takes me a minute to speak, but when I do, I am begging with everything I've got. It's not that I even care about school, but my adoptive parents do. If I get suspended, they'll send me off to boarding school or something, and I can't have that. That would mean that I won't be able to take care of Kory. I can't leave her. There is still so much she needs to learn. Stuff that school can't provide.
"Mr. Statham, please. One more chance? I promise I'll shape up. I'll attend every class. I'll try to be polite. I'll even clean all graffiti from the school premises. Just please don't suspend me. Give me detention for a month. Two months. Just…please." I can see the principal thinking about it. He truly doesn't want me to go. My intelligence makes his school look good. But my attitude makes it look worse. If he can fix my issues – make me behave properly – then I will be a benefit for the school. The benefit is needed. All lot of people's grades at this school don't look too hot.
Finally, Mr. Statham lets out a nasty breath of air, his triple chin giggling in my wake. "Alright. One more chance. But if you mess up once – even if it's just throwing someone's bag in the trash can, I'll have you suspended."
I let out a sigh of relief. "Alright. Phew. Okay. Thanks Mr. S. You're a great man. Really. Just cut down on the cupcakes."
"Ms. Banker," he says in a warning tone.
"Right. Try to be polite." I give him a thumbs up and start to get out of my chair.
"You're forgetting something."
"Am I?"
"Three weeks of detention. And you can spend the rest of this period cleaning graffiti off of the walls in the hallway outside of your Social Studies class." I sigh and pick up the cleaning supplies on the way out of the office.
Cleaning paint off walls in an orange vest is embarrassing enough. Try doing it outside your classroom for fifteen minutes. I can feel the amused eyes of my classmates watching me through the glass window that looks into the hall. I can especially feel Valerie's. Only god knows how much I hate that twit. Most popular girl in school asks you if you wanna be friends in third grade. Say no if you wanna end up like me. Constantly going on about how I'm so dumb and hideous. First of all, my grades are twenty five percent better than hers. Second of all, half the guys at this high school are constantly flirting with me. I don't think it's because I've got a nice personality. I've got layered and wavy, golden brown hair that goes down to my waist and chocolate brown eyes. I'm pretty tan since I like to be in the sun. I've got curves that I don't really care about and all that stuff. I've got a few tiny little freckles that no one ever notices high up on my cheeks and high cheekbones. The one thing I am sad about is my height. I'm stuck at 5 foot 2 ½. I really wish could have gotten an inch or two taller, but we don't all get what we want. My name is Rhianna but I go with the name Ryan. I'm sixteen, – turning seventeen in ten days from now – at the end of my third year of high school, and I sometimes like to pretend that the reason I don't sleep much at night is because I am an insomniac. That would be much better than the alternative.
Anyway, I was cleaning paint. There weren't many paint marks on the walls. Just a few here and there. Some weird little paintings made by weird people. And when I say weird, I mean weird. I notice some greasers who have also been sent to clean paint. Am I Greaser? No. Not really. I've got the mind and attitude for it, but my adoptive parents are rich and we live on the West side. So, technically, I'm a Soc. I just get in trouble a lot.
The bell rang, marking the end of fourth period. Time for lunch. People burst out of classrooms, most making snarky comments and humiliating movements with their body toward me. Trying my best not to beat someone up, I walk to the office and drop off the cleaning supplies. Then I meet Kory at our lunch table at the back of the outside cafeteria.
I arrive first and sit on the table with my feet on the bench. When Kory comes, I can tell by her stiff posture and tight mouth that she heard that I had a trip to the office. She doesn't mind the fact that I get in trouble. She's just humiliated by all the teasing she gets about her adopted sister who acts like a Greaser. I have tried to find a way to make the teasing stop, but I only make it worse by getting in fights. The only way to stop it is to stop being a troublemaker. And I have recently made the choice to try that.
"What happened?" Kory asks as she sits down and lays out her feet along the bench. "That's the second time this week, Ryan. And it's Wednesday."
"Hey, in my defense, that lady was asking for it. Her soul is as cold as ice. Plus, I didn't do much. Just an insult toward her precious lessons."
"Everyone says you fell asleep!" she says in exasperation.
"Yeah, well, her lessons were boring. People should think of this as a favor. I have proved that Ms. Frill's lessons are boring by falling asleep and saying it to her face. Now she knows that she needs to improve. She improves. Her lessons become less boring. People don't fall asleep in her class. Everybody wins."
She smiles up at me. "Always an upside to things, huh?" I love the way Kory and I talked; like friends. Not like people who were forced to be sisters. But I love her the way someone would love their younger blood sister. I protect her and feel bad when she feels bad.
Korean is a girl in the shadows. She tries not to be noticed. She's afraid of attention. But she has a rebellious side to her. She will sometimes back-talk her parents – which she will get in trouble for – and she's adventurous. She loves books and wishes she could have the exciting life of the characters in her books. She admires Greasers – I find her insane for that. She thinks they're brave and better than any Social any day. She thinks they're tuff. Yes, tuff. She picked that little word up from some over-heard Greaser conversation. I've tried to steer her away from Greaser life, – for reasons of my own – but she is always interested in it. She is about two years younger than me, at the age of fifteen. She is in her second year at high school since she skipped a grade because of her smartness. She has a messy thick braid with dark red hair pocking out of place. Curious green eyes were kept behind small square glasses that she happened to forget today, yesterday, and the day before that. Her pale skin had, surprisingly, only a few freckles here and there. She was a slight bit taller than me, but I still felt protective of her. Korean and I were the only girl Socs that wore jeans at this school. Which made Kory a little uncomfortable from the attention, but she says she'd rather stand out then wear a disastrous skirt. But her parents were under the impression that she wore a skirt every day. We dressed more like Greasers, but we didn't dress skimpy like the girls. Sometimes I thought that I rubbed off on Kory, but she probably would dress like this even if weren't a part of her family.
I smile back at my adoptive sister and confirm, "Always." Then my smile disappears. "But I gotta tell you Korean, that sometimes it is pretty dang hard to make the perspective of some situations happy. Especially when that situation is blonde and wearing a poodle skirt." With confusion set in her brow, she follows my line of sight to see Valerie and her girls. Kory slouches in disappointment. I don't do anything, trying to play it cool.
The girls approach us, obviously someone is gonna get hurt here. Emotionally or physically. But then I think about possible suspension and I groan. "What?" says Valerie, "did that ugly orange vest effect your ability to speak correctly?" She giggles and so do her little disciples.
I grin. "No, Val. It's just that your fat ugly face is now in my presence. If you don't mind, could you move it to…Texas?"
She purses her lips and puts her hand on her hip. "Someone's got their underwear in a twist."
"Yeah. And it ain't me." We share a long glare at each other. Finally, the girls go sit at the empty table next to ours and purposely whisper loudly about me. Never about Kory. They know that I would punch them twice as hard if it were about her. Kory and I try to ignore them as we sit in silence. She eats her sandwich and I eat nothing. Kory offers me the other sandwich that she had packed for me. But I turn it down; not in the mood for food.
I catch Kory looking at the Greaser, Ponyboy Curtis, who was exiting the school for lunch break. Kory has a huge crush on Ponyboy. And she knows I know, but every time I bring it up, she denies it. Ponyboy Curtis. Last year he got himself into all sorts of trouble. I can't stop myself from thinking, he knew Dally. A big clump of tears form in my throat. I push it back and force my mind to change the topic. I catch a few words of the gossip at the other table.
"Look at her shoes."
"They're so dirty and torn."
"It's like she wants to be a Greaser."
"She's animal."
"Better watch out. I hear she has rabies."
A wave of anger washes over me and I grip the edge of the table to keep from socking one of those girls.
"Hey Val," I call. "Shut up, will ya? I know you have a low self-esteem but that doesn't mean you have to dampen mine." I know that she blushes. I just smile with glee.
Suddenly, I'm envying Ponyboy Curtis and all the rest of the Greasers for being able to just waltz out of this school at lunch. I would do that too, but I would hear a lot of yelling from my adoptive parents.
"Look at her ugly face."
"It's not even wearing makeup."
That's a new one, I think, someone calling me 'it'.
"And she prefers to be called by a boy's name."
"Look at its pants."
"It wears them because it is a slut." No doubt that was Valerie. Her high-pitched voice isn't hard to miss. And yet, it is not the rudest comment ever said. I close my eyes and think, please let me just get through this one day. Then I can resign or quit or whatever.
But no such luck. The last thing I can ever think of happening, happens. Kory jumps up and off the bench and marches herself right in front of Valerie. Valerie actually has the respect to stand up for her.
"Hey twit," Kory says to Valerie. She raises a perfect eyebrow. For a second, I think – I hope – that Kory will stand down, but then she says, "No one calls my sister a slut." And then she plants a good old smack across the other girl's cheek.
My eyes widen at this newfound violence in Kory. I go up behind her and grab her by the shoulders; trying to pull her away. She stumbles back a few steps but then Valerie recovers from her shock. Now Kory feels the need to stand her ground. Valerie approaches fuming with rage, and shoves her into me. We fall down and my head hits the floor with this awful thump and my vision spins. Valerie's standing above us, with a new red mark on her cheek, spits out, "You're just like her, Korean. An animal. Be ashamed."
I try get up, ready to slug the daylights out of this pain in the butt, when Kory pushes Valerie back. They get into this whole fight – Valerie uses more of a destroying spider webs sort of technique while Kory throws more punches and kicks – that is impossible for me to stop without getting poked in the eye.
Soon, a crowd swarms around the two of them; giving them feedback like ooh and ahhh and ouch. Obviously, the Greasers still at school are thoroughly enjoying this, and I am just standing on the sidelines, helpless. I can't do anything, for my head is still swimming with colors and objects. Fighting through the grogginess, I observe that Kory seems to have the advantage of height, but she isn't as confident about her decisions and gets knocked to the ground a few times. I try to interfere once or twice, but I end up on the floor; unable to keep my balance.
Then I see some big guy – probably Valerie's football-playing boyfriend, Eric – who gets in between Kory and Valerie, and hits Kory's face. Kory falls to the ground but her hands stop her from hitting her head like me. Suddenly, all the pain and dizziness disappears. I jump to my feet. Kory gets back up, as well. Just as Eric is about to strike again, I dash to intercept and grab his fist to stop it from going any further.
Eric blinks a few times. He's obviously confused about how I moved so quickly. "Don't underestimate the abilities of a tiny girl," I advise him. And I twist his arm, which kind of turns his body so that I have an opportunity to kick him in the behind. He staggers forwards and I look behind me to see Kory. She looks fine except for a bruise that is already starting to form around her left eye from where Eric hit her.
I turn back to see that Eric is in front of me again. Extremely mad and humiliated. Adrenaline kicks in and we both throw a few punches at each other. But it is relatively hard for us to do any damage to each other. I dodge too quickly to be hit. And when I manage to hit him, my small hands barely do anything. A few times, I make the wrong move and he throws his fist in to my stomach, making me feel like vomiting. You can imagine, it also makes it hard to breathe. After he gets me in the ribs, he throws his arms around me, trapping my arms. I struggle to get free, but he is really strong. Performing one of my favorite moves, I step on his foot really hard. He let's go of me for a second and spin around to punch his face. When his face jerks to the side, I kick his stomach and he stumbles backwards. Then I see I flash of red behind him and I focus on it. Kory is standing behind him. She looks like she's gonna punch him, kick him, do something to him. I try to warn her not to, but no words come out because the huge mass of Eric's fist slams into my face and I am thrown back onto the floor.
I lay on my back, my head turned to the side, waiting for the ringing in my ears to subside. Through the fuzziness, I see a pair of shiny black loafers and the hem of fancy looking dress pants. My eyes slide upward to see the face of Principal Statham.
Boy, am I in trouble.
So... what'd ya think? If you would like to show the author any appreciation, questions, comments, concerns, characters you would like to kill off (okay, maybe not the last one), or even suggestions about the story please feel free to review.
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