Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders
"This is completely cruel if you ask me." My best friend Stacy said. We were sitting next to each other at a two-person table with a dead worm and different kinds of utensils placed in front of us.
"I mean, what did the worm do to us?" She asked. Stacy's mother really takes the whole "love for all God's creatures" thing way too seriously. I guess it's kind of rubbed off on Stacy.
"It's disgusting, is what it is. I hate biology." I said bitterly, as I looked down at the dead worm.
I smoothed down my yellow blouse and turned around in my seat to look over the class - trying to see what we were supposed to do next. I looked over at the boy to my right at the next table over. He wasn't like most of the kids in the class. He had greasy hair and was wearing an old sweatshirt and jeans. I knew he was a greaser by sight, but he wasn't like the others. He barely talked and when he did it was just to answer a question the teacher asked. My friend Tommy was sitting next to him. Not by choose, but because of alphabetical order. Stacy and I always had it lucky, her last name being James and mine Jones.
"Now class," My teacher Mrs. Wilson said, "take the razor left of your tray and cut the worm down the center. Then take the pins and stick them in the sides to hold open the worm's skin." I pretend gagged and Stacy looked over at me and rolled her eyes.
Stacy took the razor out of its plastic package and attempted to slice the worm in half.
"It won't cut." She said in a frustrated tone as she handed me the razor.
I took the razor from her hand and started to try to cut the worm. She was right, it didn't cut very well. I looked over at Tommy's table to see if his razor could cut and I saw the greasy boy beside him reach into his back pocket for something. His hand searched around in his pocket, then pulled out a small black-handled switchblade and flicked out the blade.
"They are right." I gasped, "You are a hood."
His ears and cheeks burned bright red at my statement and put the switchblade back in his pocket. I knew he was from the North Side, but I never thought he was a hood, just poor.
Tommy looked over at me with a half-astonished, half-amused look on his face. I took another look at the boy sitting on my right and noticed his sweatshirt was blue. I almost felt bad for saying that to him, since for the rest of the period he stayed that same shade of dark crimson and was even quieter than usual. Well, almost being the key word.
Even if he was a hood, he was a cute kid. He looked really good in blue.
A/N- I submitted this story a couple of months back, but I didn't like some stuff in it so it's a bit different than the first version. Sorry it was so short. But reviews & criticisms are always welcome :