Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns just about all of this.

This is a very much needed rewrite, I hope all of the readers that read the original will like this version as well.

I knelt down in front of the all-too-familiar fountain, remembering that night. It was the night I held down that small little greaser in the fountain. It also happened to be the night one of my good friends died. I couldn't believe it had only been a year from when Bob, Randy, a few other guys, and I were in that exact spot.

I was staring at the fountain when, I got an eerie chill down my back. I must have hallucinated because it seemed like Bob was there—lying on the ground. Dead. For that moment, I could just picture blood pooling out of him clearly. After shutting my eyes tightly to get the image of Bob out of my head, I decided I was glad I ran. If I had stayed there longer I would have more of those haunting memories that popped up whenever I drove by that park—or any park. I definitely couldn't bear anymore memories from that night. It's always going to be the worst night of my life.

"Give the kid a bath, David," Bob had told me. The kid tried to run, but I caught his arm, twisted it behind his back, and shoved his head in the fountain. He was fighting pretty hard, but even really drunk, I was much stronger.

At the time we thought it was pretty funny, a little greaser kid flailing and gasping for air. As we watched and laughed, he slowly he fought less and less hard. We were paying so much attention to the kid in the fountain that we completely forgot about the dark haired one. If we weren't so drunk, we probably wouldn't have forgotten about him. And if we didn't forget, the greaser wouldn't have had the chance to stab Bob. He wouldn't have died.

I got a look at Bob lying there, but I urged Randy, Henry, and Roger to run back to the car. We all ran to Randy's car after that, leaving Bob to bleed out on the cement.

Once, I tried to go to visit the kid who killed Bob at the hospital, just to take a peek. The kid looked awful and he was burnt all over. He actually looked worse alive then Bob did dead. Just looking at him for a while, my thoughts wandered and I got madder than hell. The kid killed my friend—that greaser killed my friend. My friend that was captain of the football team, the heir to an oil fortune, and president of our debate team, was killed by some no-good JD. I couldn't just beat up some kid in the intensive care unit, so I walked as fast as I could out of the hospital. I was glad the rumble was that night. I blew off all the steam I needed to and only got mildly injured. I bruised my knuckles breaking a couple of this guy with curly hair's ribs.

I read in the paper that night of the rumble, the kid that killed Bob died. As I saw his condition in the hospital, I wasn't surprised, but I did feel a bit of remorse which I didn't think I'd get.

My thoughts were interrupted by a, "Hello?"

"Oh, um, hello." I turn to look up at a blonde girl who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. I definitely wasn't expecting any visitors that day.

"You-you're a S-soc," she stammered, blushing a bit.

"I haven't been called that in a while, but I suppose." I'd forgotten that on that side of town that was all I was. Not a person, just a Soc.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," she said, dropping her gaze down to her scuffed shoes.

"That's fine. It's what I get for spending too much time on this side of town. I was just trying to remember a friend of mine. He died, right here a year ago." I gestured down at the fountain and surrounding area.

"Wait, you were that dead kid's friend? I mean…I'm sorry. Bob was his name?"

"Yeah, he was a good friend of mine. You know his name?" I noticed her eyes were sort of china blue. I wouldn't have noticed, but her eyes were big and shiny from crying, which, I could tell she had done prior to talking to me.

"Mhm hm." She nodded quickly and we made eye contact for a few seconds. Shortly after though, she uncomfortably turned away. "I never met him, but I heard about him." She bit her lip. "My boyfriend or, well, ex-boyfriend was in the same gang as the boy, Johnny, who… You know." She sighed loudly. "Johnny was the one who killed Bob. He was a sweet kid when I talked to him though."

"I only know him as a killer," I snapped at her. She frowned and stepped back. I found further evidence she had cried and I seemed like if I raised my voice anymore, she'd break down and start bawling.

"Look, I feel bad about Bob, okay? I'm sorry. I didn't know Johnny or Dallas that well. Try to understand, Johnny wasn't normally like that! He was trying to defend his friend, my boyfriend's brother! So don't think of Johnny like that. You were there; you knew Bob was drunk when he was killed."

"We were all drunk. I don't fucking even remember how we got there. I only remember that the smaller kid had a pleading look on his face because he couldn't breathe and the image of blood just flowing out of Bob's stomach…" I stopped speaking due to the headache that came out of nowhere. I don't even know why, but all the memories were coming back. For a while I thought I hated that Johnny kid, but I didn't. It kind of touched me that a girl that barely knew the kid was sticking up for him even one year after his death. I wished that people in our neighborhood would do that. Maybe Randy or Roger would, but Henry or even Bob, who everyone made out to be an angel after he died, wouldn't.

"I'm sorry." She looked down. "I ain't a saint either, though. 'Hope you know that. I didn't even know Johnny all that well. But, we were greasers. And when you're a greaser, you stick together. No matter what." She looked up and managed a half smile. "Oh, uh, the name's Sandy, by the way."

I automatically held out my hand and said, "I am David," but as I started to say my last name, I turned away and slid my hand into my pocked. "… but you just have to know, over on my side of town there isn't really any sticking together."

"Yeah, maybe on your side of town, there's not. But greasers used to…I don't know if I'm still part of that. I screwed up real bad a year ago. I lost everything. I doubt anyone in this town—even my parents—want to speak to me." I strongly doubted her parents wouldn't talk to her. At the time, I was convinced my parents would eventually forgive me no matter what I did. I had no idea about greaser parents, though.

"It couldn't have been that bad. I mean you didn't almost kill someone."

"No, but I hurt someone I loved terribly. A lot of people, actually." Sandy kept wiping tears before they fell and her eyes were getting red and puffy. I felt pretty bad because she was really beating herself up.

The curiosity was growing inside me. I really wasn't used to being out of the loop, so, I asked, "I hate to impose on your personal business, but what did you do?"

What could she have possibly done? I ruled out that she was a murderer or a thief. But looking at her, I knew it was something horrible. She really didn't want to tell me anything, but I think I made her feel obligated to. Part of me felt kind of bad for making her remember, but all I wanted at the time was to know what in the world that girl did.

Note from one of the authors: We'd like to dedicate the story in it's entirety to the people of Greaser Gangs & Social Clubs for helping us form Sandy and David. I would like to dedicate this chapter to my co-author on her birthday and the victims of the 9/11 attack.