A.N: Well, sorry for my absence. It's a long story, but i'll save some time by saying that I'm simply back. Unfortunately, I have some bad news that I'm sorry to have to say. I'm putting this story on hold after this chapter. I started rewriting my other story (A Little More Than Friends, Darling) and I needed to shove all my other stories aside to work on that one. The goal is that while this story is on hold, I can fix up the plot and make it perfect. In the meantime while this is on hold, I'm not against you guys checking out my other story (;

So, now that all that's out of the way... I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! For any one who doesn't like OC's all that much, please dismiss this story. Since its in school, I had to take the time and create other characters. I'd like to thank the reviews I got, they meant a lot!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders and the song Magic Bus by The Who (okay, so the song doesn't really 'fit' the chapter, but it's presumed to be about a bus, so it seemed somewhat appropriate).

Every day I get in the queue
Too much! Magic Bus!
To get on the bus that takes me to you
Too much! Magic Bus!
I'm so nervous, I just sit and smile
Too much! Magic Bus!
Your house is only another mile
Too much! Magic Bus!

Chapter One-

I walked into Will Rogers High, and honestly, I felt pretty great. I liked the fact that I was close to the top. I felt almost superior; almost superior watching the little scramble around. They reminded me of a little innocent boy walking into a big and bad bar, wide-eyed and unsure what to do.

Of course, my good feeling vanished as I saw kids greeting each other happily, and mine were nowhere to be seen. I hadn't seen any of them for so long. Maybe they've all changed, I thought sadly. They weren't exactly my close friends or anything, and we weren't all in an official gang, but they were friends.

One of them was Smokes. He got his name because of his features. He had grey eyes, black, almost dark grey hair, and even his skin appeared to have a grey tint to it. He was always wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans. Always. He was nice to people he knew, vicious to the ones he didn't.

I had another friend, but I wasn't very close to her, or at least tried not to be. Angela Shepard was Tim and Curly's sister. She was the definition of greaser girl. She wore too much make-up for sure, she was loud, and smoked and drank too much. Not to mention she was tough and used to getting what she wanted, too. If she wanted to date a guy, they dated. If she wanted someone to get her booze, someone got her booze.

I had a few other friends, J.J., Ava, Charlie. Amy was probably my closest friend though, but we never had classes together 'cause she was a helluva lot smarter than me when it came to school. I beat her when it came to street smarts though. One of the great joys of bumming around the streets of Tulsa.

I finally managed my way to my first hour. I had English class with Mrs. Flyn. I heard she was a bad teacher too. Great way to start out school.

To my dismay I was one of the first kids on the class. As I expected it was mostly greasers. There was one or two middle class kids, whom I just called halfies, even a soc. That happens though, not all socs are really smart, just as not all greasers are dumb. That's just really stereotypical.

The bell rang and I could already tell at least half of the class was missing. No surprise really. A teacher scurried into the room. "Take your seats," she snapped sharply to some kids still standing in the isles. Most of the kids just glared at her before taking a seat in the back.

Those were the mean hoods. The ones that drink and smoke and commit all kids of crimes and pickup girls every night. I didn't care for those kids any less than the next though. The seat next to mine was still empty and I hoped it would stay that way until a familiar face came into the room. "Okay, now that's settled, I'm your English teacher for the year," she said almost resentfully. "I'm Mrs. Flyn," she started.

"Mrs.? So you're married? Damn," some kid joked, followed by the class snickering. Flyn continued talking, ignoring the comment, and I ignored her drone.

As I expected, slowly but surely kids filled in. Still, no one I really knew. No problem, I'll just get to know more people, I thought sarcastically. People at this age rarely made new friends; they stuck with who they had. Not to mention, talking ain't my specialty.

I stared out the window, a great pass time of mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone sit down. I turned toward the person and saw long, black curls atop a pretty little head, none other than Angela Shepard.

"Well, I'll be damned, it's Dahlia Collins!" she exclaimed looking me up and down.

"That'd be I," I said bluntly.

She gave a small smile, which faded quickly. She tossed her black, or dark brown, I couldn't remember, locks then returned her eyes to me. "Where've you been all summer?" she asked.

"I ain't been anywhere. I would just bum around," I said with a shrug.

"Huh, wonders how I ain't seen you 'round. I spent most of my time at Buck Merril's. You know, he was throwin' parties every Friday and Saturday at the beginning of summer, but after a while he was throwin' em damn near every other night!" she said. She was rambling.

"Ahem, ladies," Flyn said.

Angela glared at her and I rolled my eyes.

Angela returned to talking to me but quieter now. "He's thinking of keeping it going on with the parties, even during school. I don't blame him. He's 2o I think, and you can bet if I wasn't in school, I would be havin' parties every night." She paused for a moment, then asked, "Have you ever been to one of his parties?"

"I've been by, never in," I said.

She stared at me, slightly confused, then proceeded talking. I didn't know why she was talking to me so much. We were friends sure, but far from close. "You and me should go to one sometime. I need new friends, all my other ones got steady boyfriends and left me," she said. This didn't surprise me though, many of her other friends were much older than her and needed to settle down with a boy.

Nonetheless, I couldn't believe my ears. I heard a touch of sadness in her voice. "Yeah, I don't know, maybe," I said, returning my gaze out the window.

The bell rang and the kids quickly walked out in an unorganized mob. I pulled My schedule out of my pocket to see where I was going to next. I had French, which was all the way upstairs. I figured I had time to lose since they weren't counting tardies yet.

I found my friend Ava in the hallway. Ava was fairly short for her age and I think she was done growing too. She had stick straight bright hair. It was blond I think.

"Hey, Ava," I said.

"Hey, Dahlia!" she said cheerfully. "Isn't the first day of school such a thrill? she asked sarcastically.

"Well obviously," I said with a socy, sarcastic, eye roll.

"Where are you headed off to, Doll?" she asked using my cheesy nickname 'doll' because it sounds like 'Dahl'.

"French," I said simply.

"Ah, oui. Avoir un grand temps," she said in near perfect French. She had already taken it for two years.

"I have no clue what you just said. So where are you going?" I asked.

"Stupid P.E.," she said.

"Sounds fun," I said sarcastically. "Well, I got to go, see you around," I said and started to walk away. The bell rang while I was still in the hallway but I didn't think it mattered considering there was multiple kids in the hallway. I laughed inwardly slightly as I saw all the freshman looking around wide-eyed like a deer in headlights.

I finally managed my way to my class room.

"Ah, bonjour, mademoiselle! What's your name?" the teacher asked. She looked young, almost too young to be a teacher. She probably understood pretty well the soc versus Greaser thing then, which only means she prefers one side versus another.

"Dahlia Collins," I said I said to her.

She looked at a paper in her hand. "Oui, you sit next to Steve Randle, behind James Plymouth. Two boys in the back flicked their heads up at mention of their names. I nearly choked when I realized that the boy I had to sit next to was car boy from the other day at the gas station.

I quietly took my seat. The way he looked at me I could tell her recognized me as well; after all, it was probably hard to forget about a girl who offered to help with cars, I mean, girls don't do that. I tried to listen to the teacher to avoid looking at the boy; Steve was his name.

"For those of you who have recently joined us, I am Madame Erin Cat. You are now in French One. Now that it looks like most of the class is here, we are going to do some exercises. I want you to talk to and get to know the people around you. Discuss how this activity will help you learn French. Go," she said.

I rolled my eyes. Now I had to talk to people, and I just wasn't a people person. I looked to my left, but the seat was empty, which left me with Steve, or the kid in front of me, James.

Just as Steve looked like he was about to start to talk, James turned around and started. "Hey, I think we should talk or something," he said almost sarcastically.

"Go 'head. Talk," Steve said.

"Well I'm James Plymouth," he started.

I let out the smallest giggle. "You have the last name of a car, man" I said.

James glared at me. "Yeah? What's your name?" he sneered.

"Dahlia Collins," I said with my head held high. I wasn't exactly the most talkative or outgoing person, but I was dignified, according to Amy, at times, I was slightly egotistical. I of course dismissed that, not liking the sound of it.

James snorted. "What kind of name is Dahlia?"

"The kind you name your girl," I shot at him.

James stared at me before cracking a half grin. "You're alright. So what about you pretty-boy?" he asked, turning his attention to Steve, spitting the word 'boy'.

"Pretty-boy?" he spat angrily at James.

"Sorry, ugly mug?" James asked with a sly grin.

"You guys are both such a delight," I said leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.

"Sorry, I didn't know you expected all of the world to get along," Steve said. I noticed Steve had a very different, unique voice. It was soft, yet shard and bitter, full of wit.

"No, not at all. But do y'all really got to insult each other?" I asked. I wondered if these two boys went back. After all, they were both greasers, and greasers stuck together, and most greasers around here knew each other to some extent. Then again, they both could just be jack asses.

"Yes," James replied quickly with a grin.

"No," Steve said in an almost joking matter.

"Maybe," James added cracking a grin. "Shoot, maybe you're alright, too," he said.

Steve just merely raised one eyebrow. I noticed he avoided most eye contact and conversation with me. I felt that if he truly did recognize me, he avoided talking to me, hoping to avoid the subject of the gas station incident. He didn't have to worry none, even if he did talk to me, I wasn't one to bring up awkward past events. "You know, you're weird, you know that? I asked James.

"Nah, it's all strategy," he said, picking at his nails. "You see, seem mean so you ward off the weaker people. If they seem alright though, they're alright," he said.

"That is the most idiotic thing I have ever heard," Steve said. "Friends shouldn't be a matter of strategy," he said, leaning forward.

"It is when you're a Shepard," he said with a smile.

"Oh, so you're the new kid in the Shepard gang?" he asked.

"Yup! That's me," he said proudly.

"Hey, the Shepards," I said leaning forward again, regaining interest in the conversation. "They're a pretty wild outfit, right?" I asked. I had heard about the Shepards plenty of times. Mostly through Angela, but Tim Shepard knew almost everybody, it was hard not to hear about him, and Curly got arrested so much, you were always hearing about him, not to mention all the others in the gang had stories.

"Oh yeah, Tim is the roughest of us all, Curly next, even though he's only 14, but that's only because he knows his brother can get him out of a lot of trouble, and that kid has been to jail so many times already," he said.

"Curly an' Tim are always getting sent to jail. I don't think that's very good leadership," Steve said.

"Oh yeah? Well whose your leader then, pretty-boy?" James asked, glaring daggers at Steve. I didn't blame him, when you were in a gang you stuck up for each other.

"I ain't got one," he said slowly, almost unsure.

"You ain't got a gang?" James asked doubtfully.

"I'm in a gang. We just don't have a name, or a real set leader, and we don't fight over turf, tha's all," Steve said. "I'd think you'd know about considering us and the Shepards kind of have an alliance," he said with a sly smirk.

James looked like he was going to say something, but our teacher started talking again. "So, class, what's the reason?" she asked, looking around. I saw some kid raise his hand. He started to speak without the teacher asking him to.

"Because in order to learn French, you have to say it out loud, so we are getting to know each other so it will help us do our partner work," he finished. Everyone turned their attention to the boy who had just spoke. I even craned my neck to see. A boy was smirking victoriously. His hair was combed into an almost pompadour, he also had long sideburns.

The teacher looked at him disapprovingly. "Re-citing what I said the class before this when you were here instead of your other class hardly counts, Two-Bit," she said. Then addressing the whole class she said, "However, he is right."

Steve snorted, amused. "That guy is an idiot," James said, but I saw a small smile playing on his lips.

Something told me I might like French class this year.