Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders.

"Oh, get up already!"

I groaned and rolled over. My bed was so soft and comfortable….

"Audrey Marie Curtis, get up!"

He was pulling the middle name trick. I crack my right eye open. "What?"

"It's already noon; Mrs. Sheridan's coming at one," Darry called. I heard his footsteps echo down the hallway.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. No wonder Darry had been so anxious recently; I'd forgotten about the social worker's visit. I reached for the comb on my nightstand, but in my lazy state, I fell off the bed.

I heard laughter from the doorway. I glanced up before shoving the blanket over my head – a typical reaction I'd have in the presence of a Greek God.

"Two-Bit," I grumbled.

"Up and at 'em," he laughed.

"Why don't you go do something useful," I said. "And leave me alone." I brought my knees to my chin and attempted to sink into a blissful sleep. I should've known that was impossible in the presence of Two-Bit Matthews.

"Me?" he inquired. "Useful?" He chuckled. The click of his boots approached my blanket; he attempted to rip it off. I grasped it, but in my weak state, the eighteen-year-old boy won. Hell, he would have beaten me in a strength contest even if I was wide awake. Even for a fourteen-year-old girl, I was weak.

I slowly picked myself up off the ground. "You pick up all your beer bottles 'round here?"

"I think Pony did," he replied.

"'Course you didn't do any work; why'd I even ask?" I questioned. By now I was on my feet, and I felt childish and embarrassed in my old nightgown. It was pink and frilly; Mom had picked it out for me when I was eleven. I didn't look great in anything, but I looked worse in this. "Get out," I demanded. I snatched my blanket out of his arms and wrapped it around my juvenile attire.

"Are you gonna stay awake?" he asked.

"If you leave," I answered. He gave me one last grin before he exited the room. I knew he'd taken notice of my oh-so-flattering nightgown. I groaned. I should have gotten some cute pajamas with my "girl stuff" money, but bras and pads were priority. Maybe next month.

I dressed in a simple skirt and a simpler top. Karen was right, the new bra did make me look better on top. Of course, I couldn't look that much better because there wasn't that much redeemable stuff to work with. I couldn't help but notice how large my hips looked in this skirt.

Even after ripping a comb through my hair for ten minutes, it wouldn't stand straight. I was tempted to hack it all off, so I threw it into a ponytail.

I didn't look pretty at all; what had Ponyboy been talking about? There was an all-too-visible zit on my nose, my hair was stringy and brown, my nose was too big, my front teeth oversized, my eyes were too small, my hips were too big, my breasts were too big – hell, my whole middle was too big, my feet were too big –

I caught the small case Karen had convinced me to buy yesterday in the corner of my eye. I told Karen she was crazy for making me buy this, but secretly I'd always wanted it. I'd always wanted make-up; maybe for once I'd be pretty. Maybe I'd even be beautiful.

Fat chance. I was an ogre in the mirror.

"Audrey, it's twelve thirty and she always comes early. You ready?"

"Yeah, Dare," I called back. I gave up on my decency and entered the living room. Darry paced from the TV to the couch; he couldn't sit down. Occasionally he'd move something around in a feeble attempt to clean the house even more, but it was spotless already; his actions were pointless. Soda sat on the couch – when he was nervous, he couldn't move. He was holding the newspaper, but Soda never read the paper because he didn't have the concentration. Ponyboy lay on the floor and did homework; he was always at ease. At least, he seemed it – I had no idea what went through that boy's head.

Two-Bit had cleared out, I assumed. I wished he hadn't – as much as I told him I wanted him out, I didn't. He comforted me. I walked to the kitchen and picked up an apple; I had to have something in my hands. We all got nervous and anxious when the social worker came, even though she was incredibly kind, and always wanted the best for us, and at the moment, she thought the best would be to keep us together.

We'd known her longer than the eight months since our parents died – she and Mom were friends; they grew up together. I'd known her my whole life.

I heard a knock at the door and then I heard Darry and Mrs. Sheridan chatting. I didn't want to enter the room yet; I was still nervous. After five minutes or so of tossing an apple from hand to hand, I entered the living room.

"Hi, Mrs. Sheridan," I said. My smile was fake at first, but my eyes crinkled when I hugged her. The middle-aged woman had become somewhat of my mother in the past months.

When we broke apart she asked, "Ready to go?"

Every month when she visited she took me out to lunch for "girl talk." That's what she called it, anyway. At first I was uneasy, but now I enjoyed it. It was nice to have somebody who cared about what I had to say – not like Karen, who would simply shoot back her own problems.

Of course, I couldn't complain that much, or Mrs. Sheridan might think I wasn't happy here.

Was I happy here? Sure, I was happy to be with my brothers, but this house seemed to just be one big reminder of my late parents. Sometimes I was happy, but sometimes I just wanted to get away. Ponyboy told me once that he wished to go to the country.

Not me. I wanted to go to a city and be somebody. Not a city like Tulsa. This wasn't a city; this wasn't somewhere where you could become somebody. I wanted to go to Hollywood, L.A., New York. I wanted to be somebody.

"How's school going?" Mrs. Sheridan asked. "Started two weeks ago, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "It's going fine, I guess." I didn't mention how hard my classes were, how I was already slipping behind. I'd never been too good at school, and this was no different. I thought of how she could interpret that – she could think I needed to go to a private school that Darry couldn't afford, or I wasn't in a comfortable studying zone at my house, or –

"Everything going fine at school?" she asked.

"Social-wise, you mean? Yeah," I said.

"Lots of parties?" she asked. She smiled and stopped at the stop sign; we were only a few minutes from the restaurant we went to every month.

"That's funny," I said. "I don't get invited to parties." I realized what I'd said, and I tried to change it, to make myself sound less depressed, but all I could come up with was, "I mean – "

"That's not a bad thing," she said. "Just means you don't hang out with people like that."

Or I don't hang out with people at all, I thought. Karen told me stories about parties, and although I had been invited to a couple; they weren't anything special. It was just a few friends – less than a dozen. No drugs, no sex, no booze. Karen told me about those kinds of parties, but she'd never bothered to invite me along.

"I guess," I said.

"So what do you do with friends, then?" she asked.

Friend, I thought. Karen was my only real friend, and I mean the one that I felt comfortable calling and dishing out all my problems. Even then, that was a loose definition – she wasn't great at being my friend. I knew other kids, sure, but they were just classmates, or acquaintances.

"You know," I said. "Shop, talk, hang out, I guess."

"Shop," she repeated. "Guess you don't get a lot of that in your house."

"Nope," I said, and I laughed with her. "Darry isn't big on shopping. But he gives me shopping money, and I go with other friends." I didn't want to sound ungrateful, or like I wanted or needed a shopping buddy.

We pulled into the restaurant. It was a dingy diner named Kenny's, and mostly old people went there. It wasn't a place kids hung out, but Mrs. Sheridan liked it, and she thought I did. Honestly, it kind of gave me the creeps. There were too many old people and it smelled funny.

It gave off the same odor as always – fish mixed with fertilizer. It was an odd mix, but I couldn't think of a better way to describe it.

"Table for two?" Mrs. Sheridan asked. The bored waitress directed us to our table; it was a small one in the corner near the window. She handed us menus and left.

"What do you think you'll be getting?" she asked. "I'm thinking about the blueberry pancakes."

"Those sound good," I said.

"Since we were talking about school, I was wondering," Mrs. Sheridan said. She hesitated; I knew we were entering rocky territory. I had best watch my step. "I know a school pretty close, maybe an hour away. It's a girls' high school, and it's a boarding school. I've been looking into it for a while; it's hard to get in. They like to have girls from a variety of backgrounds, and I've figured how to secure you a spot if you'd like. You could start next semester. Your grades last year were decent, and if you get decent grades this semester they would let you in free, you could get financial aid. What do you think?"

"That's really nice of you Mrs. Sheridan," I said. I'd just built myself a lifeboat, in case I said something to be misinterpreted. "But I don't think I'd like that. I'd miss my brothers too much, and I like my life now."

"Do you?" she asked. I could tell we weren't talking about the school anymore; this was about me.

"Yeah," I said. "I mean, I miss my parents, and sometimes I guess I don't love my life, but every teenager's like that." That was a lie. I hated my life – I hated having no real friends and having to worry all the time about money and staying together; I hated having awkward conversations; I hated not getting any guys – I hated everything about myself. I hated being stupid – Mrs. Sheridan calling my grades "decent" was a stretch. I hated my life. Teenagers weren't like that – not all of them. Not all of the time.

As much as I hated my life, I didn't want to leave it. My life and I – we were like drugs, I suppose. I didn't like it, but I was addicted to it. No, not drugs. A wedlock baby. You're stuck with it, but if you do anything to try to get rid of it, you just feel horrible. But you still hate it, and it slowly kills you.

"I'm happy," I lied.

"You could come back home on holidays," she said. "And maybe some weekends."

"It doesn't really appeal to me," I said.

"You could have a brighter future," she said. "Employers will see that name; colleges will see that name."

"Employers?" I echoed. "Colleges?"

She nodded.

"But I…" I mumbled. "I've never thought about that." I'd never considered it a possibility. Darry always went off on tangents about Ponyboy going to college, never mentioned me. He wanted me to raise my grades, but he wasn't nearly as harsh about it as with Pony. I'd seen it happen to all the girls in my neighborhood – they just married some guy they didn't love and had babies. Wash, rinse, repeat. It made it harder to submit to your fate if you had false hope of a future.

"Women can go to college, you know," Mrs. Sheridan said. "I worry about you, living without any women…I worry you feel neglected. Like you're not worth anything."

I hated that. The one woman who understood me – I couldn't open up to her, or she'd try to help me. I hated that, too. I shied away from people who tried to help me. But I felt so guilty…Darry tried so hard…I loved my brothers.

"It's not where I live," I said. "It's the world. Women can go to college, I suppose, but most don't. It's not even just Tulsa or anything – it happens everywhere." I hoped I put up a convincing argument, and Mrs. Sheridan seemed to buy it. She nodded.

"I know," she said. "It's a sad world we live in." She tucked her hair behind her ear. From the way she crossed her legs, I could tell I was into even rockier territory than before. I held my breath. "There's something else," she said. "I don't even want to ask, to make you feel uncomfortable or anything, because I doubt it's true, but I'm going to have to ask anyway – it's just protocol, and I won't judge you on your answer or anything of the sort, but please just answer honestly, and don't worry about what will happen."

That scared the hell out of me. Mrs. Sheridan never mumbled or stuttered or stopped short, and she was never this awkward or nervous. I'd never seen her nervous – it was in the job description or something. I didn't tell her to spit it out; I didn't want her to.

"Has anyone – anyone – hurt you? I mean in any way – physically, emotionally, anything. Made you feel uncomfortable, anything?" she asked.

I almost died on the spot. She thought – "Just because I live in a house with all boys, doesn't mean they take advantage of me, Mrs. Sheridan," I said. My voice remained steady, but I was fuming inside.

Freakin' stereotypes.

"I didn't think so, I just had to ask," she explained.

Now that I think about it, I didn't answer that question "no." I avoided it actually, but Mrs. Sheridan was just as willing to leave the topic.

Author's Note: Four chapters down! In case you haven't realized by now, I update every four days – so the next day will be December 20th, then the 24th, 28th, January 1st, etc. If I don't update on these dates, feel free to yell at me through messages – you'll get your chapters that way for sure. By the way, reviews make my day; long reviews make my week The more reviews, the better the story, the more you'll enjoy it. So if you review you're benefiting too. What do you think of Audrey/Two-Bit? Allison/Ponyboy, or Karen/Ponyboy? Someone else altogether? Any ideas – let me know!