Author's Note: Thank you for the continued support!

Happy reading :)

I couldn't help who I was becoming. Or rather, who I had turned into. Who I still sort of am. Who I've always sort of been and always sort of will be.

There are plenty of things I could try to blame: new school, my new friends, the fact that Ponyboy Curtis seemed too afraid to speak to me, Lucy Radner's stares and Evie Martin's eyerolls. And Two-Bit Mathews. Just Two-Bit as a person, just as he was, reminding me every day why I couldn't stand him.

I really couldn't. I really, really couldn't.

But that wouldn't be right. I can't just go around pointing fingers. The fact is that I had choices, and I made the ones I thought were right at the time. Didn't always pan out, but I couldn't have known then. And I was too new and too scared in this new town to want to rock the boat. I had friends, a group, for the first time in my life, and you can bet your ass I was going to do everything I could to hold onto that, even if that meant, well…being a bitch sometimes.

I felt like I had to be! Even as it was happening, I knew it was just my desperate attempt to fit in, but there was also a part of me that recognized that these feelings and thoughts were my own, and I had just been given the opportunity to reveal them. Before I knew it, I was staring down Evie's group with the rest of my friends like I had known and hated them all my life, too, wondering why they thought they could blatantly break the dress code and laugh as loud as they wanted and pal around and swear with the boys.

Speaking of boys, no one on the planet irritated me more than Two-Bit Mathews. I swear, he came to that class every day – every day! This boy with a reputation for skipping and slacking – just to annoy me. Just looking at him was enough to set me off, and I think he knew that because like Missy said, after a while he stopped with the gum chewing and the chair kicking and the shoulder tapping.

He knew that all he needed to do to get a rise out of me was just show up and smile.

And you know what the worst thing was? For as much as he seemed to just sit back and act like he didn't care one bit about what was going on, he wasn't even doing poorly in the class. He scored well on every test. He and Mr. James seemed to have some sort of rapport, too, so it wasn't just that Mr. James was too exhausted with him to bother calling him out – he liked Two-Bit.

It didn't make sense. Nothing at that school made sense.

"I don't see why you're so bothered," Two-Bit shrugged. "Hell, I don't even see how it's got anything to do with you."

I fidgeted in my seat, feeling myself blush. I wondered if he had noticed by now that I did that whenever I was embarrassed. "It's just that you said he's putting up with you."

"Yeah, because he likes me," he said cheerfully. "I think he gets a kick outta me. Unlike you," he added. "Which, that's what's confusin' me here – you keep askin' me to leave you alone, but you're the one keeps turnin' around to talk to me. It don't make sense, Bee."

I could feel Missy and Jimmy Hopper's eyes on us, ping-ponging back and forth, and I wished they would just mind their own business. "What doesn't make sense to me – "

"A lot don't seem to make sense to you."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before starting again. "What doesn't make sense to me is how you keep passing these tests." I held up my own test paper with a 95 up in the corner. "All you do is sit there."

"Ouch," he said, feigning hurt, and I thought of Evie Martin. "What, you think just because I'm repeatin' junior year that I'm some sorta idiot?"

"You are an idiot," Jimmy snorted, and Two-Bit whipped around to stare daggers at him.

"You talk again and I'll pound you into the floor, Jim, and that's a promise," he said, and Jimmy shrank back, and Two-Bit grinned at him. I looked over at Missy, who pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. "Anyhow. What were we talkin' about? Oh, right – you think I'm stupid or somethin'. Well, lemme put it this way – I ain't on my second go-round cuz I didn't know what was goin' on. Know what I'm sayin'?"

"I guess," I said, but really I was still confused.

I could tell Two-Bit knew I wasn't exactly picking up what he was putting down. I couldn't see why he would have to repeat a grade for any other reason than not understanding the material – unless it was just a lack of effort, which I found pretty easy to believe the more I thought about it. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed, he asked me, "You ever read 'The Raven'?"

"I remember reading that in junior high," Missy said, clearly trying to save me from this conversation. But Two-Bit wasn't having it, and he ignored her.

"I've read it," I answered. "Pretty sure most people have."

"You're the raven," he said, sure. "I mean, not just because you've got the black hair, but because you're sort of a broken record and no matter how much you want to, you just can't seem to leave me alone." He laughed. "Oh, poor, poor Bee."

That's what was funny about him. Not ha-ha funny, as much as he tried to be that way, but I'll be honest in saying that Two-Bit didn't exactly come off as very smart. He at least acted stupid, which is almost as bad as actually being stupid. I later heard from my friends that he had intentionally failed his junior year the first time, for reasons that no one knew except for himself, but then he would go and reference Edgar Allan Poe and get decent grades on history tests.

I scoffed. "I think it's the other way around."

(Turns out, it sort of went both ways.)

xXx

"You haven't been practicing much lately. That's not like you."

I looked up from my pre-calculus homework. Dad was talking about the grand in the den, as in grand piano. God, it was a beautiful piano. Sleek and black and tuned to perfection. I had been playing since I was a little girl, something my father had directed me into. Dad's an open-minded guy, but he believes in direction and structure. Maybe it was his place in the world of academia that made him give his daughter the most cosmopolitan of upbringings, making sure she visited plenty of museums and heard lectures on history and had all her dresses perfectly hemmed – and lots and lots of piano.

I had been playing since I was five years old, going from just banging on the keys to actually being able to play little songs, like "Hot Cross Buns" or "Mary Had a Little Lamb." Then I got a little older and a little better and learned how to play some of the simpler Mozart and Beethoven. Eventually, I taught myself to play all my favorite songs from the radio, and that was about the point Dad figured out I was more determined to duplicate what George Martin had done on "In My Life" than the Moonlight Sonata – though I could play that, too. Took him long enough – wasn't like I didn't have posters and pictures and articles and clippings and records lying around in my little pink bedroom, with unsent letters to Paul McCartney sitting in my desk drawer.

"I guess I haven't," I replied, not really knowing what else to say. "I could practice after my homework is done, if you'd like."

"Would you?" He drummed his fingers against his book and looked away – a tell that he was trying to work up the courage to say something that had something to do with his feelings and emotions. "I have to admit I've missed listening to you play. I know that you aren't preparing for anything by doing it, but perhaps you'd enjoy it. I know I would."

Dad rarely asked for things for himself. Moving us down to Tulsa was the most selfish thing he had ever done, but it was hard to be mad at him for it, as much as I wanted to be. That was the first time that it occurred to me that maybe he was having a hard time adjusting to living here, too, that he missed Manhattan as much as I did but had jumped at the opportunity to work again. Besides, it's rude to turn down a favor a friend has called in for you.

"Yeah. I could do that," I said.

He nodded, then padded off on his sock-covered feet back into his office, probably to grade papers or something. It was something that consumed a lot of his time – school, that is. He could hide behind it. He didn't have to face being without his wife or his moody daughter or that god-awful Bob Dylan. He could pretend that the times weren't changing, that they were just the same as they were back in medieval Europe, or Ancient Greece, or pre-Revolution America.

I put down my pencil and went to the piano.

xXx

I had completely tuned out Mr. James. If I had questions about the triangular trade, I would ask Dad about it later. I had taken a few notes but had given up rather quickly on that. I was doodling in my notebook by then, writing my name and Bob Dylan lyrics in cursive and drawing stupid little hearts. Hearts just scream A girl has been here! Always. Guys don't draw hearts. Girls draw hearts. What is it about hearts and love and wanting to be MRS. PAUL MCCARTNEY that is so enticing to girls? It wasn't like the guy you liked would actually ever like you back – I knew that from experience. It had only happened for me once at that point, in the seventh grade, and I cut the kid's lips with my braces. It was funny to him and his friends after a while, but not to me. Not even now, really. Tough couple of weeks.

I tried communicating with Missy via ESP that I was dying a slow death, and miraculously, a couple of minutes later, without taking her eyes off the chalkboard, she dropped a folded piece of paper on my lap.

I'm dying in here. Of boredom. - Missy

I bit my lip in order to keep back a smile. Thank you, Missy! I picked up my pencil and responded.

So am I. I don't really care too much about trade and etc. - Bridget

Two-Bit bothering you much today?

I rolled my eyes. Of course she would ask that.

Not so bad today. Think he's finally picking up that he needs to back off.

That's good. Just do your best to ignore him. He's doing it because he can. He wants to get a rise out of you, and quite frankly, it's working.

No it is not!

Uh-huh.

I don't get it. What did I do? It's not like I really did anything to him...just asked him to quit being so obnoxious. I guess that's a totally outlandish request. But god, is he annoying. I'm getting sick of it.

I don't know. Just what guys like him do.

I guess.

Enough about him. You're coming over to Marcia's this weekend, right? Her sleepovers always have the best food.

Just as I was about to reply, the bell rang. I tapped Missy's shoulder. "I'll be there," I told her in response to her last question, and she smiled and went to ask Mr. James a question.

As I was gathering my things, a hand came down and snatched up the piece of paper Missy and I had been passing back and forth. Didn't take a genius to guess who, but I still felt my heart pounding in my chest because we had been passing notes about him.

"What do we have here?" Two-Bit asked, scanning the page. I tried to grab it back, but he just moved it out of reach.

"None of your business," I shot back, standing up to try once again to take the note back from him, but Two-Bit held it above his head.

"You sure about that?" He asked as he made for the door, and I moved to follow him. "Because I see my name right here…and whaddya mean guys like him?" He asked, but I had a feeling he knew exactly what that meant.

We stood together in the hallway right outside Mr. James' door, in the chaotic sea of people, and I silently begged Missy to hurry the hell up so I didn't have to deal with this dumbass alone. I held my books close to my chest. "I didn't write that."

He held out a finger. "But you didn't exactly disagree, did you?"

Guess not. He lowered his arm and I was finally able to snatch the note back from him, and I crumpled it up. Two-Bit shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "This ain't exactly workin', is it?"

"What isn't working?" I asked, not getting him. I felt as if I never got what he was saying.

He gestured between us. "You an' me – like oil an' water. I'm startin' to think maybe we were destined to hate each other, Bee Stevens. It was fated. Written in the stars. All that good shit."

I stared at him. He said it like a joke, but his eyes were dead serious. I had never in my life met someone like Two-Bit, and I knew in that moment that I never would meet anyone else like him again. We had known each other only a few weeks, and here he was talking about fate. All I could think to say was, "That's ridiculous. We barely know each other."

"We know each other enough to know that we both think the other's a pain in the ass." He clapped me on the shoulder, and my skin tingled. "So – same time tomorrow?"

"Um."

"That's what I thought." Two-Bit made a move to leave, but he turned back one last time. "Oh – almost forgot. Enjoy your slumber party."

xXx

Jimmy Hopper was worse than Two-Bit. He really was. For as annoying as Two-Bit was, Jimmy was meaner, he was scarier, and somehow, Two-Bit didn't have a problem with him. He could get fiery with him, but most of the time they talked amiably with each other. Two-Bit would talk to him like he was no scarier than the milkman, no problem with the guy at all.

I didn't really have a problem with Jimmy Hopper until one day in class, he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, his warm breath sending nervous chills down my spine. "Whaddya say to me and you gettin' together sometime, Bee Stevens?"

It had come out of nowhere. I had spared the guy maybe two words in the entire time I had known him. And that's just the thing – I didn't know him. He was just a guy in my history class, the guy who sat next to Two-Bit and behind Missy. He was one of those greasers my friends had told me about, who smoked under the bleachers and got into fights with guys from our side of town and didn't try in school. So there was no way I would ever go on a date with a guy like him – not only would I never hear the end of it from my friends, not only did he make me nervous, but I wasn't about to go out with a guy that called me Bee Stevens. No. Not when that was the nickname that dummy made up for me, that dummy who believed our dislike in each other was written in the stars. No chance.

"No thanks, Jimmy," I mumbled, going back to my work.

"It's a serious offer," he continued, ignoring what I had said. "Really. C'mon, it ain't like you got any other guys offering. C'mon, Stevens. Whaddya say? You an' me."

You know what the sad part is? He was right. That was the first time in my life I had been asked out. For a split second there, I seriously considered his offer because there was a small part of me, deep down inside, that was saying this was my only chance. Pathetic, right?

I heaved out a sigh. I looked over at Missy, who had taken notice of our little conversation. She had a deep-set frown on her face but seemed to be letting me handle this one on my own. "I'd really rather not, Jimmy," I repeated, trying to focus on labeling my map. "Thank you, but no."

I heard Jimmy lean back in his chair, the metal squeaking underneath his weight and the way he was throwing his body around. "Ya know what they say about you, Stevens?" He continued, sounding mad, and I knew I was about to hear from the angry, scary boy I had been warned about. "That you're just a hanger-on. Those socs only like you cuz you're a rich bitch." I decided not to say anything, but his remark made something red and hot pool in my stomach. "See? She ain't denying it, Two-Bit. Back me up, man."

That's when I finally turned around – not to face Jimmy, not to tell him off, but to look Two-Bit Mathews in the eye to see what he would do. For a moment, he stared back, seeming torn. "Well, I dunno, Jimmy – "

"C'mon, man," Jimmy prodded. "C'mon, you told me more than that. I know you have. I know what you really think, Mathews. Are you gonna tell her, or should I tell her myself?"

"Bridget," Missy hissed, "stop them. Tell Mr. James." Missy looked nervous.

Honestly, I didn't like where this was going either, but the thing is…SI wanted to know. I wanted to hear what Two-Bit had been telling him. I wanted to hear what he really thought of me, what he was saying behind my back. It was oil and water here in the confines of school, but who knew what he was saying when he was out and about town.

And then the realization hit that Two-Bit Mathews thought about me enough to talk about me outside of school, and no matter what it was he was saying about me, I just didn't know what to do with that information.

"Jimmy, just shuddup, will ya? Just drop the damn thing."

Jimmy narrowed his eyes at Two-Bit. I guess that was the last straw for him because he turned to me and said, "He hates ya, Bee Stevens. He really hates you."

And Two-Bit didn't exactly disagree.

That last part must have been louder than he intended because the whole class suddenly stopped chattering, stopped working on their maps, and looked at the four of us. My face turned beet red, and Missy couldn't seem to stop looking at the floor.

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Hopper?" Mr. James asked, slowly and deliberately. Jimmy just smirked.

"Aw, sure, Mr. James. I was just telling Bridget here all about how Two-Bit Mathews hates 'er guts. That's all."

A few people started whispering. I was red hot with embarrassment. I didn't want the rest of the year to suddenly go downhill. Things had been looking pretty okay. I had nice new friends that liked me, nice teachers, and the feeling that I belonged for the first time in a long time.

I had never in my life had something like that happen to me. And now, Jimmy Hopper could ruin it all.

"Mr. Hopper," Mr. James said, clearing his throat. "I'd like to see you after class."

xXx

I bolted after class. I made a beeline for the girl's bathroom and locked myself in a stall and felt white hot tears sting and spill over. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. No one had ever been so cruel to me in front of so many people.

And I had never thought that Two-Bit hated me that much. I didn't actually hate him. We didn't even know each other. How can you hate someone you don't even know? The whole thing was just a mess.

"Bridget?"

It was Missy. Her voice echoed against the tiles. I sniffed and wiped my eyes. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

Of course I wasn't okay. "I guess. I don't know."

"Why don't you come out of there? No one else is in here. Please?"

I wanted to hide. Actually, I just wanted to go home. I didn't hide, though, and I unlocked the door and stepped out to see Missy standing right there in front of the mirror with a worried look on her face. I wished she would stop looking at me like that. I moved past her and splashed some water on my face. Missy passed me a paper towel, waiting for me to say something.

"I've never been so humiliated in my life," I whispered brokenly. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and cringed at what a mess I had made of myself. "They just made me feel so awful. What will people think of me now?" The thought of the news of Jimmy's outburst about me making the rounds made my eyes sting again. But Missy dismissed the thought.

"Are you kidding? Everybody knows Jimmy's a freak. Anyone who hears what happened will be on your side. Swear it." She came up right beside me and smiled at me in the mirror, and I wondered how it was that she could be such a good friend to me after only knowing me for a short time. But then it occurred to me that Missy was just a good person. "Listen – we'll all be at Marcia's tomorrow, have ourselves a girls' night, and you'll forget the whole thing even happened. And we have the best slumber parties. We'll stay up late, eat junk, do nails. By Monday, it'll be Jimmy Hopper who?"

Hopefully, it would be that easy. But Jimmy wasn't the only person I was hoping to put behind me after this whole fiasco. Smiling back at her, I said, "That sounds nice. I'm looking forward to it." I pursed my lips. "One thing, though."

"What's that?"

"What the heck is a soc?"

xXx

Saturday night found me sitting in Marcia's bedroom surrounded by the rest of our friends. Pizza boxes lay strewn across the floor along with all the other junk food that had been promised us. Marcia had put on some records, and we were now sitting around doing nails and reading magazines, just like Missy said we would. I tried to remember the last time I had gone to a slumber party; it was right before freshman year, and it was for the birthday of the daughter of one of my father's colleagues. A lot of faculty daughters had been there. I don't know how it was I could have grown up with those girls and not been closer with them.

Missy was raking her hands through my hair and trying to braid it, which is not exactly an easy task – it's thicker than one of those jungles in Vietnam that they show on the TV, and tangles easily because of the curls. But Missy must have had some sort of magic touch because her fingers ran through it like she was running them through water.

"Football season is startin' soon," Vickie told us, even though we all already knew. It had been advertised all over school. "We're all going out for Pom-Pom girls again, right?"

Immediately, a torrent of yesses were thrown out in response to Vickie, which she smiled at. But then she narrowed her eyebrows and looked at me. "Aren't you going to try out, Bridget?" She asked. "You really ought to."

"You should, Bridget," Missy agreed. I twisted myself so I could see her as she tugged at my hair.

"Why?" I asked. "I've never even done it before. I wouldn't be any good."

"It ain't hard," Marcia chimed in. "Really, you just have to show up, learn whatever it is they want you to learn, and you're golden."

There were murmurs of agreement from everyone in the room, even quiet Penny. What was the big deal about being a cheerleader? It didn't seem all that great, to be completely honest. Standing out in the cold during a football game didn't exactly sound like a swell time to me. "Well..." I sighed. I decided to have some fun with this. "Give me a reason I should."

It was silent for a moment as they all considered, but it wasn't long before Marcia was smiling, and I knew what she was going to say before she even said it. "I don't think I've ever heard of an ugly football player before."

"So…boys?"

Marcia hung her head, and I knew I was right.

"The uniforms are cute," Penny said, and I wondered how she could think that with all the padding they wore.

"Aren't they?" Vickie grinned.

"The baseball guys are cuter," Cherry contradicted. "And the basketball guys are even cuter than them."

Marcia shook her head. "No, no – it's definitely the other way around."

"Colleges will like seein' all sorts of extracurriculars on your application," Missy added, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "It's good for that."

"If you're wantin' to major in professional house-wivery."

"Oh, be quiet, Cherry," Vickie snapped.

Vickie turned to face me head-on, so I could see her bright blue eyes in the full. Vickie was someone who ought to be a cheerleader; she was skinny and beautiful and blonde and perfect. She made good grades. Not that I didn't – I did – but...what I'm getting at here is that we may both be smart, but Vickie was made to be Miss Senior. Not that any of us were aiming to be Miss Senior, necessarily, at least not as far as I knew, but Vickie was built for something like that. Why would she even try to convince me to be a cheerleader? We're too different.

"Bridget," she began in a clipped tone. "I know what you're doing. You don't think you're good enough to do it, but you've got to push yourself out of your comfort zone sometime. Why not start now, with this?"

I was floored. No one talked to me like that, besides Dad. But even he didn't give me that stare that bore right into me; his words didn't have the thickness to them that Vickie's did, suggesting that she was actually somewhat pissed about the whole thing. Why did she suddenly want to push me out of my comfort zone? How in the hell did she even know what my comfort zone was? She hadn't known me all that long! No one had.

I didn't think I was the kind of pretty that they look for in a cheerleader, either. Or maybe just not at all.

"Look," she continued, softer this time. "tryouts are Friday, and the results will be posted Monday. We wouldn't ask you to do it if we didn't think you could. Won't you at least try?"

Everyone looked at me with anticipation, like the balance of the universe lay in my hands, in my decision. Oh, if only everything I would ever have to decide on was as trivial as this, though it certainly didn't seem trivial at the time. So many thoughts went flying through my mind that I could barely see straight, and the one recurring thought, that came up several times, for no reason I could see, was Two-Bit Mathews is gonna raise hell over this.

However, the more I thought, the more the idea appealed to me. Why not push myself out of my comfort zone? Why not now? I was able-bodied, I was capable.

I could be confident.

"Alright," I relented, acting like it was a big old bother, but I grinned, feeling that confidence I thought I could have. "I'll give it a shot."

Squeals of delight followed the announcement, and I found myself squealing along with them, chattering faster than the speed of light about what we were going to wear for it, how we should do our hair, and whether or not we'd look good in the blue and yellow.

In the midst of it all, Cherry nudged me. "I think we need more Cokes." She popped up from the floor and surveyed the room. "Y'all thirsty? Bee and I are getting refills."

I blinked at the nickname but decided against saying anything. I followed Cherry down to the Powell's kitchen, the rest of the house cloaked in shadow. The kitchen was the beacon, and Cherry and I stood in the sticky late-summer quiet as we gathered ice-cold bottles of Coke and refilled glasses of water.

"Bridget?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you...do you like it here?" Cherry asked me. "Do you like us, me and Marcia and everybody?"

Everybody kept asking me that. I finished filling up the last glass of water before I answered. "Yeah, Cherry. You guys are great," I said sincerely. "Why do you ask?"

Cherry shrugged. "Just curious. I mean, I want you to like it here. It isn't all bad, ya know?"

"I know," I said. "Just getting used to it, is all."

Cherry smiled, looking as though she was relieved I had said that, like I'd taken a huge weight off her shoulders. The fact that I was just getting used to it all, the socs and greasers and stifling heat and all that, I guess assured her that everything was okay. I guess people do that, ask questions in order to assure themselves that everything in the world is exactly as it should be.

"It's just…what Jimmy Hopper said to you…" Cherry sighed. "I'm sorry. That must've been embarrassing."

"You don't know the half of it," I laughed shakily. "Everyone was staring at us, and he didn't even care. It was awkward, hearing somebody say stuff like that."

Cherry looked at the ground, slowly nodding her head. Did she get what I meant? Maybe she had never been humiliated in front of a whole class full of people like that. I knew Vickie was pissed – she had ranted all through lunch about it, about how awful Jimmy Hopper was, and Two-Bit.

Vickie had been the one to answer my question about what a soc was, too.

"You," she said simply. "You, me, everyone at this table, all of our friends. Pretty much everyone from the West side."

She had left it at that, leaving me to fill in the blanks and figure out what it was we all had in common. It was money, I realized, and probably manners. It was new clothes and nice cars and big houses and getting involved. It was strange to think of myself in those terms, but I realized it was true – those were all things that I had. Those were all things my friends had. And I could tell it was something people like Jimmy Hopper hated me for.

I gathered up the waters while Cherry got the Cokes. "It's fine, though," I went on, not wanting her to worry about it. "Jimmy's a nobody, anyway."

AN: Thanks for reading!