AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, I decided to start a new story. This is sort of a
weird idea I came up with, it's a crossover between "Outsiders" and "The
Virgin Suicides", both of which are amazing books. I just thought it would
be interesting to see the contrast between the two books' diverse
characters. Hopefully, you'll not need to read either and be able to
understand this story. So far, the point of view is the gang collectively
(like The Virgin Suicides), but the main narrative is Ponyboy. This may
seem kind of dull and not really "Outsiders"-ish at the beginning, but
it'll get better. And if it doesn't, there's always the option of taking
it down. But yeah, here's Chapter One. (by the way, it's pre-Outsiders
novel)
MARCH 1966
When the Lisbon girls moved in across the street, we all stopped our daily chores to watch them move in. Except Darry, since he works all the time and rarely gets any time to just enjoy life as it was, but even he paused to watch the movers load dressers and tables and coffee tables into the house across the street. That's the kind of presence the Lisbon girls had over us. That's the kind of presence the Lisbon girls had over the entire town of Tulsa.
Unfortunately, we had work or school, depending on whom we're referring specifically to in our gang, to attend, and we never got the chance to study the new occupants. So we skipped school. Darry would've blown a fuse; ever since Mom and Dad died he's been in charge of taking care of us. Soda tells us he doesn't hate me, but I know he does. Darry has the cold eyes of frozen oceans; his bulging muscles also add intimidation to him. Nonetheless, he's pretty smart, but gave up dreams of college to take care of me and Soda. Soda's my older brother; he's pretty laid back and laughs at the world all the time with his perfect ivory teeth and eyes full of joy, even though we're poor and get jumped all the time by the town's hot- shot Socs.
So me and two other boys that we run around with, Two-Bit Mathews and Johnny Cade, sneaked back to watch the girls move in. We knew they were girls because of the belongings they had; beautifully carved dressers, beds with pink and white blankets, typical items for girls to acquire. However, their belongings also told another important fact about them: these were not greaser girls. Here's about a good time to explain the greaser/Soc dilemma. Greasers, like me and my brothers and the other neighborhood boys we run around with, who mine as well be brothers, wear their hair long and greasy (in Two-Bit's case, mostly the grease is from Dapper Dan's). We skip school, we smoke cigarettes and swear and cause trouble. Not me, I merely stand by as a spectator, but Dallas Winston's usually the troublemaker in our gang (he's went to jail when he was in his early teens). We live on the poor East Side, where we can never catch a break because we're too damn poor to buy off the cops.
On the West Side, you have your typical Socs. They all smell of English Leather shaving lotion and recently burnt Cuban cigars (before the whole Cuban missile crisis) and basically get away with whatever they want. They can hold-up stores or mug children or beat women and they'll get off, just like they'll get off in real life with all the money their mommies and daddies give away to them. It's not too great being a greaser these days.
Through the window of our house, we stared intently. We considered getting my brother Soda or his best friend Steve Randle to come along with us, but they worked at the DX and wouldn't want to have been bothered. Or if we had asked Dallas Winston to come along, he'd probably end up trying to get the girls drunk and then try sleeping with all of them. So it was just the three of us.
"Ooh, let's try getting a panty shot," Two-Bit Mathews breathed as a Corvair pulled up to the car. Two-Bit was probably the most easily amused person I know; one day, in class (he's a junior still at eighteen and a half) he spent the entire period staring at a pen, clicking it. He ended up showing this little discovery around, until he amused himself with writing dirty limericks on a piece of paper that was intended to hold information about the Revolutionary War. He was proud of the sideburns that clung to his face like a tribute to Elvis, and he was also proud of the many blondes he would accumulate.
I was only fourteen at the time, and Johnny was sixteen, so we didn't see why Two-Bit and Soda and Steve and Dally were all obsessed with girls. I slowly began to realize why with the introduction of the Lisbon girls.
At first, Mrs. Lisbon stepped out of the car and scanned the neighborhood. At first, we were disappointed, because with her librarian, half-mooned glasses and tightlipped, withering look we knew we were in for trouble. I think she may have caught us peeking through the window, for she gave our general direction such a piercing look that we nearly wanted to keel over and confess our sins there. She immediately hurried into the house, followed by gangly, boyish looking Mr. Lisbon. From the sound of his high pitched voice calling for the girls to hurry in immediately, it sounded like he had been permanently stuck as an 11-year-old boy.
And in a quick golden flash the car was empty. This irritated us greatly, because we had missed the chance to see the girls that would be living across from us from now on. Johnny complained he had just blinked and asked us for the details, but we couldn't give him any.
We ventured out and waited, hoping for a second chance to catch a glimpse of one of the Lisbon girls. Johnny suggested that we introduce ourselves, but Two-Bit shook his head, "They look Socy, let's wait a little while." So since Two-Bit was older and more experienced when it came to girl hunting we decided to wait it out. But all day, the only ones to appear on the front lawn where Mr. Lisbon and the tattooed, burly movers. Disappointed, we trudged back to the house. It was about time that Soda and Steve and Darry would show up anyway.
Darry, thankfully, didn't suspect a thing. We got in a fight, but I just gave up and went to my room. Soda and Steve were going out with their girlfriends, Sandy and Evie. Steve hates me. He's Soda's best buddy, but he still hates me because he thinks I'm just a kid who tags along. Frankly, it's mutual; I don't like him either. Sandy and Evie are nice girls, greasers like us so we don't have a problem with Soda and Steve dating them.
Next day, we skip school to catch a glimpse of the Lisbon girls. We heard from Ms. Mathews (Two-Bit's mother) that they were enrolling next week, and that Mr. Lisbon was replacing Miss Stiles (who left to give birth to the pizza boy's baby) as science teacher, so we decided that we wouldn't show up at school until they did.
We watched Mr. Lisbon pull out of the driveway. He waved meekly to us before driving off, far under the speed limit of course. We were joined by Dallas Winston, who remarked, "I could beat that guy down with a fist tied behind my back and if I was half-crocked as well." Dally's tough, tough to the point of feeling no emotion whatsoever besides hate and pain. He used to get busted in organized crime all the time when he was in New York. We all forgot why he came here, though I think it had something to do with robbing a drug store.
"What are you losers doing, staring around like a trio of Peeping Toms," Dally smirked. "Let's go out and get us some action." Dally commanded our respect and fear, and no one said "no" to Dally unless you were Johnny Cade, whom Dally treated like a kid brother because Johnny had a crappy family. Still, even Johnny didn't dare try pushing the limits.
We trotted out and across the cement street to the Lisbon house. Even though it was painted a rather cheerfully neutral white, it was large and ominous. We'd pissed off the construction workers during the school year until Darry, who was a construction worker, told us to go inside and do our homework. So we did.
But Darry wasn't here to order us around. So the four of us strode up to the Lisbon house. We nearly missed one of the girls who was lying in the grass, her small head pressed to the ground. She was wearing an old 1920's wedding dress, with the hem cut off just around her dirty ankles. Frankly, she looked so pale and innocent, with budding breasts, angel blue eyes and her ethereal frailty. Her hair was wet, despite that it was March, and clung to her small chin and nape of her neck.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dally asked, fingers hitched in his thumb.
The girl, who couldn't have been more then fourteen, didn't even glance his direction, "I'm listening to the Earth."
Dally gave her a look indicating that she was purely crazy. And maybe she was. We couldn't be sure at the time. Two-Bit spoke next, "What's your name?"
"Cecilia," she responded diligently. She rolled onto her back and stared up into the endless blue sky. Her dainty arms reached up towards the clouds.
"The kid's whacked," Dally muttered. "You got any sisters?"
"Four," Cecilia replied. She seemed bored, forgotten, as if people who stopped by always cared more about her sisters then herself. Upon her head she wore a crown of yellow daisies. Her flaxen blonde hair was spread out behind her like a Chinese fan, and her eyes gazed distantly off.
That was our first conversation with the Lisbon girls. One of the others sisters called Cecilia in, and she stood up, brushed off the grass strands she'd picked on her dress and then moved fluidly up the stairs, to the porch, and then inside. She moved in such calculated ways, never once tripping or partially stopping. And yet she was Atlas, carrying the world's sorrow upon her small shoulders, adding to her sullen and hidden personality. We were just yet to discover how enticingly mysterious the Lisbon girls were.
"Damn," Dally muttered as he walked back, "let's hope they ain't all like that."
MARCH 1966
When the Lisbon girls moved in across the street, we all stopped our daily chores to watch them move in. Except Darry, since he works all the time and rarely gets any time to just enjoy life as it was, but even he paused to watch the movers load dressers and tables and coffee tables into the house across the street. That's the kind of presence the Lisbon girls had over us. That's the kind of presence the Lisbon girls had over the entire town of Tulsa.
Unfortunately, we had work or school, depending on whom we're referring specifically to in our gang, to attend, and we never got the chance to study the new occupants. So we skipped school. Darry would've blown a fuse; ever since Mom and Dad died he's been in charge of taking care of us. Soda tells us he doesn't hate me, but I know he does. Darry has the cold eyes of frozen oceans; his bulging muscles also add intimidation to him. Nonetheless, he's pretty smart, but gave up dreams of college to take care of me and Soda. Soda's my older brother; he's pretty laid back and laughs at the world all the time with his perfect ivory teeth and eyes full of joy, even though we're poor and get jumped all the time by the town's hot- shot Socs.
So me and two other boys that we run around with, Two-Bit Mathews and Johnny Cade, sneaked back to watch the girls move in. We knew they were girls because of the belongings they had; beautifully carved dressers, beds with pink and white blankets, typical items for girls to acquire. However, their belongings also told another important fact about them: these were not greaser girls. Here's about a good time to explain the greaser/Soc dilemma. Greasers, like me and my brothers and the other neighborhood boys we run around with, who mine as well be brothers, wear their hair long and greasy (in Two-Bit's case, mostly the grease is from Dapper Dan's). We skip school, we smoke cigarettes and swear and cause trouble. Not me, I merely stand by as a spectator, but Dallas Winston's usually the troublemaker in our gang (he's went to jail when he was in his early teens). We live on the poor East Side, where we can never catch a break because we're too damn poor to buy off the cops.
On the West Side, you have your typical Socs. They all smell of English Leather shaving lotion and recently burnt Cuban cigars (before the whole Cuban missile crisis) and basically get away with whatever they want. They can hold-up stores or mug children or beat women and they'll get off, just like they'll get off in real life with all the money their mommies and daddies give away to them. It's not too great being a greaser these days.
Through the window of our house, we stared intently. We considered getting my brother Soda or his best friend Steve Randle to come along with us, but they worked at the DX and wouldn't want to have been bothered. Or if we had asked Dallas Winston to come along, he'd probably end up trying to get the girls drunk and then try sleeping with all of them. So it was just the three of us.
"Ooh, let's try getting a panty shot," Two-Bit Mathews breathed as a Corvair pulled up to the car. Two-Bit was probably the most easily amused person I know; one day, in class (he's a junior still at eighteen and a half) he spent the entire period staring at a pen, clicking it. He ended up showing this little discovery around, until he amused himself with writing dirty limericks on a piece of paper that was intended to hold information about the Revolutionary War. He was proud of the sideburns that clung to his face like a tribute to Elvis, and he was also proud of the many blondes he would accumulate.
I was only fourteen at the time, and Johnny was sixteen, so we didn't see why Two-Bit and Soda and Steve and Dally were all obsessed with girls. I slowly began to realize why with the introduction of the Lisbon girls.
At first, Mrs. Lisbon stepped out of the car and scanned the neighborhood. At first, we were disappointed, because with her librarian, half-mooned glasses and tightlipped, withering look we knew we were in for trouble. I think she may have caught us peeking through the window, for she gave our general direction such a piercing look that we nearly wanted to keel over and confess our sins there. She immediately hurried into the house, followed by gangly, boyish looking Mr. Lisbon. From the sound of his high pitched voice calling for the girls to hurry in immediately, it sounded like he had been permanently stuck as an 11-year-old boy.
And in a quick golden flash the car was empty. This irritated us greatly, because we had missed the chance to see the girls that would be living across from us from now on. Johnny complained he had just blinked and asked us for the details, but we couldn't give him any.
We ventured out and waited, hoping for a second chance to catch a glimpse of one of the Lisbon girls. Johnny suggested that we introduce ourselves, but Two-Bit shook his head, "They look Socy, let's wait a little while." So since Two-Bit was older and more experienced when it came to girl hunting we decided to wait it out. But all day, the only ones to appear on the front lawn where Mr. Lisbon and the tattooed, burly movers. Disappointed, we trudged back to the house. It was about time that Soda and Steve and Darry would show up anyway.
Darry, thankfully, didn't suspect a thing. We got in a fight, but I just gave up and went to my room. Soda and Steve were going out with their girlfriends, Sandy and Evie. Steve hates me. He's Soda's best buddy, but he still hates me because he thinks I'm just a kid who tags along. Frankly, it's mutual; I don't like him either. Sandy and Evie are nice girls, greasers like us so we don't have a problem with Soda and Steve dating them.
Next day, we skip school to catch a glimpse of the Lisbon girls. We heard from Ms. Mathews (Two-Bit's mother) that they were enrolling next week, and that Mr. Lisbon was replacing Miss Stiles (who left to give birth to the pizza boy's baby) as science teacher, so we decided that we wouldn't show up at school until they did.
We watched Mr. Lisbon pull out of the driveway. He waved meekly to us before driving off, far under the speed limit of course. We were joined by Dallas Winston, who remarked, "I could beat that guy down with a fist tied behind my back and if I was half-crocked as well." Dally's tough, tough to the point of feeling no emotion whatsoever besides hate and pain. He used to get busted in organized crime all the time when he was in New York. We all forgot why he came here, though I think it had something to do with robbing a drug store.
"What are you losers doing, staring around like a trio of Peeping Toms," Dally smirked. "Let's go out and get us some action." Dally commanded our respect and fear, and no one said "no" to Dally unless you were Johnny Cade, whom Dally treated like a kid brother because Johnny had a crappy family. Still, even Johnny didn't dare try pushing the limits.
We trotted out and across the cement street to the Lisbon house. Even though it was painted a rather cheerfully neutral white, it was large and ominous. We'd pissed off the construction workers during the school year until Darry, who was a construction worker, told us to go inside and do our homework. So we did.
But Darry wasn't here to order us around. So the four of us strode up to the Lisbon house. We nearly missed one of the girls who was lying in the grass, her small head pressed to the ground. She was wearing an old 1920's wedding dress, with the hem cut off just around her dirty ankles. Frankly, she looked so pale and innocent, with budding breasts, angel blue eyes and her ethereal frailty. Her hair was wet, despite that it was March, and clung to her small chin and nape of her neck.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dally asked, fingers hitched in his thumb.
The girl, who couldn't have been more then fourteen, didn't even glance his direction, "I'm listening to the Earth."
Dally gave her a look indicating that she was purely crazy. And maybe she was. We couldn't be sure at the time. Two-Bit spoke next, "What's your name?"
"Cecilia," she responded diligently. She rolled onto her back and stared up into the endless blue sky. Her dainty arms reached up towards the clouds.
"The kid's whacked," Dally muttered. "You got any sisters?"
"Four," Cecilia replied. She seemed bored, forgotten, as if people who stopped by always cared more about her sisters then herself. Upon her head she wore a crown of yellow daisies. Her flaxen blonde hair was spread out behind her like a Chinese fan, and her eyes gazed distantly off.
That was our first conversation with the Lisbon girls. One of the others sisters called Cecilia in, and she stood up, brushed off the grass strands she'd picked on her dress and then moved fluidly up the stairs, to the porch, and then inside. She moved in such calculated ways, never once tripping or partially stopping. And yet she was Atlas, carrying the world's sorrow upon her small shoulders, adding to her sullen and hidden personality. We were just yet to discover how enticingly mysterious the Lisbon girls were.
"Damn," Dally muttered as he walked back, "let's hope they ain't all like that."