I wrote this story in 1996 after I finished reading 'The Outsiders'. I have
to warn ya, though, that English is my second language, I'm from Brazil and
the story was originally written in Portuguese, I'm translating it bit by
bit. This means that you may find some wrong stuff concerning to vocabulary
or grammar. It's not like I care anyway; I'm learning a lot and having a
real good time translating it. Hope you have fun too.
I own all the characters that don't belong to S.E. Hinton. Well you've read the book, so you probably know about it.
Be patient. Our favorite greasers won't appear until chapters 2 and 3.
Chapter One
Since she was seven, Carol dreamed of having a piano. Now she was 15 and still wasn't able to fulfill it. Nevertheless, she kept on going with her music lessons, and one could say she was the best in her class.
It didn't seem fair that stupid little rich girls at school had all that nice clothes, could travel all around and lived in such beautiful houses while all she wanted was a simple and cheap piano to practice her music. She had spent the last eleven months, almost the entire year of 1996, working as a babysitter and translating as many texts as she could (her father was born in France, so Carol spoke French as perfectly as she spoke English), so that maybe, just maybe, she could get the instrument in the current year of 1997. Her friend Alice told her about a shop that sold second hand instruments and she was hoping to find a simple, but good piano in the middle of all that trash. Even if it was old, it didn't matter – probably it *would* be old, since the money she had would not do for anything so new.
Walking down the street, alone, the wind playing with her blonde hair, Carol was going towards the shop, thinking about the effort she had to do to save that tiny amount of money. She knew that some of her classmates could have a beautiful Steinway with a simple snap of their fingers.
"Oh stop it, you moron" told Carol to herself. "The only thing that matters is that I will be able to play when I feel like it. Besides, I don't think that stupid girls Donna Bishop or Cindy Anderson even know what a Steinway piano is!"
She detained herself in front of the address which Alice had written in a tiny piece of paper, too tiny, as a matter of fact, for her big handwriting. It was a little shop with a little door painted in orange, that seemed so lost among the big buildings of Sutton Avenue. The store clerk was a short mexican type, and Carol's first thought was that he seemed a lot like someone who could sell ice to the Eskimos or something like that. She asked for the pianos, he gave her a toothless grin and showed some, giving her the prices as well.
"Oh... everything is so expensive" Carol shook her head in disappointment.
"In that case" answered the Mexican guy "I think that one will suit you" He pointed an old, small, ugly piano which lied there, against a wall. Her eyes glared; it didn't matter whether it was old or not, as long as the sound was good. Carol asked the clerk if she could play the piano a little and didn't even wait for his response: she just sat in front of it and started to test all the keys. Finally, when she was done, the Mexican guy seemed surprise when Carol smiled in satisfaction and asked him how much would he extra-charge her to deliver it.
Four days later, hearing the engine of the old truck driven by the Mexican type getting away from her house, and admiring the piano she bought, which now was placed in a corner of her living room, Carol felt the greatest happiness in her life. Her mother had complained the piano was too big for their small home, and her sister Karen, who was 9, didn't like to hear Carol's music, but she didn't care. On the other hand, all her father did was compliment her and repeat to whoever was listening that his girl was going to be a great musician.
What was Carol waiting for to start playing anyway? There she was, playing "Edelweiss", happy in spite of the racket her sister was making trying to get her to stop. Everything was going just fine until she found out that some of the keys of the piano were stuck.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" She yelled in her thoughts "Caroline, how in the world do you buy a piano without examining the chords first???" She would have to open the piano to see its inside, so she reached for its lid. Surprise, surprise: she would have to screw off the lid, and there were more than 20 screws on it. "Great". Cursing, she went to the basement and returned with one of her father's screwdrivers. It took her more than 40 minutes to remove all the screws and open the piano lid.
"What a weird piano..." In the inside there was some small shelves, which contained black and white pictures. Leaning over the chords there was a hard cover book. Carol imagined the book was placed on the shelves just like the pictures were but, when the Mexican moved the piano to deliver it to her, the book must have moved and fell over the chords.
She got the photos and then stretched her arm to reach for the book. The cover was blue and had golden initials on it. "S.M.J.", she read. On its first page it was written, in a beautiful handwriting, the words "My Diary". Unable to understand a thing, Carol started to look at the pictures, trying to pay as much attention to it as she could, so that maybe she could figure out what that weird stuff was doing inside *her* piano.
The pictures were all black and white. Several pictures of a rather pretty girl, with long, straight, dark hair. There were boys too, wearing leather jackets, their greasy hair shining like if they were characters in a sixties' movie.
All of a sudden Carol felt like she was invading someone's intimacy. It wasn't right; she had to return that stuff to its owner, whoever he or she was. She started to think about a way to find this person, examined the rest of the piano's interior for some name or address or sign, but couldn't find a thing. Then, she realized that the only way to discover who was the owner of the photos and the book was... reading it.
I own all the characters that don't belong to S.E. Hinton. Well you've read the book, so you probably know about it.
Be patient. Our favorite greasers won't appear until chapters 2 and 3.
Chapter One
Since she was seven, Carol dreamed of having a piano. Now she was 15 and still wasn't able to fulfill it. Nevertheless, she kept on going with her music lessons, and one could say she was the best in her class.
It didn't seem fair that stupid little rich girls at school had all that nice clothes, could travel all around and lived in such beautiful houses while all she wanted was a simple and cheap piano to practice her music. She had spent the last eleven months, almost the entire year of 1996, working as a babysitter and translating as many texts as she could (her father was born in France, so Carol spoke French as perfectly as she spoke English), so that maybe, just maybe, she could get the instrument in the current year of 1997. Her friend Alice told her about a shop that sold second hand instruments and she was hoping to find a simple, but good piano in the middle of all that trash. Even if it was old, it didn't matter – probably it *would* be old, since the money she had would not do for anything so new.
Walking down the street, alone, the wind playing with her blonde hair, Carol was going towards the shop, thinking about the effort she had to do to save that tiny amount of money. She knew that some of her classmates could have a beautiful Steinway with a simple snap of their fingers.
"Oh stop it, you moron" told Carol to herself. "The only thing that matters is that I will be able to play when I feel like it. Besides, I don't think that stupid girls Donna Bishop or Cindy Anderson even know what a Steinway piano is!"
She detained herself in front of the address which Alice had written in a tiny piece of paper, too tiny, as a matter of fact, for her big handwriting. It was a little shop with a little door painted in orange, that seemed so lost among the big buildings of Sutton Avenue. The store clerk was a short mexican type, and Carol's first thought was that he seemed a lot like someone who could sell ice to the Eskimos or something like that. She asked for the pianos, he gave her a toothless grin and showed some, giving her the prices as well.
"Oh... everything is so expensive" Carol shook her head in disappointment.
"In that case" answered the Mexican guy "I think that one will suit you" He pointed an old, small, ugly piano which lied there, against a wall. Her eyes glared; it didn't matter whether it was old or not, as long as the sound was good. Carol asked the clerk if she could play the piano a little and didn't even wait for his response: she just sat in front of it and started to test all the keys. Finally, when she was done, the Mexican guy seemed surprise when Carol smiled in satisfaction and asked him how much would he extra-charge her to deliver it.
Four days later, hearing the engine of the old truck driven by the Mexican type getting away from her house, and admiring the piano she bought, which now was placed in a corner of her living room, Carol felt the greatest happiness in her life. Her mother had complained the piano was too big for their small home, and her sister Karen, who was 9, didn't like to hear Carol's music, but she didn't care. On the other hand, all her father did was compliment her and repeat to whoever was listening that his girl was going to be a great musician.
What was Carol waiting for to start playing anyway? There she was, playing "Edelweiss", happy in spite of the racket her sister was making trying to get her to stop. Everything was going just fine until she found out that some of the keys of the piano were stuck.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" She yelled in her thoughts "Caroline, how in the world do you buy a piano without examining the chords first???" She would have to open the piano to see its inside, so she reached for its lid. Surprise, surprise: she would have to screw off the lid, and there were more than 20 screws on it. "Great". Cursing, she went to the basement and returned with one of her father's screwdrivers. It took her more than 40 minutes to remove all the screws and open the piano lid.
"What a weird piano..." In the inside there was some small shelves, which contained black and white pictures. Leaning over the chords there was a hard cover book. Carol imagined the book was placed on the shelves just like the pictures were but, when the Mexican moved the piano to deliver it to her, the book must have moved and fell over the chords.
She got the photos and then stretched her arm to reach for the book. The cover was blue and had golden initials on it. "S.M.J.", she read. On its first page it was written, in a beautiful handwriting, the words "My Diary". Unable to understand a thing, Carol started to look at the pictures, trying to pay as much attention to it as she could, so that maybe she could figure out what that weird stuff was doing inside *her* piano.
The pictures were all black and white. Several pictures of a rather pretty girl, with long, straight, dark hair. There were boys too, wearing leather jackets, their greasy hair shining like if they were characters in a sixties' movie.
All of a sudden Carol felt like she was invading someone's intimacy. It wasn't right; she had to return that stuff to its owner, whoever he or she was. She started to think about a way to find this person, examined the rest of the piano's interior for some name or address or sign, but couldn't find a thing. Then, she realized that the only way to discover who was the owner of the photos and the book was... reading it.
