Growing up on the streets of Tulsa has taught me one thing; there are never only two categories of people.

Well, I shouldn't say that I grew up on the streets of Tulsa, I'm from the west side, the richer side of town. To most kids at my high school, I'm known as a Soc-or-a social-at first glance. Of course no one, and I mean no one, has ever called me that to my face and seen out of their right eye the next day. For a girl, I've got a pretty good arm when I get fiery enough to use it. I know, for a fifteen year old kid I seem a bit violent, but a lot of people who know me see me as a weakling. That's just because I never bother to try in gym class. My strength only appears when I'm angry, and being in a school of idiots, that happens pretty often.

I guess I should explain about my town's situation. Tulsa is divided in half; east and west side. The east is the poorer half, and its habitants have always been called greasers. My half, the west, is the richer half, and its inhabitants are called Socs, which I already mentioned earlier. The basic stereotype for the greasers is that they are like juvenile delinquents, hoodlums, who hold up stores and wear their hair long and greasy. The stereo of Socs is that we wear expensive clothing, get attention from the reps (that's my nickname for reporters and journalists), and drink beer for fun. Well, I admit that being a Soc I know a lot of people who add up to the assumption, but hey, not everyone's perfect right?

I walked down the street feeling a bit uncomfortable about so many heads turning towards me. I knew it wasn't because I was particularly gorgeous or anything, because I look pretty normal with my tanned skin and my natural ringlets of long dark hair falling over my shoulders. Along with my dark lashed, wide golden eyes and slightly hooked nose, that was all that made me stand out. It was my clothes that made their heads turn. Compared to the others in Tulsa, I'm no ordinary girl, and my wardrobe reflects that. I was wearing a loose, button down white shirt, which was normal, but I had cut the cuffs of the sleeves and used a scissors to slit them all the way up to my shoulders. It had been an accident, but I had liked the way it looked. So I repeated it with the other sleeve, and then added to the shirt's changes by removing the collar and turning it into a v-neck by folding two triangular sections over. I decided to amuse myself by designing a skirt to match. I asked Randy for one of his old pairs of jeans, and began to cut it in wide strips. When I was done, I sewed them all together to make a denim skirt. I had never been happy with the ordinary fashions, so I was always changing old clothes into something new. It was my own way of turning myself into a girl that couldn't be placed into either the Soc, or greaser category. Labels, in my opinion, were just an easy way out of getting to know someone. Sadly, the rest of Tulsa didn't see it that way.

I stopped starring at the sideway as I walked and began to glance around at the street. Hatred, I thought grimly. Plain, simple, damned hatred.

Everywhere around, I could see boys with long hair and cigarettes glaring at the kids in expensive cars, even at some of the empty cars. A few groups of so-called Socs were creeping up the alleys, their minds fixed on the greasers. There was even a fight going on behind me, and I was almost about to hurry over to stop it, until I saw the damn blades. Shoot, another sign of idiocy.

All it takes is and idea in your head to think that there actually is a separation line between two groups, and you believe that its there. Why was it so easy for people to be controlled by lies? Don't they get it? Every person you see when you cross the road has thoughts, opinions, and emotions. We all have a story to tell, but few of us get the courage to tell it, because they're afraid that stereotypical people (like every one in Tulsa) will shoot them down. Oh god, fear and assumptions just destroy brains, don't they? Why are we all so bli-

"Valere!" I spun around at the mention of my name. I forced out a tiny smile as I saw her coming. "Hey Laurel,"

Laurel dashed up to me, her bright teeth glittering in the setting sun. She was just a bit taller that me, with her dark blonde poofs of hair swung from side to side as her humongous blue eyes brightened noticeably. "How's my favorite rebel?" she asked cheerily. I'm not sure if I explained this or not, but some of the girls at school know me as a rebel because I'm always knocking some jerk's jaw sideways.

It was because of this that girls like Laurel had never scored very high on my list. She was paying attention too much to the latest gossip and news to worry about the stuff that really mattered. .

"Oh, I'm just fine, thanks."

"Good!" she went on. I nearly rolled my eyes at her. Why didn't she do us all a favor and loose the fake cheer?

"Listen," she went on. "I've been talking to Marco and he's just thrilled with you and your punch on Anna, he's always hated that girl and she's really been pestering him! Well, I heard from Joanie, whose going out with Lawrence, who is the brother of Marco's best friend that he would really like to spend time with you, to see if there could be a relationship in the air! Oh, he seems like a great guy, but I warn you, I found out from Tammy, who is the cousin of Claire, who is best friends with Gina, who is in Marco's homeroom that he just broke up with Allie, whose always seemed like such a great girl, maybe he just wanted to get on her nerves! Well, I asked Simone about this, who is related to Angela-"

God, doesn't she ever shut up? I tried my hardest to keep the sigh from exiting my mouth. Ugh, Marco was the last guy I was interested in, he smoked like a chimmeny and always was coughing up strange substances...no, Laurel just doesn't know enough. And somehow, that doesn't stop her from blabbering on and on and on...

I couldn't resist letting my eyes wander...the speech was getting on my last nerve...

I suddenly saw something that made my already big eyes widen. My heart seemed to stop beating, and just beging to throb terribly.

"Umm...I gotta go, Laurel, thanks for the information," I said quickly, making a mad dash past the overtalkative cheerleader.

I barely heard her startled voice call out as I sped down the sidewalk. "Valere!" she screamed. "Wait, Valere!"

Oh, Laurel could wait. This was ten times more important.

I finally stopped running when I came to a large bush next to the field, near a wide walkway in which someone owning a large, red corvair was parked. Oh, damn, I knew that car just fine. I quickly ducked behind the bush as the boys in the corvair began to get out.

There were five of them, in there, and they all had their drunk gazes fixed on a kid in the street, young and all by himself. He lived on the east side, clearly; his hair was long and greased, and his t-shirt and jeans were torn and dirty. He was about a year younger than me, but he had a strong body. I could tell the kid was freaked, even if he did have a tough look on his face. He was pretty good looking, and I had seen him before...I was pretty sure that he went to my school. Poor kid, he looked so helpless and alone that I was about to go out and help him.

I looked over at the 'Socs,' sizing them up. I was pretty sure I knew all of them, but one of their backs was completely turned to me. I swore under my breath as I saw the one closest to the kid. Marco's older brother, Tom. I had always hated that guy, and I felt my long fingers curling into a fist. Drunk and stupid, all of them. Even that innocent looking east sider wouldn't have a problem hating them...

"Hey grease!" one of them called in a voice a bit too friendly for anyone's liking. I cringed. Alex, the shortstop on the baseball team. He had always smoked too much tobacco. Oh, am I just gonna beat his head in...

"We're gonna do you a favor, greaser," Tom began, his mouth curved into a triumphant smirk. "We're gonna cut all that long greasy hair off."

I felt a fire blaze in my eyes as I prepared to straighten my legs. They weren't gonna do this...they weren't going to get way with this...

I was almost fully up and revealed when Tom reached into his back pocket and pulled out an object I knew by sight: A switch-knife.