Damn.
Ugh, why did I forget my knife again? Oh, wait a second, I know why. Because I forget everything.
All I could do was watch helplessly as Tom and his gang advance on the kid. "Need a haircut, greaser?" he asked with a dangerous, one-sided grin. I grabbed a hunk of dirt and felt my nails grinding into my hand. Hoho, was I ever gonna beat him when he dropped that blade…
I was a bit far away to tell, but I could just imagine the kid's eyes widening. I just barely heard him respond "No," and then begin to back away. Sadly, five against one wasn't going to be easy for a fourteen-year old greaser (Well, he looked about fourteen, I don't know). He ran right into that jerk Alex, who pinned down his arms while another pair whose names I didn't know, pinned down his legs. It was Tom who sat down on his chest, and I felt an overdose of anger coming on. They were swinging at his face and I could almost feel the sharp pain as they grabbed his arms again, trying to pin him down.
Even in the intensity of the moment, I couldn't help but be impressed. Tom's gang was having a problem getting him down, and for a small kid who couldn't be that far into fourteen, that was impressive. Suddenly his face looked a bit familiar...hadn't I seen him at a track meet before? Yeah, I have, Chloe's friend is on that team, she usually has me go with her to cheer him on.
Once again, I was snapped back into reality when I heard the swish of that blade. I cringed. Why did Tom have to carry that damn thing everywhere he went, why?
The blade was being held to the kid's throat, and I heard something about a haircut again. The Socs were all crowding around him, but I caught a glimpse of the blade at the kids throat.
Oh, that's it. I had reached my limit. No way were they gonna kill that boy, no way. You just can't hurt a kid too badly just because of his side of a town. My cut sleeves flew in the wind as once again, I prepared to stand.
Believe it or not, I would have actually gone in there if I didn't hear a strong roar from down the street. I quickly hid myself, and felt my big eyes widen (again. Ugh, why is Tulsa so full of eye-openers?).
Six boys, all greasers, were charging at the Socs, looks of anger on all of their faces. Whoah. They were tough, all of them, that was pretty obvious. They each wore their hair long (except for one of them, a huge muscle man) and it almost looked like they could take on anything.
I watched them in admiration as they began to swing punches and kicks at the Socs, and golly, were they good. Muscle Man was particularily good, but when Tom, who was still by the kid, it looked like this one golden haired one could give Muscles a run for his money.
I looked over all of them, and I knew three. The good looking blonde and the lean, curly haired one; they both worked at the DX. One of them I was thankful I didn't know, a towheaded guy with icy blue eyes that seemed to have hatred in them, so much hatred that he looked like he just needed to get it out on something, so he was slamming everything that came in his way.
The third one I knew deffinitely stood out to me; a dark kid who looked about my age, or the age of the greaser Tom had threatened. He had cuts and bruises all over his face and he looked pretty darn tough, maybe even like a hoodlum. But I had seen his face up close once. I had dropped one of my books at school (not very unusual, I'm a clutz and always dropping everything in my hands) and knelt to pick it up, when that greaser bent down and got it before me. For a second I had thought that he was about to run off with it to tease me, but then I got a good look in his eyes. They were huge and dark, and when he said "here you go," and handed it back to me, I could see his hand shaking and his voice was nervous. Yeah, he's from a bad neighborhood, and yeah, he's probably done alot of things he shouldn't have done, but just seeing those eyes-even for a split second because he had shifted his gaze quickly-told me that this kid had been through alot, so much that he was softened. I had decided that I liked him back then, and now, seeing him fight it out in this battle, I liked him even more.
I snapped to reality again and shifted my gaze to Tom, who was getting beat bad by that Golden Boy (God, was he good looking!). I tried my hardest not to watch Ice Eyes (I know, I come up with nicknames for people I've never even met, sue me why don't ya?) as he crushed whichever kid he was fighting.That guy was just too...mean. I shuddered and realized that the fight was ending. The Socs had enough, and were now attempting to dash away to Tom's Corvair. Two of the greasers, Golden Boy and Muscle Man, hurried over to the kid, who looked like he was bleeding at the head. I suddenly realized how much he and Goldie looked alike; maybe they were brothers.
The rest of the greasers were driving the Socs back to the car, even hurling a few stones at them. I grinned triumphantly, knowing that they had won.
I almost was about to go down and congratulate them for such a good fight, but as I felt my stripped sleeves blow against the my arm from the wind, I remembered who I was. I was from the West Side, a damned Soc. Oh, I know I don't dress like one, but I also know that most kids in this town have some sort of sixth sense about who lives where. Even I have it, but I'm trying my best to get rid of it.
So instead, I decided to go and celebrate with a drink. Normally I go to one of the places on the west side, which for me is safer, but the Dingo was closest here. Knowing they wouldn't see me, I stood up and headed out.