1Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm a greaser–dirt poor.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed:
Parixs: Here's my update. Glad you like it so far. :)
Merryw: Wow! You really think it was Hinton-like? Thanks!
Littlespongecake: I like 'em, too! Thanks a lot for reviewing.
BlackLightningDX: It's all for you, man. We gotta do it for Johnny! Lol. I am gettin' those Teddy Bear boxers...
Thanks again for reviewing. It is always appreciated. Flames make me laugh, but I prefer kind reviews. (I always appreciate friendly criticism.) I just ask one thing, if you're gonna flame me, please put why my story sucks or whatever you're flaming about. Pointless flames are just annoying...
By the way, I'm sorry if some of the endings to chapters don't seem like endings. I just write what I can, when I can and wherever I have to stop is the end of a chapter. (Within reason, of course.) Hope no one minded. Please R&R!
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Johnny and I walked most of the way to school in silence. We're quiet like that. "Hey, Pony? Watcha doin' after school?" Johnny asked me. I thought for a minute. I usually have to go home and do my homework right away, but then I can do whatever I want. (Within reason, of course.)
Mom and Dad are pretty good like that, as long as I do good in school and all. They like to know who I'm with and stuff, too. I have to be home by 9:30-10:00 on school nights.
"Hey, greasers. What's glidin'?"
"Hey, Two-Bit!" I said brightly. Two-Bit Matthews was another one of our gang–the oldest, next to Darry. He's real funny. That's how he got his name, because he always has to put his two-bit's in. Two-Bit was always smarting off to cops, teachers, everyone. The way he told me was, he just had to brighten up their dull lives. He was pretty light-fingered, too, if you know what I mean. Just about all the shopkeepers in our neighborhood knew better than to let Two-Bit around anything that wasn't nailed down. He just couldn't help it if he had a "fondness" for other people's things. (That's what he told me.)
"So, what would my fellow hoods be doing on such a fine day as this?" Two-Bit asked, whistling.
"Just goin' to school." Johnny said quietly. Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow.
"Shoot, kid. Doesn't anyone do anything exciting anymore?" I shrugged and Johnny blushed. Two-Bit wasn't paying attention. "I was thinkin' o' doing something fun, for once." I snorted. That was one thing Two-Bit lacked, fun. "You know, flood some toilets, break some windows, that kinda thing." Two-Bit was always trying new ways to amuse himself, so I couldn't possibly understand why he liked school, of all things. But, as Two-Bit put it, he "went for kicks". I couldn't understand that either. Two-Bit's like that.
We came up to the school and Two-Bit jumped in front of us. "Gentlemen, here I presenteth unto you, this beautiful institution of finer learning–no it is not the prison–I giveth to you, drum roll. Pony, if you will..." I trilled my tongue like a drum. "...Will Rogers High School! (Originally called Two-Bit's School of the Fine Arts.)" Johnny and I fell about laughing.
"What kinda fine arts?"
"The art of not-getting-caught-while-doing-things-you're-not-supposed-to-do, of course." Two-Bit rolled his eyes, as though we should've known what kind of fine arts they would tach at a school named after him. I smiled. We entered the school building and walked around, talking to all the guys we knew before the first bell rang. I was kinda sad to have to go to class. I mean, school is okay, i guess. But, the problem is, all my buddies are in different classes than me. I got put into this advanced class 'cause I'm supposed to be smart. Unfortunately, there's a lot of Socs in those classes, and just about no greasers. I said bye to Two-Bit and Johnny and started off for my first class–French.
French was okay, but it had a lot of Soc girls in it. They didn't think to much of me–a greaser, even if I was smart. I took my usual seat in the back of the room, even though I can't really see the board from there. I want to learn and all, but I do have a reputation as a greaser to protect. Only Soc-Geeks sat in front. "Bonjour, mes eleves!"
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Nameth." Everyday was the same routine in French class and we all had it down pretty well. (Walk in. Greet the teacher. Sit down. Greet the teacher. Do bell work. Listen to announcements, and then whatever was planned for that day.) There was the usual clatter of pens and notebooks being taken out of book-bags as everyone began the "Question du Jour." (Question of the day.)
"Pssst! Ponyboy Curtis!" I looked up to see who was calling me. It was Shannon Sheldon–a pretty Soc girl that used to hang around the DX station Soda works at part-time. Shannon tossed me a piece of neatly-folded paper and I looked at it, surprised to find my name printed neatly on the top fold. The only notes I had ever been passed in that class were threats from some pretty nasty Soc guys. I opened it. The letter was written in a neat cursive handwriting that had to be a girl's, it read:
Ponyboy Curtis,
I just wanted you to know that I'm having a party at my house on Saturday, and you're invited. Oh, and please don't tell anyone I invited you. My address is: 903 Yew Ave. (The West Side, of course!)
Sincerely,
Shannon Sheldon.
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Okay, I'm gonna leave off here beacuase I have to go now. Next update soon. By the way, I need a beta reader, if anyone's interested...
Till next time!
–Sodapop Curtis DX
