Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders. And that sucks. I only own the idea.

Rating: PG-13 (for both Dally and David's mouths . . .)

Author Notes: Urg . . . 's under maintenance or something, huh? That's why I'm gonna go ahead and type up this next chapter anyway. XD –cough- And if you're actually reading this story . . .

-gets down on knees- Thank you so very much for actually reading! I don't really have any confidence in this story at this moment!!!!! –cough- Er . . . yes, thank you . . . a lot. So, if you're actually reading, enjoy the next chapter!

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

Did you know when you were famous,
You could kill your wife, and there's no such thing as
25 to life, as long as you've got the cash to pay for Cochran.
And did you know if you were caught and you were smoking crack,
McDonald's wouldn't even want to take you back,
You could always just run for mayor of D.C.

I'd like to see them spend the week livin' life out on the street,
I don't think they would survive.
If they could spend a day or two walking in someone else's shoes,
I think they'd stumble and they'd fall.
They would fall.

Lifestyles of the rich and the famous,
They're always complaining, always complaining.
If money is such a problem,
Well, they got mansions,
Think we should rob them . . .

"Hey, guys, check it out . . ." I heard one of my friends in the back say.

"What?"

"Look. Greaser," he said, grinning. I looked ahead, and yeah, there was a greaser. Looked around 14 or something, and he was walkin' pretty fast, tryin' to keep his cool or somethin'. I smirked, bringing my red Corvair a bit closer to the kid. He had a pretty good build, but we had a car full of guys.

We jumped out, and managed to corner him. He managed to keep his cool, though. Chris was still in the car, looking down at the floor. He always did that; came with us, but didn't come down. To get my mind off of it, I pulled out my switchblade. "Hey," I began, and my friends' eyes lit up, "need a haircut, greaser?" My friends snickered.

The guy was silent for a while, before saying, "No."

'Wise-ass,' I thought, and he backed up into one of my friends, who grabbed him and pinned him down in a second. He fought, and let me tell you, we almost let go of him for a moment. It took all of our effort to get him back down again. I then slugged him hard across the face again and again. Between breaths, I could hear the guy tryin' to cuss us out.

"Let him have it!" one of the guys had said, and I held my blade against his throat.

"How'd you like that haircut just below the chin?" I asked, grinning. After that was a blur. Next thing I knew it, there were some other greasers coming, and they had as much fight as this guy. So, we all jumped into the car and drove off. I'd been slugged right across the face, and my lip was bleeding a bit.

"Damn . . ." I heard someone whisper breathlessly. "That was some fight, huh?"

The others agreed, and still Chris remained silent.

It was a long drive home, you'd better believe me. It was a lot quieter this time, too, which annoyed me like hell. I wanted someone to talk or something, but no one broke the silence. One by one, I dropped off the guys until it was only Chris and I.

"Why do we jump greasers, anyway?" Chris asked.

"Huh?" I looked over at him, confused. "Well, we . . ." my voice trailed off and I looked back at the road. I didn't know why we jumped greasers. "For fun?" I suggested, but now I regret ever saying that.

Chris shrugged. "Okay, then . . ." After what seemed to be a million years, I dropped him off at his house.

"Later, man."

"Yeah . . ." Chris glanced over at his house, and when he opened the door, he was hit by a flying picture frame. "Later," he called over his shoulder at me, and then cautiously stepped into the house.

"See?" I told myself, "We have it rough, too . . ." But for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about what Chris had said. It was so damn annoying and driving me crazy. Finally, I brought my car into the driveway, which had no black car marks on it.

"Hey, honey, that was long," my mom came up to me and hugged me, planting a super-huge kiss on my cheek. I rolled my eyes. "Did you find anything?"

"What?"

"At the library?"

"Er . . . no, I didn't."

"Oh. Well, your dinner's on the table!" She smiled at me, ruffled my hair (which was so annoying), and then walked back upstairs. "Your dad says he'll be home late today, by the way!"

"Okay," I replied, not caring. I don't care about my dad. I don't care about school.

I finished dinner in a hurry before plopping back onto the couch, where there were actually some good shows playing. But Chris' words rang in my head like the school bell, which seemed to never stop ringing. I actually fell asleep thinking about that word. The word I can't even let myself say now:

"Soc".

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Author Notes: Okay, I know it's not good, but that's chapter two. And it's short. Sorry about that. Xx; And yes, David's mom really is blond. And yes, he did jump Ponyboy. Oo; Baaad David! -whacks- Don't worry, I'll actually get the storyline going in the next chapter. So . . . yeah. Please review, and thanks!