Tehsylvania: Very recently, MercySeverity has discontinued fanfiction for reasons. I have been allowed to post and continue this story. I was also given permission to do rewrite whatever I want; however, I'll be keeping the original version, and if I ever feel the need to change something (99 chance that I won't, except for spelling errors). MercySeverity, I thank you for giving me the chance to continue this.

And people, this is a warning: MercySeverity and I have possible different writing styles. So in chapter 5 and on, you'll notice that they'll be slightly different.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders.

My Teenage Tragedy

Part I: Chapter I: Ponyboy Curtis

My name is Ponyboy Curtis. Yeah. . .you read that right; Ponyboy. It's kind of a weird name. Okay, so it's a really weird name. I think my mom might've been some kind of hippie when I was born. In school, I go by my middle name, Michael. But at home, my brothers call me Pony. I would feel kind of stupid if people knew my name was actually Pony. There is a skating logo with the word 'Pony' on it, and when I wear the red 'Pony' shirt I have, I feel like I'm wearing a nametag. My hair is brown and short in the back, and kind of long in the front. I keep my bangs out of my face by running my hand through my hair. I suppose I do it a lot, and I really should trim my bangs, but I haven't felt like doing it lately. My eyes are grey-ish green; I like to think that they're grey. I don't really like a lot of people I know with green eyes. I'm looking at myself in the mirror in the front of the locker room. My face is red from running track, sweat and water running down my cheeks. My black Etnies are old and worn; I'm pretty sure I spotted a hole in the sole somewhere. I'm wearing a dark grey shirt that reads 'Volcom' on the chest in white letters with red tracing around the letters. My jean shorts go down right past my knees. I pat the pockets to make sure all of my pencils are still in there. I have Spanish I next. How I'm passing my Spanish class, I don't know; all I do is draw all over the notes that the teacher gives us. I'm a freshman at Sandalwood, and I'm fourteen years old. It's the beginning of winter; late November.

The dismissal bell rang, and I made my way out of the locker room. Mostly freshman take gym; people usually get gym overwith so they don't have to ever take it again. High school is okay as opposed to middle scool. My middle school was crowded and it sucked. But high school isn't as crowded. Plus, the new hour lunch thing is great. My older brother, Soda, who is a sophmore1, said they usually didn't have the one hour lunch, and the schoolboard finally gave them a break. You have a whole hour to eat wherever you want. Speaking of Soda, I can see him heading towards me from woodshop. The gym and the woodshop class are pretty close together. "Hey, Pony!" he called. Him and I have lockers right next to eachother, so we usually see eachother every period. We have five minutes between each class, and our lockers are pretty close to our classes. The hallway that our lockers are in is right next to the janitors department, so it usually smells really bad. It's a dark hallway; I think no one ever changes the lights. All of the skaters hang around this hall, and Soda is friends with a lot of them.

"Hey, Soda," I said, turning the black lock to my combination. I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He was wearing a grey Green Day shirt, with black jean shorts that he had on around his waist. They reached past his knees. His DCs were fairly new; he had been saving up to buy them for so long it wasn't funny. Soda's blond hair seemed almost perfect; it was kind of long, and he brushed it to the side. His eyes were brown, and he was usually never mad, unless someone was messing with his friends. Soda's a great fighter; he's never picked a fight, but people have picked fights with him. Mostly jocks who can't stand skaters. He has a girlfriend; she is kind of preppy, but really nice. Her locker was two spots to the right from mine, and mine was on the very end. Soda's was on the other side of hers. It gets kind of annoying to watch them flirt and make out all of the time, but I am happy for them. His girlfriend's name is Sandy. She's a pretty blonde girl, with beautiful blue eyes. I haven't seen her yet today, but I think she gets out of her classes kind of late. Soda waits for her anyways.

"So, Pony, how was gym class today?" Soda teased. He won't ever let me forget the fact that I have to take gym until the end of May, and he doesn't.

"It was fine, Soda," I replied. "Is Two-Bit here today? Or are we riding the bus?"

"Yeah, Two-Bit's here alright. He just ate lunch out, so he could go drink some beer," Soda said with a smirk. "Says he's got a suprise to show us, too." Me, Soda, his friend Steve, and his friend Two-Bit, or Kieth, all eat lunch together in the dark hallway by mine and Soda's locker.

"Oh," I said, laughing. "Alright, see you later."

"Later, Pony!" Soda said, banging on his locker to get it to open. The lockers always act up; mine doesn't really get jammed that much, but Soda's does. It won't open, so he bangs on it for awhile. It's usually the fact that he never organises it. Now, I'm not a neat freak or anything, but it would help him a little to not just throw all of his shit in the locker. I headed to the Foreign Language pod2. Spanish sucked, but it was the last class of the day. It was also kind of easy, seeing as I took one Spanish course in middle school. I was in Spanish I, so I knew basically everything the teacher was teaching anyways. The tardy bell rang shrilly. I jogged to my class with my Spanish book in hand along with my blue folder labeled 'Spanish' in a metallic Sharpie.

I pulled open the door right as the teacher was taking role. She was a small, old lady. Not sure how old; she still has blonde hair, and it seems pretty natural so she can't be that old. She had a French accent that drove me crazy. I wonder why she teaches Spanish anyways if she's French. She has four French classes, and two Spanish classes. I made my way to my seat, which was on the far side of the room. I was on the second row, in the third seat. The wooden desk was defaced with graffiti. I had added my own in my black Sharpie. Well, it wasn't exactly mine, but that didn't really matter. The teacher had never caught me, and she doesn't check desks as far as I know. I tossed my book under my desk as the teacher announced that we weren't going to use them. I crossed out a piece of graffiti that read 'Soda Curtis is a cumguzzler', and wrote under it 'Bob Sheldon sucks cock'. I hated those jocks so much, but I would never say anything to their faces. In the social world, there are five things you can be: a jock, a prep, a punk/skater, a goth, or a dork. Soda told me all about the cruel cycle of teenagers. The preps and jocks eat the ones with low selfesteem alive, socially. They find out all the dirt they can on you, and if there isn't any, they make some up, just because they don't like the way you look. They know you won't do anything because you have a low selfesteem, and that's why they do it. When they've done all they can to humiliate those kids, they move up the ladder to the dorks and nerds, coming down on them for liking the things they don't like. Then, it's the skaters turn. They never really mess with the skaters or punks, because they think that it's cool to look like them and be friends with them. That's the thing everyone in school seems to want: to look cool. I applaude those who aren't like that. As for the goths, no one will say anything directly to them; everyone is slightly afraid of them, even if they don't like to admit it.

"SeƱor Curtis?" Mrs. Araman called, breaking my train of thought. I looked up.

"Uh, aqui," I replied. She made us reply in Spanish. It was really stupid, and I don't think it really helped much, except to clutter your already clouded mind.

She continued calling the role. I glanced over at the clock in the corner. It read one-twenty. "Ughhh," I said quietly to myself. This class, for some reason, seemed to be longer than all of the rest, even Drawing, which was first in the morning. I bent to pick up my pen, which I had knocked on the floor. In the process, I glanced over at the second to last desk, where a black-haired boy sat. He never talked to anyone, and no one ever talked to him. It bothered me. Everyone should have at least one person to talk to. Right now, I can see him staring at his desk with his sad-looking brown eyes. I could see a pair of headphones around his ears; his hood was hiding them, but from this angle I could see them. He was wearing a black hoodie that had an orange-ish flame on the front, with a double-pentacle in black inside the circle of flames. On the arms it had similar orange flames racing up the sides, and said 'Slipknot' in black letters. I knew that Slipknot was a heavy metal band; none of my friends are much for heavy metal. Why would you want to listen to music that consisted of someone screaming at you? It didn't make much sense to me. Soda, Steve, Two-Bit and I listened to the same kind of music; the old punk rock stuff. You know, the Clash, the Sex Pistols, stuff like that. I put the pencil back on the desk and sighed, once again looking at the clock that seemed to be going slower than it should.

I made my way back to my locker, only to be greeted(suprise, suprise) with the sight of Soda and Sandy kissing. It was a grim reminder of how utterly single I was. Soda told me wait, and the right girl for me would come along, but I can't really see how. I usually don't worry about girl problems, but when I do, I get kind of worried over it, thinking that I just might grow up alone.

"Hi, Pony!" Sandy said happily as she saw me at my locker. She refused to call me Michael, but it didn't bother me much, as long as she wasn't around my friends. They would tease me about that until the end of the world if they ever found out my name.

"Hey Sandy," I replied. She was wearing a red shirt, with red mesh sleeves. It had the Independent skate logo on the chest. Her blonde hair was layered, and hanging over her shoulders. She was kind of preppy in the looks, but not in personality. She can be really funny and goofy, and likes the same music as Soda and I do(that was actually Soda's doing). Her pants were just normal flare blue jeans, She was wearing a pair of black DCs, also, although I'm not really sure she knew what DC was. But, a lot of girls nowadays wear skating shoes, and don't really skate. She had Soda's Nirvana hoodie tied around her waist. She knew a few songs by Nirvana, so I can't really get onto her for that.

"How'd your day go?" she asked, putting her arm around Soda's waist as he did the same.

"It was okay," I said, putting my Spanish book and folder back in the locker. I closed the locker, and started walking with them. We headed toward the senior parking lot, where Two-Bit and Steve were waiting for us. It was right through the double doors that were around the corner.

"No homework?" Soda asked.

"Nope. Did it at lunch, remember?" I said.

"Oh, yeah."

"Hey, you said Two-Bit had a suprise?" I asked, remembering what Soda had said earlier.

"Yeah," Soda replied. "Wonder what it is."

Sandy laughed. "Who knows with that maniac!" Kieth, or as we sometimes call him, Two-Bit, has quite a reputation around the school. He's one of those flunkees who everyone, and I mean everyone, in the entire school knows. He's a senior, still, at the age of eighteen. He says he likes school too much to leave it. That, and he's just about one of the laziest people when it comes to schoolwork and labor. He had rusty colored hair, with long side burns and some facial hair that came from years of smoking weed. He said he had stopped about two years back. But you could never tell; he always seems high whether he's smoking or not. He's kind of like Soda in the manner that he doesn't really get angry with people. His eyes are grey, and you can see that he's always up to something, just by looking at his eyes. He drove an old, shitty Corolla, silver in color. He was supposedly saving up for a nice car, but I don't think he has a job, so I don't know where he's going to get the money. We exited the school, and searched the parking lot for Two-Bit's Corolla. I couldn't spot it, and I was the one with the good eyes.

"Where the hell did that idiot go?" Soda said out loud. A horn honked, which was usual in the senior parking lot of Sandalwood. Out of habit, I looked in the direction of the carhorn, and saw Two-Bit sitting in a red Ford Thunderbird Convertible Lowrider. It had a white top, and white leather interior. My mouth hung open at the sight. The car was a beauty; it looked nearly brand new. "Holy fucking shit!" Soda said what was on everyone's mind.

Two-Bit grinned. "Hello, kiddies. Remember that suprise I told you about?"

"Dude!" Soda said, walking towards the car. Even Sandy was impressed, and she doesn't even like cars. "Where the hell did you get enough money to buy this?"

"I have a job. I told you guys that. Down at J-D Buyrider. Where else did you think I was every day after school? Studying?" Two-Bit laughed.

"How the hell did you afford it? You must have a pretty damn good salary!" Soda said, opening the back door and letting Sandy in. He got in behind her. I followed. "What year's this thing?"

"'90. I get a pretty good paycheck. . .five-hundred a month," Two-Bit replied.

"How long you been saving up?"

"This thing cost ten-thousand five hundred. I been savin' up for awhile now. I had a little help from Steve. . .so I guess until I pay him back, we're sharing the thing."

"Damn straight," a new voice said. We all turned to face Steve, who was leaning on the passenger seat door. His brown hair was kind of long, and spiked up. He slid into the passenger seat. He was wearing a black shirt that read 'Emerica' in grey letters, with black jean shorts. He propped his feet up on the dashboard to tie his shoes, which were black Vans.

"Evie not riding with us today?" Two-Bit said. Steve shook his head.

"Her alarm clock probably screwed up today, again," Steve said. "She didn't wake up on time, is my guess."

We had to wake up pretty early for high school; me and Soda got up at five-thirty along with my older brother Darry. Darry was twenty-one; he was our legal gaurdian since our parents died two months ago. He was a serious guy, usually. But he can be kind of fun when he loosens up. He's got blue-green eyes, with brown hair. He only works one job, so far, but he makes enough to put food on the table and everything. Soda has a part-time job up at the Little Champ; he saves some of his money, and the rest of the money he uses to help Darry with taxes, and other things like that. Darry said that next year I could get a job at the Food Lion if I wanted to, which I do. I want to help out a little, too.

"So," Two-Bit said, trying to be a conversationalist. He has a big mouth, so he's usually the one to always start conversations. "Um, this is a first, you guys; I've got nothing to talk about!"

"Damn, you're right. Hell must've frozen over," Soda remarked. Sandy giggled.

"Shut up, Soda!" Two-Bit called with a grin. Two-Bit and Soda make fun of each other a lot, but they never do it in cold blood.

I sighed, and smirked. I rested my elbow on the door, and leaned against my hand. I hummed a song by Judas Priest that I had had stuck in my head all day. I closed my eyes, tired as hell. Waking up at five-thirty tends to do that to you. It felt good to have the wind running through my hair; Two-Bit's new car was awesome. It made me forget about everything, for some reason. I drifted in and out of sleep, catching bits and pieces of the others' conversations.

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1-I'm not sure how old Soda was...I think he was sixteen-going-on-seventeen, but it might've been fifteen-going-on-sixteen...oh well, he's a sophomore!

2-At my old highschool, where this chapter took place, we had small hallways where all of the Language Classes, Math classes, etc., were located, and we called them 'pods'. Don't ask why; it wasn't my decison.