Chapter two :D THE ODYSSEY BEGINS. Lool. By the way, if you've never read the Odyssey, you really should. It's a brilliant piece of Homer's work. But that's just me being a nerd :P Haha... oh and thanks to the two people who reviewed, you guys are awesome!
And, needless to say, I don't own the Outsiders, and I never will.
T W O
I need a little more time.
That's the first thought I faced when I felt the rough hand of my dad slapping my face gently, as if trying to wake me up. My eyelids fluttered open to be greeted by hot, orange sunlight that quickly faded to outline a blurred silhouette of a man I did not know, one that wasn't my dad at all. But that didn't register in my mind.
"Mmm…" I rolled over in my bed, which felt miraculously stiff and grainy.
"Young man!" an urgent voice rang. It was slightly Southern male voice, one that I knew belonged to no one. "Young man," he repeated. "Are you okay?"
The person began shaking my shoulders and slapping my face harder. That knocked the blurriness out of me, and my vision became clear. There was a fat man kneeling over me, clad in a retro pinstripe suit and huge, out-of-date glasses. An old fashioned red Mustang was parked behind him, dead center of the road, the front door swung open in an urgent manner. He looked worried.
"YOUNG MAN, ARE YOU OKAY?" he now shouted. It really hit me then that the "young man" was really me. That surprised me, considering despite my boy-cut hair and boyish features, I'd never been mistaken for a man before.
"Wha?" I muttered drowsily, rubbing my eyes. "Am I—of course I'm okay! Why wouldn't I be?"
He gave me a quizzical look, and moved aside so that I could stand up and stretch. I had this weird feeling in my body—like I was detached from everything except my mind. Suddenly, I caught sight of my surroundings. I had just stood up from a concrete sidewalk that lined an uphill road clotted by unruly trees. I began to panic. This isn't New York! How the heck did I reach outside? This is impossible! But then logic hit me, and I gleefully remembered that this was probably all a strange dream, one of the rare ones that I could control. Oh…that explains that lost feeling in my body.
I spotted a couple of stoplights at the tip of the road, which signaled an intersection. I started towards it, but suddenly the retro man grabbed my arm.
"Do—you—need—to—go—to the—hospital?" he said slowly, annunciating every word sharply as if I was hard of hearing.
"Of course I don't," I said, bewildered at the frantic look in the man's eyes. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because," he said rather dryly. "I just hit you with the side of my car."
"What?" I shook out my arms, but my nerves were still numb. I stood up a bit straighter, feeling proud. "I didn't feel any pain!"
I waved the man and began walking up the hill.
"Young man," he called after me crisply. "Y-young man?"
I swiveled around, walking backwards. "I'm not a man!"
He gave me a strange, alien look, and shook his head before hopping back into his car and driving away. The gust of the car stirred some brown leaves at my feet.
"What a basket case…" I muttered.
When I reached the intersection, my jaw dropped. There were vast groups of shopping centers, only get this: they were all vintage. I'm talking 50's or 60's kind of vintage. All the cars that breezed by were classic, like the kind the retro guy had, and the people in it were classic, too. It amazed me. It was kind of like some oldies-Utopia.
"This is so creepy," I said thoughtfully. I shook my head. "I really need to stop eating pickles before bedtime."
I turned left and walked past an old-fashioned store called Woolworths and a whole bunch more. Two girls, dressed entirely in high-waisted, foofy skirts that matched their bouncy hair walked past me. Just as they were a foot or two away, they started giggling. I turned around, and they were both blushing and turning back at me.
They think I'm a boy, I said, a frown forming on my face. I could see where the confusion came from about my gender—I'd never been anything real curvy or whatnot—but I was surprised the retro guy and the blushing girls didn't notice my small height. Even for a fifteen year old girl, I'm pretty small. Suddenly, I had a strange idea. What if I was a boy? What if this was one of those dreams where I changed my gender?
I quickly looked down. Well, I was dressed pretty unisexual—dark jeans and a plaid button down. But…
I briskly cupped my hands under my chest and felt boobs. Okay, so I felt them, but just to be sure…I peeked under my shirt. Okay. I had boobs. Very, very small ones, but that was as per usual. So I was a girl. But what about my face? Did that change?
All of a sudden I bumped into something stocky. I looked up immediately and there was a guy walking with two of his friends, and three of them in leather jackets and faded blue jeans. He saw me with my finger pulling my shirt in peeking position and gave me a puzzled look. His friends looked disgusted.
"Just, uh, checking?" I said timidly with a little smile.
They rolled their eyes and brushed past me. Great, even in my dreams I'm a dweeb.
I passed by a sloppily-parked, square-ish car and I stared at my reflection in the dark window. Okay. So I looked the same, too. The same long nose, the same small mouth, the same plain brown eyes that resemble murky water. So why did everyone seem to assume I was a boy?
I sighed and walked around, observing the strange reality of this dream. Despite being detached from most feeling in my body, everything around me was so alive and accurately realistic. Generally, in my dreams, cartoon characters and long-lost teachers always seem to make their appearance. But this was actually realistic. I liked it.
A loud, startling roar burst from behind me, and I spun around quickly to see a neat and tidy red Corvair filled with a bunch of boys yelling like hooligans. I could make out preppy vests and plaid shirts. How nerdy. I rolled my eyes way up to the sky and then glared at the car, watching them flip their middle fingers up at a couple of passerby on the opposite side of the road.
Wait a minute, I thought hastily, my eyes widening. The old cars. The leather jackets. The preppy vests. I was dreaming of living in the world of that book I was reading. I was dreaming that I was in the 1960's. Yes, that had to be it. And no wonder people thought I was a boy. At the time, girls didn't wear jeans and plaid shirts like guys did.
I grinned. Damn, this is pretty accurate. I felt like I was literally right in the 1960's—physically, mentally there.
But a few seconds after, when the Corvair turned a risky left, I immediately frowned as a new thought washed over me. If this is the 1960's…I raked through my memory, all the way back to the beginning of The Outsiders. Didn't Ponyboy get jumped by Socs in—
I didn't even finish my thought when I pounced down the road, trying to follow the fancy car. I kept thinking what I dumb thing I was doing, trying to stop a bunch of older guys from beating up a fourteen year old kind. But it was a dream. And I wasn't exactly in my right state of mind.
I ran left down the road, my throat itching for air and water and my lungs burning. There was a sign signaling the approaching of a movie house, and I knew right away that not only was I in the 1960's, but I was in the world of the Outsiders, too. The car was parked in the center of the road, the doors open, the seats vacant. A mumbled voice came from the distance. Oh crap. They were probably already beating the poor kid up.
That thought came a little early. As I neared closer to the car, I could hear the voices clearer now. "Need a hair cut, Greaser?"
"…No."
I tried to run faster, but I had slowed down a bit since I was at loss for air. My legs felt sore, probably the first feeling I felt in my entire dream. I stopped to catch some air, and, thinking that maybe my physical body had a cramp, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to wake back up. But it didn't happen, so I had no choice but to be "hero for the dream."
I entered the vacant lot, and what I saw would've made my skin crawl in fear and disgust if I didn't think I was dreaming. There they were, those older guys, punching Ponyboy in the stomach and kicking him. He was hollering real loudly, and it made my ears hurt.
"How'd you like that haircut to begin just below the chin?"
In all my non-realistic bravery, I shouted, "Hey!" and ran towards the Socs, pushing one of them, who was in a blue plaid shirt, as hard as I could, making him stagger back a bit. He gave me a surprised look, but that quickly subsided into anger.
"Beat it, kid," he snarled. "Or else."
Two of his friends suddenly came to the Soc's side. Ponyboy, from down on the ground, cussed, and another Soc kicked him.
"Leave him alone," I said firmly.
The Soc grinned crookedly. "Who do you think you are, huh? Some kind of hero?"
And then he pushed me, hard on my shoulders. I almost fell back, but I regained my posture. I could see one of the Socs swinging a switchblade freely in his hands. It was tainted with some blood. Oh, brother. They've already got him.
"I said to leave him alone!" I shouted, but the Socs laughed.
"You think you're so tough, huh? Huh?" I backed up a bit as he came near me. Then, his face suddenly twisted into anger and he pushed me square in the chest so hard that I fell on Ponyboy's leg.
I cursed under my breath. The Soc looked down on his hands and then back at me, a mixture of disbelief. I knew exactly why. He pointed a shaking finger at me and raised his eyebrows.
"He's—she's—it's a gi—"
He was interrupted by new shouts and the heavy pounding of footsteps, and he and his crew began running away. One Soc dropped his switchblade, and I picked it up gingerly. Boy, they didn't sell ones as sharp as these before. My dad collected blades, and he would've loved to see this.
Two men now came running towards me, and I recognized them right away. Both of them were very handsome, but Soda was a bit more stop-and-look worthy and Darry looked like a real superhero out of a comic.
Darry leaned beside Pony, shot me what seemed like an expressionless look. Before I could open my mouth to say something, though, I heard a car speed by. It was the Socs', and for whatever reason, they had decided to drive around the theatre before escaping.
"SAVE YOURSELF, CHARLIE," one of them screamed. I blinked. Who was Charlie?
"We're sorry man!" another shouted. They were looking at me. They think I'm Charlie?
Suddenly, the wires in my brain connected faster than I could think. They were trying to make it seem like I was their friend, one who was with them and helping them in beating up Ponyboy, and that they'd had to leave me behind. They wanted for me to get beat up, even though one of them knew I was a girl. I suddenly felt my palms get real itchy and sweaty and I wanted to explain really quickly but there was a lump in my throat. It was like watching a movie—I had no control and I stayed silent though I didn't want to. I watched as Darry's eyes flickered from the Socs' car to my face, then to the cut-up Ponyboy who was still choking up over his words and then at the switchblade in my hand.
"I didn't do it," I said quickly, dropping the blade as if it was a hot potato.
Darry's eyes burned dangerously and before I could even think, he swung his fist back and punched me square in the face.
"Oh, God!" I cried out. I'd never been punched before, and with all the violence on T.V., punching seems as easy as playing golf and twice as gentle. But damn did that Darrel Curtis pack a punch. I felt warm tears well in my eyes and the entire side of my face exploded and throbbed in pain. I landed on the floor, and the entire world began to swing. I started bawling like a baby.
"It wasn't him!" I heard Pony blurt quickly to Darry. You're a little late in telling him, Pony! I started crying harder, for no particular reason except for it hurt so badly. The punch, I mean.
I looked up at Darry, and he still looked like he enjoyed giving me that punch, with his icy eyes that showed no regret or apology. I heard more footsteps, a couple of words jostled, and once again, everything was a blur.
That's it for now :D Review and subscribe :]