"Ain't that Curtis?" Curly said, pointing at the beaten red truck parked across the lot. I recognized the truck the minute it pulled in, but Curly never has been the brightest of our family. It usually takes him twice as long as it should to notice or understand anything.

"No shit," I snapped, and stuck a cancer stick between my teeth.

Curly grunted.

I looked up at the truck once again through the windshield. Soda was sitting in the driver's seat, speaking with whoever was accompanying him. I figured it was Pony because of the hoodie and the reddish hair. Pony's hair wasn't that long, though.

"Who's that with him?" Curly grunted again. "Looks like some broad."

I nodded as I lit my cigarette. That was a broad with Soda, and I smirked. "She looks familiar."

"She looks hot." A couple of the greasers behind me whistled and howled.

"You think every girl looks hot, Curly," I told him.

Curly shrugged, "That's 'cos they are."

One of the Brumley Boys spoke up, "We should go over. See if they're okay with a couple more joinin' them." The boy thrust his hips forward, rousing a few more hoots and whistles from the group. His name was Paul. He had a sweep of blonde hair that covered half of his face, and several scars that circled around his muddy brown eyes that he earned from spitting out nasty remarks to trashy girls with glass bottles. You would think he'd learn his lesson by now - he'd been smashed over the face over a dozen times - but the pack of idiots from his side of town were about as thick as Curly.

I looked at Paul in disgust. I knew that Curtis hadn't seen any girls since Sandy ditched him, and I wasn't too determined to let a kid who didn't have enough brains to fill a teacup ruin it for him.

"No," I snarled at him, and the hoots silenced. Paul stood straight, and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to look cool. I guess looks were more important that brains now. "I'll go over there. You stay here, and keep it in your pants."

I turned around and started towards Curtis's truck. A laugh came from behind me, followed by the thud of someone getting punched in the face. The laughing stopped. I chuckled quietly and continued walking.

Soda saw me as I approached and he rolled his window down. He leaned out the window, flashing me a wide smirk in greeting. I smirked back.

Soda wasn't the type of boy that me or my gang would normally hang around. He was too energetic and laughed too loud at everything. In short: He was a bit annoying. He was Darry's kid brother, though, so that gave me an excuse to stop and chat with him, no matter how hyped up Soda was about something stupid. Some case for Ponyboy and his. . . books. Darry and his crew had always accepted my families, so we accepted his. Our bonds have only strengthened since last year.

"Hey, Curtis."

"How ya doin', Tim?" Soda said with a grin, and he held his hand out the window for me to shake. I slapped at it and then shoved my hand back in my pocket.

"Doin' fine," I grumbled. "Who's the girl?" I wiggled my eyebrows slightly.

The girl had her head down, so her flaming hair obscured her face. Her shoulders were hunched, and I could tell that her lips held a frown. It looked as if she wasn't even breathing. Despite her poor way of dressing, it was clear that this girl was one of those Rich-Want-To-Be-Greasers who looked down at actualgreasers like they were something nasty on one of her expensive shoes. It would explain her being with Happy-Go-Lucky here. Curtis wasn't a natural born hood, like a greaser is intended to be.

When I said "girl," her head shot up violently, as if the mention of her gender were some sort of suggestion for sex. I looked at Soda casually before getting a good look at her face. She still looked familiar, but I didn't look at her long enough to actually recognize her.

Soda's eyes flashed, as if he took offense to me referring to his date as "girl," too. I reached forward and slapped him on the back.

"Don't worry, Curtis. Although she's undoubtedly attracted to my grease and charm, I won't take her off your hands," I joked. "I've got my eyes on that Valance girl, anyway." The air suddenly got quieter and colder.

I looked over Soda's shoulder, deciding to finally see who his date was. I gulped once I realized that Valance girl was staring at me with wide, green eyes.

"My guys just wanted to know who your broad was," I said coldly, and turned my back on the truck. Cherry looked slightly appalled when I referred to her as a broad, but I didn't care. All I could think about was Curtis with the girl I wanted, and how badly I wanted to kick his head in.

"Okay. . ." I heard Curtis say, slowly. Every sound that came from his lips only increased the hatred I felt for him right now. The only thing that ket me from twisting around and dragging Curtis out of the window by his collar was Darry. Even the toughest hoods steered clear of Darrel Curtis when they could.

I could feel Curtis and Valance watching me as I walked away. Their eyes seemed to drill holes into my back, and the artificial pain only increased the real ache burning through my chest.

When Dallas was alive, he would come and find me when he was hacked off about something. Together, the both of us would go find an unsuspecting kid, preferably a Soc, and beat him senseless to get Dally's mind off of whatever was bothering him. I never really saw the point of it, and usually only went along because Dallas was my friend. Now I understood why he always wanted to do it. He wanted to make someone feel his pain and suffering.

There was nothing more that I wanted to do than to harm Soda right now, but I knew that no matter how hard I wished to, I could never hurt Soda. No one could. I had to do it to someone else.

My gang and the Brumley Boys stared at me expectantly as I made my way back to them, no doubt anticipating for me to tell them who the girl was. I didn't feel like speaking, so instead I glared at them furiously. I felt like throttling the first person I saw, but I knew that attacking one of these boys was a terrible idea. What they lacked in brains was compensated for a dozen fast and strong hoods who would retaliate before I could throw more than two punches.

For the first time in a long time, Curly got something right when he said, "Somethin' buggin' ya, bro?" I felt as if my anger was obvious, since I could practically feel the heat radiating from the fire that was blazing ferociously in my eyes. I definitely knew that I didn't look happy. So, even though Curly's assumption wasn't A-Plus work, I had to give him a gold star for effort.

I simply nodded, then began to push my way through the crowd of grease and leather to get to the exit. Even without factoring in the greasers who could have beaten me to a pulp, I would rather pummel anyone other than my gang unless I had to. Someone who deserved it should get their face smashed into their skull - like a Soc.

A heavy hand came down on my shoulder, and suddenly the cool metal of the gun that I kept in my jacket pocket seemed to only get colder, seeping through my shirt and freezing the skin on my stomach, as if reminding me that it was there, ready to use on anything posing a threat. I've carried a gun around with me for as long as I could remember. Although I trusted my fists enough for protection, feeling the heavy weight in my pocket always reassured me in a fight, which was most of the time against a Soc. It may be predictable of a Soc to be an asshole, but they always fight unfairly. Having a gun against an unpredictable Soc can sometimes be pretty fair odds.

I stopped and turned to see who the hand belonged to, but I didn't know that boy that I saw when I turned. He must have tagged along with another one of the boys, because I had seen him bouncing around with us ever since we rendezvoused at the lot. I would have thought he was only huge with fat if his abs weren't protruding sharply from his tight, black shirt, and if his arms didn't seem to sag from his shoulders with heavy muscles. I looked him over, and decided that it was definitely a terrible idea to attack one of the boys.

"Did Curtis do something'?" Macho-Man asked. His voice was gravelly and about as thick as his arms. "We'll kick his ass." Murmurs of agreement echoed around me.

I wasn't sure how to respond. Yes, Curtis took Cherry, but it wasn't like he knew that I had my eyes on her. Yes, that was bothering me greatly. No, I didn't want tension between my gang and the Curtis's. Although we uphold and abide by the rule of always being there for each other's gang no matter what, tension of whatever conflicts we have between us remain. Sometimes the tension fades, other times it builds. I have a feeling that if this monstrous guy and my gang beat Curtis for being with Cherry, that tension wouldn't fade.

"No," I told Macho. Lying through my teeth was a pretty bad habit that I had, but I prided myself in being so damn good at it. "It's not him. Somethin' else. Don't touch me." I pushed his hand off my shoulder and continued to trudge through the boys. I made it to the exit without another interruption.

It's strange how when you're angry, your anger blinds you from what you're actually angry about. All you know and feel is that continuous hot flash of pain that courses through your body. You simply cannot remember why you're angry, but all you know it that you are.

I had been walking a good twenty minutes, at least, silently brewing in my blinded anger. I only knew that I was pissed until the thundering emotions that clouded my memory cleared, and I remembered why I was here instead of at the drive-in.

The moon was rising to join the stars now, but even though it wasn't at it's peak in the sky yet, it cast enough light to walk by. Whatever traces of light from the earlier sun had vanished from the sky, taking any heat the air held with it. I shivered and my teeth clattered, so I pulled my leather jacket around my chest tighter. I was still freezing, though. This jacket was about as useful as a lighter at the bottom of a pool.

I looked up, and was surprised to see buildings that were each at least two stories higher than the houses back where I called home. Of course, I had been here before - I had been in the darkest corners of Tulsa that only few have braved to explore, simply because I needed a place to sleep. However, the sight of the marble-white houses never ceased to feed the jealousy that I had for those who could actually afford to live in places like this. The sun always seemed to shine brighter here, on the precisely cut lawns and spotless cars, than it did on my side of town. I envied how perfect everything was here. I despised it. The houses were like inanimate Socs, mocking me because they had everything that I never would - Not that I wanted to be a Soc; I couldn't live with myself if I was one. But no one wants to be poor forever.

I jumped when I heard a voice ahead of me. There wasn't enough light to see more that twenty, maybe thirty feet ahead of me, but when I looked around for the speaker, all I could see was a silhouette leaning against a car. A bit of moonlight hit the car, and I could tell that it wasn't as pristine and new as any of the other cars parked along the block.

"God, I missed ya," the voice said. It sounded oddly familiar - Slow and deep, with a bit of a lisp, as if the speaker was forcing his words through several holes in his mouth.

He couldn't have been talking to me, he had no reason to. Even though I swore I recognized the voice, I doubted greatly that I even knew this person. I probably passed him by on the street one day, or beat his face in at a rumble. There's a lot of people that I've met. There were a lot of possibilities.

Another figure approached the car. It was clearly a girl - Most likely a Soc. Two greasers wouldn't be caught dead meeting up in the middle of the night on the Soc's turf. Even the dumb ones knew that was a dumb idea.

The appearance of the girl relieved me for a moment. At least now I knew he wasn't talking to me, but even if he was I probably would have kept walking by.

"Hey, Steve," the girl said. A cold chill seeped through my skin, and it wasn't from the lack of warmth in the air. Steve? Now that I thought about it, that voice definitely was Randle's. Why was he on the Soc's turf, though? Why was he with this Soc?

I decided the hide so that I could watch them, but it's hard to hide on an open sidewalk that isn't connected to an alleyway. I stepped back a bit, hoping that they wouldn't see me from where I stood, and that the darkness would shroud me.

"Ready?" Steve asked. The girl's silhouette nodded. I heard a click and hinges screeching as Steve opened the car door. The girl got in, and Steve closed the door.

As Steve went over to the drivers side of the car and began to get in, the door from the She-Soc's house opened. Light spilled out, illuminating the sidewalk and Steve's face and car. Another boy stood in the doorframe. He was too small to be her father, so I concluded it was her brother. I also concluded that if it was her brother, then this was going to be worse than if it were her dad. Soc parents didn't typically participate in Soc-Greaser crap.

The boy looked vaguely familiar - At least what I saw of him out of the darkness looked familiar. I couldn't be sure, but the boy with the Beatle-cut hair and dark shirt looked a bit like Randy Adderson, the best friend of the kid that Cade killed last year.

"Kristy, what are you doing?" Randy asked as he stepped out of the house. Darkness covered the street again after he closed the door. He began to approach Steve's car. Naturally, the girl, who was named Kristy, didn't hear him, due to the car door she was seated behind was closed, eliminating much sound, but she was staring through the glass at the boy. Steve rested his arms on top of the car, raising an eyebrow at Randy.

"Hey, man," Steve said to him, casually, as if they were buddies. After the previous year, Randy had vowed to stay out of the turf wars, having been fed up with all the fighting and injury. He failed to see the point of it all. There was no point, really, but we all fought anyway just because we hated each other - It's kind of like that Montague and Capulet thing, I guess. I swear to you, I did not read that. I only picked it up from Ponyboy's literary rampages. That kid talks a lot. But the Greasers respected Randy because he stayed out of our affairs and didn't jump us every chance he got. That didn't necessarily make him a friend, though. At least not to me.

A while after his vow of turf-neutrality, Randy pretty much became a tree-hugging peace-boy. Right now he was even wearing a pair of "bell-bottomed" jeans. Those have been becoming popular, and Lord knows why. I would sooner die than look like I just escaped from a bell tower museum. His dark hair was growing out, curling around his chin and growing along his cheekbones, like he'd forgotten to shave half his face for a month. Sideburns were weird, too. Mathews always prized his, but I just never got the point of it.

Randy didn't greet Steve back. "What are you doing with Kristy?"

"Showin' her a good time," Steve shrugged, as if a Greaser treating a Soc to a night out wasn't a bad idea.

"She's my sister," Randy snarled. I was glad that he was only angry because that girl was his sister, not because Steve was a greaser.

I never got mad when a boy took Angela out. It was a different boy every three days, so I've lost any reason to care.

Randy closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. His instinct to be eternally happy was trying to take over. But even though he was trying to bottle his anger, it was obvious that he wasn't thrilled to see his sister with Steve.

"Hey, hey, sorry, man," Steve said. Even if Steve was actually sorry, he didn't sound too concerned. When you could be almost completely certain you're not about to get jumped, you start to let your guard down.

Randy acknowledged Steve apology by walking to the passenger's side of the car and tugging it open. "C'mon, Kristy," he said, his eyes focusing on the girl inside the car.

"No," Kristy said definitely, and remained in the car.

Randy's ability to hold his anger was clearly reaching maximum capacity. His face began to tinge darker, but I could tell that he was trying not to let his temper break loose. As he tried to lure Kristy from the ca, light hit the pavement once again, and three boys stood at the door, peering down at Randy, his sister, and Steve.

For what I could see from their silhouettes, they were all around Randy's age. Each one was bulkier than Randy, though, as if they routinely pummeled a greaser-a-day for exercise. They all wore the usual Soc attire: Madras jackets and corduroy pants, which meant they weren't leaning towards the peace-and-love brand of kids. Wonderful.

I didn't want to take my eyes off the trio that had just appeared, but I knew they most likely wouldn't try anything with their hippie buddy so close. So I tore my eyes away and focused back on the scene of Randy trying to draw his sister from the car, while Steve watched. If I were Steve, I would probably have punched Randy by now just for interfering with my date, but I knew Steve only fought in competition, like in a rumble.

Kristy wouldn't budge, and Randy's temper was clearly rising, however it was clearer that he was still trying to keep his head.

He said, "It's late."

"It's not even nine yet," Kristy laughed.

Randy let out another breath, but this time his anger didn't flow out with the air. He reached into the car and grasped Kristy's arm. That's when Steve tried to intervene.

"Hey, man, cut it out." Steve slid over the car's hood to where Randy was attempting to drag Kristy from the car, and he grabbed Randy's shoulder to try and pull him away. He wasn't acting violently, but the touch was enough to make Randy swing around and nail Steve hard in the face with a closed fist.

Steve let go of Randy's shoulder, stumbling backwards onto the concrete. I could see that his cheek was tinged red from the impact with Randy's fist. Kristy didn't scream or yelp, like I expected her to. Instead, she jumped from the car and hit Randy across the face herself. The three Socs were still huddled by the door, watching the scene with hungry eyes.

Steve stood, caressing his face. Randy merely stared at Kristy, a look of utter disbelief set on his face instead of pain. Steve looked at her, too, although his expression wasn't shock, but pride. A wide smile was spread across his face, although it was clear that using the muscles in his face was slightly painful. He didn't even try to even the score with Randy by swinging a fist into his cheek, or kneeing him a good one between the legs. That's what I would have done. Instead, he just stood there, pridefully staring at Kristy as if she were something special.

Another moment passed, and Randy shook himself from his state of shock. He stood straight, and took his eyes away from his sister to look at Steve. I could feel the hate radiating from him, although I knew that Randy was trying his best to hide it.

He didn't say another word as he slunk back into his house, hopefully ashamed that he got hit by a girl - His sister, no less.

There was still the matter of the three Socs who stood on the house's front step, grinning like hyena's. Without Randy restraining their hatred against the greasers, I knew that they were planning out how best to carve the greaser that stood on the sidewalk.

"Well, well," the one in the middle said, reaching behind him to retrieve his pocketknife. "A greaser's on our turf again. We'll just have to do something about that."