Why Am I Writing In A Diary?

by callisoluna

Dally's younger sister's life. Rated T because, well, the sister's related to Dally, isn't she? Reviews welcome; this is my first fanfic. Disclaimer: I'm obviously not S.E. Hinton and I don't own The Outsiders.

3. Chapter 3

Journal, 11/9/60

I don't know how obvious it is, but it seems to me that when a Social Service lady comes to your house and asks you to come with them, you get a little concerned, right? And when said Social Service lady, with your guardian's consent, comes and takes you away and the only words you're getting are "There's a big, big surprise waiting for you!" you're gonna be a little freaked out, right? Now imagine your arm is practically getting ripped off as the lady drags you inside to meet the cold, blue eyes of the toughest greaser in school. I was half-way to having an aneurysm right there.

And apparently this guy is my brother. As much as I was delighted to see him, he looked even more delighted to see me. Of couse, I've dreamed about meeting my family for awhile, but trust me, I imagined violins playing, not a high-schooler glaring. I didn't rush into his arms or anything either. The lady just stood there helplessly while Dally and I had an all out glare-out. Finally, the lady gave up on our happy reunion (oh, wait, her name is Ms. Rus) and told us how we got to meet each other.

Apparently, Dally fell down the stairs of his school (yeah, right, I believe that) and ended up in the hospital about a week ago, but he's fine now. Anyways, the hospital was doing some bloodwork, and they found out with DNA tests that he's my brother. Well, half brother. Apparently our shared Mother was busy with some other men. So now, I get to have a big happy family! Seriously, she said that.

After that loveliness, I got to go home. I have no idea what'll happen now, but I really dread meeting Dallas at school.

Journal, 11/10/60

Dyllan and I were walking in the park with some other Greasers when I saw him. Dally. Just standing there, cancer stick in one hand, the other hand buried in his well-worn leather jacket. He wasn't alone, he was with his gang, but he stood out like a sore thumb. I would've run away, but I say again, I'm not some sissy and I didn't want to show weakness. Dyllan noticed, offered me a cigarette to calm down, but I refused. I walked all tense but I tried to walk normally, so the result came as a half-strangled robotic chicken. I'll admit it here in this diary but nowhere else. I'm scared stiff of Dally Winston.

Journal, 11/11/60

Yay, apparently I get to meet my wonderful mother tomorrow. This should be fun.