Bridgette was sitting in her living room one Saturday morning the summer before her junior year of high school. She flipped through the channels lazily before settling on Mickey Mouse.

Tim barged into the room and headed straight for the front door.

"Where you going?" she asked.

"Out."

"Can I come?"

"No."

She scowled at the television screen as the front door slammed. She had never been welcome to hang out with her brothers but she used to get away with tagging along when she was younger. Like it or not, she was their sister and they couldn't exactly let a little girl run around on her lonesome. But now she wasn't little anymore and it was only too easy to ditch her. She knew her brothers would never let her tag along but she still asked out of habit.

She sat there for about an hour when the front door opened. It was Frankie Shaw, one of Tim's friends.

"Where's your brother?" he asked.

"No idea," she said monotonously.

"What are you doing?"

"Watching some TV."

"You should try getting out of the house for a change," he said knowingly.

"Why?" she replied.

"To be social," he rolled his eyes. "Make your own friends. Stop crying that your brothers won't let you play with them anymore. You can make your own friends you know."

"I have friends," she rolled her eyes.

"Name one."

"Mandy Fisher."

"She's not your friend. She's your lab partner."

"How would you know?" she snapped.

"Make some friends, Bridgette. It's just getting pathetic."

"You're pathetic," she mumbled as he walked out of the house.

As much as she hated to admit it, Frankie had a point. It was her junior year in high school. It was the last year she had at the same school as Ponyboy. Not that that made any difference, but it felt like her last chance. She still clung onto the hope that one day he would notice her, somehow forget she followed him around the neighborhood, and deem her worthy of befriending.

But even if that didn't work out, it would still be nice to have a friend.

Bridgette never really made a friend. She was friendly with people, but she didn't have that relationship with anyone. Her brothers told her so many times not be like the other girls in the neighborhood that she subconsciously placed herself above them. She didn't think she was better than them by any means. She knew the score and she knew she was one of them. But she always listened to Tim and he practically banned her from ever associating with them. And the other girls in town took that to mean Bridgette really did think she was better than them. There was no way in hell she would ever be able to make friends with the Socs, even though the very thought made her feel sick. But the point was, she didn't have many options as far as friends went.

She considered having guy friends. Some of the hoods around town weren't so bad. Not everyone was like her brother's gang. Pony and his gang were the perfect example of that. They weren't the only decent boys in town. She could very well just make guy friends.

But that would require going outside. And effort. And setting herself up for rejection and ridicule. She got enough of that as a kid.

So she would stay lonely. She would admire Pony from afar for just another year and try to move on with her life once and for all. And that was all there was to it.

Instead of taking Frankie's advice and making friends, Bridgette grabbed her coat and headed to school. If she couldn't have friends, she might as well continue to be the smartest person in her grade. The library was closed on Saturdays but she knew how to break in. The librarian caught her once but, when she was convinced Bridgette really was there to study and not cause trouble, she let her stay as long as she needed and never told anyone.

Bridgette had no idea how long she was there. She was there long enough to look over the books she would need for her junior year. She thumbed through the math book to see what she was in for and smiled. It was going to be a breeze. She sat down by the window and wrote short stories about a girl forlorn about unrequited love when everything seems to fall into place all at once.

She wasn't surprised when it was dark as she left the building, sure to lock up as she left. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and stared at the ground as she walked. Curly would kill her if he found out she was walking by herself so close to Soc territory but Socs didn't really jump girls so she wasn't worried.

Then again, most girls aren't the little sister to the Shepard brothers.

Bridgette heard a car behind her and the street in next to her was alight with the headlights from the car. She quickened her pace but otherwise made no recognition of the car. The car slowed to crawl once it got up to her and whoever was in it rolled down their window.

"Did you just steal from the library?" the boy asked.

She scoffed and shook her head. If she had stolen something, wouldn't it be a little obvious? She didn't have a bag on her and her clothes were too tight to hide anything.

"No, James, that's the greaser in my grade," a girl chimed in. "Pretty smart."

"You're kidding," he deadpanned.

"No, she skipped like two grades."

"She was probably stealing test answers," he continued conversationally.

"School hasn't even started," the girl pointed out. Bridgette wanted to thank the girl for being so logical.

"Then why is she leaving at night?" he insisted.

"Maybe she was practicing soccer," the girl shrugged. "I don't know. I don't care. Come on, let's go. We're going to be late."

Oh, that was another thing. When she was younger, she would throw herself into fights to prove herself and she would always kick over punch or hit. Kicking was her specialty and she was good at it. Her parents, determined to make something out of her, forced her to take up soccer. Tim stole a ball from someone and Bridgette would spend hours every day kicking the ball around. By the time she was old enough to play on a team, and when she managed to learn the rules, she was really good. She was a natural and had made Varsity soccer her sophomore year of high school, which was pretty rare. If she didn't get an academic scholarship, her parents were convinced she would get a sports one.

It bothered Bridgette sometimes how much pressure her parents put on her to succeed. They never even asked her if she wanted to go to college or play soccer. They forced it upon her.

Luckily, she really did love kicking things. And since Tim banned her from any rumbles or fights now that she was older, she had to let out her aggression somehow. That's probably why she had the most fouls in the district.

She was the only greaser on the team. There weren't any Socs, just the middle class kids. Bridgette thought those girls were tuff enough. They were nice and funny and made her feel included. But she was still a grease and she was still two years younger than them so no friendships ever developed. At least none beyond the field.

As far as Bridgette knew, she was the only one in the neighborhood aside from Darry Curtis who didn't smoke, and they both had the same reason for never starting. They prided themselves on their athletic ability and couldn't afford to ruin their performance in any way.

Bridgette walked into her house to find her brothers and their friends lounging everywhere.

"Where have you been?" Curly asked.

"Making friends," she said sarcastically.

"Liar," Frankie snorted. She made a face at him and went to her room. Her room was just big enough for a bed, desk, and dresser, and that was packed pretty tight. She couldn't even open her dresser drawers all the way. She fell back onto the bed and sighed heavily.

Another year. Another lonely year. Another year of waking up, going to school, going to soccer practice, coming home, doing homework, getting yelled at by her parents for some reason or another, and going to bed. It was all very dreary and depressing.

She propped herself into her elbows and looked at her reflection in the mirror on top of her dresser. She didn't look like anyone else in her family. Tim looked like their mom and Curly was the spitting image of their dad. Bridgette would never admit it out loud, but she had a feeling her dad wasn't actually her dad. She felt awful whenever she thought it but she couldn't shake the feeling she was right.

Everyone in her family was tall and lanky with lean muscle and hard features. Curly and Tim had their dad's dark blue eyes. Curly had dark brown hair and Tim had black hair. Bridgette had chestnut blonde hair, which was the closest color to be blonde while still being brown. It constantly looked like if she spent one more hour in the sun she would be a blonde. She loved her hair. It was the most unique hair color in the entire town and everyone knew it. People could call her grease and scum all they wanted, but they could never take her long, pretty hair. She also had these bright azure blue eyes that didn't belong to any family member she had ever met.

She thought she was actually pretty good looking. You know, for a greaser girl. She liked her hair too much to put grease in it like the other girls in town, one of the reasons they all thought she was better than them. She figured she could really put more effort into her appearance, though. She never wore makeup and she barely even bothered to comb her hair. Tim wouldn't let her wear the type of clothes other greaser girls wore, but she wore the clothes she was allowed to wear pretty tight. Her typical outfit of choice was some sort of capris pants and a tight top that never showed too much cleavage.

She scooted over to her mirror and just about shoved her face against the glass as she studied her appearance more closely. Like most kids her age, she was getting pimples. It wasn't too bad but at that age, appearances are everything and it was only human to be insecure about them. She ran a finger over a pimple on her chin and frowned. She was debating the likelihood that it would go away before school started in a week.

She took a deep breath and shrugged. Even if it did, there would be more. She decided then and there to get some makeup. She really should start wearing makeup. Maybe that would win her some friends.

She hopped off her bed and waltzed out of the house, only slightly troubled that no one bothered to ask her where she was going. She went to the drugstore and went straight to the makeup section with purpose.

She was overwhelmed by all of the options. Wasn't there just foundation and mascara and stuff? Why were there about five different foundations for one brand? What was the difference? Bridgette picked up one of the foundations and turned it around in her hands.

"What are you up to, kid?" a voice asked behind her. Her heart sank at the familiar accusing tone and spun around, ready to convince whoever it was that she was going to pay for it, as soon as she figured out what to buy. But it wasn't an employee, it was Two-Bit, laughing at the expression on her face.

"I'm not kid," she shook her head, turning back to the selection of makeup.

"Fine, what are you up to, lady?" he corrected.

"Shopping," she said simply. "What are you up to?"

"Shopping," he mocked and winked. "What are we getting?"

"We?" she asked.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Oh, uh, right. I'm looking for makeup."

"Not exactly my idea of fun but it'll do," he shrugged. Bridgette was about to point out that he wasn't technically invited and he didn't have to be there at all but he sighed heavily and tapped his foot as he looked over the shelves. "What have you gotten so far?" She held up the bottle. "Are you kidding?"

"No," she said defensively.

"Well, unless you plan on turning black in the next couple of days, you might want to go for a lighter shade."

Bridgette looked down at the bottle in confusion. She was embarrassed and a little ashamed when she finally figured out why there were so many different foundations in one section. She cleared her throat and grabbed a bottle more her shade. Two-Bit nodded and went back to looking.

By the time Two-Bit was done with her, she went to the cashier with five products and he promised to wait for her outside so he could give her the other six products he swiped.

Two-Bit was not what she would consider a friend—seeing as how she didn't exactly have any friends—but they were both greasers and they had a connection if only on that level. He wasn't the first person she would have picked to help her with makeup—or the second or third—but it was rather nice having him around. He knew better than other people what kind of makeup greaser girls wore and he made sure Bridgette had everything she needed. But instead of going to get food or something, he handed her his stash and just walked off.

She rushed home and tossed everything onto her bed. She sorted through it all and smiled. She had insisted on buying the products she was completely certain she wanted and would use, such as foundation, mascara, eyeliner, and such. The products Two-Bit stole were the ones she second guessed. He told her a million times that she had to have red lipstick but she didn't feel comfortable with a bright red. She didn't know if she could pull it off. So she bought a berry lipstick while he swiped the red. He also got her three eyeshadows, blush, and a neutral lipstick she could wear to school.

Picking up the foundation, she dabbed some onto her finger and watched it slowly slide along the edge of her finger. She dabbed her hands together before any foundation could fall and then lathered it onto her face. She noted right away that she had used way too much and made a mental note to start with less. It was mircaculous to Bridgette was a difference it made for her skin. Aside from covering pimples, it also made her entire face look like one color. She experimented with the makeup for the rest of the night, realizing pretty quickly what worked and what didn't work.

Bridgette didn't have much to occupy her time in the week before school started so she spent a lot of time practicing with makeup and sneaking into the library. The day before school started, she went to school as scheduled to pick up her school books, gym clothes, and get her schedule. Most kids hated this day for a few reasons. One, it meant school was right around the corner and their beautiful summer was coming to end. Two, it cut into their end-of-summer plans. And three, it was boring.

Bridgette was eager to get in and get out as quick as possible. Her first stop was getting her schedule. She waited in line for ten minutes and then waited another couple of minutes for her peer on student government to locate her schedule in the box in her lap. The minute the girl handed Bridgette her schedule, she took off to the next station, which was gym clothes. She tucked her schedule into her back pocket as another student in government handed her a pair of shorts, pants, one shirt, and a sweatshirt. All items were the school colors, blue and silver. She smiled tightly at the kid and he simply looked at her with a bored expression.

The next and last stop was picking up her schoolbooks. She tucked the gym clothes under her arm and pulled out her schedule. This station took the longest because the student government kids had to check the schedule and then go in search of the corresponding book. So by the time the last book was slapped onto the top of the pile, Bridgette was more than ready to go home. Yet, from all the time she spent at the library over summer, she knew something wasn't right.

"Oh, excuse me," Bridgette said, receiving an annoyed sigh from all of the students behind her waiting for their turn. She ignored them and continued. "I think you may have accidentally given me the wrong math book."

The girl held out her hand and snapped her fingers, smacking on her gum. Bridgette quickly returned the schedule to her. The girl looked at the schedule, then back down at the book, and handed the schedule back to Bridgette.

"It's the right book," she said, clearly unamused.

But it couldn't be. She had been looking over her junior math text book the last week, gloating in how easy it would be. She knew that book pretty well. She glanced back down at her schedule, realizing she hadn't even looked it over yet.

Her eyes scanned the small paper, nodding as she went down. Then her eyes landed on her fourth period class. It was Calculus. That was a senior math class. And not even for normal seniors, it was for the gifted seniors. That couldn't be right.

Bridgette picked up her books with great effort and went to the administration building.

"Hello, dear," Miss Dryerson, the secretary greeted. "How can I help you?"

"I think there was a mistake on my schedule."

"You're going to want to talk about that with our guidance counselor," she said. She pressed a button on her phone and said, "Schedule conflict." There was a brief pause where Miss Dryerson forced a smile. Then there was a beep and someone on the other end said, "Send them in."

Once again, Bridgette struggled with her books but made it down the hall.

"What can I do for you?" an alarmingly handsome young man asked. He was leaning against his desk with his hands folded neatly in front of him. Bridgette let the books fall onto one of the chairs.

"I think I was put into the wrong math class," she said, feeling a blush creeping up her neck and not understanding why.

"Let's take a look," he said. Bridgette handed him her schedule and he let out a chuckle. She frowned at him. "So you're Bridgette Shepard."

"Yeah," she said apprenhensively.

"You have quite the reputation among the faculty and staff," he grinned.

"You shouldn't believe everything they tell you," she said stiffly. The school recognized what a good student was and they couldn't deny her talent on the soccer field, but they couldn't seem to get over the fact she was a greaser. One time someone let all of the frogs go free in the biology classroom and Bridgette was the first suspect. And, yeah, it was Bridgette but that was only because she couldn't imagine having to dissect them. The point was, there was absolutely no proof that it was her which is what bothered her. But since there wasn't evidence, she was let off and it was all but forgotten.

"Really?" he smirked, cocking an eyebrow at her. He was so damn good looking. "I just started working here this summer and everyone has already filled me in about Bridgette Shepard." She waited for him to continue, wondering if she really wanted to hear this. "There's no subject Bridgette couldn't do, no test unpassed. Nothing academic could stump her. And then there was talk about your soccer team. Best team in the entire county. They all say that Shepard kid is the one to thank and the one to watch out for. I used to play, you know. I was a striker."

"I'm a striker," Bridgette cut in.

"I know," he said. "I heard. I'm hoping to make it out to some of the games this year. I do love a good match."

"Oh, cool."

"They all said you were remarkably gifted," he said slowly, "But you chose your friends unwisely."

"I chose my friends unwisely?" she repeated. She wasn't sure if she should laugh, cry, or scream. What friends? Did they mean her brothers? The people in her neighborhood? She had no more control over that than they did. Could they really hold that against her?

"That's what they say," he shrugged. "Sounds to me like you're doing all right for youself."

"I like to think so."

He smiled and nodded.

"I'm James Midland," he introduced and held out his hand. Bridgette shook his hand cautiously. Their hands dropped and he took a deep breath. He walked to the other side of his desk and straightened his tie before sitting down. "And there wasn't a mistake on your schedule. I think it's about time we see what you're really capable of."

"But Calculus?" she asked uncertainly.

"Are you up for the challenge?"

"I am," she insisted.

"Good. I'll be seeing more of you, Miss Shepard."

She didn't know how to respond or what to make of this James Midland so she just nodded politely, grabbed her books, and left.

It was a pain in the ass walking home with her books and clothes but she made it. She checked over her schedule and deemed it a pretty decent schedule. Aside from calculus, she was also scheduled to take English, American History, chemistry, gym, and music. She didn't really care too much about music but her mom insisted and when Bridgette is told to jump, she does.

She got her supplies ready for the next day and then hopped into a shower. She laid down on her bed in her towel and allowed herself to daydream about what she would be doing that day if she had friends. Maybe she would go to a barbecue with her soccer friends. Or maybe she would play some football with the guys in her town. Maybe she would exchange makeup tips with some girl friends.

Eventually she deemed her thoughts too depressing and got ready for a night in alone.

While her hopes weren't high, she desperately wanted this year to be different.