Chapter 1
It was slow at the Diner, as Tuesday mornings usually are. I help run it with my mom every day after school to help out. I was scrubbing dishes and wiping splattered condiments off the tables. I snuck a quarter into the jukebox and played Elvis while I swept the floor. "Nettie, put that broom down before you're late for school! Lord knows I can't drive ya'!" My mom shouted from the kitchen. She wasn't a very patient woman-especially before the 7:00 breakfast rush. I strode into the kitchen to grab my books from the counter. There is a wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors at the back of the dining area where I fix my hair before walking to school. It's black with shaggy bangs that drape in front of my blue eyes. I stared at myself, retying my shoelaces and tucking my shirt into my jeans. I look younger than other people my age, but I'm fifteen and a freshman in high school. I started walking to school, trying not to step on the cracks of the sidewalk and counting all the red cars that drove by.
I arrived at school, counted seven red cars, and stepped on zero crevasses. Most of the girls at school got dropped off at school rather than walking, even if they lived a minute away. Their hair was always tidy and secured with a headband that matched whatever color dress they were wearing. They meet up with their friends and talk in front of the doors. I could tell none of them had worked a day in their lives, nor did they don't need to. They all come from the west side of Tulsa, where their life is handed to them on a silver platter. People from my side of town call them Socs, short for socials. I come from the east side of the train tracks; we're poorer and rougher than the Socs. Our nickname is Greaser because most people wear tons of hair grease. The Soc girls were in their groups giggling obnoxiously and talking in a way that made you think they were judging you. Because of my high marks, I am placed in the honor courses; people in these classes are mostly Socs. It makes me feel secluded being surrounded by wealthy and privileged people. It was Tuesday, so we had Study Hour in the library. A fight broke out mid-period ending with a book pitched at my face by a miscalculated toss trying to break up the rumble. It hurt at the moment, but it only gave me a bruise on my forehead. Fights happen between Greasers and Socs just because they're different social classes. I didn't know any of the people fighting, only that one was a Greaser. He was lying on a knocked-over bookshelf and spitting out a tooth. The nurse didn't help him other than giving him a plastic bag full of ice. The people who had come to watch the fight slowly left, other than the few teachers who put the books back on shelves and propped the bookcases back upright.
The bruise on my forehead started giving me a headache, so I put away my book and went to the health suite. The nurse advised me to go home and rest, but I knew my mom couldn't stay home with me. I never go home early with my mom managing the Diner. I went back to class. By this time, everyone was heading to lunch. I made my way to the cafeteria with my paper bag with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I sat at a table close to the door where nobody else was, examining the gum stuck to the bottom and the curse words engraved onto the top of the bench. It's such a lovely view to admire while you try to eat your lunch. As soon as I took my sandwich out of the bag, a hand swiped in front of me, ripping the sandwich out of my hand. I looked to see a Soc with blonde curly hair and a Madras shirt with beige pants.
"Whatcha' got here?" He said before taking a big bite and spitting it onto the floor. He then proceeded to toss the sandwich into the trash. He smirked. "Oops, looks like you're gonna have to fish your sandwich out of the trash Greaser."
"Was that supposed to be intimidating, 'cause I'm really scared now," I said sarcastically. "It was a cheap move on your part and the acting was subpar. Go annoy someone else and come back when your skills improve blondey." I made a shooing motion with my hand. The Soc's face got bright red, and a deep frown appeared. He gave me a dangerous look and walked away. I have never been physically attacked by a Soc, but people often come to people like me and yell Greaser or jeers. But Socs never get in trouble for what they do or say. I hate feeling less than human to them. I sat alone for the rest of lunch with nothing to eat and no one to talk to...again. Usually, I sit alone because of my lack of friends. But some days, I like to sit on a bench by the door and count every minute that goes by until the next period. I never quite understood how people got friends so quickly or how one got so many. I've never had a true friend in my fifteen years of living. Not even my mom; she's more like my advisor or co-worker or something like that. Lunch was probably the climax of my day. Everything after that was a typical school day. I had tons of homework that night, but I had to do my shift at the Diner before I could even think about starting. I redid my hair and began waiting tables.
About half an hour after my shift started, three guys walked in and sat on the barstools by the counter. The first guy was tall and skinny with short brown hair. He wore a leather jacket and jeans with cowboy boots. The second had shaggy black hair and dark eyes. He had a worn jean jacket over his brown shirt. He also had on a pair of faded jeans and black tennis shoes. The last guy had reddish brown hair with green eyes. His hair was greasy and combed behind his ears. He had a grey jacket half-zipped with a blue shirt underneath. His jeans were dirty, and his once-white tennis shoes were stained with dirt. I had seen the last two at school but didn't know them personally. They were all regulars at the Diner, and as an employee, I had memorized their usuals. They all would get a round of chocolate milkshakes, extra chocolate, and a large order of fries. The tall one was swiping straws and napkins, but I didn't want to be rude, so I pretended not to notice.
I heard the one in the jean jacket start to talk to the tall one stealing the napkins. His name was Johnny, and the one he was talking to's name was Dally. "Cut it out Dal, we don't need all those napkins." Said, Johnny.
"Well, they're free aren't they," Dally said grabbing another handful of straws and putting them into his pocket. I put extra whipped cream on their milkshakes before serving them. I always do that for regulars. I put the basket of fries and milkshakes down on the bar table. "Finally, someone who can make a perfect Chocolate milkshake!" Dally said loud enough that I could hear him. The last boy (who I figured out that their name was Ponyboy) dug his hand through his back pocket and tossed me a nickel. Usually, people don't care enough to tip me. I stuffed the nickel into my pocket and went back to scrubbing tables. My mom owns the Diner, and usually, we don't get many customers. We almost went out of business a few months ago because of how little income we had. We got back on our feet during the summer. Mom started Wednesday happy hours and other promotions for regular customers.
It started getting late. The clock said it was a quarter after nine, meaning I got to go home for the night. My mom doesn't come home until after eleven o'clock when the Diner closes. I don't know how she does it. Going to work at five and coming home at eleven. But things are rough like that, and it has to be this way to provide for the two of us. I started walking home in the dark. The Diner was located on Pickett road, a ten-minute walk from my house. It felt like longer when you are carrying heavy books. When I got home, it was closer to nine-thirty. I finished my homework, brushed my teeth, climbed into bed, and slowly drifted off to sleep.
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