Categories > Books > Outsiders
Disclaimer: I do not own the outsiders. Susie, don't sue me, I beg of you.
I knew Ponyboy from around school. That was enough for me to be slightly infatuated with him. I couldn’t help but look at those green-grey eyes of his, and day dream. I thought he looked just irresistible in that jacket he wore. I found almost every single one of his physical attributes appealing. Unfortunately, my girlfriends didn’t agree. They all told me that I should be careful of him, that he lived on the bad side of town and hung out with a bunch of greasers, but I thought he was different.
I looked forward to my science class, because he sat next to me. During that class I always tried a little bit harder; tried to look a little prettier; tried to seem a little cooler. On one October day I was even more thrilled to be going to science than usual. Lately, I had been thinking that it was possible that Ponyboy might also be attracted to me. My cheerful mood was ruined when I saw what we would actually be doing in class on that day: dissecting worms.
The preparation for the dissection went exactly as I expected it to. Every girl in the room was nervous about touching the worms and every guy in the class went to get a worm for the girl they liked. I was feeling a little neglected, because no guy had gone to get mine, but then Ponyboy set a worm down in front of me with a grin that made my heart flutter a little bit. I gave him my most dazzling smile back, hopeful that his helpfulness was another sign of his interest.
I managed to cut open my worm without throwing up or any other debacle, but Ponyboy didn’t appear to be having quite the same luck. He was struggling to cut through the rubbery worm with the razor that had been given to him. I watched him, giggling slightly. My giggles stopped, however, when I saw him pull something out of his pocket that defiantly wasn’t a school sanctioned worm cutting tool.
Upon seeing the glint of that switchblade my eyes widened with shock. I couldn’t help it, the first words to pop into my head spilled out of my mouth “They’re right! You are a Hood!”
My stomach dropped; because I knew what I said wasn’t particularly nice, but mostly because I knew his taking out that blade proved my friends right. There was no such thing as a nice greaser boy. Every one of those guys was a violent and desperate hood with a chip on their shoulders and weapons in their pockets. Ponyboy was just like every other Juvenile delinquent running around on the wrong side of Tulsa.
I knew Ponyboy from around school. That was enough for me to be slightly infatuated with him. I couldn’t help but look at those green-grey eyes of his, and day dream. I thought he looked just irresistible in that jacket he wore. I found almost every single one of his physical attributes appealing. Unfortunately, my girlfriends didn’t agree. They all told me that I should be careful of him, that he lived on the bad side of town and hung out with a bunch of greasers, but I thought he was different.
I looked forward to my science class, because he sat next to me. During that class I always tried a little bit harder; tried to look a little prettier; tried to seem a little cooler. On one October day I was even more thrilled to be going to science than usual. Lately, I had been thinking that it was possible that Ponyboy might also be attracted to me. My cheerful mood was ruined when I saw what we would actually be doing in class on that day: dissecting worms.
The preparation for the dissection went exactly as I expected it to. Every girl in the room was nervous about touching the worms and every guy in the class went to get a worm for the girl they liked. I was feeling a little neglected, because no guy had gone to get mine, but then Ponyboy set a worm down in front of me with a grin that made my heart flutter a little bit. I gave him my most dazzling smile back, hopeful that his helpfulness was another sign of his interest.
I managed to cut open my worm without throwing up or any other debacle, but Ponyboy didn’t appear to be having quite the same luck. He was struggling to cut through the rubbery worm with the razor that had been given to him. I watched him, giggling slightly. My giggles stopped, however, when I saw him pull something out of his pocket that defiantly wasn’t a school sanctioned worm cutting tool.
Upon seeing the glint of that switchblade my eyes widened with shock. I couldn’t help it, the first words to pop into my head spilled out of my mouth “They’re right! You are a Hood!”
My stomach dropped; because I knew what I said wasn’t particularly nice, but mostly because I knew his taking out that blade proved my friends right. There was no such thing as a nice greaser boy. Every one of those guys was a violent and desperate hood with a chip on their shoulders and weapons in their pockets. Ponyboy was just like every other Juvenile delinquent running around on the wrong side of Tulsa.
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