A/N: I know, it's been such a long time! Yes, I'm out with a new story, and you all probably think I'll delete it or forget about it again, but this time I've planned it, so I probably will finish this one. I've always loved 7th Heaven, Inkheart, and The Outsiders. That's why I've decided to combine the three into one story. This story will only be in The Outsiders category. Hope you like it!

Also, it gets way more into The Outsiders setting in chapter two.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders, 7th Heaven, or Inkheart. I do own Hayden Camden.

"Hayden!" Mom called. I was up in my room, reading. "Hayden, we want to talk to you!"

I sighed. They probably wanted to stop me from reading again. My parents were funny like that; they thought I spent too much time up in my room by myself. But really, I was just doing what I liked to do.

I felt like reading and writing were my passions. I would stay up in my room for hours on end writing a story I hoped to send in to get published, or reading the latest Nancy Drew. There was nothing else I liked better doing, and I was determined not to let my parents get in the way of it.

"Coming!" I yelled agitatedly. As I traipsed down the stairs, my brother Simon's dog, Happy, came barrelling into me. "Slow down, Happy!" I called after her as I picked myself up off the floor.

"Sit," Mom said sternly when I walked into the kitchen. I looked up at her with defiance in every line of my face. "Hayden, your father and I think you need to get out more."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked in a hurt voice, although I knew exactly what they meant.

"We think you spend too much time alone," Dad said, voicing my fears. "You bury yourself in books for hours, and you're always up in your room writing something."

"And what's the problem with that?" I spat. "I like reading and writing. I don't understand what's so horrible about me doing what I like to do." The glare that I shot them was full of hurt and dislike, and I didn't regret a bit of it.

"You're just spending too much time up there," Mom reasoned in a gentle voice. "And that's why we've planned for you to spend the night this Friday at Grandpa's."

"I'm not going. You can't make me," I said automatically, quietly and angrily, and stormed upstairs.

Matt, my older brother, was waiting for me when I got to my room. Well, actually, it was our room; I had moved in with him when Ruthie had been born. Me and my brother got along okay, but that was only because we didn't talk much. I honestly didn't want much to do with Matt, and I didn't know exactly why. Maybe it was because he tried to be my parent more so than my brother.

"Hayden, come sit down," Matt said firmly, pointing at his bed, when I walked in.

"No," I said, going over to my bed. A book was sitting on it, of course; The Outsiders, one of my favorite books. "If this is about what Mom and Dad were mad about, I don't want to listen."

"Yeah, it is, and yeah, you're going to listen," he told me. "I'm sick and tired of watching you walk around with a book in your hands, or a pencil and that note book of yours everywhere."

"And you think I care?" I whipped around to face him, anger written all over my face. "I honestly don't give a darn what you want me to do with my books. Leave me alone." I stopped listening and turned my attention toward the book that was lying, half open, on my bed.

There was this thing about me; I had a fear of reading aloud. I'd never liked reading aloud that much. The reason was sort of shocking, but I couldn't help it.

I could read things in and out of books.

Yes, I know it's a strange gift, but once I read Inkheart, I realized that it wasn't uncommon. But what Mo and Meggie had to go through . . . it scared me out of my books for a while.

But now, I tossed my fear away and picked up the book. "When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house--" I read, but that was as far as I got.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the sidewalk of 1966 Tulsa, Oklahoma, with my brother beside me. "Hayden," he asked, sounding cautious and scared, "where are we?"

I stood up and looked around. The place was really run down; the houses' paint was peeling badly, the windows were cracked, everyone's front lawns looked like mostly dead weeds, and the fences were lined with barbed wire. There were no nice Mercedes or Grand Marquis here; everyone, it seemed, owned a Ford or an old, rusty Buick. "It looks like we're in greaser territory," I said finally.

"Where?" Matt said, confused. Of course--he hadn't read the book, so he couldn't have known anything about it.

"Tulsa, Matt," I said, turning to face him. "We're in the sixties."

And as I spun back around, I saw seven tall, tough-as-nails looking male figures walking toward us.

Haha, I left you with a cliffy. There'll be a lot of those in this story, I think. Tell me if you liked it, please. I'll continue if so, if not I'll just delete it. Give me suggestions! I need to know how to improve.