Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Lorde owns "White Teeth Teens."

I'll let you in on something big

I'm not a white teeth teen

I tried to join but never did

The way they are, the way they seem is something else, it's in the blood

October 11, 1965

Dallas Winston sneered at the sight of Will Rogers High School. Anger wasn't even a term that could compare to what he was feeling. Undoubted rage reflected in his cold blue orbs as he grounded a cigarette butt into the gravel beneath his heel.

Who the fucks bright idea was this again?

The judge's? The fuzz?

Dallas Winston did not go to school. He couldn't even believe he had agreed to such a stupid-ass proposition to begin with, but if it kept him from serving five years in Tulsa State Prison, he would suffer surviving one year of high school and earning his diploma. That had been the judge's magnificent bargain. It was either that or serve five years for armed robbery, and aiding two juvenile delinquents escape a murder investigation.

Dally wondered why he didn't just die that night nearly one month ago. That was what he had wanted after all. But no. The cops had shot him after he robbed that store the night Johnny died. Dally didn't seem to remember much of it, though.

All he remembered was the sound of multiple people yelling, the pain that shot through his body as he was jerked around, and then he was waking up in the hospital with that godforsaken gown back on and physical pain he didn't even know he could feel. It was then that he had blocked Johnny out of his mind in hope that he wouldn't ever have to relive any of the events that had taken place last month.

He'd spent two weeks in the hospital after that, before he was arrested and awaited the trial that would reveal each of their fates. Ponyboy was released back in Darry's custody, and Dally, well, he'd nearly died of shock when his options were presented to him.

If it wasn't for the handcuffs securing his hands behind his back, he would have strangled the officer beside himself, before lunging at the judge and wringing his fucking neck, too.

He kept telling himself that this was one sick joke, but it wasn't, and the brick building in front of him only served as a reminder of that.

He fancied the thought of leaving town a few times, but figured he wouldn't get too far. And besides, who the hell wants to live the rest of their life incognito while running from the law?

Eight months.

Eight lousy months he has to get through to earn his diploma while staying out of trouble . . . if that was even possible for Dallas Winston. What a fucking joke.

The guys had told him that it wouldn't be so bad. Steve was a senior as well, and Two-Bit and Ponyboy would be going, too.

At least he wouldn't be completely alone.

Hell, that wasn't even the damn point! He would be the laughing stock. Dallas Winston, toughest hood on Tulsa's east side decided to take up schooling and further his education.

Glory, wait 'til fucking Shepard got a load of this shit. The thought alone caused him to inwardly cringe. Dally hadn't really even been to school since . . . what was it? . . . the sixth grade? He couldn't remember.

Speaking of which, how was he supposed to keep up with anything they were learning? He was street smart, not book smart. Going to school and being above average on the academic pyramid was Darry's and Ponyboy's forte. Heck, even Steve was school smart, not real brainy like Ponyboy, but he had some pretty decent intellect, not to mention, common sense.

But here he was, clad in his ripped up jean jacket, low-cut, stained jeans, and cowboy boots, standing in front of the high school awaiting one of the gang. He was sure he looked like a real fucking idiot just standing there staring at the place like it had some kind of disease. All he needed was a backpack and a lunchbox or some shit to add the finishing touches to his new image as a high school senior.

"Hey, Dal," a quiet voice greeted, snapping the older greaser out of his thoughts. Ponyboy Curtis was standing beside him, books in hand, seeming almost as uncomfortable as he was. "You ready to head in?"

Dally scowled. "Where's Two-Bit and Steve, kid?"

Pony frowned. "Two-Bit is sleepin' off a hangover, and Steve said he's coming in late today." It was then that the youngest greaser took a good look at Dallas. "Say, Dal, how'd you get here anyway?"

"Walked."

Ponyboy looked appalled, but didn't comment on it, which was smart. Nobody wanted to get mouthy with Dally, especially when he was already in a sour mood. Truthfully, he didn't mind walking to the school, but he wished he had Buck's T-Bird.

Unfortunately, Buck had refused to let Dally "borrow" it again after he'd driven it up to Windrixville and had to ask Tim Shepard to retrieve it the following day and leave it at the hospital for Dally's carefully concocted plan to escape the night of the rumble.

Dallas not only lost his privilege of "borrowing" the car, but Buck had kicked him out on his ass, going on about some rent that was due, and that he wasn't taking in strays for free.

Dally had ended up spending a night under a bridge, nearly freezing into a replicated version of Walt Disney. He could have gone to the Curtis's, but ever since he'd been officially released, he'd been attempting to avoid their place as much as he could.

Talk about strays . . .

The bell rang and Dallas followed Ponyboy inside the building where he was lead to an office type area, which he assumed to be Guidance. Yeah, right. The only guidance Dallas ever had in life was a straight path to hell. Who were these people kidding?

He was given his schedule, along with a pass, the counselor secretary recoiling away from him as much as she could. She held her fingers at the very edge of his papers to avoid touching him at all. Dallas only glared at her. He was used to this kind of treatment, and he was used to counselors, too. Lord only knew how many of them he had to speak with whenever he was in-car-cer-ated, as they would say.

But Dallas was good. He knew how to play the system and how to get what he wanted. It wasn't like he didn't know how to "behave himself," but where was the fun in that?

"What's your first class?" Pony asked, shifting his books, nodding once to the slips Dally was aimlessly stuffing into his pocket.

"Huh?" he asked, before realization sunk in. He flipped the paper over, the scowl on his face becoming more apparent. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me. Art? With S. Girdle?!"

Pony chuckled. "Mrs. Girdlé. It's pronounced Gird-lay."

Dally's lips only thinned. "Whatever."

The thought of himself sitting at an art table with a paintbrush in hand wasn't making him feel too hot. He was about ready to hightail it out of there. No way in hell would he be caught dead in an art room painting anything. Five years behind bars was beginning to look better and better by the second. This place was out of it.

"Where are you going?" Pony called out, jogging to catch up to his older friend. "Dally?"

The towheaded boy crumbled up his paper, dropping it on the floor. "I ain't doin' this shit, man. They want me to take a fucking art class, for Christ's sake." He snorted, the irritation clearly visible on his face. "Ain't happenin'."

Against his better judgment, Ponyboy reached out with his free hand, grabbing Dally's arm. The older teen jerked around, his hand balled into a fist, ready to knock someone's lights out.

"The fuck are you doing?"

Pony's green eyes were wide, but he stood firm. "You can't just walk away."

"Says who?" Dally shot back.

For a moment, Ponyboy was silent. He wasn't sure what to say, but knew he would never be able to tell Dallas Winston what to do, let alone make his mind up for him.

Dally continued to stare at Ponyboy, but the younger teen only thrust his schedule back in his hand before heading the opposite way and disappearing down the hall.

Dally stared at the paper for a few seconds, silently cursing everything under the sun, before going to find the art room.

"Mr. Winston, so glad you could finally join us."

Dallas stood awkwardly in the doorway of the art room, staring at the plump older woman who had addressed him. She was grinning widely, dark eyes seemingly enlarged behind thick-rimmed glasses.

The students, Socs mostly, were gawking at him, some starting to whisper, but that didn't bother him in the least. If anything, he was agitated more so than before. He had gotten lost three times, and it had taken him over half the class period to find the damn room.

The teacher only motioned him further inside. "Come on in and take a seat anywhere. Would you like to say a few words about yourself?"

Oh, he had a few choice words, alright. None too appropriate for the environment he was currently in, though.

When Dallas didn't respond, instead taking a seat in the back of the room and kicking his feet up on the table, she simply nodded, before getting back to the assignment. She continued to ramble on about drawing proper lines, or something or another, and Dallas droned her out. He wanted a cigarette badly; this place was getting on his nerves.

It wasn't long before his eyes drifted closed as he folded his hands behind his head, and it wasn't long after that when a loud clap jolted him right back into reality.

"Jesus Christ! Give me a fucking heart attack!" he shouted, sitting up straight. It took him a minute to realize where he was, the art teacher staring back at him in disbelief.

"Language, Mr. Winston," she scolded, shaking her head. "The bell has rang signaling that first period is over, so unless you would like to sleep through another one of my classes, I suggest you go." As Dallas made his way toward the door, she continued. "Next time, you'll receive a detention."

Dally only smirked. "Whatever you say, Mrs. Girdle."

Ella Mitchell drummed her fingers against her desk leisurely. There was only a half hour until the end of fourth period, and then she could bail for lunch. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't realize Mr. Monroe, her history teacher, had called on her.

"Miss Mitchell, are you with us?" he asked, louder that time.

Ella jerked forward. "Sorry, what?"

Before Mr. Monroe could respond, there was a knock on the door, before it opened, revealing a girl. She nodded to Mr. Monroe, an apologetic look on her heart-shaped face.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Davis has requested Ella Mitchell in the office," she said in a casual tone.

Mr. Monroe nodded in Ella's direction. "Come back tomorrow with a clear head, Miss Mitchell."

Ella simply rolled her eyes as she exited the classroom.

The walk to the office was short, as her history class was just around the corner. Ella couldn't imagine why she would be requested; it wasn't like she was a trouble maker. Hell, she barely talked to anyone at all, for crying out loud.

Adjusting the strap of her bag, Ella looked at the girl accompanying her, admiring her smooth colorful dress. She didn't have too long to admire it, though, because they had arrived at the office a moment later.

The girl offered her a polite smile as she passed through, closing the door behind her. Mrs. Chambers, the secretary, looked up at Ella as she approached her desk, one thin brow raising in curiosity.

"Miss Mitchell, I assume?"

Ella nodded quickly. "Yes."

"Go on back, dear. Mr. Davis is expecting you," she replied, and went back to what she was previously doing, not even noticing the distraught look on Ella's face.

The door to Mr. Davis's office was left ajar, the sound of voices flowing out into the hall. Ella lifted her chin a bit as she walked to the entrance, lightly tapping the frame to announce her presence. She nearly froze at the sight of the boy sitting in one of the chairs across from Mr. Davis. She didn't know him personally, but she had heard the rumors.

"Miss Mitchell, won't you join us?" Principal Davis suggested, waving her in.

Ella stepped inside wearily, taking a seat beside the rumored boy. She never wanted to be within the same walls as him, but here she was, sitting not even three feet from him. The smell of cigarettes radiated off of him, making her dizzy. She held her breath, leaning away from him as much as she could.

"You wanted to see me?" she questioned, ignoring the hood beside her.

Mr. Davis merely smiled. "Ella, this is Dallas Winston." Ella grimaced slightly. "Today is his first day here, and since he is . . . unfamiliar—"

Ella zoned out, not really interested in anything about Dallas Winston. As far as she was concerned, he was a hood, a nasty boy with a terrible attitude and a disgusting lifestyle. She'd heard about him alright, and he was even more horrible up close. How some of the other girls cooed about him was a mystery to her.

Dallas was not even good-looking. His blond, almost white, hair was long, curling around his pointed ears and down his neck and looked in dire need of a good brushing, or cutting. His eyes were blue, apathetic and mean at the same time, and he looked like he'd spent the night in a dumpster.

But it wasn't his looks that made her dislike him. It was the things he'd done that she had heard about through some of her peers. He jumped kids, started fights, stole, cheated, lied, broke girls' hearts . . .

The list was never ending.

Everyone knew to steer clear of the teenage jailbird's reputation and dangerous ways, and Ella was no exception.

". . . and I've assigned you as his tutor."

Ella's eyes nearly bulged straight out of their sockets. "Say what?"

Mr. Davis furrowed his eyebrows. "Pardon?"

Ella flushed. "You did what?"

Beside her, Dally scoffed, shaking his head. "Ya know, I don't think this plan of yours is so hot, Sir. This girl is obviously a fucking airhead. You really want that tryin' to teach me anything? How about Ponyboy Curtis? Now there's a good candidate."

Ella's head snapped in Dally's direction as Mr. Davis reprimanded him on his language. Before she could turn away, though, the hood's eyes caught hers, and she flinched at the look he held.

His eyes weren't just blue, they were iced over blue, like two icicles blazing with a deep hatred of everyone and everything. Ella had never seen such intense hate like that, and she turned away quickly. She wasn't going to let him get under her skin at all.

". . . as yourself and Miss Mitchell are in the same grade. Now, Mr. Winston, in order to earn your diploma, you must pass the four core subjects, English, history, mathematics, and science. I'm assigning Ella as your personal tutor," Mr. Davis explained in a serious tone. "Now, come the end of the marking period, I will review your academic progress before meeting with you again. That is all. You both are dismissed."

Ella wanted to scream, disagree . . . something!

Dallas stood up, cocking his head to one side as he studied her. "Personal, huh?"

"Ugh," Ella groaned, marching out of the office without so much as a glance over her shoulder.

"I don't get what the big deal is," Ponyboy mumbled, taking a swig of his beverage. "What's the problem with having a tutor?"

Either Ponyboy was feeling awfully brave, or he had a death wish.

"She's an air-headed broad," Dallas bit out. "Only thing she'd be good for is—"

"Okay!" Pony said, ears turning red. This wasn't how he'd wanted to spend his lunch period, even if he was glad for the company of his buddies.

Steve laughed obnoxiously. "Hey, is she even good-looking? Who is this lucky gal that gets the privilege of tutoring your greasy ass?"

Dallas shrugged. "Nah, she ain't. And I dunno, man, Ella something-or-other." Just as the words fell from his lips, he suddenly sat up straighter, pulling his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose as he jerked his chin forward. "Holy shit. That's her."

Steve and Ponyboy followed his direction, trying to catch a glimpse of the mysterious girl that would be tutoring Dally . . . if she could even survive the job.

Steve shrugged. "Out of ten, I'd give her a four."

"Told you," Dally laughed. He watched her walk by her lonesome across the lot and back into the school, clutching her books tightly against her chest.

She was a petite thing with bushy brown hair, her face sprinkled with freckles, which peppered their way down her shoulders and arms. Other than that, Dallas hadn't remembered much else concerning her features, not that he cared to.

"She ain't bad lookin'," Ponyboy commented.

Steve glanced at him. "Yeah, right. And since when are you into girls anyway?"

Ponyboy blushed, but he ignored Steve's and Dallas's crude remarks, knowing that if Two-Bit or Soda were there, they'd join in, too.

Ella walked to her job from the school later that afternoon. It was a little over a month into her senior year and she was already done with it. She hadn't been able to take the few courses that she'd wanted, and she was stuck in regular classes with kids she didn't talk to, not that she had a ton of friends to begin with. Her schedule didn't allow her any free time, except for Sunday.

Her mother worked two jobs, one as a barmaid, and the other as a cashier at the antique shop just down the road from their house. It was her job at the grocery store and her mother's jobs that kept a roof over their heads. Ever since her father walked out on them when Ella was young, her mother had busted her ass to make sure that they didn't end up on the street.

Ella had done odd jobs since was young, but never had a real job until she turned sixteen and landed one at the grocery store. Her life revolved around school and work, work and school. It was a never-ending cycle that Ella had grown accustomed to, but she didn't mind.

She didn't identify herself as a greaser or a soc, but she was highly aware of the social class divide that she lived in. If anything, she considered herself middle-class, bordering the lower end of the spectrum.

Janice, her co-worker, greeted her as she walked inside to clock in. "How was your day, hunny?"

Ella shrugged lethargically. "Fine."

Jan noticed the odd tone in her voice, but didn't bother to question it. She never did like to pry, knowing that Ella wasn't one to admit or confess her issues anyway. She merely patted her shoulder as she brushed passed her, exiting the room.

As the hours past, Ella grew bored, standing at the register with no line. Jan had finally thrust the mop in her direction, giving her an easy grin. Ella rolled her eyes good naturedly as she got to work.

By the time she finished cleaning the floor, her shift was over. As she gathered up her belongings, Jan poked her head in, nodding at the clock.

"You need a ride home?"

Ella shook her head. "No, that's okay." She gave her a reassuring look. "My house is only a few minutes away."

Jan considered it for a moment, before letting Ella go. "Be careful."

Dallas shoved his hands into his pockets, the cool night air nipping at his skin. He wouldn't admit it, but he was damn cold. He wished that he never gave Ponyboy his leather jacket that night; damn thing got burnt up in the fire.

He cursed his mind, willing those thoughts away. He didn't want to think about that week, or what had happened. Christ, if he never sent those fucking kids to the church, none of it would have happened. Maybe if he'd come a day earlier, or maybe if he would have stayed a little longer at the Dairy Queen—

Dally turned rapidly, pounding his fist into the exterior of Buck's roadhouse, mumbling out a string of profanities as he did. Fuckin' Johnny. Stupid fucking kid had to be a hero, following Ponyboy into the burning inferno the church had become. Every time Dallas looked at Ponyboy, he was reminded of everything. Him and Johnny were so alike it was was eerie.

"Son of a bitch!" Dally snapped, before heading inside.

He had no problem finding Buck, who was half crocked, his eyes glazed over as he stared at him. Dallas marched over and grabbed the front of Buck's flannel, his other hand ready to strike.

"I need a room tonight, and you ain't gonna give me any static unless you want to lose more teeth," he growled, before shoving the older cowboy back.

"Whatever you say, Winston," Buck replied, spitting in the can.

As soon as Dallas was in an empty bedroom upstairs, he locked the door behind himself and flopped down onto the bed, hoping to get some sleep.

Luck wasn't on his side that night as the sound of Hank Williams suddenly grew louder from downstairs.

Their molars blinking like the lights, in the underpass where we all sit

And do nothing and love it