Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Alice Cooper owns "School's Out."

No more pencils

No more books

No more teacher's dirty looks

June 3, 1966

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

He just simply couldn't believe it.

It was the last day of school.

Dallas Winston had officially completed his senior year. He still couldn't believe that he had agreed to such a stupid-ass proposition all those months ago to begin with, but it had kept him from serving five years in Tulsa State Prison, so he had suffered surviving one year of high school and would receive his diploma that afternoon. 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 still wondered why he hadn't just died that night nearly nine months 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.

And now there were plenty of other things to cover up what he really didn't want to remember, like a school year of hell, a dopey tutor by the name of Ella Mitchell, a sleazy ex-girlfriend who whined like a little bitch, Two-Bit Mathews passing his junior year, Steve Randle becoming a high school graduate, Soda Curtis getting a job on the West side of town, Darry and Ponyboy getting along—finally—and a bunch of other things that he could probably write a fucking book about.

Everything about the last eight months seemed surreal, as if it had all been some sick and twisted dream that he was just now waking up from, but it wasn't, and the brick building in front of him only served as a reminder of that.

He had fancied the thought of leaving town a few times, but figured he wouldn't have gotten 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 had gotten through to earn his diploma while staying out of trouble . . . which had proven to be quite possible for Dallas Winston. Still, though, what a fucking joke.

And here he was, clad in his ripped up jacket, low-cut, stained jeans, and cowboy boots, standing in front of the high school, dreading the fact that he had to meet with Mr. Davis for the last fucking time, and wanting nothing more than to get the visit over with.

Ella stood at her locker before first period that morning, fiddling around with Ponyboy's book. She had spent the last day reading it, her eyes glued to the words inside, her heart seeming to pound away in her chest as she absorbed every piece of text the book had to offer. Not only had she learned a great deal about her younger friend, she had learned about his life, his family, his friends, and . . . Dallas. The girl couldn't even begin to wrap her head around the last one, but she had been so impressed with Pony's story, so engaged in it—it was something alright, something incredible.

"Hey, El," Ponyboy greeted, making his way over to her. He had a smile on his face, although there was a slightly nervous look in his green eyes. "Can you believe it?" he asked. "Today is the last day of school."

Ella's brows raised as she nodded. "I know. It feels like—"

"We're still in the middle of the year, right?"

"Exactly," she answered, and licked her lips. Her eyes fell on his face as she studied him for a minute, wondering how he had endured so much in such a short amount of time, wondering how he was still able to go on about his life like nothing had happened. And then she knew. Ponyboy would remain gold, like his friend Johnny told him to. "By the way," she continued, handing his book to him, "I just finished it."

The younger teen's features were anxious. "What did you—"

"Ponyboy," she said, gaze lowering, "I really have no words, but your story—" She breathed in as their eyes met. "You're right, it needs to be told, and more than that, it needs to be heard. What you wrote on those pages . . . it's amazing."

He flushed at her words, but his heart swelled with pride. "Thanks, Ella. I really appreciate hearing that from you." And then he shifted on his feet as he considered his next question. "Do you think it's wrong that I wrote Dally off like that?"

At the inquiry, Ella blinked, though she wasn't exactly startled. She had thought about that when she'd read it, but surprisingly—and she was aware—that had been what Dallas wanted originally. She remembered him trying to find that poem by Robert Frost several months ago, how anxious he seemed to find out what it was—and now she understood why it meant so much to him. Still, though, the fact that Ponyboy had written him off in his story didn't quite feel wrong to her, and some part of her felt that—in some way—the blond-headed hood had gotten what he wanted.

She answered after a minute. "No, Ponyboy, I don't."

He nodded, registering the expression in her eyes—she was thinking the same thing he had when he was writing the ending. There was something genuine about it, something that was both tragic and bittersweet, and though he couldn't quite put his finger on it, he knew that his story had served its purpose if somebody else had felt what he had.

And that was what he was sticking with.

Dallas figured that he would just have to find a way to get his project to Mrs. Girdlé before the day was over, since he was missing art class due to this bullshit—bullshit in the form of Mr. Davis yapping away about his grades, the fact that he had completed, and passed, the school year, and that he would be speaking to his parole officer—good ol' Henderson—and other garbage he had blocked out five minutes into the conversation.

"Winston," Mr. Davis barked, shaking his head at the teenager across from him. "Are you paying any attention at all to what I'm saying to you?"

The blond sat up in the chair, arms crossed and a lethargic expression on his face. "What did you say, Sir?" There was a cockiness in his tone, one that hadn't gone unnoticed by Davis. Still, Dallas didn't care to be there listening to this shit—he had other things to attend to. "Look, man, if it's about chatting with Henderson, go right ahead. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear about this."

The older man looked ready to scream his head off. Oh, glory, but he'd had enough of Dallas Winston for a lifetime. He was glad that the eighteen year old had only been subjected to one year of high school; were it up to him, he would have denied the delinquent's probation and tossed him behind bars for five years—where he thought he belonged. Well, Mr. Davis was quite content with one fact—after this meeting, he would never have to deal with Dallas Winston again. Good riddance.

"I will be speaking with Officer Henderson, Dallas," he stated, trying to keep his voice calm. "He will receive your file here, which will be given to—"

Dallas's gaze was aimed at the principal, but his overall focus drifted elsewhere. Good Lord, but how long could someone sit there and drone on and on about the same fucking thing? Jesus H. Christ, but Davis had repeated himself three times already. Dally kept a straight face, biting back the derogatory comments on the tip of his tongue, his knee bouncing a bit in anticipation—he wanted out.

Once Davis stopped talking, the teen spoke up. "Yeah, that's great an' all, Davis. Can I go now?"

Mr. Davis's brows were furrowed, a look of blatant irritation blanketing his features. He was certain that Winston hadn't been paying attention to him at all, not that he was truly surprised. With a hard sigh, he glared at the teenager, wondering why he even bothered—right, because of school regulations, that was it. But it didn't matter, he supposed; it wasn't like Winston was even listening to him.

"You may pick up your diploma at the end of the school day."

And just like that, Dallas practically bolted out of the office as the bell rang. Glory, but he just couldn't wait to get out of that fucking school—only a few more hours left until it was over, he thought, his veins pumping with adrenaline. As he made his way through the hall, Ponyboy caught up to him, an excited look on his face as the two fell in step.

"What's wrong with you?" the blond asked, wishing that he could light up a cigarette right there.

The younger teen merely shook his head. "Nothing." And then ever so easily did he switch the topic, bypassing Dallas's question with one of his own. "How did things go with Mr. Davis?"

Two-Bit was excited, to say the least. Not only did this day mark the last day of the school year, it was also his final day as a junior. The rusty-haired boy remembered having similar thoughts the year before, except that he would be retaking his junior year for a third time. Good Lord, but the look of sheer and utter disappointment in his mama's eyes was enough to make him get drunk for the night. But that had been a year ago—now he could tell her that he was officially on his way to senior year, and that he would be a high school graduate come this time the following year.

Beside him, Steve looked ready to hurl. It wasn't that he was a nervous wreck or anything, or so he had said, but he was graduating that afternoon—him and Dally both. The only difference was that Steve would be walking to receive his diploma while Dally would pick his up in the main office. Two-Bit didn't exactly think that was fair, nor did Ponyboy, but Steve only shook his head and asked the two of them if they were actually dumb enough to think that the school board would let the likes of Dallas Winston grace the graduation ceremony—no sirree bub.

Speaking of which, the lousy hood hadn't bothered to meet up with him or Steve that afternoon. Even with the shortened classes due to the half day, Dallas had said he had to take care of something. He hadn't bothered to elaborate, and neither Two-Bit or Steve, or even Ponyboy for that matter, had bothered to question him. The twenty minutes they had for study hall was awfully boring, even if they were occupying themselves while standing outside smoking cigarettes and lightly chatting. Two-Bit almost wished that Ponyboy was with them for extra company, but the kid was stuck in class.

Two-Bit shot his buddy a look. "You make great conversation, Steve."

"I'm thinkin', you twit," came the cool response, but the older teen merely grinned all the more, a look that told Steve he shouldn't have answered.

"Oh, lighten up, man," he replied, sounding rather amused. "It ain't like you're going to shake hands with the president. Cool your tools, huh."

Steve went on to mutter a few swears under his breath. "I don't dig this shit."

"What shit?"

"Graduation," he spit. "Why's it gotta be such a big deal anyway?" A sigh. "Look, don't get me wrong or nothin', I'm glad to get outta here, but why a ceremony?"

And then Two-Bit smirked, one brow raising ever so slightly. "What's the matter, Steve? Don't you just wanna shake ol' Davis's hand and rub it in that another greaser made it to the big times?" And then he laughed, shaking his head as he did.

Steve's lips quirked a little, but he didn't smile. "Yeah, you can wink at him when you graduate next year." The dark-haired teen clapped his hands together in front of himself, shifting on his feet. "The only thing I'm even excited for is working full time at the DX this Summer."

"Your boss put you on?"

"Yup." Steve sounded proud, and the expression in his eyes told Two-Bit that he was. "He promised me a few months ago that he'd put me on full time with Soda, and he spoke to me about it the other day after my shift." His eyes met Two-Bit's. "I start Monday as a full time employee."

"Good for you, man," the older teen responded, and clapped Steve's shoulder. "Well, at least Soda will have more company now, huh?" A chuckle. "But he seems to be doin' mighty fine working weekends on the other side of town."

Steve's brows pressed together as he considered Two-Bit's words. Yeah, Soda was doing fine working two days a week at Giberson's Auto, and that Mary gal sure had a hand in making him like it even more, and Steve had to wonder about that. It wasn't that he was really concerned for his friend—he was actually happy that he'd found a new girl—but sometimes, he just had to wonder . . .

Ella wouldn't be walking for graduation later that afternoon. Some part of her was actually okay with that, though, even if her mother wasn't. It was okay, she told herself, because even if nobody else had understood the reason for her punishment, she did, and that was all there was to it. As she made her way to the office to pick up her diploma, her heart started to flutter in her chest. She knew that this would happen, and she wasn't looking forward to it—not at all.

Part of her almost didn't want to see Dallas, but of course, when she arrived at the main office, he was already there, his shaggy blond hair sticking out terribly. With a sigh, Ella walked inside, her stomach seeming to roll around, her cheeks heating up. Having read Ponyboy's book, her opinion of Dallas had changed dramatically, but she couldn't bring herself to let go of her feelings, and more than anything, she wished that they would just go away.

"Miss Mitchell," the secretary called out, and Ella nodded. "Picking up your diploma, too?"

"Yes," the girl answered, offering the woman a tentative smile, trying to ignore the fact that Dallas was standing a few inches to her right.

The secretary's eyes flickered from Ella to Dallas. "They'll be just a few minutes."

Ella turned, shoulders slumping down as her back pressed against the desk, her focus on all of the other students who were vacating the school, immersed in their own lives and conversations, excited and happy expressions adorning their faces as they made their way outside. Ella felt almost happy for them, thinking back to when she had just started high school, how she never would have thought that she would be in this sort of predicament.

And then Dallas's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she was brought back into the present. "So, isn't this something?" At her look of confusion, he continued on leisurely. "You an' me, sweets, standing here in the office, the only two in the entire senior class who ain't allowed to walk . . ."

The brown-haired girl scowled. "You think this is funny?"

"Impressive," he answered, crossing his arms. His gaze flickered to her face for a second. "Don't look so bummed out, girl, it's the last day of school . . . for good."

Ella rolled her eyes. "Trying my best." Despite the response, she hadn't sounded indignant. "How can you be this happy, though?"

Dallas scoffed. "I can't wait to get the fuck outta here."

She pursed her lips, considering his words. Of course, she thought, he would be happy to get out of school, to never have to deal with anyone there ever again, including her. That part actually made her feel bad, and even though she knew that there was nothing she could do about the situation or her own feelings, she still felt bad. Glory, but she was such a dramatic sap, and it was humiliating. It made her feel almost sick—the fact that Dallas Winston could make her get like this.

"Miss Mitchell?"

Ella turned around, taking her diploma from the secretary. The woman gave her a small smile, before quickly handing Dallas his own. She had been more careful, though, making sure that their hands didn't touch, and Ella frowned. The blond merely took it from her, staring down at it with a rather bizarre expression, an unreadable look flashing in his blue orbs. Ella wondered if he felt proud or not, or if he even cared that he had accomplished something—did he care?

The two teens exited the office, and by the time they got outside, the place was practically vacant, the students eager to leave and begin their vacations, except for the seniors who would be returning that evening for the graduation ceremony.

"What a year, huh," Dallas mumbled, sounding both relieved and bland. "Never thought I'd fucking make it, but"—He lit up a cigarette, tossing his diploma on the hood of the T-Bird—"guess I did."

Ella nodded. "Surprise, surprise."

He looked her over, leaning back against the side of the car, head tilted slightly, one brow raised. He was honestly surprised that Ella Mitchell had stuck around for the entire year, shocked that she had come through numerous times for him. He didn't exactly consider her a friend, but she was something, something else, a little more than just a dopey, air-headed broad. He actually thought it was quite humorous how they'd both hated each other eight months ago, and now, looking at her right then, her flushed cheeks, bright eyes, tensed figure . . . she more than liked him—it was too obvious.

Ella climbed into her mother's car, a sigh escaping her lips as she turned the key in the ignition and rolled the windows down, a blank look on her face. Reaching over, she placed her own diploma inside her bag, wondering what her mother would say when she saw it later that evening. What she didn't expect was to see Dallas leaning in the window beside her, a smirk plastered on his face. She gasped, lips parting ever so slightly.

"Wha—"

But before she could finish, he cut her off, eyes on hers. "See you around . . . Ella." And with that, he reached in, brushed back a piece of her hair, and winked at her before backing away.

Ella's heart was pounding, but she simply nodded. "Yeah, see you around . . . Dallas."

As she pulled out of the school parking lot, Ella couldn't help but to think that she would be seeing him around that Summer, and as she watched his figure get smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror, a part of her hoped that she would.

Mrs. Girdlé entered her classroom later that afternoon, a tired look in her eyes, a lethargic expression on her face. She always felt like this on the last day of school—not sad, but not especially happy. There was something bittersweet about watching her students either graduate, or move on to another grade. It made her feel quite heavily, but she always felt proud, always. Sometimes, students from past years would come back just to visit her, and she was always surprised to learn about their achievements in life, to hear where their lives had taken them, but there was one particular student that she was going to miss.

With a sigh, the woman made her way to her desk to collect the rest of her belongings. However, upon closer inspection, she realized that somebody had placed a bag beside her grade book. Mrs. Girdlé's eyes squinted as she lifted her glasses to her face, opening the bag. It took all of a few seconds before a genuine smile touched her lips, her dark orbs becoming glassy with tears. She couldn't bring herself to honestly believe what she was seeing—the one thing she had been waiting for all week long.

She unfolded the piece of paper inside, eyes scanning the words that were written, the tears starting to stream down her face against her will. Oh, but Mrs. Girdlé had always been incredibly sentimental and so emotional. But as she stared at the denim jacket that was now spread apart on her desk so that the back was facing up, the art teacher realized that this was the best project she had ever received.

There, printed on the back, was his final project—a copy of Van Gogh's painting of The Starry Night with four words written on it.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

So this is what Dallas had been so secretive about, Mrs. Girdlé thought, staring down at it. Of course he wouldn't really want to be there when she'd gotten a hold of it, because that was the thing about him, she had come to realize—he was too tough on the outside, and he always would be. But she had been right, too, she noted with triumph—there was a lot more to Dallas Winston than what anyone cared to realize, and now she had that small, though significant, knowledge.

Oh, yes, she would definitely be keeping this project.

As she folded the jacket back up, she chuckled to herself, having already graded Dallas with an A for the entire school year—she knew he could do it, too. And with a smile, she remembered, remembered a tough looking seventeen-year-old boy with wispy blond hair, cold and hateful eyes that blazed an icy blue, a hard looking face, and a seemingly permanent scowl on his lips—how she had always wondered what it was that made him tick.

And now she knew.

She reread his note once more before placing it back inside of the bag with the jacket, a grin on her lips as she did.

Girdle . . . how's the significance of this? —D.W.

Ponyboy was nervous.

His heart thudded against his rib cage, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Darry stood in front of him, shock ever present on his tired face, a bewildered expression reflecting in his eyes. He hadn't said anything since his kid brother handed him a copy of his . . . book. Soda was staring over his shoulder, lips parted, eyes scanning the pages of the book as Darry thumbed through them, disbelief becoming more and more evident on both of their faces.

"So," Ponyboy said, unsure of what to think. He had been expecting surprise, sure, but the silence that was surrounding the three of them wasn't something he was prepared for. "Do y'all like it?"

And that's when Soda's eyes met his. "Like it? Ponyboy . . . we . . . I mean . . . do you realize what you have done, little brother?" A grin was stretching across his face. And then the younger teen found his body enveloped by Soda, who was squeezing the daylights out of him. "I'm so proud of you, kiddo!"

Darry was still speechless, his gaze intent on the book. He couldn't decide what he wanted to say first, or how he should go about things. His little brother was a published author, he had written a book, an actual book. Golly, but his mind felt like it was about to implode—this was just something he hadn't seen coming, that was for certain, and he wondered how Pony had gone about it, how he'd done it without any of them knowing . . . how . . .

"Ponyboy," he said, shaking off his thoughts. When his kid brother's attention was on him, he couldn't contain the expression of pure pride that took over his features; that was his and Soda's kid brother, who was going to be somebody, who was going places, who had done something neither of them had, and who he was so damn proud of. "I want to hear it . . . from you."

Ponyboy's eyes went wide. "Are you sure you want me to read it, Darry? I thought, maybe, you—"

Soda interrupted, though. "I think you oughtta read it, Pone. It's your story, after all." He was grinning, brown eyes dancing. "Go on, kiddo!"

And the youngest teen considered it. It would be a perfect time to let his brother's hear his story—the moment he had been waiting for, which had seemed like forever to get to. Steve was out with Evie for the night anyway, and Two-Bit was at Buck's with Dally, most likely getting drunk or stirring up some kind of trouble, so he doubted there would be any interruptions for the rest of the night.

He nodded after a minute, a sigh escaping his lips. "Alright."

As the three made themselves comfortable in the living room, Ponyboy flipped his book open, a small smile touching his lips as he inhaled slowly, the thought that he and his friends had actually made it through these past eight months suddenly sinking in—they had made it.

And he began reading. "When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home . . ."

School's out forever

School's out for summer

School's out with fever

School's out completely

First, I just want to thank each and every one of you who has read and reviewed this story! Your support and encouragement means the world, and I appreciate all of you so much! Thank you for being a part of this journey with these characters and I! With that being said, the journey doesn't quite end here! There will be a sequel to this story called "Wild Night" which will be posted within the next few weeks! So keep an eye out! :3

Until next time,

—Cat