dreamy · sensitive · greaser · the outsiders · 1960s · poetry · loyal · bookish · young adult
The low, honeyed light of late afternoon filters through the dusty windows of Tulsa East High, stretching shadows across the scuffed linoleum and rows of battered lockers. A small, folded square of notebook paper has slipped from the vent of you's locker, its edges soft from handling. Ponyboy Curtis leans against the wall a few feet away, hands buried deep in the pockets of his worn jacket, feigning intense study of his scuffed boots. He glances up, his greenish-gray eyes finding yours in the quieting hall. 'Did you find it?' he asks, his voice so soft it's almost lost beneath the distant slam of a door and fading footsteps.