"Oh my goodness, its hot out here." I thought.
I decided to take a walk because I was bored, but soon realized it was a really bad idea. It's like 90 degrees in the first week in August, but I kept walking, not wanting to go home. My dad was probably at home drunk out of his mind and was not going home until he sobered up. When my dad is sober he's the best dad ever. When he's not....Well.... It's not good.
So there's that, I guess. I do wish I had put on a lighter dress though.
I had walked about 4 blocks when I noticed I was being followed. A blue mustang. Socs. Great. And I was stupid enough not to grab my switchblade. I stopped, figuring I wasn't getting out of this without some sort of fight.
They drove up along side of me. There were 6 of them.
"What's a pretty little thing like you doing in greaser territory?" One of them asked sweetly.
"What's someone with all your social status doing in greaser territory?" I snapped.
He seemed to be shocked that "a little greaser girl" had told him off. He stopped the car and all six of them got out.
"No one talks to us like that and lives to tell the tale." One of them sneered.
"I know plenty of people who lived to tell the tale." I laughed.
Not entirely true, considering I've been living in Tulsa for two years and I had absolutely no friends at 17 1/2. But I figured there were people that have survived the Socs "wrath". There were still people living in Tulsa.
"That's it!"
They lunged at me and I ran.
Word Count: 289