Johnny Cade.
     The sky was dark and littered with stars that seemed to shimmer as you looked up at them. After another heated fight with your mother, you left the house before she could kick you out once again. The cold air hit you almost as soon as you stepped out onto your front porch, and it got colder with every passing moment. Alone, you began walking, down the old wooden steps, out through the gate, and straight ahead along the dimly lit streets. You had walked all the way to the lot where you could just about make out a person sitting alone. As you got closer, you could see they were shivering, and eventually, you decided to head on over.
     "Hey,“ you began, "need one ‘a these?” you asked the boy, holding a match between a finger and thumb.
     He looked up at you like a deer caught in headlights, and a few moments went by before he finally replied, “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”
     "Sure.“ you said. You struck the match then, and lit some old cardboard and newspaper, then you sat down and lit a cigarette, offering him one, too.
     "What’re you doin’ out here anyhow?” you questioned.
     "I’d rather be here.“ he said quietly, before taking a drag of his cigarette. You understood perfectly what he meant.
     "Me too.” you agreed.
     The boy nodded as he stared into the fire, the reflection of the orange flames visible in his dark eyes. The two of you fell silent, listening only to the sounds of the fire, the chirping crickets, and the distant traffic.
     "I’m (Y/N).“ you said, breaking the silence for a moment.
     "Johnny.”

Darry Curtis.
     You moved to Tulsa in the Fall of the previous year. You had since had many encounters with both 'Greasers’ and 'Socs’, but you fell into neither category - however, you felt as though the Greasers may be misunderstood, and you’d certainly rather associate with them than the Socs. You lived closer to the 'Greaser’ side of town - mainly because property was cheaper there, and you didn’t have too much in the way of money.
     One afternoon, you were tending to your front yard when it happened. You saw a boy of perhaps fourteen, running from a car full of Socs. Surely enough, they jumped the poor kid, and the second you saw one of them pull a blade on the boy, you were out of your yard and onto the street, just as six other Greasers came to the boy’s rescue. They worked on scaring off the Socs’ while you headed on over to the kid who was still lying on the ground.
     "You alright kid?“ you asked, kneeling by him, and taking note of the cuts and bruises the Socs’ had left on his face and neck. The boy shrugged his shoulders and winced as you helped him to sit up, "What’s your name, honey?” you questioned.
     "Ponyboy Curtis.“ he replied.
     Before either of you could say much else, the boys were back, and two of them were running in your direction. "Ponyboy!” The younger of the two called, instantly crouching beside him, grabbing onto his shoulders as gently as he could. “What happened? They pull a blade on you?” he asked, frantic with worry. He fussed over Ponyboy, and you caught the eye of the older one - perhaps only a year or so older than you were.
     "I’m (Y/N).“ you told him, "That’s my house just over there,” you explained, “I’ve got a first aid kit, wanna come in?”
     He seemed to think it over for a moment, “I’m Darrel. That’s Sodapop.” he said, “If it’s no trouble, a first aid kit would be great.”
     "'Course not,“ you smiled, "no trouble at all.”

Ponyboy Curtis.
     The school corridors were loud and busy as they always were. The final bell had rang no more than five minutes ago, and the school day was over for anyone who didn’t have a detention or extra-curricular activity to attend. You walked through the crowds of people to your locker to retrieve your books, and you piled them all into your arms, shutting your locker before you walked away.
     You walked down the concrete steps at the front entrance of your school, and as soon as you spotted the group of Soc boys, you picked up your pace and kept your head down. They had a habit of picking on any Greaser they saw - boy or girl, and recently, you were their main target.
     "Hey, Greaser!“ one of them yelled when they noticed you.
     You ignored them and continued to walk away as quickly as you could without starting to jog, and you allowed your hair to fall in front of your face.
     "C'mon,” one of them said, “don’t ignore us now!” His tone was so patronising it made your nose wrinkle. They were following you, and you weren’t too sure when they’d stop.
     "Dirty Greaser!“ another said - the one with the dark brown hair and eyes to match. He spat on the floor close to you.
     You let out a sigh.
     Eventually, they gave up, and walked by you, knocking your books from your arms onto the floor as they did. You sighed once more and crouched down to gather your books in your hands once again, and you saw another pair of hands start to help.
     "Oh,” you said, surprised, “thanks.”
     "No problem.“ the boy said, "I’m Ponyboy.” he said, smiling at you.
     "I’m (Y/N).“ you replied, reaching out a hand to take your books. He didn’t give them to you though, he instead tucked them under his arm.
     "Well (Y/N), what do you say I walk you home? Where d'ya live?” he asked.
     You told him your address and as it happened, he only lived the other side of the park. So, the two of you walked together, and he walked you right up to your porch, where he then gave you back your books.
     "See you around, (Y/N).“ he said.
     "Yeah,” you smiled, “see you around.”


Sodapop Curtis.
     It was a Thursday and your car was scheduled in at DX for a small repair. Your car was pretty old - but it was the best you could afford on not a lot of money, so you had to get it fixed up every so often. Steve Randle would do it for you, and that worked out pretty well. You wondered sometimes if it would be cheaper to get a new car, but Steve didn’t charge a lot of money, so you’d stick with your car until he did.
     That Thursday though, you found out that Steve was at home, sick with the flu, but you had already driven your car all the way there.
     "Well, Steve’s a lot better than I am at this kinda stuff - know’s cars better than the back a’ his hand really. But it ain’t all that hard, so I can take a look at it for ya.“ You’d seen him around enough times when you’d dropped your car off in the past. He’d talk to Steve sometimes, or you’d just see him around, so you knew his face, and you knew his name - Sodapop.
     "Thanks, Soda, that would be great, really.” you said, handing him the keys.
     He smiled at you, “Well, seems as though you know my name,” he said, “what’s yours, Doll?”
     You smiled back, a little embarrassed - you hadn’t meant to use his nickname. “(Y/N).” you told him.
     "(Y/N).“ he repeated, "Fits well enough, don’t it?” he said with a wink.
     You felt your cheeks heat up a little, and you were sure you’d gone a little pink. You knew Soda was the flirty type.
     "I’ll have it finished up by lunchtime,“ he said, "you got a number I can call you on, t'let you know when it’s done?” he asked.
     You wrote your number down on a sheet of paper, and held it out to him. His fingers brushed against yours as he took it from you, and he smiled once more. “Thanks. See ya later, (Y/N).”
     "Yeah,“ you agreed, "See ya later, Sodapop.”

Two-Bit Mathews.
    It was a cool sixty degrees out that night, and you were on your way home from seeing a movie at the drive-in. It was darker than it usually was due to a few of the street lights being out, and you knew you shouldn’t really be walking home on your own so late. You didn’t know for sure what time it was exactly, it was just too late to walk alone. You had no choice though, your friends had ditched you for some drunk Socs’ an hour or so ago. You weren’t a Soc, and you weren’t a Greaser. You fell comfortably into the middle class.
     You rounded the corner to the next street, and that’s when you knew someone was following you. You hoped to God it wasn’t some dumb drunk Soc looking for a girl to hit on, and you picked up your pace, not wanting to find out. Surely enough, they too began walking faster, and you really didn’t want to end up running from them - you knew they’d just chase you if you did, so you stayed at the same speed, and thought out the quickest route home.
     "Hey…uh, hey wait up.“ a voice called. They didn’t sound drunk, or dangerous, but still you didn’t look back. "Hey,” they said again, this time from beside you. He was a Greaser, tall, and he had on a Mickey Mouse t-shirt under a leather jacket. “Sorry if I startled you.” he smiled, “what’re you doin’ walkin’ all by your lonesome?” he asked you.
     "Getting home,“ you told him, "my friends left me for some Socs’.”
     "Oh, well, where d'you live? I’ll walk you - it ain’t safe out at night…or any time really.“
     You smiled, "Really, it’s fine, I don’t want to put you outta your way or nothin’.”
     "Of course not. I’m not heading anywhere specific though - just wanderin’.“
     "Well,” you said, “in that case, sure.” You told him where you lived and the two of you walked in the direction of your street.
     "I’m Two-Bit by the way.“ he told you.
     "Nice to meet you, Two-Bit, I’m (Y/N).”


Steve Randle.

     You often passed the DX on your way to work, and sometimes, you’d stop in if you needed anything. It was a hot day outside, and your tolerance for people was particularly low that day - it usually was in hot weather. So, of course, as you walk into the DX for a bottle of water, you encounter the usual group of Socs outside.
     "Hey sweetheart.“ one of them yelled.
     You were neither a Greaser, nor a Soc, you and your family had always fallen into the middle class category. One or two of your friends were Socs, and you even had friends in the past who were Greasers. You didn’t care much for labels - but you knew some of the Soc boys went out of their way to harass people - as they were proving with you.
     "Wanna check out my car?” another asked you, “There’s a beautiful back seat that’s good for…” he trailed off, and you knew exactly what he was thinking, “sitting in and stuff.”
     They all started laughing and you rolled your eyes in disgust.
     "C'mon baby, what d'ya say?“
     "Hey. Why don’t you get the hell outta here and leave her alone?” You turned to see a familiar face, and you thanked God he was there. You had seen him working on cars there at DX, and sometimes he was in the main gas station working on the cash register, but you couldn’t seem to remember his name.
     Eventually, the Socs laid off and left, leaving you to thank your 'knight in shining armour’. “Hey,” you began, “thanks - for sticking up for me.” you said, smiling up at him.
     "No problem.“ he shrugged, "I’ve seen you walk by before.” he said.
      You nodded, “Yeah - I work a few blocks away.” you told him.
     "Well, what’s your name?“ he asked, smiling at you.
     ”(Y/N).“ you told him.
     "You got a number to go with that?” he shot you a wink.
     You laughed and decided giving him your number might not be all that bad of an idea.
     "See you around…“ you left your sentence open, realising you still didn’t know his name.
     "Steve.” he smiled.
     "Steve.“ you repeated, "Well, see you around, Steve.”
     "You bet.“


Dallas Winston.
     Somehow, your friends had once again convinced you to hang out with them down at Bucks. You weren’t one to drink a lot, and Bucks definitely wasn’t your idea of Thursday night fun. Little did you know, the night was going to be a lot more interesting than you had originally expected.
     Dallas Winston was a well-known Greaser, but not for good reasons. He was always landing himself in jail, and causing mayhem everywhere he went - just for fun. You’d never had an encounter with him, but you knew there was definitely something intriguing about him. Maybe it was the whole 'bad-boy’ thing, the excitement and the unknown. Probably.
     Your first encounter with Dallas, was that night at Bucks. You were sitting in a chair in the corner of your room, while one of your friends had left with a some guy, and the other two were getting shit-faced up at the bar. That’s when you met him.
     "Well hey, Doll. You don’t seem to be having a lot of fun sat there all on your own.” he said with a smirk.
     He had a beer in his hand, but he didn’t seem to have drank a lot.
     "I can’t say that Bucks is my idea of fun exactly.“ you replied.
     "What would be your idea of fun?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.
     You laughed and rolled your eyes, shaking your head a little.
      “C'mon,” Dallas said, dragging the word out, “humour me?”
      “Anywhere but here.”
      “Upstairs?” Dallas said with a wink.
      “Not tonight,” you smiled, “nice try though.”
      Dallas looked you up and down, and looked as though he was thinking pretty hard. You did all you could to stop yourself from blushing - you didn’t want him to know he had some kind of affect on you.
      “Then, when?”    

4

“Saturday, March twenty-fourth, nineteen eighty-four. Shermer High school, Shermer, Illinois. 60062”

Thirty years ago today,
a princess,
a delinquent,
a brain,
a basket-case,
and a jock,
met for detention.

This is a special day.

10

get to know me meme → (3/10) favorite movies

the breakfast club (1985) (director: John Hughes)

“Saturday, March 24, 1984. Shermer High School, Shermer, Illinois, 60062. Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did was wrong. But we think you’re crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. What do you care? You see us as you want to see us - in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. You see us as a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess and a criminal. Correct? That’s the way we saw each other at 7:00 this morning. We were brainwashed.”

8

Brian Johnson: Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. But we think you’re crazy to make an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us - in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain…
Andrew Clark: …and an athlete…
Allison Reynolds: …and a basket case…
Claire Standish: …a princess…
John Bender: …and a criminal…
Brian Johnson: Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club.