the outsiders sister

Untitled Part 1

Pic is her dress (I know they're too poor for it, but look at how pretty it is- I couldn't not use it.)

I'm just getting back from a night out with my boyfriend. His name is Bob, and he's a Soc. None of the gang like him, probably because we're greasers. They all think that he's only messing with me, because why would someone like him date a greaser like me?

They're wrong, though. I know Bob, and he would never do that. I don't even think he knows that I'm a greaser. I work two jobs and I live with a lot of people in one tiny house, but I manage to hide it from him.

Even though we're dirt poor, I keep a sixth of the money I make for myself and I thrift clothes from secondhand stores. There's hardly ever anything good there, so I fix it up. I've known how to sew since I was six. I could do it in my sleep.

I take good care of myself, and it pays off- my skin is flawless, my hair is smooth and shiny, and my clothes are always perfect. I have mousy brown hair and pale skin. My eyes are very dark brown, and I'm a little taller than average. I don't weigh much, I've been on a diet for forever. I'm sixteen years old. I always smile at strangers, and I respect my teachers.

I'm nice, but not anything crazy. I'm just a pretty face. At home, I'm not even that- my twin sister, Delia, is prettier. And she doesn't even try- she rolls around in the mud like a pig and showers every other week. Her skin is tan and her hair is always greasy. But somehow she's prettier. At home, I'm just some stupid, self-absorbed little girl. I always have been.

I've cared about my looks since I was a toddler. Everyone always says, "You don't have to change yourself to be beautiful," but that doesn't make any sense to me. It never has, and I don't think it ever will. Because you do. It's what I did.

My name is Angelina Curtis. I live with my sister, my three brothers, and their friends. Their friends don't actually live here, but it feels like they do most of the time. I tend to just ignore them. I like to read and to sew. Those are my only hobbies.

I don't have any friends, I just have Bob, paper, and some thread. None of my siblings or their friends really like me. We're all okay with each other, but we're not close. We never will be, it's always been like this. 

Most everything in my life is the same as it's always been. Except my parents, but I think I've moved on. I wasn't exceptionally close with them, either. I'm a big fan of routines. I think I'd go crazy without one. That's why I always make myself busy, even if I don't have to. 

I think one of the reasons- if not the reason why nobody at home likes me- is that I don't like them. I'm a cold bitch, and I know that. I've accepted it. There's nothing I love more than winning. No person, no thing. I'm stubborn and quiet. I think highly of myself and low of everyone else. (Who can blame me?) 

I value myself over everyone else, (at least, that's how they paint me out to be), and I'm rude. I don't think I'm rude. I'm just not welcoming. They just don't like me. I mean look at Dally- he's been in jail at least ten times, and they think of him as a sweet little baby.

I'm not saying that it's hard to be me or anything. It's easy. But people just don't like me. Delia is pretty much my opposite, though. She talks to everyone within a five-mile radius, and all of our brothers and friends love her.

I've tried to get them to like me before, but they're so hard to please. They have standards and a set of rules for every girl to follow, or else their subconscious deems them unworthy of being a part of their gang.

I know I don't fit their mold, so I've never tried to. I don't want to, anyways. they're asking for way too much. 

Anyways, I'm getting back from a night out with Bob. I'm walking home from the theater, and it's about ten o'clock at night. My curfew is nine forty-five, but I told my oldest brother, Darry, where I'd be. He's the one who can tolerate me the most, probably because he wants all his siblings to be perfect, and I'm by far the closest.

Anyways, I'm walking up the steps to our house, and I see that the light is on. I swing open the door, quietly, and I see that there are three people in the room- Sodapop, my second oldest brother, Steve, Soda's best friend, and Dally, another one of their friends.

"Hi," I tell them when I notice them staring at me angrily. We don't talk to each other often, I don't know what to say next. So I walk to my room. I'm almost out of their sight when I hear them talk to me. 

"Where have you been?" I can't tell which one said that, they all sound pretty much the same to me. Other than their looks, the only other way I can differentiate them is by their stench. Some of them stink more than others. Here's a list of them in order from stinkiest to least- Steve, Two-bit, Sodapop, Delia, Darry, Dally, Ponyboy, and I. 

Sorry if I forgot any of them. I don't think I did, even if I don't know them very well. 

"Out with Bob. I told Darry." I say, trying not to breathe through my nose. I'm wearing a simple white dress that has thin straps across my shoulders and goes down to my knees, and white heels. My hair is tied up in a neat bun, and I have on a silver necklace.

"Your curfew was fifteen minutes ago." Soda said. 

"I told Darry I'd be back by ten."

"Your curfew was fifteen minutes ago." Steve said.

"Darry was fine with it."

"You're always supposed to be home by nine forty five." Soda said.

"Well, this was an exception, I guess."

"Just go to bed, Angelina." He told me.

"I was just going to." I said to him, turning back around and walking down the hallway to my room. I gathered my clothes and went to the bathroom, taking a cold shower. It's good for your hair and your skin.

I washed my face and went to sleep.