I'm NOT Sylvia || Dallas Winston fanfic (The Outsiders)

Ch.1: I'm Not Sylvia

  We finally arrived to my mother's place. Her little apartment. She lived alone. Dad spoke with her for a bit then left me with her.

  "Hello daughter," mother told me. "What was your name again?"

  She doesn't even know my name.

  I smiled and said, "Megan."

  "Lovely.." she nods with a planted smile and inhales her cigarette.

  "Can I have one?" I asked.

  "Sure sweetie," she grins and hand me one. "So tell me about yourself."

  "Well you see.. I don't leave my family behind," I say in mockery as I lit me a cigarette.

  She scoffed and smirked. "Now, now.. you've never met your mother until now. Play nice, will you ?"

  "I'm only nice to my dad." I said and crossed my arms, swearing.

  "Well you're lucky I let you in my territory, kid." She raised an eyebrow, ruthlessly. "Otherwise you would be a child I can care less about."

  "Well 'mom' I'll bet I'm already that child. And I can care less."

  I stood from the couch and made my way to the door. My dad barged in confused.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  "Dad, we're leaving. I don't think I can last a month here." I grumbled.

"Your sister is surprisingly much cooler than you dear," my mother snickered.

  "Cynthia, what'd you do?" dad asked her but we both ignore him.

  "Who?" I asked her.

  "Sylvia Davis. You don't dig?"

  I scoffed then left the house alone.

*****

  I had no idea where I was heading to but I had to go somewhere. Tulsa streets were smaller than Manhattan's. It was trashy here just like the dangerous streets of New York.

  "Hey Sylvia!" some guys would call and whistle.

  "I'm not Sylvia.." I swore under my breath.

  Then a mustang pulled over. Better dressed guys were in the car yet they were filled with liquor.

  "Hey baby," the blonde guy winked. "You dated what's-his-name again? D-Dally, is it?"

  "Dallas Winston?" I asked a bit disgusted.

  "So it is you!" they chuckled. "I heard you were a wild chick with the greaser."

  "What the hell are you speaking of?" I grumbled. "I've never met him!"

  "Looks like he's right over there," they pointed past me.

  I turn to look and see a guy, Dallas Winston, who looks older than the last time I seen him from the papers back in New York. He was minding his business and smoking a cancer stick at a DX gas station across the street.