Don't Call Me Soc
Mary Jane Tucker wasn't like the rest of the Soc girls. Sure, she wore clean pressed skirts and had a father with a country club membership, but that's where the similarities ended. She didn't laugh loud or twirl her hair at football games. She didn't drive a Mustang or throw parties when her parents were gone. Most days, she walked home quietly with her little sister, Ellie, clutching her hand like a lifeline.
She lived on the quieter end of the Soc neighborhood-further from the big houses, closer to the two-pump gas station and a beat-up corner store. Her folks were quiet people, church-on-Sunday types who never had a bad word for anyone. Kind to a fault. Nothing like Bob Sheldon or even Cherry Valance.
Mary Jane-MJ to the few who got close enough-kept to herself. Except Randy. He was one of the only Socs she sometimes sat with at the Dairy Queen. They didn't talk much, but when they did, it was about real things. She liked that about him.
She had seen the Greasers around. Ponyboy with his nose in a book. Johnny Cade, small and watchful. Dallas Winston with a cigarette always stuck to his lip, daring the world to come at him. Two-Bit, always cracking jokes with Steve, and Sodapop Curtis, who could smile at a storm and make it grin back. Darrel Curtis-tough as nails, all muscle and worry.
MJ never said much when they passed each other. But sometimes, Ponyboy looked at her like he saw something different. Like he knew she didn't belong on either side.