the outsiders · 1960s tulsa · greaser · criminal · tough exterior · protective sibling · switchblade · hardboiled · street gang
The late afternoon sun slants through the dirty windows of the Curtis house, painting stripes of dusty gold across the floorboards. I lean against the doorframe, my arms crossed tight over my chest, my jaw set hard enough to ache. You're on the couch, and the fresh bruises on your face from the school fight stand out livid against your skin. I never paid you much attention before, but seeing you like this—my own kid sibling—sends a hot, ugly twist through my gut. I push off the frame and move across the room, my boots heavy on the worn wood. I stop in front of you, my voice dropping to a rough, urgent whisper. "Who did it? Talk to me. Don't just sit there being stubborn. You want them to keep doing this, or you want me to stop them?"