I don't own "The Outsiders" by S.E. Hinton, nor do I own "Romeo and Juliet" by Shakespeare, but that's in the public domain, anyway.

A/N: This chapter is being posted as part of "Good Fic Day," an effort to raise the quality of writing here. We hope to encourage more writers to improve the quality of their own fan fiction - spell check, grammar check, keep the gang in character, outline, plot and don't use Mary Sues. Good fan fiction requires effort, and we would like to encourage other writers to rise to the challenge of producing better fan fiction, not only for our readers, but for S.E. Hinton, who created the wonderful book we are trying to honor.

xxxxx

" ... arise, fair sun, and kill the jealous moon, who is already sick and pale with grief ... "

Angela hated school; it was a waste of her time, and even the cute boys didn't make it interesting, because as soon as she started daydreaming about them, some old dried-up maid in her thirties who wore blouses up to her chin and skirts down to her ankle was snapping her fingers in Angela's face. She could get more attention and less hassle down at the Dingo or Jay's, and she would, too, but her older brothers would beat her black and blue if they caught her skipping. It really wasn't fair when you thought about it, because Tim hadn't bothered to go in years and Curly was in and out of the reformatory so much, the teachers didn't even bother trying to get him caught up when he was actually around.

However, she had a healthy respect -- Angela wouldn't cop to being afraid of anything -- of her oldest brother's wrath, so she went.

But she didn't have to like it.

xxxxx

Middle school boys were boring, with a capital "B." They all walked around with their chests puffed out, bragging and getting into bare-knuckles fights with each other. A fight wasn't interesting unless there was a real danger of somebody getting hurt, and Angela couldn't remember the last time that happened in a skin-on-skin fight, but they thought it made them tough. The boys in her brother's gang were really tough. Even better, they were in high school, and a couple of them even had their own cars. A lot of them were cute, and a handful of them were all three -- what Angela's friend Dawn called a "triple threat."

Angela had been kind of seeing Pete Malcom, but he'd quit coming around after Tim got out of jail. On one hand, it was a real downer, because Angel thought Pete was the cutest thing with his blond hair and soft brown eyes. On the other, any guy who was punk enough to bail on her because he was scared of her brother wasn't worth her time. The couple times Pete had kissed her had been nice, though; he smelled like wood smoke and old leather, and he seemed to know what he was doing.

"Angel," someone was hollering. "Hey, Angela."

She turned around to see Terry Ennis jogging up beside her. Terry was nice enough -- he wasn't a Soc, at least -- but he wasn't her kind, either. A lot of the girls at school were gone on him though, because he played football and was really good. Angela had even seen some of those stuck up Soc bitches, like Katie Charleston, whispering behind their hands when Terry went past, and his dad sure didn't own any oil refineries. Mr. Ennis worked at one, the same as her stepdad, only Terry's dad probably brought his paycheck home instead of supporting half the private clubs on the North Side.

"What's up, Terry?" she said, flipping her hair and giving him a coy smile.

It didn't hurt -- Terry was cute, after all. Angela was a sucker for brown eyes.

He didn't say anything, but turned beet red.

"Terry?" she asked, getting impatient. She'd promised to meet a couple of girlfriends down at Gregory's Drugstore.

"Oh, um, you know the end-of-year dance?"

Angela frowned. The middle school threw a stupid Hawaiian hula-themed dance at the end of the year. It was just like all the other lame-o school dances, only the ninth-grade class officers put flower necklaces around your neck when you came in. It was just another excuse for the Soc girls to buy new dresses and show off how much money their dads had; what a waste of time.

"Yeah, what about it?" she asked, shrugging. She hadn't been to a school dance in forever, just on principle. She was sure it was breaking the teachers' hearts, too.

He looked down at the ground, scuffed it with his foot, then looked back up at her. "I was wondering ... if you'd want to go with me," he said in a rush. "As friend, I mean," he added quickly, looking anxious. "Nothing serious ... unless ... you want it to be."

Angela heard the rapid fire of laughter from a group of girls nearby. Cathy Wesson was holding court nearby, and she and her friends were looking over at Angela and Terry and laughing snidely.

Angela froze; she hated being laughed at almost as much as she hated being pitied.

xxxxx

"So now I don't gotta go to school all next week," Angela said, finishing her ice cream bar. "An' Tim can't bitch, 'cause I'm suspended. I wish he'd've given me two weeks, though, that way, I wouldn't have had to go back at all."

"That's too bad," Johanna said, sipping her coke. "Did you get that snotty little Soc good?"

"I blacked her eye before the teachers pulled me off of her," Angela said, smiling at the memory. "Bitch couldn't fight at all -- she just fell to the ground and screamed her fool head off. That'll teach her to mess with a Shepard."

"It wasn't 'cause you're a Shepard," Betty said, picking at her fries.

"Shepard, greaser," Angela said, shrugging. "It's all the same thing."

"She did it because she was jealous," Betty said matter-of-factly. "Those girls can buy anything they want, 'cept good looks. You're the prettiest girl in school, and no matter how much money they spend on clothes an' gettin' their hair done, they ain't never gonna look as good as you on your worst day. That's gotta about kill them -- anything else they want they can get."

"Cathy Wesson can eat her heart out, because she done got whacked by the ugly stick when she was born," Johanna sniffed. "She ain't nowhere near as pretty as her big sister, an' those pimples don't help. Maybe if she quit stuffin' her face down at the Way Out, they'd go down a little."

Angela didn't say anything; she was twisting a curl around her forefinger and thinking about having something a Soc girl wanted but couldn't get.

"They'll go away by-and-by," said Betty, pushing her fries aside with a grimace. Maybe she was thinking about Cathy and her acne. "They always do. I sorta wish it would be sooner then later, because she's a real bitch because of it."

"Then her personality matches her face," said Johanna, shrugging. "I'm done. How about y'all? Let's go down to the roller rink. Steve Wheeler told me his brother an' some of his friends were going down to meet girls. John Wheeler's in high school and all sorts of cute."

"Fine with me," Angela said absently, still turning the idea of someone being jealous of her over in her mind.

Betty nodded. "I'm -- "

"Shepard! Angela Shepard!"

Angela sighed; she was getting right tired of people yelling at her. She got enough of it at home.

She turned and watched Sylvia Peterson stalking down the cosmetics aisle. Wolf whistles trailed behind her like a bridal train. Most every hood in the drugstore had something to say to the blonde girl, even if it wasn't exactly complimentary.

If girls were jealous over Angela's looks, they'd be pea green over Sylvia. She had long blonde hair, and she had to put it in hot rollers, because no hair curled like that naturally. What was all natural were her curves, her confident stride and her sexually aggressive attitude. All that had landed her one of the most sought-after guys on the North Side, but it was her winning personality that kept them breaking up every other day.

Angela had once overheard Dallas tell her brother Tim that "if she didn't bang like she looks like she can, I wouldn't give her the time of day."

As for Sylvia's part, she seemed honestly crazy over him, and that confused Angela. Dallas was a jerk, treated Sylvia like shit and he wasn't even all that good-looking. She'd never put up with that crap from any guy.

"What do you want?" Angela said coolly, flipping her hair back over her shoulders. If she turned tail and ran now, she'd never hear the end of it, and Tim would be furious.

"I heard you've been hanging around Dally," Sylvia said.

Angela rolled her eyes. Sylvia was notoriously jealous of Dallas, and, to be honest, Angela didn't blame her. Half of the time, he acted like he didn't even have a girlfriend. Sylvia was usually split between stomping whatever girl had caught Dallas' eye and hitting on some other guy in an effort to make Dallas jealous. Amazingly, it worked -- he worked himself up into a slaver, anyway.

"You better not be rolling those pop eyes at me," Sylvia snarled.

"I ain't doing shit," Angela said. "I wouldn't be caught dead hangin' around Dallas Winston."

She slid off her stool and sashayed toward the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sylvia following, her forehead crinkled with frowning. Betty and Johanna were looking at each other, unsure whether they should follow or not.

The bell jingled as she stepped outside. Jimmy Lewis was leaning against a building across the street, smoking. He nodded to her, and she raised her chin haughtily. The bell rang once more as Sylvia followed her.

Jimmy unpeeled himself from the wall and kept pace on the other side of the street. His black hair was greased back heavily, and a cigarette was hanging from his lower lip.

"Bitch, I seen you 'round him, and I don't want you lying to me," Sylvia said.

Angela stopped and looked over her shoulder. She was probably going to have to fight her, and it was well known Sylvia habitually carried a switchblade. Angela didn't have one; Tim would have whopped her if he'd caught her with one. He thought girls ought not to fight, and if they did, they ought to fight fair.

"You stay away from him," Sylvia said, her blonde curls shivering with her anger.

"I ain't been 'round, and I ain't interested in his raggedy hobo-lookin' self," Angel countered, narrowing her eyes in anger. Sylvia was nuts; Angela wasn't going to take up with a guy who was fighting with Tim more often than not.

"What did you say about him?" Sylvia gasped.

"I said," Angela said, putting her hands on her hips, "that he was a raggedy, dirty hobo."

Jimmy crossed the street with his wide stride. He wasn't moving too fast, but he wasn't moseying, either.

"He ain't nothing but a low-rate cowboy," Angela continued, getting into it, "knocking around every two-bit rodeo from here to Topeka." Tim always did say she could cuss the hair off of a cat if she wanted.

"You didn't say that 'bout him," Sylvia hissed, her light blue eyes bright with anger.

"Oh, I did," said Angela.

Quick as a striking cobra, Sylvia lunged forward, swinging sharp-nailed claws.

She didn't even manage to touch Angela, because Jimmy slid in as smooth as oiled smoke and took hold of her wrist, pulling her into the circle of his arms and restraining her.

"Hey there, Sylvia," he said, his tone jocular and easy despite Sylvia kicking and clawing to get free. "Long time, no see."

She huffed, twisting in his arms. "Lemme go, Jimmy."

"Now, I can't let you go, Sylvia," he said, smiling at the furious girl. "You smell too pretty, and you're soft and cuddly, just like a woman oughtta be."

Angela laughed. Of all the things Sylvia was, soft and cuddly wasn't among them.

Sylvia had stopped struggling and was looking up at him distrustfully. "You better let go of me, Jimmy," she said.

"If I did that," he said, his cigarette bobbing with each word, "you two are gonna get into a cat fight. Somebody might get hurt, or even worse, get a black eye or something. You two are much too pretty to go spoiling your looks." He smiled at her and tucked a blonde curl behind Sylvia's ear, before grazing her smooth cheek with the back of his knuckles.

"You don't want to be holding me too close now, Jimmy," Sylvia said, leaning into him. "Dallas ain't gonna like it."

Jimmy was looking down at her with amusement.

"Darlin', you can go tell Dallas Winston he can come look me up anytime," he said, smiling crookedly. "I'd welcome it."

"You don't want to cross him, Jimmy," Sylvia said.

Angela frowned. She didn't like how Sylvia was leaning all over Jimmy and lying her head on his shoulder or the way he was smiling at her, all half-amused and half-something else Angela couldn't quite place. What she did know was if Jimmy was smiling like that at her, she'd be melting ... and it looked like Sylvia was, too.

"The day I start worrying 'bout Dally is the day they shovel dirt over my carcass," he said. "Speaking of, I saw him down at the bowling alley with Tricia earlier today."

"You pulling my leg, Jimmy?" Sylvia pouted at him. It looked more alluring than than upset. Angela wanted to spit at her.

"Would I do that to you, darlin?" he asked, giving her that one-of-a-kind smile.

"Yes."

"Believe me or not, Syl," he said, managing to shrug and still restrain her at the same time. "Whatever suits ya."

"I don't think I like you, Jimmy," she said, looking up at him from under her lashes.

Angela thought it looked like the bitch liked him too much.

"You're breaking my heart, doll," he said, smiling crookedly.

Angela wanted to slap him for looking at Sylvia like that. The two of them were acting like she wasn't even there.

She cleared her throat loudly, and Jimmy grinned at her.

"Tim heard you got kicked outta school, Angel," he said. "He wants to talk to you."

"Not before I claw her eyes out," Sylvia said, giving her a narrow-eyed look.

"No can do, Syl," Jimmy said cheerfully. "Tim'd kick my ass to the river and back."

He released her, spinning her around so she was facing him. Somehow, he'd enfolded her hands in his.

"You're worried 'bout Tim, but not Dally?" she said, seemingly curious.

"Dally'd try kicking my ass once, when he was good and pissed," Jimmy explained. "However it fell, he'd forget about it by the next day. Tim don't forget nothing."

Angel tried not to glow with pride because Jimmy considered her brother more dangerous.

Sylvia seemed almost wistful when Jimmy let go of her hands.

"The bowling alley, huh?" she said, taking a step back from him.

"Thereabouts," he replied, slipping his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and standing with his legs braced and shoulders thrown back.

"Alright, then," she said, taking a few more steps back and watching him with a combination of wariness and hunger.

"Bye now, Sylvia," Angel said with false cheerfulness.

"Later for you, bitch," Sylvia snapped over her shoulder as she sashayed away.

Jimmy sighed and wiped his forehead dramatically before looking her in the eye.

"They might call you Angel, but you're more akin to the devil, ain't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she sniffed, turning on her heel and heading down the street.

"Sure you do," Jimmy said causually, falling into step with her. "Just 'bout every time I got her settled down, you gave her the stink eye and got her all stirred up."

"Did not."

"Yeah, you did," he said, dropping his cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it out with his heel.

She wanted to say "did not" again, but it seemed so childish, and she didn't want Jimmy to think she was a baby. She realized she'd stopped for him and started walking again, hurrying toward the narrow little shotgun house her mom and Hank rented. She could hear his low laughter, and her cheeks burned.

"Shut up, Lewis," she snapped. "My brother wouldn't like you laughin' at me."

"Yeah, Angel, your brother ain't got nothing better to worry about, 'specially with Tiber Street tryin' to move on our turf," he said, catching up with her easily.

"Stop following me." She tossed her hair and gave him an irritable look.

"Tim wants to see you," he said easily.

"I thought you were just makin' that up," she said.

"You think I'm hanging 'round the middle school, gossiping like an old woman?" he said, lighting a fresh cigarette.

"Somebody is," she said sourly as their house came into view.

"Y'know Tim," Jimmy said, shrugging. "He likes to know what's going on. Well," he added, stopping at their stoop, "he's waiting for you, an' he ain't happy, lemme tell you."

"When has he ever been?" Angela said, crossing her arms and frowning.

"Buck up, kid," he said, chucking her under the chin. "It ain't all bad. You could be Gracie Mathews an' have Two-Bit as a brother."

"Right now, that don't look too bad," she grumbled, opening the front door. "And I'm not a kid." She glared at him.

"Sure you are," he grinned. "You're Tim's kid sister."

She slammed the door in his face.