REAL Hoods.

I couldn’t sleep that night. The whooshing of the wind outside moaned as if it was calling me, tree’s would tap on my window and little drops of rain would hit the roof just as I was about to doze off to go to my world with Connor and Nickolas.

I quietly got up being sure not to walk on any creaky spots on the floor; my mom was a real light sleeper. I don’t know what I was doing; I think I was trying to escape because I grabbed my camera and Connors leather jacket he gave me a few years ago when he had a sudden growth spurt, I slipped on his ring too. I needed some courage just in case…I thought maybe that would bring it to me. Sure, I’ve walked around at night but never at one in the morning.

Rain drops quickly flattened my bed hair; just enough to look like a Runaway. That’s one of the stereotypes we got here, Runaways. The whole look as if you just got the strap from your dad and finished your last pack of weeds. Having the grimiest pair of jeans on, looking as if you’re just fixed your beat up old band wagon. Probably storing a switchblade or heater on you.

Connor once had a heater on him, “Don’t worry Adora, I ain’t going shoot nobody. It’s just for show in case, not even any bullets in there” he urged last time I saw it. I did in fact have a switchblade on me, Nick and Connor gave it to me for my birthday last year. It had a nice purplish black handle and the blade was as sharp as a butcher knife. It could poke through human skin within a few seconds without pushing real hard.

I’m not sure if I was trying for that look, I guess it was with that flick knife on me and everything but that’s what People thought as they walked by me. Where I live, on the east side we don’t exactly go into hiding like the rich kids on the west side.

There was a group of teenager’s boys sitting on a bench aloof from me. “Wow what’s a pretty Runaway like you doing out this late?” a tall one winked at me. I thought I was going to barf at the sight of them checking me out. “Yeah, what’s a pretty thing like you doing out this late?” his friend grinned. Real Hoods boys. That’s another we had, boys that are violent over the smallest of things. I wasn’t scared of no hoods. As I was classified as a Runaway most days, Runaways and hoods get along. “Just going for a stroll, what about you boys?” I put on a snappy smiled. “Oh you know, just picking up some girls. You wanna come hang with us dolly?” a putrid boy smiled powerfully. “Um…actually I have to agitate the gravel, maybe later though…” I tried to keep my cool. These boys were REAL Hoods. The kind that don’t ask for girls, they just take them.

“Oh come on Runaway, we’ll be gentle” another one scorned. “How old are you anyways girly?” he added. “F-fourteen” I stuttered. “Come on Darren, just cool it” a short kicked to the curb looking boy ordered. “Be quiet Jack, were just chatting her up” another grinned at me. Most of these boys looked like they’d been through the mill a few times. Most of them got up except for the Jack kid and another tall and scrawny one. They moved so close I could feel their breath on me as I was shorter then all of them. They all had psychotic eyes as they moved closer.

I moved back a bit, hiding my fear the best I could. This was the first time in my life I didn’t have anyone to look out for me. Just me, some scandalous hoods, and those two other boys. Those boys gave me a look that read something like ‘Geez girl would you run already?’ I didn’t want to run, I wanted to stand up for myself like Nick and Connor always did. Sam wasn’t here at the moment, probably in his bed sleeping loudly.

“H-hey you better stay away from me” I stuttered. The ones circling me laughed confidently. “Oh come on we’re just trying to have a little fun” the tallest put his hand on my shoulder. “D-don’t touch me” I squawked. He kept his hand on my shoulder as another began running his engine greasy hands through my hair. By then it had stopped raining and was turning horribly sombre. I could definitely see they were zonked. Jack and the other boy motioned their heads showing me to run. I know if Connor and Nickolas was here they would begin fighting those boys, but they weren’t here. It was just me.

The one stroking my hair grabbed onto my wrist as I swatted his hand away rebelliously. “Don’t get snappy with me you little Greaser Girl” he tightened his grip. It hurt more than when Sam rushed me out of that Dairy Queen yesterday and it even hurt more than my heart did on the day of Nickolas and Connor’s funeral. It felt as if someone was sticking huge sharp needles in my wrist, then wiggling them around lividly while still in there.

Never I’m my whole life had I been called a Greaser Girl. Greaser Girls were disgusting and seductive. I saw bull like eyes, they reminded me of one of the boys who got Nick and Connor, my heart and my wrist both went numb from that thought and the pressure of the out of date looking boy’s hand. I didn’t like those boys’ eyes. Clutching Connors ring I heard him in my head, “Don’t let that dirt get away with calling you that”. He was right, no way was I letting that happen.

“Let go of me!” I screamed at the top of my lungs roughly pulling my hand away. I saw as Jack and the boy smiled, motioning me to run again. “Oh girly, I don’t think you get it” he grinned and reached for my arm again. I quickly grabbed for my switchblade and swung it out. I felt inflamed as I did that. I was finally doing something for myself. There was only one other time I had using this switch blade and that was simply just to cut some rope. “Oh come of Greaser Girl, put that away. This ain’t a far fight” another chirped in. “Call me that once more, I dare you” I provoked. It went silent for a moment, “Greaser Girl” he spat. My soul felt as if it was burning to unleash its real way of acting, so I let it. “Get bent Hood!” I screeched and pushed my blade towards that wrist grabbing boy and gashed it. “Doesn’t feel so nice do it?” I grinned with revenge. Blood poured out over the side walk and it felt good to do that. I still didn’t feel satisfied though, I jabbed at a muscular uneasy looking boy as he tried to grab at me. This time it was a deeper cut in his arm, he started screaming in pain. I got some of his blood on my leather jacket; it smelt salty like he was bleeding ocean water. I felt it was time to run now.

I ran down the street as fast as I could, the blade still had that fresh smell of blood on him, and after awhile of running it didn’t smell good. I could hear distant screaming from the boys. I just kept running. I felt like a vagabond. Soon I was a far ways from those hoods. Most Hoods and Runaways got along, that was one of the groups that didn’t.

“You okay miss?” I looked forward and there was one of the fuzz sitting in his sloppy police car. “Uh, I’m fine…” I assured. “Why do you have blood on your coat?” he barked. I looked down at the rough leather and remember than some of it pour onto me, I looked down at my hand. I still had the blood covered blade shaking. He looked down at it. “Uh, I think you should come with me…”. “Um no…I’m honestly fine…I’m just going home now…” I rehashed. “Get in the car delinquent!” He ordered at me. I winced at that word, I was a delinquent now…

I had never ridden in a police car; I even got to wear handcuffs. “So you cut up one of the gangs?” he looked in the review mirror. “Um…no?” I lied. He sighed heavily, “Cut the crap Runaway, I saw them bleeding, one of them claimed a girl that looks exactly like you attacked them out of nowhere” he shook his head at me. “They were going to try to do the back seat bingo with me!” I protested. “Yeah, two younger Hoods said that…” It was silent for the rest of the ride of to the cop shop.

I hated cops; I saw them a lot when I was around Sam. They sure did like to follow him around for some reason. I didn’t even get to protest my case like they did on TV. I just got threw in a cell. “When can I go?” I asked politely. One of the cops rolled his eyes, “When someone comes to get you or you stay a night” he handed me an antique phone with a lackadaisical voice. I knew the drill; I only got one call, just one. I couldn’t call my parents; it would be off with my head if I called them.

I quickly punched numbers and waited as it rung, “Hello?” I heard a tired voice. “Sam, I need your help” I demanded. “Isn’t this the number from the cop shop?” I heard him get wide awake. “Yeah…” I whispered with a raspy voice. “Shoot Adorabella, what did you do?!” he yelled into the phone almost loud enough to make my ears bleed, he quickly hung up and I swear within five minutes he was up there with a enraged face. The face he had on while the fuzz explained everything was almost heartbreaking. He just started shaking his head disappointed as he walked over to me, “Why would you do that?!” he screamed at me. Sam Carson sure was domineering. “Adorabella you’re such a nosebleed!” he bellowed. He was showing some pretty hateful incandescent words. After awhile I started to ignore him and his screaming.

By the time he finished screaming at me the blood on my blade had dried and I was feeling at the handle. “Give me that blade NOW!” he fumed. I handed it over without arguing because when you argued with Sam, you never won. He stuffed it in his pocket with shame. I hated Sam Carson, I hated him. “Can we go now?” I pleaded in a sweet tone. He shook his head downheartedly, “You’re not leaving. Adorabella, your parents don’t care about you. I’m all you really have left and I just don’t know what to do, maybe this will knock some sense into your head” he furiously began walking out. “You makes the kings jive with those words…” I muttered.

I just sat there feeling hostile. I wasn’t aloud to have my camera in the cell with me because obviously, the police officer was prehistoric and thought I had a heater somehow hidden in it or a flick knife.

Sleeping in a cell wasn’t that bad other than the fact that it smelt violently of over the hill feet. I got awoken the next morning by the fuzz smashing at the bars with a hitting stick and screaming at me to get out. I ran out of there jubilantly. It was fully light outside being that it was in the afternoon. I decided I didn’t like jail…I’d much rather be like Nick, I don’t know how Connor did it.

I missed my switchblade, the first time using it and it’s already gone. My wrist still hurt too, probably not as much as that hood’s though. “Heard you pulled out your blade on someone Adora, you turning into a hood on me?” I looked up to see Delilah Wingdale, another Runaway. “Shoot, Connor must have gotten into you” she grinned. “Yeah, maybe he did” I spoke proudly. She looked uncomfortably at me. “So how’d you hear?” I grinned again. She looked more uncomfortable, “Old Sammy lost it and told me, it’s also on the front page” she shoved a news paper at me. There it read: “Runaway Loses Her Way.” At least they didn’t call me a Greaser Girl.

I read the whole article about how both those boys had to get stitches and how they didn’t even do anything, until I read further down a quote from Jack: They were all trying to get her to come with them, she went along with it trying not to cause any trouble, trying to get away from them but Darren (Top far left) wouldn’t let her, calling her a Greaser Girl so she pulled a blade on him and Billy (bottom middle).

 

“That Jack boys the only thing that’s keeping you from getting sued” Delilah sighed with a head shaking. “So…did you really pull a knife on Darren Paxton?” she looked jumpy. “I guess so…” I finally realized I defended myself from a violent gang. “Darren Paxton…getting stitches…because a girl” she looked cheerful. I didn’t even know who that kid was, I’m guessing the one with the engine hands. I also didn’t get what the big deal was, “Why is that so great?” Her eyes grew wider than china plates, “Darren Paxton is the toughest hood around, and he holds grudges. Adora, you hurt him; that means there’s going to be some real changes around here”. I think I know the main reason why Jack and that scrawny kid wanted me to run now, and if I knew that…I would have.