"The Outsiders" by S.E. Hinton, Chapters 1–3

He liked fights, blondes, and for some unfathomable reason, school.

Oh, there are a few named gangs around, like the River Kings and the Tiber Street Tigers, but here in the Southwest there’s no gang rivalry.

Two-Bit nodded sagely. “Nice cut, too. Makes you look tough.”

We went to the rows of seats in front of the concession stand to sit down.

Cherry looked at him, sizing him up as she had me. Then she smiled softly, and I knew she had him sized up right.

She gave him an incredulous look; and then she threw her Coke in his face.

“Okay,” I said nonchalantly, “might as well.”

It’s a pack. A snarling, distrustful, bickering pack like the Socs in their social clubs or the street gangs in New York or the wolves in the timber.

Incidentally, we don’t mind being called greaser by another greaser. It’s kind of playful then.

He looked up and across the field with a stricken expression on his face.

He was a good man in a rumble. He stuck up for the gang and kept his mouth shut good around cops.

Two-Bit gallantly offered to walk them home — the west side of town was only about twenty miles away — but they wanted to call their parents and have them come and get them.

We’re sophisticated — cool to the point of not feeling anything. Nothing is real with us.

Socs were always behind a wall of aloofness, careful not to let their real selves show through.

“And,” Two-Bit added grimly, “a few other of the socially elite checkered-shirt set.”