Socy Kid At the Fountain (sry about the other one i messed up)

They took our girls. Or rather, they took their girls: Bob’s and Randy’s. They were just sitting there, all calm and peaceful. They didn’t notice us, and I could see them there, minding their own business.

Our car horn blasted. Oh what a tuff sound from such a tuff car. Bob had a blue Mustang and it’s the coolest car I’ve ever seen. We started circling them, but our car wasn’t in control. Bob was driving. He was drunk. He always got drunk, had no sense of control. Bob always took things too far, and I can never tell why.

“Why are we doing this?” I didn’t mean to say it, but it came, without warning.

“Shut yer trap.”

I received a smack on the head for that one, but I deserved it. We deserved everything Bob gave to us. He was the greatest. Our leader. I was a follower. I don’t see why we do what we do, but it’s how things work. I’ve never been hurt by what we do, and I probably never will. I trust Bob because he’s my pal and he’s smarter than me.

We hopped out of the car making sure to slam the doors. It sounds tuffer, but they were too far away, and I knew that they couldn’t hear us. They looked fourteen, and we were all seventeen. There were five of us, two of them. It wasn’t fair. It’d take you an awful long time to find someone who said that five on two is a fair fight.

I staggered like I was drunk. I wasn’t, in fact I had never even tasted alcohol before. The gang didn’t know it though, and it makes you look cooler if you look like you’re drunk. That’s the thing about us. We do what the gang does, and don’t question it. I feel weird, different. I feel like what we do is wrong. I wonder if other people question it as well, but I don’t think they do. I don’t like feeling different, so I just go along with what Bob does.

Maybe they could take us if they had weapons. You know, switches, bottles, belts, whatever they could get their hands on. The smaller of the two looked scared sick. Maybe he’d never been jumped before, or maybe had seen too much violence for his own good. I couldn’t tell. The other one didn’t look scared at all. He took out a weed and started smoking it, and it only made him look tuffer.

“Hey, whatta ya know?” Bob’s voice was slurred. His breath smelled terribly of whisky when he spoke. “Here’s the little greasers that picked up our girls. Hey grease.”

“Y-y-you’re outa your territory,” the scared one said. “You’d better watch it.”

A swear came out from somewhere, sounded like Randy’s voice, and Bob stepped forward.

“Nup, pal, you’re the ones who’d better watch it. Next time you want a broad, pick up your own kind-dirt.”

The cool one started to get angry. He looked like he hated us. But he should hate them, Bob and the rest, not us. I never wanted to hurt anyone, not even come to the park, but it happened and I couldn’t help it.

“You know what a greaser is? White trash with long, greasy hair.” Bob was pushing his luck.

I could see that the kid was mad now. I couldn’t blame him. The small one let out a gasp and the big one talked. “You know what a Soc is? White trash with Mustangs and Madras.”

He was right. I had the breaks in life. It was easy for me.

He spit at us.

All hell broke loose. The kids were running for their lives-literally.

“Give the kid a bath, David,” Bob said almost too calmly.

I knew David would do it. I would've done it if Bob had told me to, but it was Bob in the end that drowned the kid, twisted his arm behind his back and shoved his face into the fountain. He was dying, I thought. I was beating up the other kid, kicking him while he was on the ground. I was on him for the sole reason that I needed something to do. If I hadn’t beaten him up I would’ve been the only one not doing my part, and I would suffer for that later, so I went on kicking him. The kid shook loose from me and pulled a knife. Before I could stop him, Bob was on the ground. The fountain was filled with red.

Bob was dead.

Randy and the rest of them were running towards the car. I just stood there, watching the aftermath of what had happened. I couldn’t stand it. Bob, our leader, our buddy, was dead.

It wasn’t his fault. Don’t blame him. He was as lost as us, just hid it with the alcohol. If anything, blame the alcohol. Not his fault. Not his fault. Not his fault…

But it was.

Two people were dead, my buddy, and the one he killed. They lay there just looking dead, nothing more, nothing less. Just dead. The other kid, the scared one, was just huddled there next to the fountain, rocking back and forth, looking at his shaking hands, gazing at the bloody knife, wishing quietly to himself that he hadn’t killed my friend. He had black eyes, black hair in his face. I wanted to push it back for him, tell him everything was okay. He was one of those kids that you just want to love. That you want to love unconditionally. That you want to love with all your heart. But I knew I couldn’t love him. He’s a greaser, I’m a Soc. Things don’t mix between us. He’s oil, I’m water. We can get close, but never mix.

He hadn’t noticed me, and I decided it was better that way. I walked backwards for a bit, glancing at the scene. I saw three dead kids, three kids that could never come back. I turned away and started at a run.