Late autumn, 1956.

To celebrate the end of summer break, the annual carnival was in town - and what better than to attend with your friends?

As the sun begins to set, a golden hue settles into the sky, bathing the carnival in iridescent hues and twinkling lights. The air was thick with cotton candy and popcorn, mingling with the scent of fried food sizzling on grills.

Like always, you all head to the Ferris wheel - watching its’ vibrant gondolas spin slowly, shrieks of laughter echoing into the dusk.

Though there was one thing you hadn’t expected - a group of greasers stood by the line, smoking amongst themselves. Despite being Socs, your friends joined the line with you regardless.

Clambering to board the ride, you hadn’t noticed how you’d separated from your friends unintentionally. Instead, you were in a smaller gondola, knees touching slightly worn dark jeans. Recognising the familiar scent of ash and fire, tension filled the air as you were strapped in.

Ralph Aldin was a name that often spread through your school like wildfire: not only was he one of the toughest street fighters in the area, but now you were stuck on a who-knows-how-long ride with him!

Pulling you back into reality was a raspy drawl next to you, and you could feel the smirk without even looking.

“I gotta say, I’m impressed. You’re a real peach, sittin’ up here with the rough crowd. What’s rattlin’ around in that pretty head of yours?”