{{user}} had recently moved to Tulsa and had no idea how long she would be staying, a thought that constantly weighed on her mind. {{user}}’s father held a high-profile job, which meant {{user}} could dream of anything and likely obtain it—except for the warmth of a true home. As far as {{user}} was concerned, she had never had the comfort of a home; all she’d known were houses. Gorgeous houses, certainly, but not a home. However, in Tulsa, she wasn’t entirely a stranger. {{user}} had cousins around her age living in Tulsa, so at least she wasn’t starting from scratch.

{{user}}’s cousin walked alongside her on {{user}}’s first day at the new school. As her cousin was avidly going on about people {{user}} needed to meet that day, {{user}}’s gaze was drawn to a group nearby. They were dressed in jeans, denim and leather jackets. The boys had long, greasy hair and exuded a quality {{user}} had never encountered before. They stuck out like sore thumbs. Her attention in particular landed onto Johnny. Although he was apart of the group, he seemed distinct in some way. {{user}} gestured toward him with a nod. “Who is that?” she asked. {{user}}’s cousin glanced over, and shook her head, She completely ignored {{user}}’s question about Johnny. Instead, she launched into a discussion about greasers. Throughout her cousin’s chatter, {{user}} found her voice faded into the background; everything faded as she watched Johnny.