Disclaimer: Don't own anything you recognize of course.

Summary: After a tragic event Rebecca is relocated to Tulsa to live with her cousins, aunt, and uncle. Everything is going fine—until she meets Dallas Winston and his gang. Johnny and Dallas still alive.

Open Your Eyes, the World is Calling

Shake

I was shaking harder than I ever had before. I whispered my best friend's name, my parents' names, and cursed my brother's. He had always been a damn fool but he ain't never did nothing like this before. He just couldn't love me. He just couldn't. He didn't have to love me, but he sure shoulda had the sense to leave me the hell alone.

He hadn't been right for a while. Carson had been a difficult kid for a while. He had ADD—meant he couldn't pay attention to nothing for too long. But he was mean—he'd been doin' drugs, drinking, getting half killed all the time. Plus he wasn't too good to us. We was always havin' to tell 'im off.

But Carson had this sorta magnetism 'bout him. He could talk himself outta anything and had this leadership thing. He was dangerous and since I'd always been the good little girl he was a big deal. I wanted to be just like him. Well I wanted to be special, noticed, like he was. I was always off to the sidelines watchin' him take all the glory. He was a charmer if I ever seen one. Always got what he wanted even if he wasn't interested soon after.

My name is Rebecca Carlotta Brown. In biblical times Rebecca was special—and cruel. She shunned her own granddaughter 'cuz when she started her period she wasn't taught the specialness of it. It wasn't like it was her fault. But everyone knew who Rebecca the oracle was. I always thought the name suited Carson better who had been named for Johnny Carson, my parents' idol.

I had a little brother too, Caradog. He was my half brother anyway. His daddy was Welsh and when my parents were separated for a year my old lady got pregnant and had Caradog. He was a shy kid, and a beauty if I ever saw one. Got this dark hair that ran over his forehead and these green eyes that made you wanna stare at 'im for hours. He always had a serious look on his face. You were lucky if you could make him laugh like I could.

Caradog stood next to me, shaking. He'd been close with our mama. I hadn't. I was close with my dad though. We had been pretty happy except for Carson for a while. But now we were standing in all black, my poofy brown hair that was cut to my shoulders tied back and my strange eyes gleaming with hatred for my own flesh and blood. My brother.

Because my brother killed not only my best friend but my parents too and had left me with nothing except him and Caradog.

It was the hardest thing I ever had to do was dropping that first handful of dirt on the coffin. I'd dropped three handfuls that day although one was the second handful not the first. I thought of how earlier the day he was killed I'd gotten mad at my best friends and how I'd cried for my parents to leave me alone 'cuz it wasn't like they paid much attention to me anyhow.

Tulsa was a hot place. Hotter than Pittsburgh, where we'd lived before the murders. They'd caught Carson, of course. Carson Farley Brown in jail. Shoot, was that late. You'd think they woulda gotten him earlier. See, I hated to admit it but I talked about Carson as often as the next person in our family even though I yelled at people for doin' it.

We had to move to Tulsa, Oklahoma. We had some rich family there. The Valances, I think. Caradog would know. That kid remembered everything. But Caradog was still just a kid, only 12. I was 17 whole years old and I never did too well in school. I was damn smart if I wanted to be but I couldn't stand authority. I was smart but I was always forgetting everything. I was never real good at remembered things.

As I stepped into the huge house I gasped. This wasn't for a second like our old house in Pittsburgh. We lived on the shitty side of town there. This was the rich part of town, I could tell. I was still damn mad about Caleb and my parents and no way did this house make up for it.

Caleb had been tiny, only 5 foot. He was shorter than me, and I had always been small for my age. I protected him, he helped me with my homework. We were a strange match but we'd known each other since we were kids. And he was funny in a quirky way. We had our laughs and nobody ever touched him when I was around. I liked being around him. I could forgive that kid anything.

I was sad but I was angrier more'n I was sad. It wasn't fair. Caleb never had the growth spurt he always talked about. He didn't get to be a single thing he wanted to be. My parents were sweet and they never did a single thing wrong. And poor Caradog. I could live with it but he was only little. I always thought of him as a real little kid but he wasn't that young. He was pretty mature too and would always be rollin' his eyes at me and Caleb when we were being stupid.

I was invisible when I first came to Tulsa. I didn't wanna talk to anyone and I didn't wanna be quiet. I didn't even give my teachers a hard time 'cuz my parents always hated it and I wanted them to smile up in heaven not frown.

And Caleb woulda wanted me to be good too. He was always telling me to be good to the teachers. Easy for 'im to say. He was real smart. Teachers didn't get that I was slow at getting stuff and then they would jus be mean about it.

I'd never loved my brother but never before had I hated him this way. I wanted him to die, slow and painful. I wanted him to burn in hell forever.

My cousin's name was Sherri, but half the world called her Cherry 'cuz her hair was real red. There was this thing in Tulsa, Soc and greaser warfare. Cherry was a Soc. She helped the greasers out some and hated the stupid warfare. She said the difference wasn't only money, it was feeling. I said it was that Socs didn't know what real life was and what the real world was like. People used to killed or beaten up or arrested in my old neighbourhood all the time and it was natural.

The difference was that the police didn't give a shit if the poor kids were beatin' each other up but they sure did make sure the rich kids weren't killing each other.

Cherry wasn't real concerned 'bout me and certainly didn't come to hang out with me. She was nice but she was so concerned 'bout her reputation. I didn't really care and the kids who'd heard about what happened to me whispered as I pass. But I held my head damn high. I was too proud to go through this. I was always proud but I was used to hearing shit about me in the hallways 'cuz me and Caleb were never really popular.

I was standing at my locker trying to get it open, kicking it, hitting it. But nothing was working until a kid came up, he couldnta been too much older than me, behind me and slid it open for me.

"What they hell," I exclaimed angrily, "Was that?"

"Um, I was helping you open your locker," I turned around to see a buff guy with pale blonde hair, small sharp teeth, and blue eyes. I guessed I had looked a bit like a greaser girl or some'n with my heavy, brown, leather jacket that had belonged to Caleb and a pair of Carson's old jeans that I'd stolen two years ago because this guy was no doubt a "greaser". Not that I cared. In the end it was all the same: We're born, life fucks us over, we die.

"Whatever. Don't help me again, got it?"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't need your goddamn help, punk. You don't even go to this school, loser."

"My name's Dallas." Ever heard the expression "saw red"? Well that's exactly what I saw. His hand was stuck out as if I was supposed to shake it. I raised my eyebrow, something Carson has taught me when we were little.

"What am I supposed to do with that? Doesn't matter, just fuck off, asshole."

"My, my, such language."

"You want me to beat you up?"

A guy in a wheelchair and this other kid, pretty handsome for a kid, with blonde-ish hair and auburn roots came up behind this Dallas kid and tapped him on the shoulder. I'd heard about this kid, Johnny Cade. He was almost killed the year before. He was the one who killed Cherry's boyfriend, Bob, and—well it was a long story, but in the end his back was bust and he couldn't walk no more.

"Hey Johnnycake," this Dallas character said to the boy, "This is my friend…I'm sorry what's your name?"

"I ain't your friend. My name's Rebecca don't forget it but hopefully you won't ever talk to me again so you won't have to remember anyway," I was pissed. It's funny how one moment you can be perfectly fine and the next you are beyond the Valley of the Mad and climbing up Fury Mountain. I didn't know why I was so mad then but now I realize why. Dallas reminded me a whole lot of my big brother. But there was some magnetism about bad boys. I wish I had thought about Carson then. But I didn't.

A few weeks went by and I thought Dallas had gotten the picture pretty clear-you know, that I hated him-but I was mistaken. I had no idea how mistaken I'd be.