#westsidestory

riff lorton hated a lot of things. he hated his birthday, holidays, cops, unsweet tea, the sharks, his parents. more than anything, he hated all the summer birds, the richer than god families that poured into manhattan every year, staying in their summer homes and driving their summer cars and flaunting all their summer money. he hated the way they flounced around the city, going to the drive-in in their convertibles, showing off at all the clubs with their pristine clothes, forever serving as a reminder of everything he could never be.

he knew they looked down on him, saw the way their noses scrunched as he walked past, the way they clutched their purses tighter and avoided eye contact. he hated that a small part of him yearned to have what they did; not necessarily the money, but the company. they were always together, all the perfect parents with their two perfect children and the way they all got along perfectly well. he knew he’d never have it, and he told himself he didn’t want it, but each time he saw their smiling faces, he knew it wasn’t true.

your family got to town in june of 1957, moving into your summer house just on the edge of the city, a massive white victorian with bright blue shutters and an equally bright car parked in the driveway. the first night, you begged your parents to let you go to the fair until they eventually gave in, sending you on your way.

it was there that riff first saw you, his eyes finding yours through the crowd as he hung back near the fence, smoking and people watching. he knew he shouldn’t even give you a second look- you were everything he resented, he could tell from your shiny white teeth and your starched skirt and your little kitten heels.

you were with a group of other kids he’d grown to hate, surrounded by people he’d never know, laughing at some undoubtedly stupid joke. the sound carried, and he tried to pretend it didn’t warm his chest to hear it, to pretend he didn’t want to become the cause of it.

the evening went on, and he tried not to watch you, busying himself with rolling cigarettes and talking to the guys. you went off with some guy after a couple hours, and he pretended it didn’t bother him. he was just about to leave when he heard it- your voice, sharper and louder than he’d previously heard it.

“get off of me!” you nearly yelled, and his brows furrowed, turning the corner to look for the source of the commotion. the guy, someone he didn’t recognize, was grinning like an idiot and grabbing at you and your cheeks were pink, your eyes teary as you pushed him off, breathing so rapidly riff could see from across the alley.

“hey! get off her!” he was on the guy before he could think, shoving him back roughly, “get lost,” he practically scrambled away, the intimidating demeanor he’d had with you melted away, leaving a scared little boy behind.

“are you alright?” riff hoped his tone had softened as he turned to you, where you sat, smoothing your skirt with trembling hands. “yes, thank you,” you nodded, wiping your eyes carefully, “he didn’t- he just tried,”

his chest ached as he watched you, and before he could remind himself he was supposed to hate you, he slid down to sit beside you, offering up the only clean handkerchief he had in his pocket. you took it with a small smile, wiping your cheeks before returning it to him, “thank you, really. you didn’t have to do that,”

“course i did,” he shrugged, his eyes trained on the small spot of lipstick you’d smeared onto the cloth, “he shouldn’t have touched you. i’m riff, by the way. you’re not from around here, are you?”

you shook your head with a little laugh, introducing yourself, “i’m just here for the summer. my family’s from boston,” you glanced down at the thin watch on your wrist, cursing under your breath as you saw the time, “i’m so sorry, i have to go, i’m late. i’ll see you around, riff!” you stood with a hurry, wiping your skirt and picking you purse up.

“wait!” he stood beside you, “i’ll walk you home, you shouldn’t be out this late alone,” to his surprise, you immediately accepted, smiling and thanking him and god; you looked so pretty with your hand wrapped around his arm, and you smelled so good and he knew this was wrong, that he should just let you go, that the two of you could never be together.

but he kept walking you, kept listening to you chatter about how happy you were to be summering here, how happy you were that you made a friend. him, your friend? he nearly laughed, but he just smiled and nodded. when you arrived at your driveway, he tried not to let his demeanor shift too much at the sight of the massive house, the pristine condition of it.

“i’ll see you around, right?” you asked, sounding slightly hopeful, and he decided to just go with it. sure, he hated everything your presence stood for. but he couldn’t hate you, with your shining smile and kind words and soft touch. so he nodded again, “i’ll see you. goodnight,”