A/N: Okay, finally Chapter 7 is here (after a bunch of arguements between Kat and myself...)! Hope y'all like. Hahaha, my fifth grade Social Studies teacher did this for us. It was really funny. Also, in previous chapters, everything Kat does at church, I pretty much do too. Also, it's Catholic because I honestly have no idea what goes on in other churhces. :) Sorry if you were bothered by that...anywho, onwards.

Disclaimer: Don't own nothin' (You'd think with my A in honors English I'd have better grammar skills...lol)

When the door swung open, no one was standing in the hallway. I decided to try the kitchen. Sure enough, as I cracked the door open, I saw my mother bent over the table, dressed in her barmaid's uniform. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun and I thought, for the first time since I was maybe five, that Mom was a really pretty woman. I stepped in and closed the door, just loud enough for her to hear. She turned, saw me, folded her arms, and waited.

"Hey, Mom," I greeted tentatively.

She arched one eyebrow. I finally figured out where Two-Bit got that gene from. "That all you want to say to me?" she inquired.

What did she want me to say? That I was sorry she was a bitch? I blinked, stunned for a moment. "What am I supposed to say?" I asked, confused.

"How about an apology?" she suggested, that perfect eyebrow of hers still arched.

My temper flared. So it was immediately all my fault. She had nothing to be sorry for? "No!" I snapped. "I will not. Not until you admit you were wrong too."

"I wasn't wrong," the woman declared. "I was being a good parent."

"Define 'good,'" I replied harshly.

Her mouth gaped open. I guess she hadn't expected that. What scared me most was that I meant it. Every word. And she knew it too.

"Kaitlyn Louise," she started, her voice shaking, but I had already whirled around and stormed out. So much for burying the hatchet. I was mad again. This week just wasn't going my way.

I stood right outside our front door, fuming. Why am I always the one who storms off to find some other place to sleep? This was just as much my house as it was hers. In a way. I think. Well, she was the one paying for it, but didn't the law say she had to provide me with a place to live? I wrenched the door open, stomped to my room, and slammed the door shut behind me. I twisted the lock and flopped down onto my bed. Unfortunately, I didn't land on my bed. Instead, I landed on a person.

I yelped, surprised, and leapt away. The person in the bed sat up suddenly and mumbled, "Wazzgoneon?"

"Two-Bit, you ass!" I snapped, laughing. Somehow, he always managed that, even without meaning to.

He blinked at me. "Must you be so loud?" he asked bitterly.

"Uh, yeah, when you unexpectedly find your brother sleeping in your bed, you're gonna be loud," I replied, sitting on the edge. "So who's party were you at?" I asked, just to say something.

"Shepard," he muttered in return. I grinned. "Are you ever gonna learn?" He stared at me, then mumbled something about letting him sleep.

I rolled my eyes. "Once you get out of my room," I replied, smiling sweetly. He glared at me but stood and walked out of the room, after fumbling with the lock for a few seconds. Well it was his own fault he was hungover. I had little sympathy for him.

Once the door was shut behind Two-Bit, I fell back onto my bed and stared at the posters on my boring white walls. I had wanted to paint them black with lime green streaks, but Mom wouldn't allow it. It is technically her house. I sighed. My anger had subsided to the back of my mind, thanks to my wonderful big brother, but it was still there, lurking in the back of my mind.

As I thought it over, I wondered if I was really in the wrong? I began to second guess myself. Was I just some spoiled little bitch who couldn't appreciate the good things in her life? God, I hoped not. But, what else could I have done to make Mom hate me so much? Not a lot, I reasoned. We are complete opposites...could that be it?

You are exactly like your father! The words echoed in my heads. Oh yeah. That's why. Well, hey, I couldn't help it if I had his genes. Wasn't that more her fault then mine? Like she'd ever see it like that.

My alarm didn't blare this morning, as the clock was broken. I was woken up on time though, thanks to Two-Bit bursting into my room, singing at the top of his lungs.

"What the hell are you singing?" I snapped grumpily at him.

He shrugged. "Whatever I can make up," he answered. "Now you better be ready or I'm leavin' for school without cha."

I rolled my eyes, but got up. I knew he would leave whenever he wanted. He simply didn't care if he was late or not. On the other hand, Steve, Pony, Johnny and I usually carpooled with him, therefor he did have to be on time--for me and Ponyboy. Darry wouldn't be too happy if Pony got in trouble for being late and Two-Bit knew I'd be pissed if I was late. He was too easy-going to risk an argument about being late.

I took a quick shower, threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and clomped to the kitchen for some breakfast. I grabbed a slice of leftover pizza, being to lazy to fix myself anything else. I finished the cold pizza, cleaned my teeth, ran a brush through my hair, and stumbled out the door right behind Two-Bit, tennis shoes in hand. "Ha!" I cheered. "I'm on time!" My brother simply rolled his eyes at me, grinning that grin of his. Everyone got a ride with us today--except Johnny. He had decided that maybe he'd go to school tomorrow, but he wasn't sure. According to Dally, at least. I bet Dally was the one who had talked him into staying away. Not that it would take much. Johnny was a nervous wreck, and, even though he was better then yesterday, he was still hurting.

I walked into first period--American History--right before the bell rang. I dropped my bad and hoisted myself onto the desk, listening to the snippets of conversations that surrounded me. Mostly pointless things, like football games, cheer leading, relationship issues, ect. This class wasn't honors, but it wasn't the "stupid" class, either. There was a mix of Socs, Greasers, and middle class kids in this class, as in all my classes. Except English. I suck at English.

"Miss Matthews, get off your desk and into your chair," Mrs. Morris snapped as she waltzed into the classroom a few seconds after the bell rang. Same as always.

"Sorry Mrs. M," I said, falling into my chair.

Mrs. Morris rolled her eyes because she knew I didn't mean it. It was just routine. She pulled out her student list and began calling role.

"Here!" called Henry Brown.

"Cade?" she called out. Mrs. M always went by our last names. When no one answered, she called, "Cade?" again. Sometimes Johnny was so quiet she didn't hear him. Oh yeah, this was my cue.

"He's not here, Mrs. M," I informed her. She nodded, content with that. She wasn't going to press me for anything Mrs. M can be pretty cool. She's the only teacher that let's me get away with calling her by her first initial.

"Bet he's in jail," the Soc, Patrick Thompson, who sits behind me hissed loud enough for everyone to hear. The Socs and a few middle classers guffawed, even though it was not in the least bit funny. Even if it hadn't been Johnny, it still wouldn't have been funny.

I whipped around in my seat, opening my mouth to give Thompson a piece of my mind, but Mrs. M intervened before I could say anything.

"Mr. Thompson, please refrain from comments such as those," she reprimanded, "and Miss Matthews, turn around. It's usually better to just ignore these things."

Grudgingly, I turned back to the front of the room. God, one of these days I was just gonna hit Patrick Thompson. He mad me madder then hell, second in his skill only to my mother.

"Alright, class," Mrs. Morris said, once the impending danger of chaos in her classroom had died, "on Friday we left off talking about Paul Revere. Anyone remember who he was?"

"That guy who freaked out when the British were coming and took off on his horse screaming his head off?" I called out.

Mrs. M sighed and smiled. "Basically, yes," she answered. She went on to explain about how Paul had an accomplice who went to help by land. But first, he had to sneak past the British, so he pretended to be drunk. As Mrs. M was staggering around the front of the room, reenacting it for us, Patrick Thompson leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "Heard that's how your brother acts. And your dad." I twisted around and slammed a fist into his face.

Alrighty, so there it was! Hope y'all liked:) REVIEW PLEASE!!!