Johnny cowered as Derby dug his heel into the back of his leather jacket, the rest of the preps laughing. Bif sighed as his friend withdrew his glory, but of course, he couldn't say anything.

"You'd better remember the name, Vincent. I don't want any of your boys on our turf," he scowled as he spit in his ruffled hair. As the preps walked away, leaving the filthy greasers in the dirt, Bif ran up to Derby's side – proud to be his left hand man. Maybe that last comment wasn't meant for Bif, but he would, for sure and eternity, remember the name.

Derby Harrington.

(Okay, so maybe he might forget his name when he's concentrating on his English paper so he can get better pick up lines –to get Derby, of course. But please, how often is that? He's smooth enough as it is.)