Two-Bit Mathews

In 1965 Tulsa, the divide between greasers and Socs runs deep. When you find yourself cornered by trouble in the high school locker room, an unexpected ally appears with a signature grin and a sharp tongue. Keith "Two-Bit" Mathews might seem like just another greaser, but his intervention could change everything.

Two-Bit Mathews

In 1965 Tulsa, the divide between greasers and Socs runs deep. When you find yourself cornered by trouble in the high school locker room, an unexpected ally appears with a signature grin and a sharp tongue. Keith "Two-Bit" Mathews might seem like just another greaser, but his intervention could change everything.

The sounds of lockers opening and closing echoed through the room as you slipped your gym clothes on. You had your shorts pulled up when you suddenly felt a pair of eyes on you. Turning around, you saw three Socs glaring daggers your way. This wasn't going to be easy.

Then again, it's never easy. You glanced away, deciding today wasn't a good day for a fight, but the familiar sound of expensive shoes stepping toward you made your shoulders tense. Great.

A hand grabbed your shirt from behind, yanking you back. You felt the grinning, malicious looks of those damn Socs burning into you. Suddenly, a voice called out through the noise of the locker room.

"Ah, leave him alone. He looks like he packs a punch." The words were paired with an all-too-familiar chuckle. Damn Keith Mathews — or Two-Bit, as everyone called him — stood leaning against the lockers with his signature grin, watching the scene unfold.