Billy Esposito, the son of two college professor poets, has been living a quiet, nerdy life in an upstate New York college town. In the summer of '79, his life is turned upside down when, due to family circumstances, he and his mother move to the south shore of Long Island a few miles east of Queens. When the school year starts in September, Billy is thrust into a new world and must learn to navigate his way in huge, overcrowded Seaview High School. By rushing to the aid of a classmate who is being attacked, he falls into the strange, often violent subculture of high school fraternities or, as many of the teachers, administrators, cops, and other local adults call them, "gangs with Greek names." His situation improves when he discovers that Jillian, the gorgeous, smart, rock 'n' roll-obsessed girl he is crazy about likes him too... but some things aren't meant to last.

Excerpt:

The whole thing started when I saw this kid, Greg, from my Italian class getting bullied by three big hoods in an alleyway as I walked home on Beaumont Avenue after school. I'd just crossed Long Beach Road. To my right, a tall chain-link fence with razor wire atop it bordered the parking lot of an ugly, run-down strip mall. I daydreamed as I strolled along and gazed at the old rusty fence, which was surprisingly beautiful, in a dumb ugly way, when you took a good, close look at it. They had attempted to spruce it up with a layer of silver spray paint, but the rust had continued rusting, as rust will, and as it flaked off, it took the thin veneer of silver with it.

When I reached the end of the fence, I heard someone shout, “Hand it over! Hand it over, or we'll beat ya silly and rip it right off your back!”

I glanced to my right up the alleyway between the rear of the strip mall and the side of a red brick apartment building. Greg stood there with his back to the brick wall. Three menacing hoods in black jeans and black leather biker boots surrounded him. The thick-necked hood with his back to me wore a faded denim vest with a blue skull, outlined in black and encircled by the words, Sigma Iota Chi emblazoned on it. The biggest hood leaned down and sneered into Greg's face. He poked Greg in the chest. “Hand it over,” he ordered. He shoved Greg. Man, he looked tough, but Greg shouted back at him, right up into his face.

“Ya know I ain't givin' it to ya, Aldo! Ya want it, ya gotta take it. There's no way in hell I'm ever gonna hand it over.”

Aldo grabbed the front of Greg's blue, short-sleeved collared shirt with both hands and yanked it open so hard I suspected some of the white buttons must have torn off. Greg shoved him and tried to walk away to his left, but the hood blocking him on that side stepped forward and shoved him. Then the hood with his back to me, the one in the vest, shoved Greg toward Aldo. The three of them pushed him from one to another like playing a game of catch.

Someone forced open a creaky old window in one of the apartments above the alley. “Cowards,” an elderly man shouted. I couldn't see him from where I stood, but I could tell from his voice that he was old. “Three against one? Ya should be ashamed of yourselves!”

“Leave him alone, ya bullies,” an elderly woman shouted. “You're twice his size!”

“If I was a younger man, I'd come down there and knock yous all right on your tochus,” the man shouted.

“We've notified the police,” the old woman said. “The police are on the way!”

“I'd knock yous right on your tochus if I still had it in me,” the old man shouted. “I swear I would!”

None of the hoods or Greg paid attention to the concerned elderly couple shouting at them from above. Aldo grabbed the collar of Greg's blue shirt with both hands and shook him. “Hand it over,” he shouted. He let go of the shirt and shoved Greg back toward the brick wall.

That's when Greg did the coolest thing I've ever seen in my entire life...