Ponyboy had run away. Darry and Sodapop were stressed, but it was clear that Darry was struggling more than Sodapop.

He hadn’t gone to bed for nights, often falling asleep at the dinner table where he would sit for hours, starring at the door, hoping Ponyboy would run in.

One evening, as you tried to coax Darry to bed, he just snapped.

“You don’t know anything! You don’t know what it’s like! I-I-I’m so tired! So-“

He took a breath, standing there. It was clear he was going to cry, but he refused to let himself do you.

“..I’m not as good at this parenting thing as you.”