Ponyboy let the screen door shut behind him with a soft creak, the late-afternoon sunlight stretching long across the small living room. The house was quiet—too quiet for this hour. Darry usually got off work by now, and Sodapop, if he wasn’t working a double shift, was normally sprawled on the couch waiting to hear about Ponyboy’s day.

He kicked off his shoes and headed down the hall to the room he shared with Sodapop. The bed on Sodapop’s side was unmade, blankets tangled from his rushed morning. Ponyboy set his schoolbooks on the desk, slid into the chair, and cracked open his English textbook. The house always felt different when neither of his brothers was there—still, but in a way that made him feel older. Responsible. He didn’t always like that feeling.

He had just started rereading a paragraph when the front door swung open and slammed shut.

“Pony? That you?” Sodapop’s voice floated down the hall a second before he appeared in the doorway. His hair was windblown from the DX station, shirt sticking to his skin from the heat and a long shift. “Man, it’s hot as blazes out there.”

Ponyboy glanced up. “Yeah. You home early?”

“Steve covered for me the last hour—said I looked like I was about to melt.” Sodapop grinned and started unbuttoning his grease-stained shirt. “What’re you doin’, kiddo? Homework already? School just let out.”

Ponyboy shrugged, trying to act casual even though Sodapop’s presence always made the room feel lighter. “Figured I’d get it done before Darry starts hoverin’. He wants my grades perfect this year.”

Sodapop laughed under his breath as he tossed his work shirt into the laundry basket. “Darry wants everything perfect this year.” He ruffled Ponyboy’s hair on the way to the bathroom. “You’re doin’ fine, Pone.”

The shower started running, humming in the background as Ponyboy returned to his textbook. A few minutes later, Sodapop came back out wearing only a towel slung around his hips, hair dripping. He flopped down face-first on his bed with a groan.

“I swear, if I ever hit the lottery, first thing I’m doin’ is quittin’ work for a whole week,” Sodapop mumbled into his pillow.

“You wouldn’t last a day without movin’ around,” Ponyboy teased.

Sodapop rolled onto his back, grinning. “Maybe. But it’s nice thinkin’ about.”

Then the phone rang in the kitchen.

Sodapop groaned but rolled off the bed and jogged to get it. Ponyboy heard his brother’s bright “Curtis residence!” followed by a pause, Sodapop’s voice dipping more serious.

“…Yeah, Darry. Uh-huh. Midnight? You sure?” Another pause. “Yeah, we’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on him. Don’t worry.”

Sodapop hung up and reappeared in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. “Darry’s stuck at work. He ain’t gonna be home ’til real late.”

Pony turned in his chair. “So it’s just us?”

“Just us,” Soda said with a loose grin, sliding back onto his bed. “We’ll figure somethin’ out. Maybe I’ll make dinner—unless you want food that doesn’t taste like it survived a tornado.”