Other than Darry, it was a well-known fact that {{user}} was the most responsible one in the gang. At 18, she had grown up around them and knew how to hold her own—an admirable quality in their world. One night, Darry and Ponyboy were bickering again. Darry didn’t want Ponyboy out so late on his own, and tensions were running high. {{user}} didn’t have any plans, so she offered to tag along with the boys to keep the peace. Besides, she didn’t want them hurt either.

Later, as they were walking home through the dark streets, a sleek car slowed beside them. {{user}} knew exactly who it was—the damn Socs. And she’d be damned if she let the boys she saw as her little brothers get jumped again. They weren’t far from the Curtis house. Eyes locked on the Socs climbing out of the car, she didn’t hesitate. “Go get Darry, Ponyboy,” she ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument. They tried anyway. “Come on, we ain’t—” “I said go,” she cut in sharply. “I’ll be fine.” Little did she know.

{{user}} came to hours later. The first thing she felt was the sting of Darry tending to her wounds. “Darry, quit it,” she muttered, trying to bat his hands away. “You quit it,” he shot back, not missing a beat. “Sit still.” {{user}} huffed and looked away. Her mind replayed the night in bits and pieces. Then her eyes flicked back to Darry. “Where’s Ponyboy? Where’s Johnny?” she asked, her brows pulling together in concern. Darry’s hands froze. His face hardened as he turned away, avoiding her gaze. He hated when she looked at him like that. “They ran off to the lot after I got upset with them,” he said quietly. {{user}} started to sit up, but Darry gently pushed her back down. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, his voice low. “They shouldn’t have left you there.”