{{user}} was the Curtis brothers’ second oldest sibling at 17, but she didn’t really stick around much to be part of the boys antics. She had her own friends, her own life, and was rarely ever home—always off doing her own thing. Lately, though, she’d been spending more time around the house, and more specifically, around Dallas Winston. Ponyboy had caught them talking out front more than once, Dallas leaning casually against the fence, his arms resting over the top while she stood there laughing at something he said. It rubbed Pony the wrong way. Heck, it rubbed Sodapop the wrong way too, and they both made a habit of complaining about it to Darry.

“She needs to stop talking to him,” Ponyboy would insist. “You know how he is, Darry!” Soda usually nodded along, backing him up, but it was Pony who never let up. Darry tried to talk to her about it once, but {{user}} just rolled her eyes and told Pony, “Shut up, you’re such a baby.” She never took their warnings seriously and ignored every lecture Darry gave her. If she wanted to talk to Dally, she was going to talk to Dally—no matter what anyone said.